happier

I hope you're happy just not like how you were with me. I'm selfish. I know. I can't let you go. So, find someone great, but don't find no one better. I hope you're happy, but don't be happier. - Olivia Rodrigo

Where do we all go?

Another day, another sin
Another day I'm late again
Oh, just like that my money's spent
Where did it all go?
Another night, another heart
Another one leaves in the dark
And I'm searching for my counterpart
Where did they all go?

And I lock every single door
And I look behind me even more
Now turned into someone that I swore
I would never be

I wish I could go back to playing barbies in my room
They never say that you gotta grow up, quite this soon
How fast things change
And now I'm here, and all I wanna do
Is go back to playing barbies in my room

And I see it on my father's face
Another line that comes with age
I know that time will have its way
Where did it all go?
They say that things were simple then
Although I don't remember when
I wanna know what happens next
Where do we all go?

And I lock every single door
And I look behind me even more
And now turned into someone that I swore
I would never be

Oh, I wish I could go back to playing barbies in my room
They never say that you gotta grow up, quite this soon
How fast things change
And now I'm here, and all I wanna do
Is go back to playing barbies in my room

Pink canopies and grass-stained knees
Putting fireflies in a jar
Getting home before it's dark
Scotch-taping posters on my wall
Rolling pixie sticks to smoke
Couldn't wait 'till I was older

And I wish I could go back to playing barbies in my room
They never say that you gotta grow up, quite this soon
How fast things change
But now I'm here, and all I wanna do
Is go back to playing barbies in my room
Back to playing barbies in my
Oh, I wish that I could go back
I wish that I could go back
I wish that I could go back
Back to playing barbies in my room

-Barbies | P!nk

I hope that you're okay.

And somehow, we fell out of touch
Hope he took his bad deal and made a royal flush
Don't know if I'll see you again someday
But if you're out there, I hope that you're okay

...

Does she know how proud I am she was created
With the courage to unlearn all of their hatred?
We don't talk much, but I just gotta say
I miss you and I hope that you're okay

...

Well, I hope you know how proud I am you were created

With the courage to unlearn all of their hatred

But, God, I hope that you're happier today

'Cause I love you

And I hope that you're okay

-hope ur okay | Olivia Rodrigo

Buried Wishes

The little girl I long to carry

The island I long to see

The book I long to write

The languages I long to speak...

You are among these

The Anxious-Avoidant Trap

When she is humble, he wants a savage.

When she's savage, he wants a lady.

When he clings, she pushes him away.

As he withdraws she wants him available. 

When she is quiet, he talks freely.

His words are sparse when she requests conversation.

When she is ready for war, he calls peace.

He picks up arms as she declares an armistice. 

They are in a cycle of mutual exacerbation,

So their relationship is filled with agitation.

They are not Yin and Yang, 

Complimentary opposites.

They deadlocked –

In conflicting attachments.

Unnecessary Insult: Kechia is a not dirty word.

When I was 11 years old, someone I admired said to me, "Every Keshia I know is a hoe."

A year or so before this proclamation about Keshias' promiscuity, I heard a most explicit song by rapper, Lil Wayne. Its title and subject was about a girl named "Kisha." My name kept cropping up in derogatory ways. The connotation of Keshia was negative, and I, as a little girl, internalized the messages. I felt shame about my name. It translated into shame about my being.

"Kechias," the little girl me reasoned, "are ghetto hoes. Am I ghetto? Am I hoe?" At 11 years old, I was having an identity crisis in silent intensity. "Names matter." This message was sealed in my young mind through religious teachings. "Abram became Abraham. Jacob became Israel. Saul became Paul. And, I am a Kechia." This, couple with things I will not detail yet, meant I was fucked.

It took me a long time not to want to be an "Anne" or "Emma" or "Susan." For years I was hyper concerned about being perceived as ghetto. My code-switching was exacerbated by a belief that I had to work extra hard to suppress my name-imposed nature. The impact on my fears and beliefs concerning my sexuality is another conversation for another day.

Gosh, the 11 year old me dealt with shit on top of shit. If I could travel in time and convince her she is not utterly defective, I would. Since I cannot, I will correct you with a rebellious, determined ferocity EVERY. SINGLE. DAMN. TIME.

"It is LeKechia. No, it's pronounced Lee-Kee-sha. Correct; it is spelled with ch, not sh. Yes, that is an upper case K. Yes, you may call me Kechia."

Am I ghetto? I can be.
Am I hoe? That is subjective.
Am I doomed? Nope. Baby, I'm destined.

P.S.:
(1) Please, I beg of you, be the information gatekeeper for your children. Ask probing questions. Have age-appropriate, but honest conversations. Little humans go through real shit too! They need our help making sense of this intractable world.

(2) Fact-check the people your kiddos admire and correct them as necessary. Your child's hero may be an asshole.

(3) From the ratchet and obscene to the poetic and cerebral, I love rap, but messages matter. The rap I grew up listening to ridiculed my name, devalued my complexion, and undercut self-esteem. Kat Williams sentiment don't apply to minors. (You know what I mean if you know what I mean. 🤷🏿‍♀️) 

Healing is a process.

Is there a poignant way to admit you have a strained or nonexistent relationship with you father? Is there a compassionate way to say you harbor resentment, anger, or indifference towards you father? Is there a way to not risk vulnerability with regards to a father you may feel has not earned your trust? 

Today is Father's Day, and likely you reflected on your relationship with your father regardless of the health of that relationship. Perhaps, if you were willing to risk vulnerability, you would may vocalize feeling triggered. Because no matter how you rationalize or accept what is, part of you, however small, wonders what it would be like if things were different. 

I know because I know. I have a strained, nonexistent relationship with my father. I harbor varying degrees of resentment, anger, and indifference. I am afraid to risk vulnerability with my father. And, I know that these things impact me on real and meaningful levels. 

I am not a mental health professional, clergyman, or parent. I am a woman whose experiences as a daughter impact the way I exist and move in this world in both good and bad and large and small ways. I know that it does not serve me to rehash negative experiences or reenact them. I know that forgiveness, as cliche as it reads, IS a gift I give myself. I know that acceptance while difficult at times is a weapon in my wellbeing arsenal. I know that setting boundaries is ESSENTIAL as is managing expectations and addressing thought distortions. 

I am saying all of this to say that it is my firm belief that articulation is medicine, and I wonder how many people cannot find the words to say how they feel today. I wonder how many people are waffling between sadness and anger. I wonder how many people feel rejected, abandoned, unseen, and/or unlovable. 

To those of us with strained or nonexistent relationships with our fathers, I would like offer Daniel Beaty's words. "Yes, we are our fathers' sons and daughters, but we are not their choices." Let us change what we can change. Let us create connections that nourish us. Let us create lives that honor us. Let us love ourselves without condition or negotiation. Let us forgive knowing that we are deserving of the freedom forgiveness encompasses. Let us heal with awareness that we are worthy of wholeness.

Check out Daniel Beaty's powerful poem and recitation: 

https://youtu.be/RTZrPVqR0D8