Good bye 2017

I have dreaded writing my final post this year, something I have never done before. Usually, I am excited to review all the wonderful things I have experienced and accomplished in 12 months, but 2017 was the most overwhelming year I have had in a long time. I mean it was so challenging, I allowed those difficulties to overshadow the good, take me out of my gratitude mindset. One was my hernia surgery, which I thought would happen in late winter or early spring, but instead, it was postponed, as was my recovery. In my mind I was going to have the surgery, heal up quickly, and be snatched, quite frankly. Instead, I am still slightly swollen in my abdomen and I have no ab muscles. Most of my summer was on bed rest.  Much like after previous surgeries, I know that in due time I will get my strength back, but still, it frustrating as hell.

Secondly, my number one goal of 2017 was complete my dissertation and finally become Dr. Boz.  Well, technically I did finish my dissertation. However, due to some changes within the school, approval on so many levels has been postponed, and there is nothing I can do except file a grievance and pay my costly tuition.  This has been devastating. They were things that happened within the immediate family that rattled me. Not to go into so many details, but there was another breast cancer diagnosis, my adult son moved back home, and my grandson’s mother did not care about him having a relationship with anyone on my side of the family. It breaks my heart into little pieces everyday that he lives so close by and I can count on my hands the number of times I have seen him. How do shape all of this nonsense into a lesson and shape it positively?

Here it goes:

 First, upon heavy meditation, I’ve been rushing all my life. Subconsciously, and somewhat consciously, I have always tried to beat the clock because my experience with the death of so many women in my family created fear about the brevity of life. I thought I had dealt with this, and come to terms with the fact that I have taken steps to extend my life and I will die an old lady. But this year I have realized I have not. I let the idea that I must rush and get things done, accomplish goals before it is too late. The crazy thing is, I only rush to cross items off a list. I don’t bask in my accomplishments, or focus on experiences instead of just accomplishments. Because of this, two of my major changes for 2018 will be:

A.      To have more fun! To live honey! More experiences and traveling

This year I

B.      Celebrate Every F**king Thing. Because I honestly do not celebrate myself enough. The Queen of Self-esteem doesn’t celebrate all she’s overcome!  I have been going and going so long that I am no longer mindful of just how amazing it is.

C.        

1.       I finished my dissertation. I did. I finished 5 long ass Chapters. A year of literal sweat and tears (no blood.)

2.       I created  #SistasAre Dope journal and T-shirt

3.       Published my first Children’ s book

4.       Gave a kickass commencement speech

5.       Graduated from a leadership program

6.       Inspired crowds with spoken word  and got paid for it

Not bad. Not bad at all. And the crazy thing is, I really didn’t take the time to pat myself on the back.

 And you know what else was awesome about this year?

1.       The breast cancer diagnosis meant involved no chemo and was a stage 0. She is cancer free

2.       I was there when my grandson was born and watch him for his first few minutes of life. I got to see my son, become a father.

3.       I was there to see people I love in awards, like my father and my sista friend

4.       I attended the New York red carpet movie premiere of my sista friend

5.       I switched to a position at work that is way less stressful, and I have a better leader

6.       I had the support of family and friends through the dissertation writing, the recovery from surgery and at my book release

7.       I did an amazing professional photo shoot

8.       Welcomed a baby girl in the family whose life I will be a part of

9.       Tried 3 new activities

10. I have discovered estrogen in hormone replacement therapy

2017 wasn't so horrible in hindsight. It just forced me to face some things I had pushed deep down, and it is preparing me to reap (and enjoy) the rewards of my hard work. 2018, I will work smarter not harder because there is some fun not be had!

Woman Circle

If you know me, then you know I suffered loss at an early age. In the past I felt deprived times two for losing my mother at 4 and my grandmother at 13. But the older I get, and the more self-reflective I become, I realize that through some sort of divine design, I had the opportunity to be molded by numerous beautiful, powerful, loving Black women, a few who have been completely pivotal.

My Ga-Ga

Who I write about extensively in my memoir, planted the seed of self-esteem in me by making me feel everything I did was wonderful. Her love and nurturing built the foundation for the Queen of Self-esteem.

 My paternal grandmother

When I used to spend the night at her house she was hardly there at night. She was hanging with her friends. She was out doing her thing. You know why, because she had raised her 8 kids. In my grandmother I learned that there is no honor in self-sacrificing and that as a mother who took care of everyone else, there was nothing wrong in taking me time. Yasssss!  

My maternal aunts

My aunt Gloria

  The image that will never leave my head is of playing outside and seeing her come walking down the street in a business suit and sneakers with her shoes in a bag. I thought it was fabulous, she was career woman, a mom and a wife.  That image of her found its way in my subconscious. I could do it all if I wanted.

My aunt Saundra

 She was the original Carrie from Sex in the City. Always dressed up and going out. But she also had a career. What I remember most about my childhood was that she would have relationship, but when she was no longer feeling it, she would bounce, leave, come back home if she needed to. Through her I learned that you don’t have to settle. She never settled, she got just what she wanted in a man, and he supports her career.

My aunt Sharon

 As the youngest, she was the one who had the birds and bees talk with me and my friends. She was young, cool, and smart. Her man was fine, so what she said had to be true. Even more importantly, when I was 12, she took and in my room and taught me about breast self-exams. It was the beginning about me being hyper vigilant about my health.

My aunt Gwen a.k.a Two Cent

 She passed away suddenly at age 36. She taught me about the brevity of life cherishing each moment. As a fellow poet we shared a love of arts and music. To this day when I hear the reggae tune, "Baby Can I hold you” I think of her. She was not afraid of being different. Neither am I.

 Carol (Hoffman) Sullivan

I truly don’t think I would have made it out of high school or adolescence without her.  I was in such a dark, secret place but she brought me out of it with her wit, her intelligence, beauty and empathy. And she looked me. ME who looked like no one with light eyes and light hair. Such an important thing for growing girls to see. ( If you have a picture of her, I'll take it).

Natalie Dorm

As my tutor, she was not for me playing small. I was intelligent, and I needed to embrace it. As an adult and colleague, she taught me that being an educator means speaking up about what matters, how to make English class something students would grow to love if you aren’t afraid to step outside the box. After watching her, I never stayed in the box.

 Dora Robinson 

She  taught me the importance of leadership and empowering other women. She did it by leading by example. She is the one who put me on my path of working with young people, simply because she wanted to help a single mom and college student who worked late nights at a gas station. She showed me how to play the game and  win!

 Marjorie Hurst

She is the one who, after a year of writing for her newspaper asked, “when are you going to make a book?” She planted a seed that sprouted into 11 publications to date. She also taught me the importance of networking. Had her son and I not been close friends, she wouldn’t have gotten my resume put to the top of a pile for what has been my career for 14 years.

Essie Lee

My eldest son’s grandmother taught me about resilience. We both lost our mothers at a young age and were raised by family. She was tough but loving, like me. When her son and I broke up, she gave me the best advice. She told me that even and especially when I’m feeling my worst, dress up. Never let them see you down. Today I still do it. When I’m sad,  or sick, lipstick and heels make it better, if only a little.

 Tammy Marie

My eldest son’s aunt helped me balance the tomboy in me as a young woman. As a woman 7 years older than me,  she taught me that even being a tomboy, I could still smell delectable, and turn on the sexy when needed. To this day, I sleep in nothing, but sexy clothes and I always smell amazing if I don’t say so myself.

 

 Of course, I continue to be shaped by women my age and elders from the present and past (perhaps I’ll share in another post). However, where I am right now, today, is because of the women who led by example. So how can I not? Cheers to #blackgirlmagic.

Building Your Squad

Beside this Queen is a squad so thorough, it’s amazes me every time I think about it. I can chase my dreams with the confidence that without even asking my crew will dish out offers of assistance and support and a "What you need girl?"  I was blessed (seriously though) to consistently have this astronomical  amount of back up all my life…through pregnancies, break ups, awards, surgeries and more. There are many people who don’t have a support system, or even worse don’t use to their advantage. Yes, I said advantage, not in the exploitation sense, but in the using your resources effectively sense. So, whether you come from a big family or not this is how you build the bomb squad:

1.)    Call people on their bluff-   You know those people who say, “Let me know if you need something” or “call me if you need to talk”.  Perhaps they aren’t bluffing and they are sincere, then hooray for you.  Perhaps that are full of shit. Well... now you know that you can’t count on them, which makes you one step closer to  getting your team because now you know who isn't on it.  In either case, be clear about what it is you need and ask for it, knowing the worst a person can say is no.

2.)    Compartmentalize your needs- and delegate accordingly. Everyone cannot be your everything. Think about the areas where you need it the most, and connect with those who can provide the best support for  you in that area. For example, when I need to vent about my day job, I call on a fellow teacher friend, who understands the lingo and the challenges specific to the field.  When I’m overwhelmed with the being Black in America, then I want to be around my people. Think about it, how backwards would it be for me to seek financial advice from someone who doesn’t have two pennies to rub together?  Someone who you lean on for support with getting closer to God is not necessarily the person who will help you update your resume
3.)    Use the Barter System-  It’s worked for generations. If someone can help you build your website, you can get them to guest passes to your fitness class. This is one of my favorites for single mothers  who need babysitters. Not only are you getting the help you need but you are feel empowered by using your talent or time to help someone else out.

4.)    Family isn’t always first-  my family is huge and I have no problem asking them for help. Most of them have no problem but we all have those shady, self-absorbed, unempathetic family members. If that’s most of your family, then sometimes you must make your own with people who are more trustworthy and consistent.

5.)     Get to know your community- Search the internet and ask what’s available in your community- mental health care providers, support, church/mosque/temple groups, community centers, and their programs. How can you take advantage of free stuff if you don't know about it?

6.)    Get you some YES and NO people -Diversity matters. Sometimes you need that person to pull you in off the ledge and tell you "Hell no! Don't do it."  and " You are wrong."  But you also need someone to tell you, " Hell yeah!  You can do it!"  when you may be hesitant to accept the next challenge. In the same way you need a nice mixture of people who give you the unfiltered truth and those who can break it to gently because sometimes you need a hug and other times you need a kick in the ass.

Whatever it is you are going through, you may feel lonely but you don’t have to be alone. Start taking inventory and stock up as needed. You deserve a BOMB squad!

Dance with My Mother

I’d be dishonest with the world and myself if I didn’t admit that occasionally I feel a sense of envy and hurt when I see the relationship some of my closest friends have with their mothers. They party together, gamble to together, or live across the street from each other. I can’t help but think that if my mother was alive, she’d dance with me at family parties; I’ve been told all my life that she could cut a mean rug!

Sometimes I wish that I could crawl up in the bed with her like I did when I was three and be vulnerable with her. I’m come along accepting this loss, using my poetry to deal with my emotions, honoring her with my pen name and a tattoo, and having a zest for life so I can live for both of us. Anyone who knows me, knows that I believe in spirit and that much like water, we humans only change form, but our spirits, our energy never really dies. I know her spirit is present, and I get little signs every now and then, but sometimes I just want that physical presence, arms to hold, neck to smell in an embrace. I even get the bigger picture, I wouldn’t be who I am if I hadn’t suffered the loss.  I wouldn’t have ever picked up a pen to process my feelings and written words that I can truly say have inspired others to write, reflect, or do better. I wouldn’t be the type of teacher or mentor who is on call 24/7 for babies. I wouldn’t have this relentless desire to inspire women and teens to take power over their futures instead of being consumed by the past. I know her time was limited, and her purpose was fulfilled in those 23 years (according to two different mediums and my own intuition), but sometimes it doesn’t make it any easier, and sometimes I become overwhelmed with emotions and tears fill up my eyes and I let out a broken cry. This is the reality. I never want to sound ungrateful, I’ve been more than blessed with an enormous family, surrounded by love and mother like figures, something I’m sure other people wish they had.  The older I get the more I come to understand the bigger picture, which is why 90% of the time, I can tell my story to a crowd without even a lump in my throat, but other times, l find myself wondering what would certain moments be like if she was physically there instead of just mentally. 

My mother, looking exhausted after giving me a bath

After the Storm:Foobs & Fipples

I’m beginning to feel like a pro. Wash all the clothes, clean the house, take out button up and zip up clothes (because I won’t be able to reach over my head), pick up my toddler all day (because I won’t be able to do that again for a few weeks) and prep him for mommy recovery again (he is not happy about it and threatened to punch the doctor’s for giving me boo-boos). Before I take my shower tonight I’ll take one last picture of my foobs before I get my fipples. The way my oncology gyno explained it is that he will pretty much do origami with my scar tissue and create semi erect fipples. In order for them to be even, my surgeon will do a freast lift, which means now I will be EXTRA perky.

I know it seems painful, But I have no sensation in my freasts

 Still it will be a couple of more months before Toya the Remix is complete and I finally get my areolas tattooed.  As prepared as I feel, because of course I’ve done the research, I still get nervous about going under. And while I know the pain will be minimal compared to last time, I hate pain and pain meds and being limited physically.  I know it’s temporary. I know it’s worth it, but I still get nervous. Who wouldn’t? And I’m still looking forward to spring when I will be healed much more internally so that I really get back in to my fitness. I mean what do I look like with a flat stomach, perky foobs, but jiggly arms and a flat ass??? And no, this is not me putting myself down. I  have loved my body through all its stages, but since I found out I need more stomach fat in order to have these nice breasts, I had to go through some major changes. Prior to all of this I was killing it at boot camp. I felt strong, powerful, I had some cut in my arms and my backside was getting good and round from thousands of squats. I tried it few weeks ago and I was filled with adrenaline as I pounded the medicine ball to the floor, and did jump squats and planks (I used to do 1 minute, now it’s like 15 seconds). But two days later I was almost incapacitated at work, abs were sore, the muscles underneath my boobs were sore, okay no sore, straight hurting. I had to quit. Okay, not quit, but postpone until 2016.

 I know I’m powerful, I’m still here. But I cannot wait to get back to being the weight lifting beast I was becoming last year around this time!

Storm- a friend gave me a little statue  of her to help me weather "The Storm"

 But wait is exactly what I have to do.  Tomorrow I check in at 6:00 am signing off. Later folks

FREASTS: The Right Choice...Part II

When the alarm clock went off at 5:15am, I had only napped about an hour.  Although I was exhausted I was in good spirits. I had made peace with my decision and the changes it would bring. But I did tear up when I kissed my toddler as he slept, praying I would see him again. I went in alone, which was what I needed. As I lay in pre op, I meditated and focused on coming out of surgery and healing like a rock star. I was so calm as I changed into a gown, emptied my bladder, got weighed one last time (Whoa) and let them begin to hook me up to all of the machinery. I answered the same questions over and over about allergies, last time I ate, etc. Then my handsome (in a quirky way) plastic surgeon came in and marked up my body. When I told him how much I’d miss my belly button, he told me I would still have the same belly button, it would just be moved. This gave me comfort.  
Then the anesthesiologist  came in, explaining that I would have an a an epidural that would numb my chest muscles so that I wouldn’t feel pain when I awoke.  I leaned over on a pillow; the nurse held my hand, and the needle in my lower back was the last thing I remembered. 
This is what was happening while I was completely unaware:

 My oncologist would cut and remove both of my breasts, removing the fat, the muscle, mammary glands and all. Her reputation is that she is thorough and would scrape away all of the breast tissue. Like all. Next, my brilliant plastic surgeon and his team would begin what is called DIEP flap reconstruction.According to BreastCancer.org, DIEP stands for the deep inferior epigastric perforator artery, which runs through the abdomen.  In other words, they would cut a large portion of skin and fat from my lower stomach, and then transplant them to my chest wall in the shape of breasts. Crazy, right?  But not simple. It involves microsurgery, reattaching the veins and arteries one at a time.

This is a diagram showing one breast. I had both breasts removed and reconstructed

For my surgical team, it took 15 hours total.

 This meant that while my family thought I’d be done by 8 or 9pm, I was not out of surgery until after 1am (Tuesday).

            When I opened my eyes, my two aunts were there like angels…

Gloria(L) and Saundra(R) my mother's sisters

 because my vision was blurry. I was distracted by the breathing tube that was still in my throat. Panic set in, medical staff tried to calm me, but I kept trying to speak. I could hear myself saying, I can’t breathe, I was gagging telling them to please take it. When they didn't listen, I tried to remove it. I felt people grabbing my arms and I heard “Sedate Her” , which they must have because the next thing I remember  (12 hours later apparently)  I was waking up with straps on my wrists. But at least the breathing tube was gone. What I didn’t understand in my panic was that they had to keep it in because, just like with any transplant, there was the risk that my chest wall wouldn’t take its new FREASTS. If the tissue didn’t stay alive, they would have to take me back into the OR and remove those. Not to mention, they needed to make sure my throat wasn’t too swollen and that I could breathe on my own. Which was kinda important.This is why I was in the ICU, being checked in half hour intervals. I was under heavy IV pain meds (thank God) so the first 24 to 36 hours were a blur of nurses brushing my teeth, wiping my dry cracked lips and putting petroleum jelly on them, cold cloths on my forehead, I remember them being so great, and feeling comforted despite the fact that I could only open my eyes seconds at a time, and my voice was weak. Unfortunately, I also had a fever of 102 and they worked vigorously to drop it down with IV medication. What I also was unaware of was that they were trying to keep me awake and get my body’s systems going. One of the nurses had me verbally complete the health care proxy form and sign off on it.  I had no concept of time; I just remember when they told me it was safe to move me out of ICU and into a regular room because my FREASTS were still viable. As they wheeled me on a stretcher, I passed a blond haired, fairly young, handsome doc. He introduced himself (I can’t remember his name) and said that he was on the surgical team. He told me I was brave and bad ass for my decision and that I made the right choice.

          According to my family, I was out of ICU by mid-morning on Wednesday and into my room. It was there I remembered that I was going to be a rock star in terms of doing what I needed to heal quickly. I asked that the catheter be removed so I could go to the bathroom on my own. (Why not, I was on morphine?).  It was so weird. I didn’t feel pain, I just felt stiff and tight as I walked in  cave man like baby steps, escorted by a nurse. I still had a low grade fever, so they were constantly checking in on me; they still needed to check the FREASTS every 1 to 2 hours.  I remember it was hard for them to find that swooshing sound in my left breast, so that had to put it in a special spot.

They put on a surgical bra, which I would grow to hate over the next 3 weeks, which matched my waist binder, which I’d grow to love and hate. They wanted me to sit in a chair. I did, and I slept there. But I also walked the hall, ambulating like it was suggested. I was determined to be model patient.

 The next few days would include daily visits from my angel aunts, my fiancé, and my uncle, and special visits from cousins, my dad, my brother, my oldest son, and my sister.   It was my sister and one of my closest friends who took a lesson in how to change my drains (we’ll discuss those in part 3).  I had my friend take this picture of me:

I wanted to document this journey, which would be hard because apparently I had multiple conversations under the influence of drugs that I don’t remember. It was a blur of Law and Order SVU reruns in the TV, multiple sleep interruptions, wraps on my legs to prevent blood clots, breathing into devices to restore my lungs, picking out my meals, taking sponge baths. Great nurses and PCAs, and awful nurses. Looking at the clock, not sure if it was 4am or pm.

The day my fiancé finally brought my toddler to come see me, it all came full circle. He was soooo happy to see me. At one point I glanced up at my wall chart with all of the nurse’s names and the date. It was Friday, September 4th. The anniversary of my mother’s transition. I looked at my toddler, I was about his age when I would go see my mother at the hospital, and like I saved my dessert for him, she’d save her dessert for my sister and I. It was mind-blowing to me, and I was rushed with emotion.  I was sad for the little girl in me who had no idea that one of the times she left the hospital would be the last time she saw her mother. I felt sad as a mother, for my mother, who at 23 knew she wouldn’t be around to see her kids, and that one of those hospital visits would be that last time she’d hug her little girls.  But I felt grateful that because of modern medicine, I would be there. I would be there for my toddler, and despite missing me dearly, he’d see me again. That doctor was right; I’d made the right choice.

My oldest son

My 4 year old

Bittersweet Choices

   

     Even though I’m consumed with
 my dissertation, I am also

 preparing for the biggest, most complex surgery of my life; my mind and spirit are all over the place.  First off, I am beyond grateful that because of technology I am able to take steps to prevent the breast cancer that took my mother away at such a young age. But when I look at my toddler, I’m sad because my sister and I were so close to his age when she passed away. My baby is 3 ½ and he comes looking for me in the middle of the night. I couldn’t imagine not being there for him, and knowing that I was dying and wouldn’t get to see him grow up. My oldest son just graduated high school, and last week I took him to get his college ID. My mom missed that. My grandmother missed that. And so many other things in between. So lately I’m extra attached to both of them (even though the teen is totally not feeling mom). 

    Then I feel blessed again because it was my choice to wear 

my fabulous wigs, and to chop all my hair off, and it wasn’t the case for my grandmother. I remember coming home from school one day and she was sitting on the couch with a pile of hair in her lap. She explained to me that it was an effect of her chemo. Looking back, her wigs were in no way as beautiful as her once long dark hair.  And when it grew back, it looked a lot like mine does now, just gray. I have options, and it’s amazing, and it’s still scary and bittersweet.

      Then there's my mortality, something I struggled with so

much as a young person, so much that I refused to wear bandanna scarves because I remember my mother wearing them while she was in treatment. 

Now that older, and I’ve outlived my mother, it’s coming into a play again.  I’m going under the knife for 10 to 12 hours. YIKES!!! I’ll be in ICU;  in the hospital away from my baby for 5 days. I’ll have to look at my breasts without nipples or areolas for about 6 months. I will have a huge horizontal scar across my abdomen; I’ll try best to look at that with gratitude because I have a choice. That choice doesn’t involve radiation, chemo, or not being here to see my sons grow and evolve. I have a choice, but it doesn't mean I'm still not apprehensive.

BAD ASS!

This photo represents one BADASS woman who is feeling fearless, optimistic, confident, and blessed! 10 years ago, I was riddled with apprehension about my future, consumed with thoughts of what if I am next?  Next to have breast cancer. And in my vanity, I thought about losing my cleavage, my hair, my eyes brows…my life. I reasoned with myself, girl you can get new boobs, and you wear weaves and wigs anyway. They are just body parts. But still, no matter how hard I tried to convince myself, I was still afraid.

                Now that I’m over 30, with my cancer-filled family history, it’s time to face facts and be preventative. I’ve been doing Breast Self-Exams since I was 12 because if you know my story, you are aware that my mother succumbed to breast cancer at only 23. Her mother and one of her sisters also battled ovarian cancer and died in their 50’s. Science has found that there is a link between the two. So in addition to the mammograms that began at 30, last month I sought genetic testing. Apparently, this BRCA testing can identify two genes that will predict my chances for developing either or both. What this means for me is that if the test results are positive, I have an 87% of developing breast cancer. Whoa! Right?  (A lot higher than the 8% chance the rest of the female population has) I will also have about a 50% chance of developing ovarian cancer throughout my lifetime.  As scary as it sounds, thanks once again to science, there are options for how to deal with it, which includes having all of the above mentioned removed and a bit of reconstructive surgery.  But before I jump to conclusions, I will have to wait to get the results in a few weeks.

                Facing my own mortality has somehow put a little more oomph in my already vibrant spirit.  My thinking has changed so much over the years, from thoughts of doom to assurance; mostly because I’m living in my purpose EVERY SINGLE DAY. So while many people are searching aimlessly for theirs, I discovered mine around the same age my mother was when she passed away. I am living for all of those who did not.  I have legacy on my shoulders to carry, one that I don’t find burdensome, but more like honorable. So this is why I will hold nothing back and continue to be the BADASS I was destined! Shine on!

Repeated Lessons

There have been a few lessons I’ve really learned so far this year, and I feel it’s only right I share them with my readers. The first is do what you love. I know this is my heart of hearts, but sometimes people can really trip me up. Anyone who knows me knows that I am juggling about 6 to 8 balls on average. I’d like to think that I am pretty good with the balance, I try to rest when needed, and I try to make the time I spend with other quality, versus quantity. But some people don’t make it easy when they make comments about being productive. The other day, someone said that I just leave my kids with anyone, and someone else said I’m never home. While there is some truth in be living much of the life on the run, I tend to involve both of my sons and family in many of my activities. And not that I feel the need to explain myself to anyone, but I write this to make a point, which was clearly re-iterated to me at the NAPW’s women’s conference that past Friday. Randi Zuckerberg (one of the original founders of Facebook) spoke about being an “AND” woman, stressing that we shouldn’t feel guilty about having interests outside of work and family and that those interests should be taking seriously. Now I’m lucky enough to combine works often, but sometimes the people closest to me don’t get that my poetry, my nonprofit, my empowerment, is not just a hobby, but it is work and meaningful, and I do get paid for it. That’s the great thing about it all, when you love what you do, even when you are exhausted, you still feel simultaneously energized.

This leads me to my second gem, which is to surround yourself with people who make you feel good, and who are like minded. Again, it sounds obvious, but it’s sometimes difficult because of where we work or live. But I find when I am around other teachers or artists, or moms who understand the struggle, and who have common goals, it feels amazing. AMAZING!!!! And there is a balance, you can be around those who are like-minded, but if don’t make you feel good,  and vice versa, conflict can arise. It can really be hard to distance yourself from the friend, lover, co-worker, or relative, but for your own sanity, you have to if they are toxic, or for me, if they do neither.

            

 And I’ve mentioned the last several times in the past…PAY ATTENTION! The universe/God/whatever your belief is always sending you messages in the form of nature, animals and other people. I often have conversations with people who validate what I already know but may not act on. So I frequently get gentle reminders. For instance, I had a conversation a few days ago and the woman told me that there are people out there who I was made to impact specifically, that when no one else will reach them, I will. She told me that what I do is the church because churches heal. Last month when I performed I was told my story was like going to church (Hear that bell ringing). And for like the 3^rd time a person mentioned that it’s time for me to get paid for what I do, to get paid a lot, and to not only rely solely on the satisfaction of helping others as payment. Apparently, I should be paid spiritually and financially and not feel guilty about it. How about that????

                So what do you think readers? Do any of these gems apply to you? Is there one that you think you should follow? Share!

I finally got it 2011

It’s usually so easy for me to self-reflect at the end of a year because I list all my accomplishments. Last year this time had so much I was proud of, so much that I had set out to do and did. This year I don’t have a list, I have a learning experience. It started off finding I was pregnant in January. Then I found out in April that the classroom I had been teaching in for 6 years was closing and I would be teaching in a different building, with a different position. A place where I’d taught summer school for years but had no real desire to be at full time. Not to mention I’d be starting my day an hour and a half earlier, and driving further while dealing with a new baby and daycare. The uncertainty consumed me and I threw a hissy fit inside. How was I to deal with it? Around the same time, I was forced to stop teaching Zumba because my belly was growing and it just became downright difficult. So there was my extra income and my release of tension.





This year I also had to question people in my circle, in the immortal words of Jay-Z: Friend or Foe???? Not just friends, but family too. You expect hate from certain people but when it comes from those who are supposed to love you, it’s hard to swallow. Unfortunately, it happens, and all too often. Why wouldn’t they want to see you happy and accomplished?? Don’t get me wrong, I understand why, but I don’t understand why family, why so-called friends.



The number of times I’ve performed spoken word this year, I can count on one hand. The list of things I wanted to do as far as promoting my book, but didn’t, I can count on two hands. I can’t say I don’t miss the momentum I had going.





I’m sure it’s sounding like 2011 was bad, but of course, it wasn’t. The job I dreaded beginning is actually enjoyable. I feel more connected to my school than before and I am in a position where my talents and skills an educator can be seen and utilized. In addition, here is my list accomplishments: (because sometimes you just need to see it.)





Nurtured and birth a healthy baby boy who lights up my life





Got engaged





Acted for the first time on stage (since 4th grade)





Wrote for an online magazine





Featured at the Langston Hughes Center in NY (he is my poetic boo)





Launched a website for my memoir





Applied for two higher education positions





Sent my book out to literary agents





Captained a team for the American Cancer Society’s relay for life





And perhaps the most important (next to the whole baby thing), I learned to stop and smell the roses then accept the fact that seasons change!





That was the lesson that God had in store for me all year long. I was moving much too fast to chase my dreams that I didn’t take the time to enjoy life. I had to slow down. Momentum is good but speed is not. I accept the fact that sometimes we create change in our lives and other times we have to surrender and embrace change. That means on the job and in relationships. I had to let go of a lot of control this year, and sometimes it was like pulling teeth. I had many moments where I felt completely helpless. In hindsight, or reflection should I say, I realized that it was all necessary and a part of my path…going through it to get to it, as they say.





In 2012 I am looking continued growth on all levels but at a slower, steadier pace. I say this as I recall India Aire’s song Slow Down (you’re going too fast, you got your hands in the air and your feet on the gas. That was me, and now I got it, God. I got it. Happy New Year!