Peter once asked me when it was that I fell in love with Jack. And I told him, "It was while you were sleeping."

If all the world hated you and believed you wicked, while your own conscience approved of you and absolved you from guilt, you would not be without friends.

Charlotte Brontë | Jane Eyre

"Such is your luck, such you are called to see, and let it come rough or smooth, you must surely bare it." 

- Nat Turner 

Not everything that is faced can be changed, but nothing can be changed until it is faced. - James Baldwin

What if my curiosity saves me?

If growing up is painful for the Southern Black girl, being aware of her displacement is the rust on the razor that threatens the throat. It is an unnecessary insult. 

- Maya Angelou | I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings

I connected to these words so deeply as girl, teen, and young woman. They lingered within me waiting for evolution in my understanding. Nearly a decade ago, searching for a way to describe myself and my experience, I titled this blog, Unnecessary Insults.

Tonight, I have more clarity about the connection and displacement. I also have more questions. I am reminded of something I read in passing earlier today. I am left with one word:

Investigate

verb

in·​ves·​ti·​gate | \ in-ˈve-stə-ˌgāt \

in​ves​ti​gat​ed; in​ves​ti​gat​ing

Definition

transitive ​verb

: to observe or study by close examination and systematic inquiry

intransitive ​verb

: to make a systematic examination

especially : to conduct an official inquiry

Perhaps I was given this curiosity in these specific set of circumstances with my worldview, history, family, strengths, and challenges to birth the desire and capacity to observe, study, examine and, hopefully, know.

Now, I know only enough to know that I know in part. Now, I am curious enough to root around and find out

...

Since I was 17 years old, I've held this week in October in a private vigil, noting the day even without trying. It's been 7 years. 7, I'm told, is a number of completion. Maybe, like the good and faithful servants, I've watched long enough. No more razor or rust. Just the wisdom gained from unnecessary insults and invaluable lessons.

It's Strange. Isn't It?

 Today I hired a sitter for the first time. 

I actually went through with it. I nearly canceled multiple times. I delayed the start time by an hour, and it took me over an hour to leave the house. Nevertheless, here I am. I walked to a cafe. I took a moment.

Still, it is strange. Isn’t it? Leaving your child with a highly recommended, but unknown human.

This feels like a test run. I’m a 20 minute walk (3 minute drive) from home. I do not have any formal plans. I am giving myself permission to tap into all resources available to me. I’m releasing a little control. 

“Miss A” is a kind human. In the time that I lingered, I cared for myself as she watched MJ. I heard and observed their interactions, and I do feel at ease. MJ is safe. He’s in his environment. He is receiving attention and care from a capable, honest, loving adult. 

Still, it is strange. Isn’t it? I call my mom.

I did it! 

She’s there? You didn’t cancel?

She is. I didn't. It’s so weird!

What? Having a stranger in your home watching your baby?

Yes! How was it for you, Mom?

Honestly, I never paid for a sitter. I had Mama, Tamika, Denise, and all of my nieces. Other than paying for daycare to work, I never had to hire a sitter for free time.

These are different times. My eldest niece and nephew aren’t even 10 years old yet. Plus, our family is over 300 miles away. 

I wanted an extended shower with loud music. (No listening for cries or, worse, thuds.) I wanted a solo outdoor walk. I wanted to sit at a coffee shop and enjoy a drink and pastry. I wanted “Kechia time.”

It’s strange. Isn’t it? How identity expansions shift everything?

Everywhere I go, even when I am alone, MJ is with me because everything I do, in some way or another, impacts him. That thought is, all at once terrifying, awe-inspiring, and humbling. As much as I want to access the woman I was pre MJ, I have changed. 

I do not buy into the propaganda that women are incomplete without children. I do think tethering -  be it to a child, spouse/partner, sibling, parent, pet, etcetera - being accountable to and responsible for a being outside of self - shifts perspectives and priorities. 

Sitting at a coffee shop, alone, on a Saturday night was once common for me. Now, it is extraordinarily ordinary. I am grateful for the sitter; the fresh air of an outdoor walk; to be outside of the home where I parent, live, and work; and the vibe of a cafe with good overhead music, service, beverages, and pastries.

Mostly, I’m grateful to get back home to a child who is still happy, safe, and okay. 

"Show Them You've Been Loved. Show Them How I Loved You."

As long as I am a possessor of breath, loving energy for you will emanate into the atmosphere. If my memory fades, my cells will remember. If my tongue ceases, my eyes will speak. My presence testifies to loving and being loved by you. Everything and everyone I touch is a recipient of that loving energy. In this way, our love is neither interrupted nor destroyed. It's an eternal echo transforming in perpetuity, confirming we've been loved. 

Tantrums

October 3, 2024 -

It's one of those nights where bedtime is a personal affront to MJ. Although still rare, these tantrums happen more frequently now. It's new. Sometimes, it is jarring. Every time it is dysregulating. For both of us. 

How much crying do I allow? How much responsiveness is too responsive? When does self-soothing venture into ignoring? Who among us appreciates being ignored? How do I navigate tantrums without ceding parental authority/leadership or jacking up my child's attachment system? 

Most of the time, I follow my instincts: providing comfort; holding the bedtime boundary; worrying about my neighbors' discomfort and side-eyes; trying to remain calm even though, like MJ, I want to cry and be comforted. Sometimes I think, "As long as he gets the recommended amount of sleep, is the when that important?"

In these moments, I'm overwhelmed and clear. My child's behavior gives me insight to an inner world that cannot be articulated in palatable-to-adults ways. Not yet. What I see, sense, feel, think, know? Right now, MJ needs rest. Instead of sleeping, he is crying. 

Right now, I need rest. Instead of sleeping, I'm sitting at my desk working on _____. (Does the what really matter?)

Earlier I made a not-shared-until-now video about needing rest and the emotional/mental impact of that. I also become cranky, emotional, less for human consumption when I'm overly tired. Children aren't inexplicable; they are relatable. Parents aren't immune; we have our versions of tantrums and stage rebellions against rest too.

There's no moral here. I wrote to self-regulate. I shared because I'm prone to inappropriate levels of self-disclosure. 

P.S.: Apparently, I recorded my audio journal without audio. I find that amusing. 4 minutes and 24 seconds of nothing but rest [the word and definitions]. The universe ain't subtle.

October 5, 2024 -

Today I rested. I feel well-rested. I feel better. 

Amor Fati

Everything I want is accessible to me. It is waiting on belief and timing to align, and it will come. The resources. The individuals and communities. The hopes, visions, and efforts. Every good thing will come to me in its due season. I will accept the abundance with gratitude understanding that I am worthy; the Universe, Fate, God are my loving friends; and nothing that is human - including goodness, wholeness, joys & successes - is alien to me. Selah. Amen. Let it be so.

"Let us not become weary in doing good, for at the proper time we will reap a harvest if we do not give up."

I am thinking of Amor Fati today.

("Amor fati is a Latin phrase that means 'love of one's fate.' It's a philosophy that involves accepting and loving all experiences in life, including both good and bad, as necessary for growth.")

Love For Your Life

I'm so thankful for the sweet human who taught me "There is a love of your life and a love for your life." Being with the love of my life was like living with the sun. I imagine the love for my life to be like water. 

Water's utility, necessity, and goodness are undeniable; so too is its strength. Water can exist in all three states of matter. (There's a quiet alchemic magic in that.) It can be refreshing like the feel and smell of rain, a good cry, or a shower after an especially long day. Water is precious without all the fanfare.

With the abundance of overly sweetened, artificial options, it can be easy to forget what is most needed to properly function, grow, and achieve optimal health. Necessary even at the cellular level with an ability to hold space in beautiful, awe-inspiring ways, there are moments when water quenches like nothing else. 

Distance from the sun is essential; living with water is a requirement.

Temporary Homebody

We live in a "heightened threat environment," they say. My nervous system has been activated since I was a little girl, perceiving threats and feeling threatened. Anyone who has witnessed or experienced violence, particularly at home, knows how it feels to see land mines everywhere. One wrong response, even the perception of defiance or disrespect, could trigger chaos. It was safer to be "out there," anywhere else. 

Some dwellings are heightened threat environments. It's difficult to focus on external chaos when the home and being is chaotic. Then, it all feels the same or similar. Feeling unsafe is the norm. Being unsafe is the norm.

I often assign my new desire to be home on being a parent. "Outings require so much effort," I say. Truthfully, the [varying in severity] inconvenience, annoyance, and difficulty of toddlerhood is a ready-made excuse.

I feel the heightened threat environment of the world. It whirs with the car speeding by as I clutch my 1 year old hands tighter. It's in the drunken voices of neighbors. It is on TV, phone, and computer screens. It's in the comments and newspapers. Violence visits freeways, churches, malls, schools, movie theaters, grocery stores, concerts, political rallies, golf courses, small and large communities all over the globe. 

If you feel it; if it clings to your hair and clothes like cigarette smoke; if it makes your stomach turn like overpowering perfume in an elevator, you are too sensitive. You consume too much news. You are simply not trying hard enough to be optimistic. You're too fearful. You're too dramatic. You are the rain drenching parades.

What is the appropriate response to living in the heightened threat environment of humanity? Denial? Defiance? I don't know. I only know I prefer the constructive chaos of my 1-year-old to the destructive chaos of the world in the safety of our home. 

- 09/17/2024

Hand ​in ​Hand

Parenthood can feel like a cycle of exhaustion and judgment. Caretaking and child rearing are rewarding. Rewarding is not synonymous for energizing.

I've been a parent for less than two years. There is endless acclimation and reacclimation. As the child goes through stages, so do careers, friendships, relationships, families, finances, and parents. 

There is much consensus about children changing everything. There is much judgment - from within and without - about how those changes take shape. About how long it takes to settle and resettle into normalcy in each stage. 

Life, like diapers and play areas, can be messy. It can be shitty, and, shit stinks. The literal and figurative smell doesn't linger forever, but it can take over in moments.

I seek a permission structure. I want to gift myself permission to figure all of this out. To learn my child at and on his level. To become the mother and woman I wish to be. I neither plan nor expect to parent and human without error or odor. 

I do plan to give myself patience and grace. I plan to let MJ be an individual and a child. He is so worthy of patience, grace, and insulation from labeling. I am a parent. I signed up to caretake, protect, and absorb. In a way, I signed up for exhaustion.

Exhaustion is inevitable. Judgment is unavoidable. Shit happens. We're in a leap, not a free fall. 

What breaks my heart?

The thing that breaks your heart is the very thing you were born to help heal. Every world changer’s work begins with a broken heart.

- Glennon Doyle, Untamed

Queenie

Our girl's vulnerable. She's not good; she will be just not right now.

About June 5th 2022:

I thought about it before, but I made the decision during this conversation. 

We were discussing Maslow's hierarchy of needs. 

Our lives were shifting, and we were having an intellectual conversation about it. 

I sat across from a man I adore and love - the person who made me feel safest and gave me space to be the most vulnerable LeKechia - and said "Here, with you, my physiological needs are met. I don't have love and belonging. I will never reach self-actualization."

He didn't deny that in its totality. Instead, he moved to the computer to pull up a chart. I was wrong. 

Physiological and safety needs were two different categories. He asserted that I had belonging too. He was right.

"Yes, 2.5 of my needs are being met. I need the other 2.5 as well. I want love, esteem, and self-actualization. You have them. I want that for me too."

I had to move swiftly because it was the saddest, bravest decision I'd made. I didn't trust myself to linger. A flight was booked. I returned to Texas the very next day. Within a week, I was in my furnished apartment and back to work.

I went to California for this mutual commitment based on trust and like-mindedness. My time there sparked curiosity about deeper, greater, more. I wanted MY love and esteem. It was the first time I've moved or left that had nothing to do with anyone else.

I found more than my ability to deeply love and trust. I found more than the understanding that I do know how to live peacefully with another human. I found a deep desire to know health and freedom. I learned that even the most beautiful and safest of cages stifle. 

I understood that my rescue was my job.

My mom and KEG were rocks. They understood and did not require lengthy explanations. It is something beautiful. I had their trust and support in my leaving and in my returning. 

I was in grief because that relationship and person meant so much to me. My mom cried just hearing me. Olanda is the empathy OG. 

I was in joy because I meant more to myself. I was determined to get on the receiving end of my own goodness. I was clear about the path forward and confused as hell about all the conflicting emotions.

One year ago today, I chose to walk towards self-actualization. I wanted it more than positive perceptions, a good reputation, and comfort. I call it a return to sanity because it was a return to Self. If doing the same thing over and over is the definition of insanity; this must be the opposite.

Over the past year, I've taken steps forward and back. Then, I go forward again. I've shaken up a lot of shit. On the outside it may look like chaos. It is actually discovery. I am a opening up whole new worlds.

I did not give up a comfortable life for a comfortable life. I did not end a deep connection for surface ones. I am seeking, creating, and moving towards the wildest, truest, most beautiful life I can imagine.

 And, I KNOW it is possible for me.

My teens were about freezing. My 20s were about flocking and fleeing. Right now, my 30s are about fighting, and I am worthy of all my fight. Still, somehow, it's about resting.

P.S.:  "Send him some love and light every time you think about him, then drop it." (Elizabeth Gilbert) Today, I send you light and love and gratitude. 

Today, I celebrate the got damn cheetah that I am. 🐆 "You are not crazy. You are a goddamn cheetah." (Glennon Doyle) #untamed

- Wrote June 5th 2023

Damn

When I deny what I actually want for what I'm "supposed to" want, chaos ensues. It is a dishonest, inauthentic, confused way of being. Choices made from that place rarely become wins; they become "bought lessons." How much more more am I willing to pay to accept the awareness and implement the knowledge? 

Daily Acts of Intimacy

When I was a child, being the only girl, I had my own room. Whether we lived in a house or apartment, my brothers bunked together; I was solo. Honestly, I hated it. My mom and her husband and "the boys" were coupled as I marched off to nightly solitary confinement. 

(To be fair, in the daytime or when I was pissed, I thank God for the X chromosome that gave me space.)

Since childhood, I have had disturbing, vivid dreams. Sometimes, it's the same one; other times, they are different. I wake up with my heart racing and less frequently now, in a state of anxiety or full-blown tears. 

When I got older and had "sleepovers," I realized how much I enjoy sleeping with another human. In our society, "sleep with" is often a euphemism for sex. It's not that for me.

In 2015, I wrote how there must be a "level of trust and security... established with someone" to do that "daily act of intimacy." I stand by the assessment I made at 25 years old. Sleep - like kissing, holding hands, and meeting loved ones - I typically reserve for my most intimate connections.

In college, I woke up from one of these nightmares with my then boyfriend lying beside me. We talked about the dream. It was the first time I discussed it with someone else.

Luc was a calming voice and presence. Whether he was in the same room or another state/country, I could call him. Time wasn't a consideration. We'd talk through it.

I woke up from a disturbing dream this morning. 

I stopped the music and acknowledged it wasn't exactly a peaceful playlist. I reminded myself it was a dream, not a prescription for action in reality. I reflected on what my subconscious mind could be processing. I took a deep breath. I started writing. I calmed me. 

I coax and coach myself back to this plane. I am self-regulating. That's growth.

MJ is still peacefully sleeping in the other room. It is Sunday. It's early enough to get another hour or two of rest. I fell into dream-free sleep. 

When I meet someone special, I'll tell them, without providing context, I look forward to sleeping with you. (It will be truthful.) Sleep, afterall, is a daily act of intimacy - a way to show established trust and security within and without. Isn't that beautiful?

Welcome June

I've been single for two years now. I've been back in Texas for two years now. I've been in therapy - consistently and intermittently - for about that same amount of time. I see where I allowed too much, gave too little, underestimated, overestimated, and was out of balance and integrity.

I know I'm not always the problem. I know I can be a problem. I know it was never really about relational problems. This wasn't about him or them or us. 

It was about me.

I cannot be in a relationship and out of integration. I cannot be "in love" with you and unloving to me. I cannot be attached to someone else and detached from my body, feelings, and self.

About two years ago, I announced, "I won't be in a relationship until I no longer feel anything for Luc. That just wouldn't be fair." I laugh a little thinking about that externalized metric. The false consideration for others is cringy.

Two years later, I still have moments of missing him and our connection. I still get in my feelings from time to time. I struggle with the fact that my choice to leave our relationship and California led to his choice to not be in relationship with me in any capacity. He has stood on business. (I expect nothing less of him.)

From my perspective, I "broke my own heart." From his, I "disrespected the plans...made for the future" and "acted unilaterally." Both are true.

In June 2022, I made a hard choice. I came "home," surrounded myself with my loving community, and began to unpack with a mental health professional.

In June 2023, I made another hard decision. I opened my home and life to a sweet, then 3-month-old boy. 

In June 2024, I know decisions can be hard, right, and good. I know love is durable; trust is fragile; and shit works out as it should. I don't know the plans The Orchestrator of Everything has for me. I infer from past experiences, faith, and a different, new trust that they are interesting and good.

I also know that I held onto Luc in the figurative sense because it was easier. I used him as a way to keep distance. That's unfair. It is selfish. 

I know I must make another hard decision. I must let go, stand on business, and become my own metric for readiness. I must continue to seek awareness, work towards congruence, and be with me a little while longer.

I started this writing listening to "I'm Not Ok" by H.E.R. I had a cleansing cry. I feel better than ok. I feel ready to welcome year two. 

Happy June!

from "Eat, Pray, Love" by Elizabeth Gilbert

And please don’t laugh at me now, but I think the reason it’s so hard for me to get over this guy is because I seriously believed David was my soul mate...

He probably was. Your problem is you don’t understand what that word means. People think a soul mate is your perfect fit, and that’s what everyone wants. But a true soul mate is a mirror, the person who shows you everything that’s holding you back, the person who brings you to your own attention so you can change your life. A true soul mate is probably the most important person you’ll ever meet, because they tear down your walls and smack you awake. But to live with a soul mate forever? Nah. Too painful. Soul mates, they come into your life just to reveal another layer of yourself to you, and then they leave. And thank God for it. Your problem is, you just can’t let this one go. It’s over, Groceries. David’s purpose was to shake you up, drive you out of your marriage that you needed to leave, tear apart your ego a little bit, show you your obstacles and addictions, break your heart open so new light could get in, make you so desperate and out of control that you had to transform your life, then introduce you to your spiritual master and beat it. That was his job, and he did great, but now it’s over. Problem is, you can’t accept that his relationship had a real short shelf life. You’re like a dog at the dump, baby – you’re just lickin’ at the empty tin can, trying to get more nutrition out of it. And if you’re not careful, that can’s gonna get stuck on your snout forever and make your life miserable. So drop it.

But I love him.

So love him.

But I miss him.

So miss him. Send him some love and light every time you think about him, then drop it. You’re just afraid to let go of the last bits of David because then you’ll be really alone, and Liz Gilbert is scared to death of what will happen if she’s really alone. But here’s what you gotta understand, Groceries. If you clear out all that space in your mind that you’re using right now to obsess about this guy, you’ll have a vacuum there, an open spot – a doorway. And guess what the universe will do with the doorway? It will rush in – God will rush in – and fill you with more love than you ever dreamed. So stop using David to block that door. Let it go.

Safety

My friend and I had an unexpected conversation about safety. 

I expressed my challenge of feeling emotionally safe with most people. Now, I experience overwhelm with concern for MJ's safety. "I'm constant on the lookout of threats" was the gist. My dear, kind, open, honest friend, listened, affirmed, acknowledged, and comforted. 

(It was a master class in perspective taking.)

My immediate reaction to the awareness surrounding safety: "Oh shit! I must [insert an automatic, unhealthy response] to ensure [insert a controlled, comfortable outcome]. I was focused on the fear, not the gift of being seen and felt.

I did not properly articulate in the moment, but my friend makes me feel safe. I show up to spaces with them transparent and vulnerable without facade and bravado. It's freeing.

I have a lot to learn about making others feel safe too. I have a lot to unlearn about what constitutes a threat. I am willing to do this work.

Story

Me? 

Little ol' me? 

Ain't whole me?

Oh, I'm from that school of shame -

Where I am the victim and I am to blame

When I am guilty, it feels just the same

"Something about me attracts and delivers pain."

Ashamed.

Because living in my head hurts

And my opened closet reveals bodies on bodies in dirt

Shapen in iniquity and conceived in sin sits right

But fine print is appended to John 3:16

For God so loved the world*

*But that doesn't include me

I'm the daughter that tears, oil, and faith can't save

My state of humanity is uniquely grave

Me.

Big ol' me.

Not quite holy.

Removing She​ol clothes

Healing and learning from shame

And still slipping up

Still slightly profane 

Still questioning the therapist who said

"Change what you can change."

Much more aware

Much more free

Better able to challenge rumination's stories

Mental eraser in my figurative hands, 

Going to work on the aforementioned print

Finally beginning to understand 

The writing belongs to me, 

not God.

Me.

Soft ol' me.

Sister-Woman of Celie.

Declaring boldly to everything listening:

But I'm here.

I'm here.

I'm here.

Standing in the story.

story

noun (2)

\ ˈstȯr-ē \

Definition (Entry 3 of 3)

1a: the space in a building between a floor and the roof

Great Expectations

"...but it’s so new here, and so strange, and so fine,—and melancholy...

“So new to him,” she muttered, “so old to me; so strange to him, so familiar to me; so melancholy to both of us!

- Pip & Miss Havisham

Great Expectations | Charles Dickens

Mrs. Joe was a very clean housekeeper, but had an exquisite art of making her cleanliness more uncomfortable and unacceptable than dirt itself. Cleanliness is next to Godliness, and some people do the same by their religion.

I was always treated as if I had insisted on being born in opposition to the dictates of reason, religion, and morality, and against the dissuading arguments of my best friends.

Wrecking Ball

Don't you ever say I just walked away.

I will always want you.

March 25th

When I started this writing, feeling anxious and fearful, I wrote: My deepest fear used to be arriving to the end of my life unaccomplished, not actualized, with great potential and minimal results. Now I am afraid of reaching the end of my life traumatized, unhealed, and unproductive in the sense of a healthy, in tact soul bearing fruit.

I stopped writing in the notes of my phone, picked up a pen, and started to journal.  Then I made a cup of tea. I lit a calming candle. I sat with the part of me stuck in the future and the part stuck in the past. We cried. I soothed my parts with understanding and patience. I was gentle with us as I brought us back to now. 

Here, right now, in this moment, I am safe.

In our last session, my therapist reminded me of the following:

1. Trust your intuition, but not the mind.

2. Pay attention to trauma responses.

3. [Ask] Where is this stemming from?

4. Triggers are an opportunity to go within; never to project.

I leaned into those reminders today.

Last night you reached for me because you were wandering in darkness - lost in that beautiful, untamed mind. I am skilled at bringing you back and absorbing your negative energy. With grace, laughter, and sultriness, I transform it into something affirming, soft, sweet, and pleasurable. l take the energy you bring and make light. My alchemy is your advantage. God-given giftedness is inexhaustible, but my patience is not. The heart is willing; the boundaries are rigid.

B.P.

I love my child. 

In many ways, I changed for the better with his arrival into my life. 

I miss who I was before my child. 

I miss the freedom, time, identity, simplicity, and relationships the way they existed BP. 

Before Parenthood.

I want to acknowledge this without internal guilt or external judgment. I know there are safe places and people, outside of my therapist and sessions, to hold space for these two truths. I celebrate motherhood; I miss me-hood at the same damn time.

This is my current experience. I know I am not unique. I am in transition with many other in flux humans.

Can we talk candidly about it? Transition is beautiful. It is also chaotic, messy, and frustrating. Some days I feel I am thriving; other days I feel I am drowning. 

I was 32 years old when I became a grown-up to my little human. I was just approaching a version of womanhood that was about release, confidence, authenticity, and mastery. 

Now, I am relearning who I am again. I am encountering new challenges. I am learning while teaching and modeling. I desperately want to get this right while understanding perfection is unachievable. Even as I am more seasoned in age, I am a novice in parenting.

It's understandably daunting. It is understandable to romanticize life B.P. from time to time. I hope it is also understood that I wouldn't change the decisions that led me to MJ.

Right Places

How I Got There:

I am at the wrong Walgreens location. I scheduled on Osage and 34th, not Bell and 34th. 🤦🏿‍♀️ Furthermore, I must do the test in the drive up lane; I took an Uber here.

I walk away from the pharmacy area. I am standing near the freezer aisle, likely looking as puzzled as I feel. 

...

Today, I've called four to five different entities asking the same questions. I'd like a respiratory panel to test for Adenovirus and Parainfluenza 3. Each entity confirmed they only offer COVID, flu, Strept, and RSV tests.

I just want confirmation that I do not have a virus that can worsen MJ's condition.

...

A Walgreens team member sees me, stops, and asks if she can help. "Yes. Please!" She spoke to the pharmacist. He agreed to test me in the store's clinic area as soon as he could.

Throughout my inquiry and wait, I notice a woman. She also has that look. I sit next to her. I overhear a conversation.

She just wants her child's prescription. She obtains RxBIN and PCN information from Medicaid. She gives it to the pharmacy technician. It doesn't work. The medication costs $25.99. She does not have it.

She sits back down, gets back on the phone, and keeps trying. Of course, she does. She's a worn-out, determined advocate. She is the middle person in an overly complicated process. 

The policy is active, but the information does not pull when run by the pharmacy. Her frustration is palpable even though she doesn't argue or protest. She sits back down, gets back on the phone, and keeps trying.

I have a moment of "Don't get involved, LeKechia. You're being nosey. This isn't your problem." There's also a loud inner prompting: "You thought this was about you and MJ, but God is going to get glory in her life."

I say "Ma'am" in that way Karina mimics so well. "Come on. Let's get your baby's medicine." She looks at me and immediately starts to cry and tell me her story.

I reminded her that "God sees you. You're doing the best you can. It's not that you're not doing enough. It shouldn't be this hard."

That message was for her and me. Two women just trying to make sure our little humans are okay. We decide not to hug. (Her baby's sick. My baby's sick.) But, we exchanged a renewing energy.

My hope for her is that they get the job that enables them to move out of that hotel into a comfortable, safe environment to care for their baby and selves without lack or bureaucracy.

I was at the wrong Walgreens at the wrong time, and I was in the right place at the right time.

Side note: I struggle when it comes to telling "good deeds" publicly. 

I always think about Matthew 6. I do not want to be among "the hypocrites...blowing trumpets in the synagogues and streets to call attention to their acts of charity" who "have received all the reward they will ever get." (Matthew 6:2 NLT) Also, I have been the recipient of so much quiet generosity. I appreciate it and those individuals so; I want to reciprocate and emulate that goodness.

This isn't bragging. It's about trust and positioning. It is about how we are strategically placed in the paths of one another. And, that, dear friends, I am convinced is not coincidence. In that way, this is about faith.

Altered

I get it. I used to wonder why grown-ups share so many pictures and videos of their little humans too. Here's my best guess. 

Each family's internal world is transformed when a little human arrives. It is disrupted in beautiful, wild, wondrous ways. And every member touched by that arrival will never be the same. They become something new. Something different. Something more. 

Day in and day out, these internal worlds spin around those little beings growing bigger and bigger every day. For the grown-ups in that child's orbit, it's exhausting. Exciting. Everything. 

We capture moments with our eyes and devices that they won't even remember. Yet we cannot forget. We will not forget because it's etched in our hearts, not memories.

Maya Angelou is quoted saying, "People will forget what you did, but people will never forget how you made them feel." It's sentimental. I know. But, these world-changers make us feel like The Sun. 

Somehow, as we orbit around them, simultaneously, they orbit us too. When that system is harmonious, it provokes a weird certainty:

This is love. 

Not the only love. Perhaps, not the greatest love. But, it is an undeniable, powerful, life-altering love.

"Peter Frampton"

I heard the name, and it took me back. It's funny how that still happens.

The Best Thing I Never Had

Thank God I'm finding the good in goodbye. 

This was the capacity of my love for you.

I touched the scars on your body, etched before we ever were, and thanked Whomever could hear my inner thoughts. I fought back tears then touched you once more. With gratitude. With reverence. Your near misses, some decades old, were too close. I laid my lips on your skin as if my kisses were offerings. I felt your wounds - healed and fresh - absorbed your energy, and transformed it all into deeper love. The deepest.

What?

It's not the conversation with you. It's the conversations I have with myself about you. Mid-speech. Second-guessing. Every sentence punctuated with questions. Egg stepping and defensiveness. It's unhealthy to engage like this. So, let's reevaluate our connection and minimize the stressfulness.

Essential

The Sun, light and life-giving as she is, can be obscured by clouds from time to time. Even so, she is still there. She is still generative. She is still essential. She is still our brilliant star - part of the observable and infinite Universe.

Workin' Moms

Do you ever feel like our friendship is this time capsule built on these ideas that don't serve us anymore? It's like we've been feeding each other a steady diet of poison for a really long time...You know how I said anything in life worth doing is fucking scary and going to hurt?...I think I need time to figure out who I am without you...If this friendship has run its course or served its purpose, then maybe that's okay. Maybe letting go of it could be like a celebration.

- Anne & Kate