I Didn't know I was Lost

This magazine cover changed my life. Ok, it didn’t change my life, but it definitely inspired me to make some changes. I was 21 years old and had recently broken off an engagement with my then fiancé and son’s father. Although I knew it was the best decision for me, there was some grieving that had to take place, as with all losses. I had my whole life planned out and it all revolved around my man. I left him, but in my mind he would get himself together and one day we would reconcile. The universe had another plan.

  I remember being home alone, in my bed, bored because my son was at his grandmother’s house. As I flipped through the pages of that magazine and beautiful brown faces looked back at me, my inner voice (which I didn’t even know I had) began to speak to me. She didn’t scold me, but she told me I had lost myself in my relationship, distanced myself from friends and family, and most importantly, forgotten I was once a girl with dreams. I had stopped pursuing them. I was almost done with my bachelor’s degree, but at I was just finishing it to prove those wrong who said I wouldn’t.  I was in robot mode. I hadn’t written poetry in more than 4 years, something I had done regularly since I was 14. My high school friends were living their best lives at HBCUs and I was playing “wifey”, working full time, and caring for my three-year-old. I was existing, but not living. Those beautiful faces showed me this.

 I began to cut out their pictures and quotes and taping them to my bedroom wall.  When I was done, I went through my other magazines and hung up more. When I ran out of space, I started taping to my ceiling…Queen Latifah, Toni  Morrison, Oprah, and on and on. Then powerful phrases came to me organically from words like Beautiful, Strong, Dreams, Joy, Author, Boss etc.  When I was done, I realized I had been at it for more than two hours. I felt like I been born again. With tears of relief in my eyes, I breathed like I had breathed for the first time in forever.

From that day on I slowly began to re-invest in myself, to decide I was going to dream again. I was going to be an author and someone who inspired other people. I didn’t know how I just knew WHAT.  See, what I didn’t know then is that I had actually created my first vision board. Sure it had 4 walls and a ceiling, but it was indeed a vision board. I didn’t even know what it was but just like with any vision board, seeing it every day and every night put me on the path to manifestation. Without even realizing it, I was creating the life I posted on my vision walls. The how didn’t matter, I just swung into action, took the first steps. In return, the universe exposed me to the people and places that instrumental in helping me find the how.

I could go on and on about the lessons one can take from this, but I’d like to hear from you, reader. What are the lessons?

Life Cycles

When I look at this picture, I am flooded with thoughts and emotion. It was 20 years ago, on my 19^th birthday, and I was pregnant. I was in love and had illusions of happily ever after; ready to skip through the parties, meeting new people, and all the experiences college life had to offer and leap right into domestic tranquility. While most of my friends were away, fully emerged into their college lives, I was fully emerged in my son’s father and his family, distancing myself from everything and everyone whom I loved. I had plans to finish college, but only to prove that those naysayers who were so disappointed in my pregnancy were wrong.  But I was lost. I even took a hiatus from writing poetry because all that mattered to me was having enough money to get a place for us- him, our baby, and myself. Myself. Myself became last and remained that way for a long time. That’s why I totally get it when I work with young women who follow my path... I had become so absorbed in the idea that at 19 I was with the love of my life and nothing else mattered. Fortunately for me, I grew the hell up and eventually found myself. Unfortunately many like me remain lost, jumping from relationship to relationship, never finding out who they really are. All I can do is drop little gems here and there, and hope it helps them find their way, much like Hansel and Gretel.

Which leads me to my second thought. More than the idea of evolution is how history repeats itself, and things come full circle. 20 years later, my son 19, with a baby on the way, is trying  ( or maybe not trying ) to find himself. How wild is that? And me, being a mother and refusing to be a hypocrite, must let him walk his own path of self-discovery, understanding that every screw up, every heartbreak is a lesson that will make him stronger and wiser. Talk about Life Cycles.

CHECK UP FROM THE NECK UP

How are you? No really, how are you? So often we are asked or ask that question, already anticipating an automatic response of “fine” or “good” because it’s the polite thing to say. After all we can’t just go and spill our guts to everyone. I mean what if I answered, “ Awful. Menopause is killing me. I don’t sleep, I wake up in sweats, I’m showering twice a day, and I can’t wear any of my winter sweaters because I’ll die if I have a hot flash while wearing one!” AWKWARD!! Right?  So, that’s why I chose to share it with a therapist instead. That’s right, a therapist. I went recently for a “CHECK UP FROM THE NECK UP” because just as it's important get a pap smear and a cholesterol check, it’s equally important to get a mental and emotional check. Turns out I’m fine (I’m at a time in my life where I’m in transition in almost every area of my life, and I’m embracing it). 

Unfortunately, as women, as women of color we tend to put this on the bottom of our to-do list, if we put it on there at all. Instead we push our feelings to the side, or drown them in façade, food, drink, work, or worse social media; to the detriment of ourselves. We make sure that even if we shop at the thrift store or color our hair on our own that we look good no matter what, but we don’t do that for our inside. I used to be so guilty of it myself for years, but now I’m all about self-care because I know it makes me a better mother, employee, friend and a warrior. Having friends and family to support you is a wonderful thing, and I’m blessed to have both. However, confiding in them sometimes means you will be judged (verbally or mentally). And once you divulge drama about your significant other, then you can count on them to hold a grudge even if you don’t. A licensed therapist, however doesn’t hold grudges, instead they let you talk and ask you the type of leading questions that compel you to figure out how to handle your situations.  Even if you don’t go regularly (because honestly there may not be need to), go for that checkup. There may be a problem you aren’t aware of lurking in your conscious. And then again, everything might be fine. But you won’t know unless you go!  

No Matter What They Say

Centered on the world's stage,

she sings to her loves and beloveds,

to her foes and detractors:

However I am perceived and deceived,

however my ignorance and conceits,

lay aside your fears that I will be undone,

 for I shall not be moved. - Maya Angelou

One of my favorite and most quoted poems. It’s been swirling in my head lately as I think about people’s opinions and how they should be handled. (The barrage of opinions on social media after  Beyoncé's Grammy performance started it all).

 As a self-proclaimed diva and Queen of self-esteem you can bet that I carry myself with an epic ( like EPIC) level of confidence. As an educator, mother and youth worker I am passionate and outspoken in advocating for them. As a black woman, I am adamant about using my art as activism.  All of this is subject to both celebration and misunderstanding. But if I responded to every single prejudgment, criticism, or straight  throw of shade, I would then be detracted from my life’s work. Instead I ask myself some key questions before responding one of three ways:

1.  Keep going ( ugh, it’s so hard sometimes).  Ask yourself, does this person’s opinion ultimately affect my life or my life's work?  There will be people who won’t believe in your dreams, there will those who try to compete with you, and there will be those who allow themselves to be influenced by other’s opinions of you.  If these people have no influence over your income, then keep it moving. As long as you are authentic, people will eventually see the truth past other people’s smoking mirrors, sabotage, and rumors.  In other words “Twirl on them haters”- 

Song Suggestions:

 Jill Scott- Hate on Me

Queen-Janelle Monae

Fake Love- Drake

          No time -Lil Kim

2.   Clarify - If I think your opinions matter, I first ask myself why it matters. If it’s because I truly value you or because you in fact can help me with my mission, then I will make an effort for you to get to know me better or to explain my perspective so that we can come to  a mutual understanding. I have to say this is one of  my least used responses because frankly, I find it time consuming if you clarify yourself to the wrong people.
     Sometimes your clarification doesn't have to be direct. It can be more indirect- in the form of a major statement- ( as poet my clap back game is major). I look at Beyoncé and how she responds to haters through music videos and live performances- in that I can show you better than tell you manner. Yasssss!

   Song suggestions:

            Tru-Lloyd

             Apple Tree- Eryka Badu

                     Hate it or Love it-Mary J. Blige

                    Woo-ha Got you all in check- Busta Rhymes

3.   Reflect ( Also hard as hell) –  10 years ago I’d give you the side eye and stank face all rolled into one if you suggested I reflect on others' opinions. I mean, to actually think that 10 people use the same unflattering word to describe you is tough, but necessary...if you want to grow. Sometimes I reflect and I’m like WRONG ( it's about them not me), and other times I’m like, DAMN they’re right! And then I make a conscious decision to work on it if it is something I care about.  It requires pushing your ego all the way to side and sometimes it sucks.

Song suggestions:

Strength Courage and Wisdom- India Aire

Man in the Mirror- Micheal Jackson

I Remember Me-Jennifer Hudson

Everything is Everything- Lauryn Hill

Twirl on!

Lessons in Ratchet TV

Love & Hip Hop is a mess. But it’s my guilty pleasure and it’s definitely a great source for writing about self-esteem and womanhood. Recently, social media blew up after learning that after such a big wedding production last year,  Yandy Smith is not legally married to her children’s father Mendeeces because she never filed the paperwork. As a result, the mothers of  his other children couldn’t wait to condemn her for it. While the drama that resulted is ridiculous,  I still can empathize with the women, so I  won’t bash any of them  but I will defend Yandy’s choice 150%.  
First of all, I’ve been both the old baby momma and the new baby momma (Ugh, I despise that term). As the first baby mom I felt I was entitled to certain rights, that he loved me more that the next, that I was special. I was bitter because even though I called myself ending it with him, he was having a baby with someone he cheated on me with, supposedly when  we were  “on break.” ( Yeah ok, miss me with that one). I could forgive him, but not her.  So I went Petty Labelle on her, trying to make her jealous, keep him over later and a host of other dumb shit.  In my mind, she deserved to hurt the same way I did.Eventually I got my head out of my ass and realized that at the end of the day, I needed to focus on getting myself together, on healing from my own heartbreak instead of trying to cause it for someone else.
 As the new baby momma I thought I was special for a hot second. Once more I learned (first hand and through the lives of others)  about child support, and baby mommas who were angry and bitter, who misused child support  and those who needed every dime. But I also knew baby mommas who were over it and happy with their lives.  At different points in my life I was one who asked for nothing, and also who asked for basics,who demanded equal responsibility.
Based on what I learned about relatonships and self-worth over the last 17 years I respect Yandy for not signing that paperwork. When you marry someone you marry their debt and their credit score. If they don’t have their finances in order, you could in fact wind up paying child support, or the IRS, or extra insurance for their speeding tickets. The reality is, sometimes things don’t work out, and as woman we have to  protect and plan.  Enough us aren’t taught to protect our coins, get prenuptial agreements, invest. We are told to be loving and caring, to put everyone’s needs before our own.  F%ck that.  Happy endings are ideal but not promised and that is why collectively we have to do better, plan more intelligently. I don’t doubt Yandy’s love and devotion to her “husband”  because it’s possible to truly be invested in a man but still be equally invested in yourself. I hope the younger demographic watching takes notes on how to handle finances  and how to NOT handle relationships with women who are mothers to your children’s siblings. 

The Not So Hidden Messages in Hidden Figures

After clapping and crying, being angry,excited and enamoured in a span of 2 hours, I ultimately left the movie theatre feeling inspired and uplifted. The empowering  messages I received from each amazing portrayal of NASA’s African-American human computers in Hidden Figures  were loud, clear and necessary as hell:

1.       Katherine Johnson (played by Taraji P.Henson),  the gifted mathematician, when told no,  refused to accept it as an answer. She was the ultimate example of  "leaning in." When you are capable and talented, don’t back down.  And when they try to shut you up, let your brilliance speak for itself; in other words,  I can show you better than I can tell you. By doing so she went from being ignored to becoming indispensable.

2.       Dorothy Vaughn (played by Octavia Spencer)  took self-determination to another level. Not only did she take the initiative to teach herself about the the first computers, she mastered them, and then taught her  fellow  Black women how to use them as well. In doing so, she too made herself indispensable. More importantly, she pulled her sistas up with her.  Now that is bad assery.

3.       Mary Jackson (played fabulously by Janelle Monae )was intelligent and fiery. Being a woman with high aspirations is tough in 2017, I could only imagine how difficult it was in 1961! With the gender roles issues, work/life balance and every kind of ism  black women are up against today,  it's nothing compared what she experienced and under far more extreme conditions. But it served as a reminder to us all that you cannot let other’s  fears, misconceptions and judgments veer you off track, whether they be institutions or people.  In her story, I saw that somebody has to be the first, why not  me? Why not you?

This movie was just the nudge  I needed to push me me off the cliff of 2016 and into flight of 2017.I’m about to soar... and I'm taking my sistas with me! Thank you ladies, messages received.

 "If they don't give you a seat at the table, bring a folding chair." 

                              - Shirley Chisholm

Sex is H.E.R.S

Let’s talk about sex. Okay, not so much sex as much as sexual empowerment.

This topic has come up recently since I’ll be hosting an erotic poetry event. As I spoke to people about this at various networking events, some were surprised that I would be a part of such things. I politely explained on more than one occasion that female empowerment is political, psychological, spiritual and definitely physical. As a matter of fact, the older I get the more I strongly I feel about the physical. 

I remember  valuing my virginity as a teenager. I held onto it until I was almost 18.  Once my 5-year relationship was over, I was determined to limit my number of partners to the number of fingers I had on one hand. When I surpassed that, I remember lying to men who asked how many I had been with so as not taint the image they had of me. Then I grew a little older, and while I had not reached my toes yet in terms of numbers, when I was honest about the number of partners I had, it was held over my head consistently. 

Why is it that women are made to feel that their value is somehow lessened by the number of men they slept with, casual or not? I had safe sex, great sex, not so great sex, and I don’t believe in regrets. Now I’m not saying women should just throw their “gifts” around in the name of empowerment, but what I am saying is that if you value yourself, and your body,  you're safe, it's consensual  and you get all of your regular screenings, it’s none of anyone’s business who you sleep with. 

Now that I’m close to forty and I pity the next man that even shapes his mouth to ask me how many men I’ve slept with. In the words of Beyoncé: 

Whatever the Hell I Please

                  


It’s tax season and social media has been flooded with 

memes, some hilarious, some not so much. There are the ones about fat or ugly girls having men they supposedly wouldn’t ever be able to attract otherwise. Then there are those, which I’m guilty of laughing at, showing how women look before and after taxes, from weaves to furs and anything else you can imagine. While I have what I believe to be a great sense of humor, the feminist single mother in me cannot help but be offended by some actual written about posts about how we choose to spend our money,  or our audacity not to split the child income credit with our “baby daddy”. While I’m sure every case is different, I’m writing on behalf of the many women I know.  It’s my damn money and I will do what the hell I please!!! 
 As someone who has been in different tax brackets, I have strong feelings about this. When I was living in subsidized housing, with my fuel assistance and Medicaid, I received the EIC (Earned Income Credit) for my son. I was a full-time student who delivered pizzas, substitute taught and did whatever I needed to do pay bills. When I got that tax check, I treated myself to some new clothes to prepare myself for the professional world, bought my son things I normally couldn’t afford and gave money to my babysitters who kept my son for free all year while I worked. I also redecorated my apartment, switching out my son’s toddler size mattress to a twin bed, or upgrading a furniture set or TV ( that was a hand me down) to something newer. It felt good to have that extra money when there were times I was searching my couch cushions for loose change just to have enough for my son's lunch money. One year I used that extra money to buy a new car so that I could stop driving pieces of junk that constantly needed oil, brake fluid, coolant, tires, a jump start or a tow.  Then for two years in a row, I saved my money to use for a down payment on a house so I could get the hell out of the projects.  Fast forward years later, I apparently make too much money for the EIC. Still, I look forward to the benefits of tax season and my substantial refund.  Daycare for my toddler is $500 a month,  I’m paying back money from the my students loans, and I’m an owner of a historic home which is constantly being upgraded for myself and my tenant.  When I get my money, I treat myself first to clothes and shoes, do some home improvements and redecorating, save some, pay ahead some bills and... whatever the hell else I please! 
 A woman should not be condemned for what she does with her tax money, especially not by her “baby daddy”  because he pays child support. Child support??? Please! Unless you’re a celebrity dropping thousands monthly, child support for many of the women I know only pays for sneakers, or haircuts, maybe daycare. And then I know men who only buy their kids "what they need” because they don’t want to put money in a woman’s hands? What a joke! All year long your child needs food, electricity, hot water, heat, and if you’re lucky cable so they can watch Nick Jr.  But it’s the mother who is put down because she wants to treat herself to a mani and pedi, or a new hairdo? Again, I know there are outliers, extremes on both ends, but I’m writing for the many hardworking single mothers who didn’t plan on raising babies alone, and we deserve more respect. Instead of condemning her, why not help her out?  Expose her to some financial options or programs, teach some skills, lend a helping hand, be an emotional support system. 
While today  I'm in a much better place than I was 10 or 15 years ago, I know that the struggle is more than real, it can be  continuous, lonely and exhausting.

This is why every other year I host the She got H.E.R.S conference for young women, mothers or not. We all need a little guidance and encouragement!

Happy Foob Year!

5 days later, here I am wearing the most hideous surgical garment ever. I mean the last ones were ugly, but they were all white and  made no attempt to be cute. However uncomfortable and unattractive this contraption, it does what it’s supposed to, which is support my newly lifted foobs and sewn on fipples.

 I have to say this surgery was a breeze compared to the last two. Aside from the fact that we had our first snow/sleet/ice storm the night before, which caused my surgeon to arrive 15 minutes late, everything went as planned. At 7:45am the anesthesiologist injected my IV with the feel good stuff. At 11:10 I was awakened by a nurse placing pillows under each side of my arms. She told me I could keep sleeping, which I did for another hour. Then I was ready to get up and go. My fiancée came for me, and other than feeling light headed and dizzy, I felt relieved; no more surgeries, I did it. I was home in time to watch Judge Mathis, which I eventually fell asleep on.  With the help of some narcotics, I slept on and off the rest of the day.  The next day, I was still groggy and my only discomfort were the stitches were underneath the foobs. It felt tight, and itchy, but nothing unbearable.  Because I wanted to celebrate with champagne on New Year’s Eve, I was hell bent on not taking any pain meds at all. So I sucked it up. My reward was spending my holiday surrounded by family, and wearing scarves and sweaters to cover up the bulky surgical tube top. I tried to go the whole week with only sponge baths, but once 2016 came around, I gave in, being sure not to wet my bandages. In two more days I will get to see an updated version of my foobs and fipples. 

At this point I’m not even excited about it because I’ve just become more and more accepting of my body no matter what it looks like. Besides, it’s amazing, I mean look at all it’s been through and it continues to heal and allow me to do whatever I set out to!

I FINALLY LOVE MY BULKY BELLY

There is something awesome and mind blowing about really, truly beginning to love your body. As I am thinking more and more about my impending double mastectomy, which involved taking the lovely fat from my abdomen to replace the breast tissue, I’m thinking about the parts of miss I’ll miss. Each blemish and scar tells a story, and I am just now getting it. The stretch marks I abhorred as a 19 year old, I now treasure as a reminder that my grown man was once a baby growing inside of me. A baby.  A baby who I loved and shaped into a grown up. Not one baby, but two babies. 

 I have scars from having my gall bladder removed at 22, which reminds of when I was highly over weight and unhealthy.  According to the doctors chart, I’m still over weight. But at 22, I was living off snickers bars, Pepsi soda, and KFC because I was working so much and on the go. I wasn’t exercising, I was eating lots of white starches and simple crabs, and mindfulness was a foreign concept to me. It was after this procedure I rediscovered exercise, switched to ground turkey and whole grains, and made water an addiction. Not to say, I still don’t crave fries and pizza, but I made life long changes that I could commit to. I discovered, meditation, pilates, yoga, zumba that I could do a 5k.
 On my lower right side is the scar from when I had my appendix removed.  And I was 7, so it was the old school "cut you open", in the hospital for 2 weeks, type of surgery. This little 2 inch long scar transports me back to that moment when I was in the hospital crying   “No” because the doctors said that I would need surgery immediately.  My father was so disturbed by my tears, he cried.I remember overhearing my grandmother tactfully tell him to basically man up, come back in the room and tell me that I was having the surgery and I would be okay. I was okay. I missed Halloween that year, but I got to get a happy meal with a chocolate shake in one of those jack-o’-lantern trick or treat buckets 
 as one of my first meals in the hospital. 


My latest scar is from having my ovaries removed the beginning of my journey to combat a disease that my grandmother and mother didn’t have the opportunity to.  And perhaps the most precious part of my stomach is my belly button...  proof that I was one connected physically to my mother by this remnant of an umbilical cord. And though a flat stomach is stomach I’ve always desired since Janet Jackson first introduced me to midriff, I love my ample, imperfect stomach, rolls and all. It still surprises me that today I’m so enamored by a part of my body that was the bane of my existence from age 11. 

The Mixed Feelings of Motherhood

            There’s something so bittersweet about the anticipation of my first born’s graduation from high school. I've been reflecting so much lately. I remember thinking,  "I just have to get him out of high school and I’m good”. But looking at him on the verge of 18, I start to think:  it’s not enough, but it will have to be enough.  In a couple of month’s, he will be a legal adult, able to make his own decisions. And while I can offer my opinion and give my unsolicited advice, in the end, it’s his choice, his life. That is hard for me because he’s been my baby for so long.

            Since the day I found out I was pregnant with him,  most of my life’s big decisions have been centered on what would be best for him. I changed my major, trading the unstable writing world for a more secure career in social services; I bought a house an adjacent town from where I grew up, so my son could be away from gangs and street violence; I pursued my dreams, not just for me, but so that he could see it could be done.  I worked two jobs so he would not want for anything; I took him with me when I worked with those were less fortunate so he could appreciate what he had. Most people look at him and think I've done a pretty decent job, me and my village of course. But lately, I've felt a sense of resentment towards his father resurfacing that I had long vanished.

            While trying to get my master’s degree and working 2 jobs, and struggling with my new home ownership responsibilities, I became frustrated that he had not been leading by example, or spending quality time, or providing financially since we broke up when my son was three. It took until my son was 11 to begin to let it go, forgive. But still, every now and then when I gave my son my last 10 bucks for lunch money, or if I saw his father in a brand new coat, or heard about him having another child, I became incensed. My son was his first child, and he was 21 with a high school diploma and an able mind and body when my baby was born, but he chose street life over being a present parent.  So I’d get upset, then I’d get over it because that’s what mothers do. As my son became more dependent and older, I had to deal with his fatherless, so the resentment became dormant. Besides, I had my father, who was doing more than his share to help raise him.

  Now that this momentous event is upon us, I feel that resentment brewing again. Why? Because now I have another son, a toddler, and because his father is present, I get to be the soft, nurturing mommy. Daddy can be the stern baritone voice, and mommy can be… mommy.  I was once that way with my older son, but then when the realities of the world set in, when I saw my boy growing into a Black man, an endangered species in America, fear crept in. I had to be tough, I had to be on his back. I had to teach him about sex, how to behave if pulled over by the police, model work ethic, school him about the streets; I had to be the crazy mom to show up if he wasn't where he was supposed to be. I feel like I was robbed of being the pushover mom... the sweet mom I wanted to be because his father didn't step up. 

Now he will be there on graduation day, and at the party, and I honestly have mixed feelings about it. On one hand, that is his father, and I've never discouraged their relationship, despite my feelings.  On the other hand, he will get to celebrate something he had NO PART in making happen. And that has me feeling… “Some type of way.”  But I guess I’ll get over, because that’s just what mothers do.

Brave or Afraid?

As I watch Angelina Jolie make the news once again for her “heroic” decision to undergo another surgery to eliminate her ovarian cancer, I think…it’s a big deal, but it’s not a “big” deal. What I mean by this is that  people do what  Angelina did all of the time  but no one pays attention because, well they aren't a sex symbol, movie star, or poster woman for  a thousand and one humanitarian organizations. I know because the women in my family have been doing it for over 10 years, including myself.

            My mother died of breast cancer at only 23 years old. Her mother died of ovarian cancer at 57. My mother’s sister also died of ovarian cancer before age 60. Of my mother’s three remaining sisters, two have had their ovaries removed upon turning 40, and one also opted to have a preventative double mastectomy with reconstruction.

            According to one study, only 1/3 of African American women who meet the criteria for genetic testing are actually referred. I was only referred because I insisted  testing for the BRCA1 and BRCA2 gene mutations. If positive, I would have had up to a 60% of developing ovarian cancer in my lifetime and up to an 85% chance of developing breast cancer. After receiving my results in the fall of 2014, I elected to also have my ovaries and fallopian tubes removed last month at age 36. Within the next year, I too will have a double mastectomy with reconstruction.

            I didn't once look at it as brave, but almost as necessary. While my results were negative, there was variant, which means there was a mutation that could be linked to cancer, but that it hasn't been determined yet. However, recent research has indicated that there are more genetic mutations being discovered that could be linked to cancers. As African-American women specifically, we develop breast cancer at an earlier age and it tends to be more aggressive. So while I’m no world famous icon, I am a member of a medically under served population who has experienced the trauma of watching loved ones suffer from the disease. Therefore, I choose to act.  Being a career mom and dream chaser, surgery is scary; recovery has been and will be difficult. What’s more unbearable at this moment in my life, is hearing those dreaded words, “You have cancer.” That doesn't make me a hero, it makes me afraid. 

Read the full version here http://www.forharriet.com/2015/04/why-i-chose-to-fight-cancer-by-removing.html

The Sun Will Come Out Tomorrow

Yesterday I didn't get up when my alarm clock went off, so I lost 20 to 25 minutes of preparation, including breakfast.  It was snowing outside and the ride to work was long and treacherous. My teenage son was defending his failure to do chores through text messages. my toddler had been up all night complaining if growing pains. So I had McDonald’s and drank coffee, and Diet Coke and Pepsi (I know so bad). And I ordered a pastrami grinder with potato chips for lunch, just because I knew it would feel good. All to stay awake so I could work on my research (through my lunch and my break) so I can get one step closer to becoming Dr.Boz.  By the end of the day, I’d run out of steam. I mean I was too tired to even drink my Thursday night glass of Cabernet. On top of that, I had a headache and cramps, and it was cold outside. I was exhausted and cranky. But I was supposed to continue working on my writing which is due in a week. Instead, I decided to change into my sweats, take two ibuprofen, and drink tons and tons of water, and some decaf green tea.  I whipped up some quick chili for the family then I turned the lights down low, got lost in some mindless “reality” TV. When I got sleepy, I went to sleep. Robert Roberts once said that her mother told her,  "When you are having a bad day, just go to bed." I told myself that if I slept well tonight I would have more energy to keep fight tomorrow. 

Robin's mother was right. I was right. I woke this morning, made my eggs, and a healthy, vitamin-filled shake with almond milk for lunch.  I felt energized and yes, ready to finish that work. I feel so good that I had to write this post to share my take away from the last 24 hours.

 First, sometimes you just have to stop and take a break from whatever it is to rejuvenate, clear your head. Balance will be restored naturally. I ate horribly yesterday and drank horribly, but today I’m craving good stuff. My attitude was horrible, not just because of PMS, but also because I was frustrated with the challenges I was facing. When I get overwhelmed, I become a bit snappy, I become lethargic. Secondly, I was reminded that everything is temporary. The fact is I will have some major writing to do this weekend, but next Friday, I will be done. Sometimes we have to focus on the end result instead of dwelling on the struggle. When you are sinking you have to put your energy into swimming to land, not into the thoughts of drowning. #ICanDoThis

Preparation

              I know I am 3 months over due, but happy New Year!

 Like I write in my new book, every day is new start! And my year has been off to a great start. Opportunity has not only been knocking on my door, but it’s been barging in and I am loving it. You know why? Because I’m constantly in a state of preparation and I rarely say no when someone presents an opportunity. One day a couple of weeks ago at  2:00 in the afternoon I got an email asking me to show up at a studio to record for 4. I showed up on time wearing one of my branding t-shirts and was ready to recite my poem for the camera. It’s moments like that fuel me when I’m feeling burned out or like things aren’t moving as quickly as I’d  wish.

            Not only is preparation key, but opportunity only comes where it’s welcomed. By this I mean, your attitude. So many people walk around full of misery and expecting the worst. Not me, I know I am meant for great things, and I appreciate the greatness that has already occurred. And if ever for a moment I forget to be an optimist and expecting, there’s always a reminder, and it’s never subtle (because the universe knows I don’t work like that.). Yesterday morning my sleep was interrupted by a televangelist, who I would never watch when awake. But his message was what I needed to hear, which is that you have to wake up EXPECTING and just how much power it releases when you do so. It woke me up and got me right back to work because this year, I’m definitely EXPECTING big things? What about you, what are you expecting?

Empathy Matters

For many of us when we are little toddlers we live in this protective bubble created by our parents; we are loved, nurtured and made to feel like we can do anything. I was one of those people who was blessed enough to experience this. My grandmother didn’t have high school diploma, but she had good sense to love me and build me up enough to love myself. As we grow up, we step out into the real world and for some of us, it’s like stepping out into the street and being hit by a truck at full speed. We suffer irreparable hurt, because for some reason, people don’t see or don’t acknowledge our beauty, our talent, our existence. So we build wall to protect us, walk around in armored suits and masks not being our true selves. Or we imitate those who appear to be surviving a bit better than we are. I’ll admit, I’VE DONE IT. But I’m telling you, it was something about the way I was raised that never let me lose site of who I was (except when I wanted to be T-BOZ from TLC).


But what happens to those who never felt that protection; that initial unconditional love? Do they ever take off the armor and the mask? Do they ever truly discover their uniqueness; their greatness? It’s hard when the world around them isn’t empathetic and can’t even begin to conceptualize that this person is afraid, hurting, and unsure.

My job working with many youth who are in this predicament has helped me to become more accepting and aware when I come into adults I meet. Lucky for them ;) it allows me to be more patient when I come across people who rub me the wrong way. I don’t have to be friends with them, but I can try to be understanding of the fact that they, like all of us have some unresolved issues. So I don’t go off on them, I don’t internalize their behavior. I can brush it off and keeping it moving, or perhaps be that sunshine they need for the day. This is called GROWTH. And my interaction with them, my response, may help them to grow as well.

    "Do not judge your neighbor until you have walked two moons in his moccasins." -Cheyenne Tribe

Boss??????

Lately, I’ve been hearing and seeing a lot of females refer to themselves as bosses. Boss lady, boss bitch, boss whatever. This is one bandwagon I just can’t jump on, for several reasons. First, because there are many who use the term and don’t necessarily live by it. You may have red bottom shoes, a hot car, jewelry, trips, fine dining, know some celebrities, etc.  But are you really the BOSS of your own destiny? Are you in control of your life or just floating through life? Madame CJ Walker was boss! Mary McLeod Bethune was a Boss! Those are the standards which I would hold myself to if I were to use the title. They left legacies, they empowered their sisters.  Secondly, I have nothing to prove. I don’t need to label myself as someone in a position of power, I live by it. I see every day the influence I can have over my children, my students, my mentees, just by doing what I do: setting goals, reaching them, helping others to do the same, living with integrity. Thirdly, and most importantly, even if you are an entrepreneur, businesswoman, or store owner, it’s just a title. Which goes back to number one and number two; no amount of money or status will make you a boss. Who are you uplifting for the sake of uplifting, and not just for personal, financial, political gain? In the end, it’s not about power, it’s about EMPOWERMENT. So shout out to the “Boss” whatever. Me I’ll just be Brenda’s Child.

Madame CJ Walker

Mary McLeod Bethune

Uptight Alright

This weekend I realized how up tight I can be!!!!! I totally have a hard time relaxing. Now, when I am home and I plan my couch potato day, it works, but more than one day...not so much. I was so excited about going to New York for the Harlem book fair, then for once in I don't even remember how long, I was going to go to the club.  I would not have to get up in the middle of the night or at 6am for my baby because he was with a sitter.   I was FREE, but I didn't feel like it. I had a brief moment where I realized that my mind was always thinking, and I wasn't in the moment because I was preoccupied with what was next. How uncool of me! I was thinking about the highway ride home and laundry the the mess I left when I rushed off to leave that morning. I couldn't turn my mind off of all the things I had to do when I got back. I was reaching for my purse when I heard my inner voice said STOP IT. BE IN THE NOW. And I listened. And I'm glad I did because I really did have a much needed good time. I needed to turn off the to do's in my head and let things be. I am glad that I am able to hear that voice when it speaks. Sometimes we can't hear it over all of the chaos, but apparently my inner voice is just as loud and assertive as my actual voice because I wasn't even in meditation and I heard it.

Now when I woke up the next morning, I went back into go mode and found myself pensive, and somewhat guilty  over brunch with getting back to my 9 month old, and cleaning up, and the phone calls I had to make. So while I'm a work in progress, I'm grateful I received the message even if I only followed for  24 hours. It reminded me to listen more intently and more often. I will be in go mode for the next two days as I prepare for my vacation, but I made a solemn promise to myself to let loose and remain in the moment from the time my vacation starts until the time it ends!

Knowing You

One thing about me that I am appreciating more and more is my self-awareness. Not everyone is there yet. Even when I’m being an A$$hole, I know why. I know when I’ve had too much and I need a break. I am able to listen to the signals my body sends me to let me know it’s time to detox, or it’s time to stop what I’m doing immediately and rest. I know who I am and feel no need to impress people with false appearances and images. When I get dressed I wear what I think feels good and looks good without regard to anyone. ( I love my man, but at the end of the day it’s not to  impress him).I don’t hang around people just because I think they make me look better. I don’t glamorize my position at work or in society.  I know my angles when I get my picture taken, and I know I love to have it taken.  I do 5 hours a week of exercise because I want to look a particular way for me, not because my BMI says I’m overweight. I can admit when I am afraid or when my feelings are hurt. I know when I’m being an emotional eater, or unreasonable. When work emotionally drains me I am conscience that there are better solutions than wine, but that sometimes those other things won’t work as quickly. I despise feeling vulnerable because of some childhood incidents.  I recognize that I feel sad on particular holidays, and I am very in tune to what excites me and discourages me. I know that I love to be inspired as much as I like to inspire others. Why do I say this? Because more and more I’m seeing people who don’t realize that they are unknowingly obsessed with food, ruled by their ego, always looking for validation,  looking for a father figure in a man, hating on others, or just plain lost. I get it in teenagers, but in adults, it irks me. I know we all have issues and everyone deals with them differently (writing has been my salvation) but every now and then I get frustrated. Lately, though, I have actually been feeling blessed and lucky that I am where I am. There was a time that I didn’t get it. Now I do. Being self-aware allows me to step back and look at situations differently. It allows me to understand the behavior of others and empathize, sometimes sympathize. It allows me to plan accordingly and to make more informed decisions. I think people really need to take more time and get to know themselves on a deeper level. It makes life so much more manageable because you do less dumb stuff (I can’t articulate it any better) and you question why less often. Next week I am on vacation from work and while yes, I’ll be hustling as usual, I will continue to make time to listen to my inner self and make sure she is getting all she needs.