These past couple of years have gone by so quickly. I feel like I've been watching myself grow toddler style. First I let go of my bottle, learned to roll over and suddenly I'm graduating high school. Along the way, life has managed to do everything from strangle me senseless in a dark alley to bring me breakfast in bed with a side of unlimited back rubs. In short, I've learned a lot.
There have been multiple chapters in my life but two phases that I want to focus on the most:
my divorce and falling in love again.
Traveling through each of these phases has taught me a lot and in the end, saved my life. Reflection is vital to improvement. After all, you may run the risk of history repeating itself if you don't take the time to look back at what has made you.
So let's get started.
My divorce has taught me:
1) We (women) can NOT change a man.
*I heard once (via the Steve Harvey show) that a man WILL change for a woman, but only once. I believe that our mistake as women is that we ALWAYS feel we are that ONE. A man has to choose if he deems you "worthy" of his change. Otherwise, there will be no change. My mistake was that I thought I was the one.
2) It's okay not to be THE ONE
* I felt it was my fault for not being everything he wanted me to be and yes, I had faults in the marriage. However, in the end, I wasn't that ONE he would change for and ultimately I had to learn the hard way that it was okay.
3) Let a lie be a lie.
*After the divorce I would try so hard to defend myself. I was constantly crying and fighting (with an imaginary listener). There was no point. I had to draw a line and realize that there was no need to defend myself or my truth anymore. Those who know me know my heart and my character and if anyone who didn't know me wanted to know the truth, all they had to do was ask. I had to stop trying to battle with liars.
4) The children belong to God, we're just temporary guides on their life journey
* It's easy to get territorial over your children, especially as a mother. There is no other bond stronger than a mother's. We GREW them INSIDE our bodies for almost a year and went through the closet thing to death in order to bring them into the world. No one else has done that for them and because of that, there is an immediate bond with your children. However, they do not belong to us. The sooner I realized that my children were God's the easier it was for me to find peace with them being gone (which I am currently still working on.
5) I didn't "lose" the battle for his love
* If you ever find yourself battling for someone's love, stop. "If they don't want you, you don't want them." I used to think I gave up too quickly, that I let his behaviors win, that I should have battled for his attention longer, I should have begged more, I should have tried harder....because then I wouldn't be the "loser" in the situation. I don't see myself as the losing party here, hindsight has given me a clearer perspective.
6) It's okay to have some regrets
* Obviously after seeing my last bullet point, I have some regrets...and that's okay. I think in life we all have little regrets here and there. I would have tried harder and longer for the kids, but in the aftermath of it all, some people and things won't change (refer to point number one). I always say that if I could go back and do it all again that I would do it all EXACTLY the same because I wouldn't want to risk not having my children.
7) Happiness after divorce is acceptable
* When I started dating I was so scared to tell my ex (even though he never told me when he moved on....just started making alternate seating arrangements during church). I knew he would make my life hell, he told me he would. But I deserved to be happy and part of that was being allowed to publicly love someone new. I had to hide so much during my marriage and I was tired of having to hide my desire to be happy or that I WAS happy. His response was....predictable and I felt guilty for moving forward in my life. It was the beginning of a very long (and somewhat ongoing battle) for me to maintain my joy, but I continue to fight for it because I deserve it.
8) Being a Single Mom is the HARDEST thing I've every done (and I've had to testify against my father before)
* When I was married I functioned like a single mom because my (then) husband was gone all the time. TRULY being a single mom is a different story. I did not go into the transition flawlessly and that was hard for me and others to understand. Bluntly put, I lost my mind a little the summer of my divorce and I was judged for it. Looking back I wish I had someone who could have helped take care of me emotionally and that I seriously attended some sort of therapy. I underestimated how much of life change it would be and how difficult it would be managing a home on my own. I moved, finished my masters, and went through a divorce all in the same year.
9) It's possible to lose yourself in a marriage and it's also possible to find yourself in a divorce
* I am NOT an advocate for divorce. I do believe that marriage is eternal and in some ways (because of our children) there will always be a part of me eternally tied to my (ex) husband. In our marriage I lost myself and the dreams I had. I lost the person I was trying to become at 21 and at 29 I had become my husband's. I did what he wanted me to do, I forgave when I was supposed to, I ignored what I thought would make him mad and the minute I decided I wanted to do something for myself....everything unraveled, him included. After the divorce I spent a year re-learning who I was as a woman and along the way have found a gift of empowerment and my purpose. It was trapped in the marriage and I couldn't see it.
10) Silence is not submission
* I think one thing women should learn to do is be silent during times of turmoil and storms. There are many battles that aren't for us. They belong to God and it takes a great deal of courage and strength to shut our mouths, pray and let HIM do the fighting for you. There have been multiple fleshly accounts I have wanted to speak out about (this is not to say I haven't done my fair share of fleshly vents...I am human), however, I am silent about more things than most would know. I don't address certain issues because in the end, "you can't reason with crazy."
Monday, June 13, 2016
Monday, May 16, 2016
The Mother of All Posts
Mother's Day was Sunday.
We set aside this day to acknowledge mothers in all their forms and abilities. We are reminded of absent mothers, new mothers, single mothers, mothers who lost babies, babies who lost mothers. I have been sitting on the concept for this post because I wanted to remove as much personal emotion as possible. I tend to be an angry writer sometimes and when that happens, I don't necessarily make sense. Then I remembered: this is what I do. I write emotionally. I pride myself on writing directly from my soul, a place where words seem to navigate themselves directly from my core and lunge to my fingertips. I am fully aware that a blog, mine in particular, is a place of opinion, freedom and unfortunately judgement. I'm willingly opening myself up to be judged. There are times I move in silence, just kind of sit back and watch, but this year I made a personal vow to not allow myself to take too many things to heart, be more laid back, and most importantly "Don't get walked on." It's a work in progress. I'm naturally a planner (which hasn't really let up much) and when something crashes into my plans you might as well have dumped pudding into my bra and forced me to go meet the President. I'm a little more than a wreck trying to adjust.
With that said, I feel like I've been doing a pretty great job adjusting to some of the "unplanned" moments life has thrown at me. With one exception. So here is where the disclaimer comes. Before I continue writing:
1) I know this is a public forum. It's open for anyone to read, I know this. I also know that there are people who are unaware of my blog and wouldn't know how to access this page.
2) I know that what I am about to write is solely MY opinion.
3) I know that I am still a baby in this whole co-parenting thing and when it comes to "sharing" my children and not having them all the time
4) I know this is going to ruffle some feathers
5) Before my divorce I was in my children's lives every day
6) It takes time to adjust to life and we all need to remember this
Here it goes:
I don't know if there is a line or ever will be a line with the new woman in my children's lives. There are moments where I feel we have a joint understanding of who she is to them and what is/is not appropriate and then suddenly I'm exposed to a post or picture via third party and I'm forced to deal with all these emotions I didn't know I would ever have. She's pregnant now. (With my ex's third child). She claims my children as her own so this would be "her fourth." It's been more than difficult having to handle myself with grace and poise as I hear her tell people that she doesn't care what gender she has because she "already has two girls and a boy." I know. Realistically, if they're having a baby together they (my ex and kids) will be bound to her forever and YES I would rather her love my children than hate them and treat them poorly. However, this doesn't change the pain I feel in my heart when I hear her call my son her son, give him a nickname his father and I agreed we didn't want people to call him when we named him, or refer to herself as their mother. It's not because I'm possessive about my role, it's because I feel honored that God gave me that role. I went through hell to be their mama. He gifted me with those two children. He molded them perfectly in my womb. He tore my body apart so that they could give back to the world and now, here....there's another woman who seems to not even recognize my relevance. It's not completely her fault. She does what she's been allowed to do. My ex grants her permission and the "power" to behave certain ways and honestly my compliance is allowing it as well. I'm constantly in a mental battle trying to survive run-ins or being treated poorly by opposite parties.
By no means am I trying to make myself a victim here, just trying to gain perspective and continue transparency. Many times I try to put myself in my ex or his girlfriend's shoes. How would I want my kids to interact with the man I'm seeing? How do I desire my freedom of love to be accepted? For almost two years I've been alone in all this. Attending functions at my ex's family's home so that my kids can still maintain their incredible relationship with their family and so that I don't lose out on time with them. I've allowed myself to be injured and my heart to be hurt so that my kids don't have to feel it. I've apologized multiple times to people who I don't feel deserved it and waited for mends to be made from them. A wait that has never ended.
Like I said in my points, I know this (invisible) blog may ruffle feathers, but it's how I feel currently. These are emotions I've been trying to navigate for almost two years (silently) and have seemed to only make slow progress.
So.
Stepmoms.
Stepdads.
Co-parenting aficianados.
Perspective?
We set aside this day to acknowledge mothers in all their forms and abilities. We are reminded of absent mothers, new mothers, single mothers, mothers who lost babies, babies who lost mothers. I have been sitting on the concept for this post because I wanted to remove as much personal emotion as possible. I tend to be an angry writer sometimes and when that happens, I don't necessarily make sense. Then I remembered: this is what I do. I write emotionally. I pride myself on writing directly from my soul, a place where words seem to navigate themselves directly from my core and lunge to my fingertips. I am fully aware that a blog, mine in particular, is a place of opinion, freedom and unfortunately judgement. I'm willingly opening myself up to be judged. There are times I move in silence, just kind of sit back and watch, but this year I made a personal vow to not allow myself to take too many things to heart, be more laid back, and most importantly "Don't get walked on." It's a work in progress. I'm naturally a planner (which hasn't really let up much) and when something crashes into my plans you might as well have dumped pudding into my bra and forced me to go meet the President. I'm a little more than a wreck trying to adjust.
With that said, I feel like I've been doing a pretty great job adjusting to some of the "unplanned" moments life has thrown at me. With one exception. So here is where the disclaimer comes. Before I continue writing:
1) I know this is a public forum. It's open for anyone to read, I know this. I also know that there are people who are unaware of my blog and wouldn't know how to access this page.
2) I know that what I am about to write is solely MY opinion.
3) I know that I am still a baby in this whole co-parenting thing and when it comes to "sharing" my children and not having them all the time
4) I know this is going to ruffle some feathers
5) Before my divorce I was in my children's lives every day
6) It takes time to adjust to life and we all need to remember this
Here it goes:
I don't know if there is a line or ever will be a line with the new woman in my children's lives. There are moments where I feel we have a joint understanding of who she is to them and what is/is not appropriate and then suddenly I'm exposed to a post or picture via third party and I'm forced to deal with all these emotions I didn't know I would ever have. She's pregnant now. (With my ex's third child). She claims my children as her own so this would be "her fourth." It's been more than difficult having to handle myself with grace and poise as I hear her tell people that she doesn't care what gender she has because she "already has two girls and a boy." I know. Realistically, if they're having a baby together they (my ex and kids) will be bound to her forever and YES I would rather her love my children than hate them and treat them poorly. However, this doesn't change the pain I feel in my heart when I hear her call my son her son, give him a nickname his father and I agreed we didn't want people to call him when we named him, or refer to herself as their mother. It's not because I'm possessive about my role, it's because I feel honored that God gave me that role. I went through hell to be their mama. He gifted me with those two children. He molded them perfectly in my womb. He tore my body apart so that they could give back to the world and now, here....there's another woman who seems to not even recognize my relevance. It's not completely her fault. She does what she's been allowed to do. My ex grants her permission and the "power" to behave certain ways and honestly my compliance is allowing it as well. I'm constantly in a mental battle trying to survive run-ins or being treated poorly by opposite parties.
By no means am I trying to make myself a victim here, just trying to gain perspective and continue transparency. Many times I try to put myself in my ex or his girlfriend's shoes. How would I want my kids to interact with the man I'm seeing? How do I desire my freedom of love to be accepted? For almost two years I've been alone in all this. Attending functions at my ex's family's home so that my kids can still maintain their incredible relationship with their family and so that I don't lose out on time with them. I've allowed myself to be injured and my heart to be hurt so that my kids don't have to feel it. I've apologized multiple times to people who I don't feel deserved it and waited for mends to be made from them. A wait that has never ended.
Like I said in my points, I know this (invisible) blog may ruffle feathers, but it's how I feel currently. These are emotions I've been trying to navigate for almost two years (silently) and have seemed to only make slow progress.
So.
Stepmoms.
Stepdads.
Co-parenting aficianados.
Perspective?
Wednesday, May 4, 2016
Dirt
I dug up the roots of my discomfort with my naked hands because he stole my tools and thought
that would be enough to halt my growth
Stopped feeding me
Stopped watering me
Forced my heart into a drought
Hid me in the shade of other flowers
No longer scented of Lilies in the Valley
but of decomposed promises and burnt hallways
that lead to doors unopened and secrets of late night messages and recall mistresses
So with the dirt under my nails I scratched at the wall obstructing my view of the truth
...it's not me, it's you
I no longer sleep behind your partition, but instead walk on top of the barrier
Crown myself Sovereign Queen
A redundant title
Double reminder of my mastery
that would be enough to halt my growth
Stopped feeding me
Stopped watering me
Forced my heart into a drought
Hid me in the shade of other flowers
No longer scented of Lilies in the Valley
but of decomposed promises and burnt hallways
that lead to doors unopened and secrets of late night messages and recall mistresses
So with the dirt under my nails I scratched at the wall obstructing my view of the truth
...it's not me, it's you
I no longer sleep behind your partition, but instead walk on top of the barrier
Crown myself Sovereign Queen
A redundant title
Double reminder of my mastery
Tuesday, April 5, 2016
Trapped Inside: The Truth About Anxiety, Depression and Loneliness (Part 1)
Things seemed out of control. Really out of control. I've been feeling like Job, lost and wondering when the personal plagues will end. When will my depression stop sneaking into my thoughts after the kids have left to visit their dad? When will I stop looking at the carpet wondering how to get lost in its weaves instead of figuring out my emotions? When will I stop crying because I'm angry? When will I keep the power I have to continually fight to get back? When will I learn that it's okay to not be in control of everything?
I used to think that when bad things happened to me that they only happened in threes, come to find out, they also come in tsunamis. Large, overpowering waves that whip your feet out from under you and knock your breath out of you.
Driving into work a couple weeks ago I had a panic attack. I used to never panic, just low key stress and problem solve. I didn't think it was a panic attack until I realized that it was all in my head. So much is happening around me and I have no control of it. One of the things that has smashed my individual motivation was being turned down for a new car because of someone else lacking. I was approved, right there, the kids and I would finally have a reliable car and then, "It turns out ______ hasn't been making _______. So you can't get a car today." It turned into a snowball effect and the car I was blessed to be given started to slowly break down. The car I lovingly call, The Green Machine was dying when I needed it most. It had to be fixed twice, blessed to have it fixed for free, but in the process I depleted my savings on rental vehicles to get me and the kids where we needed to go. Then today, on the way to work, I was so worried and fearful that I was inhaling fumes or that the car would break down on me that I started to panic...and didn't even know it until I realized that I was about to pass out from the peaked adrenaline and rapid breathing. I'd never had an attack like that. Usually I just start to feel a little light headed and feel like my stomach is being stabbed by tiny ninjas inside my guts. I identify it and start working through some strategies that I found work for me. I ask myself, "What's the worst that can happen?" "Will you get hurt?" "Can you solve this problem?" and usually that works. But this morning was different. I couldn't get through to myself. I couldn't break through my mental and think logically. I was driving and I was frozen. I watched as the gas gauge fluctuated and began to obsess about it. I managed to turn the air around me into carbon monoxide and the "worst that could happen" was that I was going to pass out and wreck and then no one could pick my kids up from school. No one would know how to do Maliya's hair. No one would protect Little Matt from bullies. No one would tell them I loved them three times a day. I wanted to crack the window and was afraid to because, "What if it didn't roll back up? It's supposed to rain today." I looked at the clock and it was already 7:07 am. Late for work. I couldn't pull over because, "What if the car didn't start back up?" This is what anxiety does to you. It turns your logical brain into a "What if" factory and it can consume you so quickly that you go from positive and prospering to feeling like you're on the edge of death in a matter of seconds.
This is what my days are like almost constantly. It hits me like a dust storm. I can KIND OF see it coming but don't know where to run and most of the time once I'm in it I just have to let it run its course.
I used to watch commercials about anxiety and never really understood how someone could be paralyzed by their thoughts. After all, these are all fictional happenings. Anxiety isn't real. I didn't understand what was happening to me. My sessions of panic and anxiety started during my separation and got worse going through the divorce. Suddenly the level of unanswered questions kept growing. I didn't know where my kids were when they weren't with me. I was so used to seeing them every day and now I was forced to go days without seeing or talking to them. My normal was completely uprooted and I wasn't prepared for handling it all mentally. My brain went into attack mode but instead of attacking outside forces, it cried "MUTINY!" and attacked me.
I've been learning to take charge of my thoughts and let things "just be" but sometimes my brain likes to remind me that this is a process. Sometimes it seems like I have it worse because my brain functions in a chain. One thing will remind me of another. I can be sitting down picking at my nail, so I'll inspect my hand and think how they look like my dad's, then I'm thinking of my dad, "Why didn't he want to talk to me," "Why doesn't the father of my children want to talk to me," "Where are the kids," "I hope they're okay...." and spiral down.
See. The truth is. I'm a christian. But more than that, I have a relationship with God. I know that anxiety and panic attacks aren't from Him. I know what the bible says about healing. But I'm also human and sometimes it sucks.
I used to think that when bad things happened to me that they only happened in threes, come to find out, they also come in tsunamis. Large, overpowering waves that whip your feet out from under you and knock your breath out of you.
Driving into work a couple weeks ago I had a panic attack. I used to never panic, just low key stress and problem solve. I didn't think it was a panic attack until I realized that it was all in my head. So much is happening around me and I have no control of it. One of the things that has smashed my individual motivation was being turned down for a new car because of someone else lacking. I was approved, right there, the kids and I would finally have a reliable car and then, "It turns out ______ hasn't been making _______. So you can't get a car today." It turned into a snowball effect and the car I was blessed to be given started to slowly break down. The car I lovingly call, The Green Machine was dying when I needed it most. It had to be fixed twice, blessed to have it fixed for free, but in the process I depleted my savings on rental vehicles to get me and the kids where we needed to go. Then today, on the way to work, I was so worried and fearful that I was inhaling fumes or that the car would break down on me that I started to panic...and didn't even know it until I realized that I was about to pass out from the peaked adrenaline and rapid breathing. I'd never had an attack like that. Usually I just start to feel a little light headed and feel like my stomach is being stabbed by tiny ninjas inside my guts. I identify it and start working through some strategies that I found work for me. I ask myself, "What's the worst that can happen?" "Will you get hurt?" "Can you solve this problem?" and usually that works. But this morning was different. I couldn't get through to myself. I couldn't break through my mental and think logically. I was driving and I was frozen. I watched as the gas gauge fluctuated and began to obsess about it. I managed to turn the air around me into carbon monoxide and the "worst that could happen" was that I was going to pass out and wreck and then no one could pick my kids up from school. No one would know how to do Maliya's hair. No one would protect Little Matt from bullies. No one would tell them I loved them three times a day. I wanted to crack the window and was afraid to because, "What if it didn't roll back up? It's supposed to rain today." I looked at the clock and it was already 7:07 am. Late for work. I couldn't pull over because, "What if the car didn't start back up?" This is what anxiety does to you. It turns your logical brain into a "What if" factory and it can consume you so quickly that you go from positive and prospering to feeling like you're on the edge of death in a matter of seconds.
This is what my days are like almost constantly. It hits me like a dust storm. I can KIND OF see it coming but don't know where to run and most of the time once I'm in it I just have to let it run its course.
I used to watch commercials about anxiety and never really understood how someone could be paralyzed by their thoughts. After all, these are all fictional happenings. Anxiety isn't real. I didn't understand what was happening to me. My sessions of panic and anxiety started during my separation and got worse going through the divorce. Suddenly the level of unanswered questions kept growing. I didn't know where my kids were when they weren't with me. I was so used to seeing them every day and now I was forced to go days without seeing or talking to them. My normal was completely uprooted and I wasn't prepared for handling it all mentally. My brain went into attack mode but instead of attacking outside forces, it cried "MUTINY!" and attacked me.
I've been learning to take charge of my thoughts and let things "just be" but sometimes my brain likes to remind me that this is a process. Sometimes it seems like I have it worse because my brain functions in a chain. One thing will remind me of another. I can be sitting down picking at my nail, so I'll inspect my hand and think how they look like my dad's, then I'm thinking of my dad, "Why didn't he want to talk to me," "Why doesn't the father of my children want to talk to me," "Where are the kids," "I hope they're okay...." and spiral down.
See. The truth is. I'm a christian. But more than that, I have a relationship with God. I know that anxiety and panic attacks aren't from Him. I know what the bible says about healing. But I'm also human and sometimes it sucks.
Friday, January 29, 2016
Dear Him
Because no one sees me the way that you do
Exposed and ashamed waiting to be abused
I used to get anxiety at night wondering if I'd hear your voice
Then I'd cry with all my might because you had made your choice
Twelve
It took twelve years for me to hide myself enough
so that when others looked at me, I wouldn't seem to be tough
on the exterior and broken inside
I woke up every morning and I shared in your lies
I hate the color blue
It reminds me of the pajamas I wore when you ripped up my innocence and stained my sheets with rhythm and I can't even look myself in the eyes anymore because I see you
Don't mistake this for a love poem or a sonnet of happy tunes
Because you broke up my insides and crumbled them into fumes
That I inhale when I smell that old cologne you used to wear
I can't stand the feel of a man's facial hair against my face and I'll never know what it's like to have a man hold me in his arms and feel protected
Because when you held me, it was because I was neglected
To be seen by a woman who ignored you, so you found a place in my bed to feel brand new
Whispers into the night, "God please protect me from the monster all night and in the morning"
I moved my bed so that I could cover the memories with a desk
Little did I know I was building my own prison against a wall
Over and over again you would come in and my hope would fall
When I matured I got excited because I thought "this is the moment"
But I must have forgot
You still didn't feel man enough or maybe it was that you were too much of a man to admit that instead of hugging your little girl, you became an evil attack in her head
Well I'm a woman now
All grown up and reliving the past
I have a daughter of my own and I cry for her and pray that all she'll know are laughs
and innocence and that she'll find a man who loves her so deep that she'll never feel like me
Afraid to go to sleep
Exposed and ashamed waiting to be abused
I used to get anxiety at night wondering if I'd hear your voice
Then I'd cry with all my might because you had made your choice
Twelve
It took twelve years for me to hide myself enough
so that when others looked at me, I wouldn't seem to be tough
on the exterior and broken inside
I woke up every morning and I shared in your lies
I hate the color blue
It reminds me of the pajamas I wore when you ripped up my innocence and stained my sheets with rhythm and I can't even look myself in the eyes anymore because I see you
Don't mistake this for a love poem or a sonnet of happy tunes
Because you broke up my insides and crumbled them into fumes
That I inhale when I smell that old cologne you used to wear
I can't stand the feel of a man's facial hair against my face and I'll never know what it's like to have a man hold me in his arms and feel protected
Because when you held me, it was because I was neglected
To be seen by a woman who ignored you, so you found a place in my bed to feel brand new
Whispers into the night, "God please protect me from the monster all night and in the morning"
I moved my bed so that I could cover the memories with a desk
Little did I know I was building my own prison against a wall
Over and over again you would come in and my hope would fall
When I matured I got excited because I thought "this is the moment"
But I must have forgot
You still didn't feel man enough or maybe it was that you were too much of a man to admit that instead of hugging your little girl, you became an evil attack in her head
Well I'm a woman now
All grown up and reliving the past
I have a daughter of my own and I cry for her and pray that all she'll know are laughs
and innocence and that she'll find a man who loves her so deep that she'll never feel like me
Afraid to go to sleep
Thursday, December 31, 2015
Just a post about race and love from a racially ambiguous woman in love.
Recently there has been an issue on my heart that I'm never really ever sure how to address. It's 1:30 in the morning and I made the mistake of taking my migraine medicine and coffee at the same time, so of course I'm wide awake and my brain is racing. I've been kind of avoiding writing lately because I want to make sure that what I write is purposeful and meaningful. I've had quite a few topics dropped in my spirit and they will all flourish, but since it's the middle of the night and this is a sensitive topic, I'll start here and "whisper" drop this on my blog/social media feed.
Race and Love.
As a "racially ambiguous" woman I have had some difficulty finding a place or culture to belong to. Recently when people meet me it is immediately assumed that I am half black, others say Hispanic, Indian, the list goes on. Very rarely does anyone ever get it correct. I've grown up getting used to the question, "What are you anyway?" Eventually my sarcastic wit took over and my answer became, "Human." The issue of race and culture has taken on a new life for me because as I've gotten older I have become more aware of the social stigma that comes with racial divides. Even in my marriage (to a black man), he admitted that if I WAS black we wouldn't have conversations about race and ironically the racial conversations we did have were initiated by ME. I was slightly disturbed that as a black man in America (raising a young black boy), he didn't acknowledge his own struggles in the white suburbia where we resided. Was I making a mountain out of a mole hill or was it that I didn't have the right to discuss these racial issues? It was something that confused and bewildered me then and even now. How do I raise a young black boy as a single mother who is not black? How do I explain to him that there are people who will classify and segregate him because of his shade of black? And how do I address these issues with him if his father will not? The same questions can be said for my daughter. She's been asking me why our skin is different shades of brown or why my hair is straight and hers is curly. She yearns for my straight hair and I want her curly locks. I tell her she's beautiful all the time because I never want her to think that because her mom is lighter with longer hair that I am the definition of beauty. If it were up to me, she would be the new definition of all that is perfect.
Then we enter into the widely accepted or not accepted world of love and race. Growing up on a military base, I wasn't exposed to race issues. We were either military or civilian. THAT was our stigma. When I moved to Kansas City I started to notice certain looks from mainly black women when I was with my (ex)husband. Multiple times I overheard bathroom conversations about my "swirl" kids or how I "must have stolen my man." For some reason I was the homewrecker in the eyes of some women and I didn't understand the concept until I realized that I was in a love relationship that couldn't be hash-tagged as #BlackLove. Regardless of how beautiful I feel love is, or how supportive I am of unity in black love, that wasn't who I was when these women saw me. Recently in a restaurant with my current love (also a black man) I saw it again. The look of disdain and disapproval. I discussed with my partner what that look meant to me and how I wasn't "allowed" to have the conversation regarding it because of my race. There's a stigma that I carry, a guilt that maybe I shouldn't be loving who I am because someone disapproves of it and that look enhances that guilt and hurts. I feel like I am in a black love relationship because I love my man and my children and my family, all of whom are black. But because I am not, I cannot be a part of that love unity.
Yes, the relationship I am in is highly supported. My marriage to a black man was supported and that support had to be enough to make me stay quiet about my own pains and confusion about my race/culture and where I could belong. I've been given "the pass" by ALL of my friends. Some even mention forgetting that I'm not black because of the fact that I am so flawlessly ambiguous. At the same time, I still have difficulty being able to connect with certain conversations because when it comes down to it, I'm not black so there are certain inherent claims I have no right to and I know this. When and where is it acceptable for me to be able to talk about my identity when there is no one who identifies as me or my race? My children are TRIracial. How do I teach them about ALL of who they are?
I suppose this post is more questions than answers, but that's where discussions usually start. Statements that question social norms and beliefs. I definitely don't have the answers to these questions and who knows if there really is an answer out there. At the end of the day I'm just a woman in love raising babies that are just as racially ambiguous as their mama.
Race and Love.
As a "racially ambiguous" woman I have had some difficulty finding a place or culture to belong to. Recently when people meet me it is immediately assumed that I am half black, others say Hispanic, Indian, the list goes on. Very rarely does anyone ever get it correct. I've grown up getting used to the question, "What are you anyway?" Eventually my sarcastic wit took over and my answer became, "Human." The issue of race and culture has taken on a new life for me because as I've gotten older I have become more aware of the social stigma that comes with racial divides. Even in my marriage (to a black man), he admitted that if I WAS black we wouldn't have conversations about race and ironically the racial conversations we did have were initiated by ME. I was slightly disturbed that as a black man in America (raising a young black boy), he didn't acknowledge his own struggles in the white suburbia where we resided. Was I making a mountain out of a mole hill or was it that I didn't have the right to discuss these racial issues? It was something that confused and bewildered me then and even now. How do I raise a young black boy as a single mother who is not black? How do I explain to him that there are people who will classify and segregate him because of his shade of black? And how do I address these issues with him if his father will not? The same questions can be said for my daughter. She's been asking me why our skin is different shades of brown or why my hair is straight and hers is curly. She yearns for my straight hair and I want her curly locks. I tell her she's beautiful all the time because I never want her to think that because her mom is lighter with longer hair that I am the definition of beauty. If it were up to me, she would be the new definition of all that is perfect.
Then we enter into the widely accepted or not accepted world of love and race. Growing up on a military base, I wasn't exposed to race issues. We were either military or civilian. THAT was our stigma. When I moved to Kansas City I started to notice certain looks from mainly black women when I was with my (ex)husband. Multiple times I overheard bathroom conversations about my "swirl" kids or how I "must have stolen my man." For some reason I was the homewrecker in the eyes of some women and I didn't understand the concept until I realized that I was in a love relationship that couldn't be hash-tagged as #BlackLove. Regardless of how beautiful I feel love is, or how supportive I am of unity in black love, that wasn't who I was when these women saw me. Recently in a restaurant with my current love (also a black man) I saw it again. The look of disdain and disapproval. I discussed with my partner what that look meant to me and how I wasn't "allowed" to have the conversation regarding it because of my race. There's a stigma that I carry, a guilt that maybe I shouldn't be loving who I am because someone disapproves of it and that look enhances that guilt and hurts. I feel like I am in a black love relationship because I love my man and my children and my family, all of whom are black. But because I am not, I cannot be a part of that love unity.
Yes, the relationship I am in is highly supported. My marriage to a black man was supported and that support had to be enough to make me stay quiet about my own pains and confusion about my race/culture and where I could belong. I've been given "the pass" by ALL of my friends. Some even mention forgetting that I'm not black because of the fact that I am so flawlessly ambiguous. At the same time, I still have difficulty being able to connect with certain conversations because when it comes down to it, I'm not black so there are certain inherent claims I have no right to and I know this. When and where is it acceptable for me to be able to talk about my identity when there is no one who identifies as me or my race? My children are TRIracial. How do I teach them about ALL of who they are?
I suppose this post is more questions than answers, but that's where discussions usually start. Statements that question social norms and beliefs. I definitely don't have the answers to these questions and who knows if there really is an answer out there. At the end of the day I'm just a woman in love raising babies that are just as racially ambiguous as their mama.
Monday, November 16, 2015
Taking a Hard Look in the Mirror
Social media has this way of "flashing back" these days and reminding us all of where we were this exact day years ago. I have found that this turned into somewhat of an independent and sometimes daily mental battle. I'm reminded that I was once a wife. It's a strange feeling, to know that you once were in this position of entitlement and now you're simply the "mother of." That at some point in my young life I was someone's forever, I was the best part of their life, I was the wife and had rights that trumped privileges. On one post I even referred to myself as "the wife." Those words, so simple and easily slipping off my lips, tossed a stone at my heart and I started to wonder how I ever knew how to be a wife.
I don't think I really ever did. Not truly.
I'm much better at being a mother than I was at being a wife. I find fulfillment in being a mother and reflecting on how I was as a wife, I rarely found fulfillment. Whose fault is that really? Can I blame him for cheating if I wasn't excited about being his wife? Could I really have expected him to be honest with me if I couldn't be honest with myself? In trying to move forward in my current relationship, I've been forced to reflect on my past (self). I don't want to make the same mistakes and quite honestly, I'm afraid I will. I grew up in a family that was tainted with divorce. My parents, grandparents, aunts and uncles had all gone through a divorce. I didn't go into my marriage with divorce as an option, but being a product of divorce made the concept real to me and I also didn't go into my marriage knowing what forever truly meant. I've never seen who a wife is supposed to be in a marriage, only what norms have been forced on me. I tried so hard to adhere to those norms and in the process completely lost the small fractions of myself that I once had. I didn't even notice it when it was happening. I thought it was normal to be a wife and have no friends. I didn't think adults made friends. I developed tunnel vision and was blind to everyone else around me.
For the first time in my adult life I have been receiving a massive amount of judgement based off assumptions and what others think of as acceptable behavior. I am by no means perfect, I have tried and failed and with that failure finally realized that perfection is fleeting and in the end not an obtainable characteristic.
For years I would conform to what others wanted me to do, my passions and self love was thrown into the ashes because; who cares about my heart (it's broken anyway)? It seemed the moment I wanted to dust off the ashes and begin to love myself so many loved ones "didn't know me anymore." I'm experiencing being a failure for the first time. Initially I thought it would be a humbling experience, that I would feel stronger even though I had people telling me I was a "sorry excuse for a mother," everything they were "running from," "the worst thing to ever happen" to them, "selfish," "fat and disgusting." I'm a lover of words and words have been taking me out execution style. I never intended to be someone's failure. For so long I would pride myself on making the right decisions and being the one people would stick up for. Having someone you once loved show you nothing but hatred is probably one of the most difficult feelings to deal with (especially when you've chosen to forgive them and move on with your life).
I recently found a couple journals where I attempted to jot things down. I went through phases where I would write down my feelings, but then would be scared he would read them again, so I'd hide them away and forget about them. When I was reading through one journal last night there were numerous entries where I think I knew I was losing. I knew I was losing my soul and my strength and my own identity, but I was scared of how to find it all again. I wanted so badly not to fail and in the process I let go of a lot of the dreams and gifts I was given at a young age. I allowed perfection to dissipate and became comfortable in angst.
Age has forced me to look back at these things and I find myself questioning the younger me. When did I get so lost that I couldn't even see through the wind? I read somewhere that we will never know what we truly look like, only the reflection made from a mirror or in a picture. We'll never get to see ourselves the way others see us. Of course, I took this metaphorically as well. A mirror will only reflect what we impose on it, however, sometimes we forget that if there is a bend or crack in the mirror, our image may be distorted, The same can be said for the people in our lives, and in my case my husband (when I was married). He was my mirror. I only saw myself how he saw me, the reflection I imposed on him was what I thought was a suitable wife, but he was bent in some corners that were invisible to the naked (married) eye and cracked in the middle. I don't think we ever really see the distortions that the mirror has because we're so focused on how we have become distorted and fixing ourselves (in the other person's image).
Here's the hard part. I realize that perfection is only a manifestation of what we feel is flawless and the reality is that as human beings we are incapable of adhering to all the requirements those around us create in order for us to be perfect. However, there is a small population of us, who even in the midst of the opposition, still aim for that perfection with a blind eye to the fact that we will never reach it. But what is perfection anyway? Is it dinner on the table by 6:30 every evening? Is it completely altering your life to orbit another person's? Is it not talking about things that hurt your feelings? Is it being a size four? Is it having it all figured out by 30?
If this is perfection, I suppose I'll never have it, but I guess that's why I don't look in the same mirror any more.
I don't think I really ever did. Not truly.
I'm much better at being a mother than I was at being a wife. I find fulfillment in being a mother and reflecting on how I was as a wife, I rarely found fulfillment. Whose fault is that really? Can I blame him for cheating if I wasn't excited about being his wife? Could I really have expected him to be honest with me if I couldn't be honest with myself? In trying to move forward in my current relationship, I've been forced to reflect on my past (self). I don't want to make the same mistakes and quite honestly, I'm afraid I will. I grew up in a family that was tainted with divorce. My parents, grandparents, aunts and uncles had all gone through a divorce. I didn't go into my marriage with divorce as an option, but being a product of divorce made the concept real to me and I also didn't go into my marriage knowing what forever truly meant. I've never seen who a wife is supposed to be in a marriage, only what norms have been forced on me. I tried so hard to adhere to those norms and in the process completely lost the small fractions of myself that I once had. I didn't even notice it when it was happening. I thought it was normal to be a wife and have no friends. I didn't think adults made friends. I developed tunnel vision and was blind to everyone else around me.
For the first time in my adult life I have been receiving a massive amount of judgement based off assumptions and what others think of as acceptable behavior. I am by no means perfect, I have tried and failed and with that failure finally realized that perfection is fleeting and in the end not an obtainable characteristic.
For years I would conform to what others wanted me to do, my passions and self love was thrown into the ashes because; who cares about my heart (it's broken anyway)? It seemed the moment I wanted to dust off the ashes and begin to love myself so many loved ones "didn't know me anymore." I'm experiencing being a failure for the first time. Initially I thought it would be a humbling experience, that I would feel stronger even though I had people telling me I was a "sorry excuse for a mother," everything they were "running from," "the worst thing to ever happen" to them, "selfish," "fat and disgusting." I'm a lover of words and words have been taking me out execution style. I never intended to be someone's failure. For so long I would pride myself on making the right decisions and being the one people would stick up for. Having someone you once loved show you nothing but hatred is probably one of the most difficult feelings to deal with (especially when you've chosen to forgive them and move on with your life).
I recently found a couple journals where I attempted to jot things down. I went through phases where I would write down my feelings, but then would be scared he would read them again, so I'd hide them away and forget about them. When I was reading through one journal last night there were numerous entries where I think I knew I was losing. I knew I was losing my soul and my strength and my own identity, but I was scared of how to find it all again. I wanted so badly not to fail and in the process I let go of a lot of the dreams and gifts I was given at a young age. I allowed perfection to dissipate and became comfortable in angst.
Age has forced me to look back at these things and I find myself questioning the younger me. When did I get so lost that I couldn't even see through the wind? I read somewhere that we will never know what we truly look like, only the reflection made from a mirror or in a picture. We'll never get to see ourselves the way others see us. Of course, I took this metaphorically as well. A mirror will only reflect what we impose on it, however, sometimes we forget that if there is a bend or crack in the mirror, our image may be distorted, The same can be said for the people in our lives, and in my case my husband (when I was married). He was my mirror. I only saw myself how he saw me, the reflection I imposed on him was what I thought was a suitable wife, but he was bent in some corners that were invisible to the naked (married) eye and cracked in the middle. I don't think we ever really see the distortions that the mirror has because we're so focused on how we have become distorted and fixing ourselves (in the other person's image).
Here's the hard part. I realize that perfection is only a manifestation of what we feel is flawless and the reality is that as human beings we are incapable of adhering to all the requirements those around us create in order for us to be perfect. However, there is a small population of us, who even in the midst of the opposition, still aim for that perfection with a blind eye to the fact that we will never reach it. But what is perfection anyway? Is it dinner on the table by 6:30 every evening? Is it completely altering your life to orbit another person's? Is it not talking about things that hurt your feelings? Is it being a size four? Is it having it all figured out by 30?
If this is perfection, I suppose I'll never have it, but I guess that's why I don't look in the same mirror any more.
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