Letter from An Angry Black Woman

We grew up exposed, witnessing and experiencing things we were too young to adequately process, without protection and defense, vulnerable and on display. We watched our women, your women, our mothers, sisters, aunts, and cousins, endure hardship after hardship with stern and steady faces. We saw our Grandmothers, your Grandmothers, on bending knee, daily, praying for our families' deliverance and holding on to faith when all that abound was captivity and despair. We kept weary eyes on our mothers, your mothers, as they balanced life strained by stress, weighed by pressures, and silently suffering from untreated traumas. We loved you, our brothers, like second mothers, sacrificing for you, carrying a hope in our bellies and a fear in our chests for you, wanting you to succeed and beat every obstacle we knew would be in your path. And, we still had enough courage to love. We endured loss after loss, and we still had enough gumption risk ourselves.

And your frustration is that we were hardened in that process?  Hell yeah, we are harder. We were absolutely toughened, and many of us are still processing those experiences and the hurt and anger that accompanied them.

How is that you, our men, our black men---our fathers, sons, brothers, uncles, cousins, husbands, and partners---lack so much understanding and compassion for our experience? You witnessed, firsthand, the cyclical disappointments that shaped our countenance. They were, afterall, the same experiences and disappointments that shaped you, for better and for worst.

Do you still want to make corrections?

Every day it's something new.
There's so much confusion between us two.
It's not all me; it's not all you.
Neither of us know what to do,
But we both realize we're too much to lose.

Can I make a suggestion?

Let's blur the noise; focus on this truth:
You love me, and I love you.
Let's make love felt til we're both renewed
And create an intimacy that leaves no room.
We can make our relationship bloom
By loving each other enough to actually improve.

I need you to answer this question...

Zumba Meltdown

On Sunday, I decided to give Zumba a shot. I went to class on Monday and Tuesday, and I planned to go this morning. I woke up on time. I got dressed. I walked out the door, heading to a Zumba toning class. Then, I turned around.

I talked myself out of it!

I enjoyed the first two days of Zumba. I really did. I know it burned calories and caused me to break a sweat, but I am the most uncoordinated person. (I break every stereotype about black people and dancing.) In the past, all dancing I've participated in involved lots of vodka, but liquid courage probably would not be a good idea in this case. (Or would it? No, it definitely would be disastrous. Damn!)

I'm sitting at home, beating myself up for not going to class, and I almost burst into tears. I was having a full meltdown about Zumba. Why? I can't tell you. Maybe I'm sensitive. Maybe I'm dramatic. Maybe I'm just a "strange little man." (Please see Toy Story if you're unfamiliar with this reference.) Maybe it's because no one can bring me to tears like I can. In any case, it is not that serious.

One day of lost courage is not worth ripping myself to shreds and discounting my progress. I had to remind myself to calm the fuck down, have a laugh at my expense, and carry on. I'm about to go to the gym, get on a stationary bike, give it all I have, and be proud of myself for not wasting this morning. And, I will be back in Zumba on Friday horrifying the friendly class who's probably not horrified at all.

P.S.
Have a good morning of being kind to self!

Taste and Preferences

We give too much credence to people's opinions. No one's preferences have bearing on our quality, worth, character, or beauty, and we should not allow ourselves to be pressured into competition with others or conformity to societal standards of femininity, masculinity, and beauty. Some people prefer diamonds; others prefer rubies, emeralds, pearls, etcetera. I prefer opal. None of these gems lose their value or desirability because of our taste and preferences. (I wish I had accepted this as a teenager!) Let's all get a firm "Like what you like, homie! Your preferences do not impact my talent, gifts, productivity, and overall fabulousness" and live life accepting our worth is intrinsic not imparted.

Understand you are not for everyone, and you're not supposed to be!

Have a goodnight, Kings & Queens. 👑

P.S.
Damn, I'm "brilliant, gorgeous, talented, and fabulous."

"There's nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other people won't feel insecure around you. We were born to make manifest the glory of God that is within us. It's not just in some of us; it's in everyone. And as we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same."
- @mariannewilliamson

Book Review: Milk and Honey

Turn to the last page of Milk and Honey, and you will find the "about the book" section which reads: 

"Milk and Honey is a collection of poetry about love, loss, trauma, abuse, healing, and femininity. It is split into four chapters. Each chapter serves a different purpose, deals with a different pain, heals a different heartache. Milk and Honey takes readers through a journey of the most bitter moments in life and finds sweetness in them because there is sweetness everywhere if you are willing to look."

Rupi Kaur certainly delivers. Each page, every poem, made a connection. I cried. I laughed. I sympathized. I exclaimed. When it was all over, I sighed. This is the book I wish I had navigating life as a teenage girl; it is a book I am grateful to have found as a young woman. Milk and Honey is something to be appreciated for its honesty, boldness, and ability to reach the reader in his/her most tender places. 

For me, personally, I am a better writer for having embarked on this "journey of surviving through poetry."  It took me back to the place I travelled to with Dr. Maya Angelou's And Still I Rise, and I was a delighted reader. For all lovers of poetry and anyone who desires an artistic rouse, Milk and Honey is a must read.

Not so much...

Master Status

Yesterday, I was talking to a friend, and he told me how sometimes it's necessary to tell people:

"You know who I used to be. You don't know who I am today."

It made me think of something I learned my freshmen year in college. Ms. Dee, a beloved professor, taught our class about the sociology term "master status." I found the concept interesting; it made an impression.

Following the conversation with my friend, I went online, searching for definitions to explain master status as well as it was presented to me. I found a definition I really like on study.com; it read:

"Master status is a type of label that may be given to you by others you encounter in the world, or it may be the status that you personally feel is most important. It could be a part of you that is first apparent to others when they meet you, or it could be an element to your identity that others would not realize simply by looking at you. Master status shapes a person's life and can be a positive, negative, neutral, or mixed label, and it can change over time. While disability is often viewed as a master status, those with disabilities may have other areas of life that are dominant, such as being an athlete.

For some, their master status may come with a sense of prestige, the consensus from the community around them that a status is to be desired. On the other hand, when a status is seen as undesirable, the status may be stigmatized. A stigma can result from choices someone has made, such as breaking the law, or from circumstances outside of a person's control, such as illness or disability."

As I considered my friend's statement I thought about the master statuses we are ascribed based on versions of ourselves we no longer are and choices we regretted and corrected. It's a frustrating thing. I thought about statuses I've assigned people especially the negative labels.

There are people who have been clean and sober for a number of years whose master status is still dominated by "crackhead," "cokehead," "pillhead" etcetera. There are people who were unfaithful but now embrace commitment and honesty who are still considered "cheaters."  There are individuals who committed crimes, served time, and actually reformed whose primary label is still "felon."

While I don't believe how others perceive us is as important as how we view ourselves, I see the obstacles that statuses, ascribed or achieved, present. Labels can hurt. They definitely have social consequences, and sometimes the impact spills over beyond the social aspect of life.

Generally speaking, I think people are cognizant of the fact that people can change and many do. I also think our experiences and observations have us jaded and skeptical about the likelihood of true and lasting transformation. I get that, but there is a caveat that you and I have to remember.

My experience with someone does not determine who he/she is and vice versa. It can and should inform how I choose to interact with him/her. It determines how much space or closeness is warranted. It is an indicator of how much I can trust him/her and what I entrust to him/her. It's revealing, but it is not be a life-long description of who he/she is.

We don't want to be naive or lack discernment. We have to be able to recognize behavior patterns and respond appropriately. We can acknowledge that a status may be accurate at a particular point in time while also understanding it may no longer be appropriate today or in the future. If everyone knew the worst thing you've ever done, what would your master status be? Would that label be an accurate description of who you are today?