Unnecessary Insults: Two

Do I want children?

I have always and will always have the answer to that question. Yes! Yes, I WANT children. I desire to have a child. I've, at various points, wished for a child. I love children. Rather I become a mother or not, I believe I will always have some degree of want for a child. Wanting a child is not the issue.

Will I be a good mother?

This is the question that causes the most angst. I can be somewhat of a mess. I have my issues, intricacies, and incongruences. I can have the best intentions and still not produce. I have said and did things that hurt people I love. I am difficult to live with. I am too stubborn, particular, and serious. I am me, and I am self-aware. When I examine myself fully, considering both my good and bad qualities, I cannot answer this question definitively.

Baby fever and parental fear have been concomitantly present in my adult life. The idea of being a catalyst for life, loving, teaching, and being connected to someone as a mother parallel to the fear of being a "bad" parent, passing down undesirable traits and habits, and hurting, in anyway, the child(ren) God entrusted me to care for has waged an emotion versus logic debate within myself.

Marriage was the deciding factor. When I became a wife, I experienced a raging case of baby fever. I definitely wanted a baby and motherhood.

I must have spent hundreds of dollars on pregnancy tests. I toyed with babies names. I would drag my then husband to the baby section of stores. I campaigned relentlessly for Baby McDonald. We were married. We would have a two parent household. (I didn't have that and most certainly wanted it for my future children.) We actually could support a child financially. Our parents would be active grandparents; we wouldn't even have to worry about childcare. Their first grandchild! I read lots of articles; everything doesn't have to be perfect.

In hindsight, thankfully my ex-husband was unwavering. In our three year course of marriage, I did not have a pregnancy or child.

Now, you can imagine how incredibly flabbergasted I was on Saturday, November 28, 2015 when I found out I was pregnant. Post separation from my husband, with an impending divorce; a single woman in a single income household, and I was pregnant. Nothing was according to my plan. The examination of every circumstance seemed to validate my fear of parenthood.

Even in the presence of that fear the baby fever and excitement would not subside. I immediately began planning life adjustments for Baby McMillian. No, everything was not ideal, but it had finally happened. I was pregnant! Afterall, I've always wanted a child. Wouldn't I do everything necessary to be a good mother?

On Saturday, December 5, 2016, exactly one week later, I had a spontaneous abortion. I was six weeks pregnant when I miscarried.

It was one of the most bizarre emotional weeks of my life. I couldn't help but feel like the target of an unkind joke. Most insulting to me, however, is that the experience did not resolve the baby fever or eradicate the parental fear.

Do I want children?
Absolutely.

Will I be a good mother?
Sighs...

Anxiety Suffered Casualties

I have Generalized Anxiety Disorder. In most areas, my anxiety is manageable. In some areas, it can be debilitating. Driving fell in the latter category, and the act accompanied by level of anxiety that had physical manifestations.

Most people are probably thinking: "Grow up, Kechia." Lol. I get that. However, anxiety is pretty common as it affects about 3 million people. For people who have severe anxiety, even tasks that are simple to others can present real challenges.

While I was always apprehensive about driving, I had a car accident in 2012 that worsened the issue.

I was driving to church on a Tuesday. Initially, I didn't want to drive, but I did so anyways. I drove safely, and much to my relief, the church was within sight. I was filled with the most temporary relief. A moment later, as I was turning into the narrow roadway to enter the church property, I had a car accident. The car was flipped upside down and totaled. And, I had the biggest panic attack I've had to date. It may seem trivial, but it was one of the worst days of my life.

Everyone said that particular unpaved road had been problematic. Most people said it was an accident waiting to happen. The city even closed and reconstructed the road in that area. None of that knowledge helped me.

From the date of that accident until about June 2015, I attempted to drive only a handful of times. Each time was characterized by heightened fear and anxiety.

I said all of that to put this milestone into its proper context. On January 30, 2016, I got a car. It was a better car than I planned to get, and it was much needed. (Uber, Lyft, and my transportation costs [without a car payment and insurance] required a ridiculous percentage of income each month.)

In all honesty, up until this point, I had not shared a picture of my car because I still was not driving. I was still allowing the anxiety to hinder me.

Yesterday, I drove from Garland to Greenville by myself. I drove to several places in Greenville. I drove back home today. I drove 100 plus miles, and I did so semi-independently. (My best friend, Errian, was on the phone via the car's Bluetooth. He helped a sister combat the anxiety whenever it reared its ugly head.)

I do not care if this is insignificant to most people. It is not for me. This exacerbated-anxiety-while-driving situation has caused me much embarrassment, frustration, and sadness. It has been the biggest hindrance to autonomy. Everyday that I drive, I reclaim a piece of my freedom back. Yesterday and today, I feel like anxiety suffered casualties. I am tearfully happy about this.

First and foremost, thank you, Jesus!
Special thanks to my Mama, Flanigan, and TeAnn!

Unnecessary Insults: One

“You didn’t come with a manual, LeKechia.”

My dad, in an almost apologetic manner, reminded me that being my father was as difficult as being his daughter. Our relationship was tumultuous, and we were both charting unfamiliar territory. Whenever he said it, I would, for a fleeting moment, feel as sorry for him as I did for myself. That compassion quickly dissipated as I resigned to the fact that he was too proud to be apologetic. 

I am certain that there is something innate within my father that won't allow room for regrets. I am also certain that that something comes from the same brand of pigheadedness I, unfortunately, find myself unable to contain.  In any case, I could not trust my intuition because my perception of him tended to be overly harsh. So the part of me that loved and yearned for a healthy father-daughter relationship would not allow any concrete resolve about his character.  

While he has never verbalized it, I am certain that on some level he resents me as much I resent him. He felt and expressed that he did his best as a father. I did not agree. I saw conceit where he found satisfaction. He had disdain where I placed value. We, on so many issues, on the issues of most importance, were polar opposites.

On many occasions, he would remind me that I was not an “accident;” that he and my mom planned to have me. As he  proudly recalled the events surrounding my conception, I quietly reeled from an overwhelming combination of relief and offense. A sixteen year old and a nineteen year old decided to bring life in this world without the preparation, maturity, and resources required for the undertaking. They actually thought it was a good idea!

I still have not decided if I prefer my existence being the result of foolish mistake or a foolish decision. And, I cannot help but think that the latter is worse. Most insulting to me is the reality that shortly after my conception my dad would engage in an affair with Texas Department of Criminal Justice. He was not present for my birth. He did not sign my birth certificate. He was incarcerated for the first nine years of my life. Despite all of the effort we both feel we gave over the years, we have yet to reach a place of mutual understanding. 

My parents made one of hell of a decision that affected all of our lives and the essence of who I am. I do not think I fully forgave them for being ignorant and young until life taught me that I am not above youth and ignorance. Maybe my father did try his best.

"Keep on living, Baby."

Another one of his mantras accosting me...

Damn. 

Celebrate Others

Divorcing? Celebrate other's marriages.

Jobless? Celebrate other's promotions.

Sad? Celebrate other's happiness.

Broke? Celebrate other's wealth.

Childless? Celebrate other's children.

Unmotivated? Celebrate other's determination.

Sick? Celebrate other's health?

Lost? Celebrate other's purposes.

I am learning that I can be GENUINELY HAPPY for others WHILE working through my own negative experiences and/or feelings. I've found it to be a beautifully rewarding thing. It is minimizes selfishness. It blots out comparisons. And, it helps me to stay focused on where I'm headed not where I've been or where I am currently.

I refuse to avoid or disconnect from people because they are experiencing growth in an area where I am having a drought. And, I will not feel embarrassed or mimimized about where I am in my journey.

We should actually surround ourselves with people who are_____, have done _____, obtained _____, accomplished _____, have _____, etc. (The blanks are different for all of us.)

Follow them on social media. Meet up with them.
Ask them questions. Take their sound advice.
Be encouraged by their accomplishments.
Celebrate the goodness in their lives.

There are people out here who have been grinding hard and consistently to realize the vision they have for themselves and their lives. There are people who are making good choices and sacrificing while thinking about their long term objectives; people who have been praying, fasting, seeking God to see their promises fulfilled. There are people have went through some major hell and overcame defiant obstacles to get to where they are.

How can you hate on that?
Why would you want to?

Check yourself, humble yourself, and celebrate someone.

Life Lessons from a Smoke Detector

I've been living in my apartment for about 7 months now. At some point my bedroom's smoke alarm began beeping, but I never attended to it. I completely tuned it out.

Recently, during two separate phone conversations with two different friends, I was told I need to change the smoke alarm batteries. To them, the beeping was loud and annoying.

I hadn't notice.

For an uncertain duration of time, I became accustomed to a noise that alerts me something needs attention. Something needs to change.

This morning I was awakened, literally and figuratively, by that beeping. When I tried to go back to sleep, I could not. It seemed to have gotten louder. It must have. There is no way I could have ignored this nerve-wracking  sound for 7 months.  I am bothered that I chose to endure the signal rather than rather than make the necessary changes. (I should have changed the batteries. I should have replace the device if the smoke detector's life has ended.)

That pestering smoke alarm beeping has been such a reality check this morning. While reality checks can be rude and harsh, they are necessary.

#knowbetter #dobetter
#DoNotIgnoreTheWarningSigns 

Algophobic Masochist

Hurt masquerading as anger
We both feel the fear and danger
The warning alarms are screaming
Too far gone to heed them
Hearts demanding the brain shut up
It's evident that neither of us gives a fuck
About the ruins that lie in wait
Playing with fire; testing fate
Every kiss nearing the sadness
Every fight compounding the madness
Neither of us want to lose ourselves to other
Neither of us can refuse the energy between us
Fearing the pain and reveling in it:
Algophobic Masochists

Queen of Failed Selfies

Everyone is good at something, and I am particularly skilled at selfie failures. It is challenging for me to capture a "perfect" selfie which is part of the reason I post pictures sporadically.

Since Friday, my 25th birthday, I have been snapping pictures trying to find that one social media ready photo.

The shit isn't working. In every photo, I am blurry, too many flaws are visible, and/or I look super uncomfortable. My quest to find the photo that captured the essence of 25 wasn't going to happen.

Or so I thought...

I am the self-proclaimed Queen of Failed Selfies. I accept my fate.

I will not, now or nor in the future, post a selfie that is going to garner "mad" attention. And, I, like 10 minutes ago, became okay with that. I am a grown ass woman, and I have to start thinking as such.

Why should I feel angst about posting a picture on Facebook? That is petty. It's superficial, and it is bullshit, self-inflicted bullshit.

Because I love to go from one extreme to another, I am now on the side of the spectrum that couldn't care less.

If I post a picture, and I think I look pretty, that's all the validation needed. 

SO...

Those who know me well are aware that I am a bona-fide slack wearer. Jeans make me feel uncomfortable and extremely self-conscious. 

Well today I wore a pair, and I liked it. 

Here's the essence of 25 for me:

A blurry selfie with things that make me self-conscious on full display including my feet that are blending into the carpet for some reason

Lol.

‪#‎enjoy (: