Going through it to Get to it

I am tremendously elated to be on the other end of a very

difficult transitional season in my life.

In the last two years I have:

• had my ovaries removed =(adjusting to menopause) 

• had a double mastectomy with full reconstruction

      =(multiple surgeries and body image issues to follow)

• ended an 8 year relationship to the man I lived with and thought I would marry =(adjusting to single life physically, emotionally & financially)

• started a 9 month leadership program (more work, meetings and deadlines)

•   finished my doctoral course work (which meant starting a dissertation).

      That’s a lot right? Well, wait…there’s more.

 

The first half of 2017 was all about:

•  waiting for the arrival of my first grandchild (he came April 3rd),

•  finishing the leadership program (I graduate June 14^th.) 

• completing my dissertation (by the end of summer… FINALLY),

•  and most importantly, after a year and a half of living in pain and discomfort. I have my last surgery date scheduled for July 7.

I was in limbo for so long, it feels amazing to finally have

some closure. Although there will still be some challenges,

physically, emotionally and mentally… I see the light at the

end of the tunnel. It’s bright as hell and I am relieved,

delighted and excited. 

Aunty Maya was Right

Whenever I am in need of something nontangible…I give it to someone else. Not with the idea of getting something in return, but I find that it gives me a sense of fulfillment that is equal to or better than what I was craving in the fist place. I’m talking generosity, compassion, affection, patience, joy, peace, and positivity. Like many things, it’s easier said than done, but it truly makes difference. For example, when I’m feeling sad  or hopeless (which is usually after watching the news these days) I try to bring joy and hope to someone else who may need it. So while I’m thinking about the threat of nuclear war or I’m haunted by the death of young person, I start on smaller scale and instill hope for a brighter future for one of the young people I mentor because they aren’t thinking about macro level fear and despair, they are too consumed with it on a personal level. I am considered to be so strong by the people who know me, but I’m human  so sometimes I could use a hug, some affection and compassion. I could reach out an ask for it, and because I know I’ll receive it, I instead apply my energy into being affectionate and compassionate towards those who don’t have the support system I have, who can’t pick up the phone and vent like I can.  On the rare occasion that I feel less than financially

(smirk) that's when I give... clear out my closets and give away clothes, provide transportation for someone who needs it, say yes when asked to donate to St. Jude's at the cash register.  These are acts that you can’t necessarily describe as altruistic because again, I’m totally getting something out of it. But what I think it does remind me to appreciate what I do have in the moment; extend my gratitude to the universe for all that I do have instead of complaining about what I don’t. So next time you're not feeling fly, compliment someone, not feeling confident, give someone  else a pep talk. Try it time and let me know how it works! GIVE

P.S The poem Our Grandmothers by Maya Angelou is where this quote comes from and it is amazing!

Check your Bags

 My work with young people who have experienced trauma has opened my eyes to the traumatic experiences that many adults (friends, family and strangers) have dealt with and continue to do so daily. This ability to empathize with their struggles has made me much less judgmental and a better listener and understanding my own trauma is why I choose to do what I do. I write about it in more extensively in my memoir. But there are so many people who have yet to address their trauma and it’s a detriment to their health and happiness. Some people drag their baggage around everywhere they go, some try to force others to carry their load. Then there are those who wear all of it like they are trauma brand models.  Oh, and let us not forgot who try to disguise the baggage as fancy accessories, concealing the pain and hurt. In the end, none of it does us any good. While everyone is not going to go for their checkup from the neck up as I previously suggested, there are steps you can take to begin to unpack.

1.   Be present-  Especially when you are about to make a decision. What is it you are doing or are about to do? Pay attention to your body’s physical response and ask yourself why. As someone who struggled with eating disorders in the past this has helped me significantly with my emotional eating.  I ask myself why I really want to order Chinese take out, is it because I’m stressed out about work, or a project? Possibly feeling resentful towards someone? Or is it because I’m hungry and I haven’t had any in a while and I really just want some beef teriyaki?

2.   Reflect instead of deflect- Particularly after a conflict or in a moment of regret. Have you looked at the situation from the other person’s perspective? Was there something you could have done or said differently (in my case it has been that maybe I shouldn’t have said anything)? Ask that WHY once more. Why did you respond that way? What were you feeling? Were you hurt or embarrassed? What were you trying to obtain in that moment?

3.   Reframe your negative experiences- I actually have a full workshop on how to do this. It’s basically the step following reflection. You try to determine the lesson in the experience and find a silver lining. You got laid off?  Perhaps it’s because it’s time for you to chase that dream you’ve been putting off? How has your pain helped you become stronger, or set a positive example of resilience for others?

Our baggage plays a major role and how we came to be who we are today but it doesn’t have to dictate who we will be tomorrow. That is totally up to you!

FREASTS: The last night Part I

Here I am at the 6 week mark for my surgery, and the whole experience has been surreal. Rewind to the last week of August, which was pure chaos for me. It was the first week of professional development for educators and I had to be a presenter. While my summer was great I was feeling extra fat because I needed to put extra meat on my stomach for the surgery and well, I did. Let’s be clear, you cannot spot gain  weight just like you cannot spot lose, so I was feeling plump in all areas. My breasts were the largest they'd
been in a long time and my weight was close to its highest. Therefore I only had like 2 bras I could fit and a few maxi dresses. I was highly emotional all of the time. I was like a pregnant mother nesting, preparing my house for the week would be in the hospital, preparing my toddler for  mommy being "at the doctor’s" for days and him not being able to climb on mommy or mommy not being able to pick him up when I came back. I was decorating a classroom and getting lesson plans ready for my extended absence  (8 to 12 weeks). This meant staying after school for 2 to 3 hours daily while all of the other teachers rushed off to enjoy their last days of summer. I was preparing for a surgery that would not only change my body, but would change my life! The week was flying by as I felt like there wasn't enough time for to complete my to-do list. My surgery was scheduled for August 31, the first day of school for students. I would not be there,  instead I'd be on an operating table being sliced and diced.

  It would be a 10 to 12 hour surgery, I was nervous about not coming out of it alive, I was anxious about how I would react to my “Toya the Remix”. What if I hated my freasts (fake breasts)? What if I looked at this new pair without nipples and with big scars and I panicked?  What if they were lopsided, or my abdominal scar was atrocious? I know supposedly the internet is not your friend when it comes to medicine but I did extensive research, sometimes at 2 and 3am, looking at other people’s scars, finding recovery tips, and while it helped me prepare my home, it definitely put my anxiety at an all-time high. I couldn’t sleep at night. I almost had panic attack thinking about going under and the type of pain I’d have to endure. 

 The only thing that took my attention away was the deadline for my comprehensive exam for my doctoral degree.  I couldn't continue with my dissertation until I passed. It was due September 8, no exceptions, no excuses, even medical (Please believe me, I tried). It was more than 60 pages long. And I would have to complete it a week early if I wanted to succeed.

 Fast forward to the night of Sunday, August 30^th ...the longest night ever. My hospital bag was packed, the house was spotless, everyone was asleep and I had done more research on the procedure than I needed. I had two Reiki sessions and had been put on many prayer lists, so in terms of the actual procedure, I was felt relaxed and prepared. There was only one thing weighing heavily on my mind.I knew I had to finish the exam before I went under because I knew there was no way I’d be able to write coherently once I came out of surgery. As I made edits, my eyes were strained, I wasn't sure if I was thinking clearly. I was hungry as hell, but doing the mandatory fasting, not even water.I had a toddler meltdown at about 1:00am thinking, I should just give up, I should just wait until next semester and retake it, even if it meant more loan money. I wanted my peace of mind; I needed my peace of mind. And then I heard this little voice, scratch that, a big voice tells …  BULL SH*T! You are Brenda’s Child, there’s no giving up! You busted your ass on this for a month and now you wanna quit!?

 The voice sounded a lot like Tom Hanks in a League of Their Own. But instead of yelling “There’s no crying in baseball” he was saying “There’s no giving up. People are counting on you. You aren’t a hypocrite are you? Follow Through.”  

So I did. I finished my paper at 3:34 am. I still didn't hand it in. I closed my laptop, went into the bathroom and looked at my for the last time. I felt my erect nipples for the last time, realizing I'd never know what that would be like again.

 I took a selfie of my extra-large, gravity-stricken breasts and my stomach, that since my first son was born 18 years ago, had looked like two large lips frowning.  I looked at my red sleepy eyes and then I shrugged my shoulders before I took what would be my last shower for 3weeks. Screw it, I’d sleep under anesthesia. I was going to let everything go and clear my mind for the surgery I had to report to at 5:45am.  I was signing off. 

On Martin Luther King’s Birthday

With the release of the movie Selma, I’ve seen many social media posts of people being surprised by MLK’s adultery. My first thought was that it was no secret. Sure, they didn’t share this with us when we were taught in school, but I really thought folks new about this. My second thought was that he was indeed a man, a human, someone capable of mistakes and intentional wrongdoings. But it’s hard for some to conceive that about this figure, whom we’ve dedicated a national holiday to, whom we built a monument in honor of , whose lines from the “I have Dream” speech are embedded in our memory since elementary school, and  for many the only  positive male African-American figure they were ever taught.

            I mean think about it… this man was thrust into leadership at 26 with the Montgomery Boycott. When he led that march in Selma he was just 36 year old. I am 36 years old today, and there are already times I feel the weight of the world on my shoulders with the responsibility I have to our youth. I could only imagine living under the constant fear of death for my family and myself, to have my home bombed and still have to go and speak to people who look to me for leadership and hope. And I’m sure that sense of power was equally ego-boosting, so much that, yes MLK “hollered back” when women smiled his way, or showed  up at his hotel room. Groupie love isn’t just for musicians and movie stars. These flaws serve to remind us that although we have our weaknesses; we are capable of incredible greatness, a greatness that cannot be erased I am still in awe at not only the strength of him and his wife, but of all the others who trusted his leadership, who believed when there was reason to doubt, who risked their lives and freedom for us.  I dedicated one of my poems called Our Legacy to them:

 “The Legacy you leave starts today,

 And you can say

That you don’t care,

But you are only here

 Because Martin and Malcolm both died

 At the age of 39

For the sake of equality,

 Because millions marched and protested

 In the name of freedom

And now you owe it to them…
toy carry on our legacy.”

What legacy will you leave?