Cynthia said, "stop looking for angst."
This is why she's my friend.
Ok. Good night.
28 July 2015
it's 9:41 p.m. on the even of my 28th birthday.
i don't feel celebratory. no cake. no balloons. no cards. no fancy dinner. no friends. no get together.
i kinda just feel...bleh.
27 was an eventful year. i had a child. i left my job. i launched a business. i got pregnant with my second child.
i have never felt so undone...so tired...so bleh....in my life.
i'm not mad. i'm not sad. i'm not angry. i'm not depressed. i'm not really joyous either, which i suppose isn't a good thing.
i just feel...ummm...bleh.
my life is good. i have a loving husband. i have a growing family and beautiful daughter. i have a stronger relationship with my mother. i have a supportive church family.
this morning, i sat on the edge of the bed and looked back over the last decade. 10 years ago i was in college. i was starting my sophomore year i believe. 5 years ago i was starting at Mastery full time. i can't recall what i did on those birthdays. actually, 10 years ago, i was turning 18 and cynthia, dana, shari, and e'lon got me a strawberry cake and we went to see jill scott and erykah badu at merriweather post pavillion.
i wanted to think about 10 years from now. but i wouldn't allow myself to think about 10 years from now...for the possibility that 10 years from now i'd be sitting on the edge of the bed still feeling bleh.
tomorrow, i will get up. i will feed my daughter. i will play with her for a little bit. i will lay her down for her morning nap. i will pray. i will shower. i will take my daughter to her 9 month doctor's appointment. the doctor will throw shade and imply that i am a bad mother because my child is underweight, albeit developmentally thriving. i will do my best to deflect their advice and the way they're trying to make me feel about my first-time parenting skills. then, i will come home and prepare to lead praise and worship during Bible Study. i will come home. i will be tired...maybe hungry...maybe nauseated...maybe both. i will feel bad because my husband wants to have sex with me but i physically don't feel up to it. so i go to sleep and hope the next day i feel better.
this is my life now. and i won't complain because it's not bad. it's not bad at all. it's good. my life is good.
so goodbye 27. hello 28.
*unenthusiastic flicka da wrist*
ayeeeee.
i don't feel celebratory. no cake. no balloons. no cards. no fancy dinner. no friends. no get together.
i kinda just feel...bleh.
27 was an eventful year. i had a child. i left my job. i launched a business. i got pregnant with my second child.
i have never felt so undone...so tired...so bleh....in my life.
i'm not mad. i'm not sad. i'm not angry. i'm not depressed. i'm not really joyous either, which i suppose isn't a good thing.
i just feel...ummm...bleh.
my life is good. i have a loving husband. i have a growing family and beautiful daughter. i have a stronger relationship with my mother. i have a supportive church family.
this morning, i sat on the edge of the bed and looked back over the last decade. 10 years ago i was in college. i was starting my sophomore year i believe. 5 years ago i was starting at Mastery full time. i can't recall what i did on those birthdays. actually, 10 years ago, i was turning 18 and cynthia, dana, shari, and e'lon got me a strawberry cake and we went to see jill scott and erykah badu at merriweather post pavillion.
i wanted to think about 10 years from now. but i wouldn't allow myself to think about 10 years from now...for the possibility that 10 years from now i'd be sitting on the edge of the bed still feeling bleh.
tomorrow, i will get up. i will feed my daughter. i will play with her for a little bit. i will lay her down for her morning nap. i will pray. i will shower. i will take my daughter to her 9 month doctor's appointment. the doctor will throw shade and imply that i am a bad mother because my child is underweight, albeit developmentally thriving. i will do my best to deflect their advice and the way they're trying to make me feel about my first-time parenting skills. then, i will come home and prepare to lead praise and worship during Bible Study. i will come home. i will be tired...maybe hungry...maybe nauseated...maybe both. i will feel bad because my husband wants to have sex with me but i physically don't feel up to it. so i go to sleep and hope the next day i feel better.
this is my life now. and i won't complain because it's not bad. it's not bad at all. it's good. my life is good.
so goodbye 27. hello 28.
*unenthusiastic flicka da wrist*
ayeeeee.
23 July 2015
Writing this from bed...forgive me as I collect my thoughts...this is a rambling...
There is so much foolishness...madness in this world. The advent and mass accessibility of social media seems like a double-edged sword. On one hand, the issues and occurrences that historically have been glazed over and ignored by the masses are now being brought to the forefront of everyone's attention. Most recently, Sandra Bland's tribe banded together and refused to believe allegations that she committed suicide in aTexas jail cell after being arrested during a routine traffic stop. In less than 2 weeks, they have garnered nearly 100,000 signatures petitioning the U.S. attorney General to get involved in the investigation for Bland's death. Cases like Bland's have been all too common in our communities, especially in the south and disenfranchised neighborhoods in the North. Police brutality, stop-and-frisk, the school to prison pipeline...we know what it is. For many African Americans, it's a lived reality of a constant state of belligerence, fear, and helplessness as enemies of the state simply because of the color of our skin.
On the other hand, social media bombards us with realities that are painful to discuss as we have become so numb to them for so long. We've gone from, "That's just the way it is" to "Why the hell is it this way and what can I do about it?" Posts, pictures, theories, blogs, videos, clips etc. awaken the "Black rage" James Baldwin so eloquently describes. This rage gets played out at the reading of every blog...at the scrolling past of every picture...at the replay of every incendiary police body camera video....what in the world? This ish is traumatic to say the least. I leave my timeline exhausted from being so angry. Part of me knows that this righteous indignation re-awakened is the impetus to a greater movement to bring about justice, even if at the moment, it's justice for one black woman or man who has succumbed the violence posed to black bodies constantly.
I guess my question is...what will it really take for black people to be healed? What does that really look like for our communities? Does it mean access to "quality" education (meaning comparable to what the rich white kids get in the suburbs)? Does it mean access to better housing opportunities? Once we leave the physical ghetto, can we leave the ghetto mentality behind? No, sir, you can't sit on my car or my steps. No, you can't plug your phone in my outdoor charger. No, sir, you can't smoke weed on the corner at 2 in the morning on a Tuesday and be loud cuz...well...we folks around here have jobs and we get up early so we'd freaking like to sleep. Take Pookie an'nem out of North Philly and transplant them in Middletown. Hell to the no. I left North Philly to get away from them because they have already succumbed to the poverty mentality and well...ain't nobody got time to be reprogramming no adults. So do we believe the children are our future? How does we as a society, en masse, break the cycle of poverty and end the culture of poverty. And yes, I know critics would shame me for asserting the bourgeoisie, pompous and classist opinion that the culture of poverty is inferior but who do you know actually WANTS to live piled on top of one another in a small space struggling because of lack of resources with little prospect of getting out? No really? I'll wait. Being poor is not fun. It's not glamorous. That ish is hard. It's only because of the resilience and brilliance of black people that we can look at our struggles and laugh at our pain. The struggle simply became resourcefulness. Resourcefulness became reality and somewhere along the line, some of us forgot that it wasn't ok to be on the bottom. Trust...if black people were complacent with being poor, there would be no hip hop culture which glorifies glitz, glam, and the perceived "finer things in life".
I could go on and on...just like everyone else is going on and on...
There is so much foolishness...madness in this world. The advent and mass accessibility of social media seems like a double-edged sword. On one hand, the issues and occurrences that historically have been glazed over and ignored by the masses are now being brought to the forefront of everyone's attention. Most recently, Sandra Bland's tribe banded together and refused to believe allegations that she committed suicide in aTexas jail cell after being arrested during a routine traffic stop. In less than 2 weeks, they have garnered nearly 100,000 signatures petitioning the U.S. attorney General to get involved in the investigation for Bland's death. Cases like Bland's have been all too common in our communities, especially in the south and disenfranchised neighborhoods in the North. Police brutality, stop-and-frisk, the school to prison pipeline...we know what it is. For many African Americans, it's a lived reality of a constant state of belligerence, fear, and helplessness as enemies of the state simply because of the color of our skin.
On the other hand, social media bombards us with realities that are painful to discuss as we have become so numb to them for so long. We've gone from, "That's just the way it is" to "Why the hell is it this way and what can I do about it?" Posts, pictures, theories, blogs, videos, clips etc. awaken the "Black rage" James Baldwin so eloquently describes. This rage gets played out at the reading of every blog...at the scrolling past of every picture...at the replay of every incendiary police body camera video....what in the world? This ish is traumatic to say the least. I leave my timeline exhausted from being so angry. Part of me knows that this righteous indignation re-awakened is the impetus to a greater movement to bring about justice, even if at the moment, it's justice for one black woman or man who has succumbed the violence posed to black bodies constantly.
I guess my question is...what will it really take for black people to be healed? What does that really look like for our communities? Does it mean access to "quality" education (meaning comparable to what the rich white kids get in the suburbs)? Does it mean access to better housing opportunities? Once we leave the physical ghetto, can we leave the ghetto mentality behind? No, sir, you can't sit on my car or my steps. No, you can't plug your phone in my outdoor charger. No, sir, you can't smoke weed on the corner at 2 in the morning on a Tuesday and be loud cuz...well...we folks around here have jobs and we get up early so we'd freaking like to sleep. Take Pookie an'nem out of North Philly and transplant them in Middletown. Hell to the no. I left North Philly to get away from them because they have already succumbed to the poverty mentality and well...ain't nobody got time to be reprogramming no adults. So do we believe the children are our future? How does we as a society, en masse, break the cycle of poverty and end the culture of poverty. And yes, I know critics would shame me for asserting the bourgeoisie, pompous and classist opinion that the culture of poverty is inferior but who do you know actually WANTS to live piled on top of one another in a small space struggling because of lack of resources with little prospect of getting out? No really? I'll wait. Being poor is not fun. It's not glamorous. That ish is hard. It's only because of the resilience and brilliance of black people that we can look at our struggles and laugh at our pain. The struggle simply became resourcefulness. Resourcefulness became reality and somewhere along the line, some of us forgot that it wasn't ok to be on the bottom. Trust...if black people were complacent with being poor, there would be no hip hop culture which glorifies glitz, glam, and the perceived "finer things in life".
I could go on and on...just like everyone else is going on and on...
22 July 2015
17 July 2015
13 July 2015
Whoa...
I just looked back over my FB statuses from 2011 when the heavy winds of change were blowing in my life...great changes that brought obvious and quick restoration and healing in my life...
I was on fire for God...I would tell people about my church...I was praying for students and their family members in the hallways of my school...I'd get to work at 6:30 and pray in my classroom...put oil on the doorknobs and desks...
Today, the winds of change are blowing...restoration is coming but this is a detailed more painful process. Slower. More refined. My plan is taking a back seat and I am resigned to humility rather than stubbornness. Because the process doesn't "feel good" like it did in 2011. However, I know that it is for my good.
I want to be hot again. On fire again. Even in th midst of God stripping away the layers and revealing who I really am and th purpose for which he created me.
I am ok with this God because as I look back, I realize you have prepared me for this time. I may not "feel" prepared but I am. I am not alone. I am not forgotten or forsaken. I am not abandons. I am on your mind. I am in your heart. You have considered me and know the ins and outs of every detail of my life.
Thank you for restoration of heat, soul, and mind so that I can love life free of fear, the weight of failure, self-pity, condemnation, and such.
I may not like the way this process feeeeeeellllsss but I'll endure this momentary affliction knowing that the glory which shall be revealed is going to be the bomb.
I just looked back over my FB statuses from 2011 when the heavy winds of change were blowing in my life...great changes that brought obvious and quick restoration and healing in my life...
I was on fire for God...I would tell people about my church...I was praying for students and their family members in the hallways of my school...I'd get to work at 6:30 and pray in my classroom...put oil on the doorknobs and desks...
Today, the winds of change are blowing...restoration is coming but this is a detailed more painful process. Slower. More refined. My plan is taking a back seat and I am resigned to humility rather than stubbornness. Because the process doesn't "feel good" like it did in 2011. However, I know that it is for my good.
I want to be hot again. On fire again. Even in th midst of God stripping away the layers and revealing who I really am and th purpose for which he created me.
I am ok with this God because as I look back, I realize you have prepared me for this time. I may not "feel" prepared but I am. I am not alone. I am not forgotten or forsaken. I am not abandons. I am on your mind. I am in your heart. You have considered me and know the ins and outs of every detail of my life.
Thank you for restoration of heat, soul, and mind so that I can love life free of fear, the weight of failure, self-pity, condemnation, and such.
I may not like the way this process feeeeeeellllsss but I'll endure this momentary affliction knowing that the glory which shall be revealed is going to be the bomb.
09 July 2015
08 July 2015
...aaaaaaand welcome to the first trimester!
- nausea--check
- fatigue(like i want to hibernate for three months straight, no interruption)--check
- random bouts of crazy horniness--check
- food cravings...one day i want soul food...the next day i want tacos...--check
- anticipating the sex of my baby with much excitement-- check
doot doot doot.
Shawty Simms...coming Q1 2016.
boom.
04 July 2015
02 July 2015
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