Who Asked for This? pt. 1

I feel like, based on the title, this could be a series all on its own, but for this entry we will be discussing the creation of the African American English Dictionary.

This dictionary will include terms commonly used by African Americans and will be published as an Oxford Dictionary. Some of the terms include “kitchen,” “grill”, and “chitterlings.”

As a visual person, my mind immediately conjured up a scenario.

I imagined a white couple from Utah traveling to Atlanta, Georgia with this dictionary clutched in their hands. They stop to ask someone on the street for directions and flip through the pages in an effort to “speak the language.”

Who is this dictionary for?

The African American community, for the most part, is already familiar with these terms and many of them are not even used anymore.

Is this another way for the African American community to teach other communities about our culture? Why is that our responsibility?

Who asked for this?

Lovecraft Country

I have this habit of “discovering” shows that were great during the time of their airing but for whatever reason, I just didn’t catch up. The latest of newly discovered joys is HBO’s Lovecraft Country.

This was a limited series of only 10 episodes, which is one of the reasons it appealed to me. My only knowledge of the show was that it was racially based and that already turned me off. I feel like I have seen and heard enough racism and injustice in media to last me a good long while. Lately, I’ve been watching reruns of shows I’ve already watched or yet another documentary about true crime.

And I need a break from killers.

So I decided to turn this on three years after it aired to see what it was all about. I announced on Facebook that I was watching it for the first time and everyone who responded positively raved about it.

I knew it was a drama, but no one told me it was this sci fi/fantasy/thriller type thing.

Not usually my cup of tea.

Nevertheless, I watched it over three days and here are my thoughts.

I absolutely agree with everyone who said they love this show. It was fantastic from the acting, special effects, music choices, and overall themes.

For me, the main takeaway was in reclaiming your legacy and reclaiming your joy.

There are two scenes that really moved me involving two of the older characters, a closeted gay man and a mother who is a grieving widow.

The man, played by the late Michael K. Williams, has hidden who he really is for most of his life. Now in his 50s, he attends a drag bar with his lover, and he starts off as an outsider viewing the feathers and glitter that’s all around him. He looks around in awe and raises his head to the ceiling. With his eyes closed tight and his arms stretched wide, his face breaks into a huge smile. There is an overwhelming look of peace on his face that brought me to tears.

It was clear, at least to me, that it may have been the first time in his life when he was allowed to be himself. There is freedom in existing without thinking about what others might think or say about you and it’s a feeling most people have to fight to attain

The grieving widow, played fantastically by Aunjanue Ellis, really appealed to me though. It wasn’t until her husband’s passing that she started looking at her life and assessing what’s missing. She admits to hiding herself to support her husband and his goals. She even gets the chance to confront him in an alternate universe and accuses him of letting her hide even though he knew how curious she was about life. In one episode, she travels through time and dimensions as a dancer and a warrior and finally a discoverer, her true purpose.

As a mother and wife, this entire episode had me in my feelings. I cried real tears at the end because it took losing her husband for her to finally put herself and her needs first. And I cried because I was so happy that she got the opportunity to fuel the little girl inside her that wanted to see the world.

This show is so beautifully shot and despite the monsters and time traveling and other fantasy elements, I really enjoyed the ride.

Some Women Don’t Want Kids

I hate that there is a stereotype that all women grow up wanting to be mothers.

A. This is simply not true.

and B. All women aren’t meant to be mothers.

Whenever a woman dares to open her mouth to say she doesn’t want children, she immediately has to defend herself from people who claim she is “selfish.” It drives me crazy!

I’m currently watching a movie on the Hallmark Channel that’s following a trio of women who are all married and embarking on new journeys in their life. Two of them have children and they keep dropping hints to the third one that she will be next; this is after she told them multiple times that she and her husband have decided not to have children.

But now, the story is lending itself to the inevitability of her and her husband adopting a boy they fall in love with on their honeymoon. And while I know that women can change their minds, this feels more to me like they are following a societal trope.

Women who choose not to become mothers are women who have decided for themselves what they want their life to look like. They lead lives that are just as fulfilling and joyous and busy as those with children. Let’s stop judging women who choose themselves over expectations.

(And yes, this is coming from a woman who has two babies of her own.)

No Right Time to Die

When it comes to suicide, everyone has an opinion. Because, why wouldn’t they?

After the shock and sadness wears off, the speculations and questions start. Whether we knew the person or not, we are desperately searching for answers, clues that we may have missed.

And always, there are those people that are consumed with indignation that someone could be so selfish as to take their own life. How could they do this to their family and friends?

It’s this kind of thinking that most likely contributed to the suicide in the first place.

When you have a family of your own, it’s expected that you will put your stuff to the side to cater to their wants and needs. You fear disappointing others. You convince yourself that whatever you’re feeling will go away. You dismiss that nagging feeling of sadness and being overwhelmed or unworthy in favor of hiding behind a false smile. You hope that no one can detect the tears that lie just below the surface. It’s an exhausting existence and at some point, it all becomes too much.

The love for family and friends is overshadowed by personal demons. None of us can speak on how deep and long these mental struggles have plagued those who commit suicide. We can’t claim their selfishness when we can’t identify with what they’re feeling.

All we can do is provide a safe space for those in our lives to be emotionally transparent. “Check on your strong friends” is not just a slogan that looks good on a meme. It’s a reminder that no matter how it looks on the outside, everyone is suffering in some way.

Show grace to others and be honest about your own struggles.

Traveling the World of Mental Health Part II

I had my first meeting with a therapist, a psychotherapist to be specific.

I found him online after looking for therapists who were covered by my insurance. Not the sexiest way to go about doing things I admit, but it’s a start.

The first question he asked me was: What do you want to get out of this experience with me?

I love people who are direct and it made me realize that for those thinking of foraying into mental health services, this may be a question they need to answer for themselves before seeking professional help.

Are you only here because someone recommended it? Are you looking for help with a specific problem? Are you in a space where you feel stuck or like you’re drowning?

I was honest. I told him that I sometimes get so overwhelmed with life that I feel like I am being suffocated. My mind starts moving in a million directions at once and I feel my heart rate increasing, my palms start sweating, and I develop a shortness of breath. When I recognize the signs of a possible panic or anxiety attack, I immediately start talking to myself out loud.

“You’re okay. What you are going to do is write down every thing in your head that worries you. Whatever you can tackle today, you will. If you can’t, you will put it out of your mind for another day. Now pick up the pencil and paper and get started. Take your time.”

I talk to myself like I am my own child: a little girl who needs guidance every step of the way because she doesn’t know where to start to make sense of things.

I also told him about me getting sad, seemingly unprompted, and how those moments are so random and off putting that it makes it more than obvious that it is depression. I have a family history of clinical depression so that makes me even more aware of feeling down but not being able to put it into words.

I told him that I feel like I am great at being reactive when I feel “anxious” or “depressed.” That’s the problem solver in me I guess. I know what to do once something happens to make a situation better for everyone involved. But what I want help with is being proactive, getting ahead of these feelings to avoid becoming overwhelmed.

In telling him this he made me realize that I carry shame about having to talk myself down. A part of me feels like I should be able to control my life and my emotions better to avoid having to admonish myself for having human emotions.

He also asked me questions about my support system and I realized I am more blessed than most. After that first session, he assured me that I had a better handle on things than I originally thought, which was a relief. Doesn’t mean there’s not still work to be done though.

Traveling the World of Mental Health Part I

This is the third series on my blog. Those who have followed me for a while may remember “Traveling the World of Disorders” about my son’s experience getting tested for autism. (The test was negative.) Then, there was “Traveling the World of Diseases” about my daughter’s bout with her physical health. (She was positive for ulcerative colitis.)

Now, it’s my turn to be in the hot seat.

I have always been an advocate for mental health awareness and always encourage people to seek outside help. The first time I talked to someone, it was while pregnant with my first child. I felt an overwhelming guilt because I was active in church and unmarried with a pastor for a mother. I felt like I was setting a bad example, though no one in church or in my life made me feel that way.

I even contemplated terminating the pregnancy and had gone so far as to make an appointment at the clinic. I changed my mind at the last minute.

The person I talked to helped me to dig through my various feelings. She was tremendous in allowing me to embrace motherhood and all that comes with it.

Then, life happened.

Multiple job changes. Getting married. Another baby. And countless other events that did a great job of distracting me from some of my deeper issues.

But things started to come to a head a couple of years ago. I noticed that I started having these “blue” spells. I don’t typically get sad with seemingly no reason, so these spells were very obvious to me and scared me. I would feel like a cloud had settled on my chest and robbed me of feeling any joy. I was still able to get things done and be there for my babies and my husband, but I would shut everyone else out for a day at the most. I just didn’t have the energy to be anything to anyone else.

I learned a long time ago to “feel my feelings.” I gave myself grace and leaned into the sadness, instead of trying to snap myself out of it, or convince myself that I had no reason to feel sad.

After this happened around the fourth or fifth time, I knew that I had depression. And after a separate incident that left me feeling nervous, fearful, unfulfilled, and like a failure, I added a diagnosis of anxiety for good measure. I gave myself the excuse that most Black people suffer from one or both of these due to historical and present trials and tribulations of the world. But that’s not a good enough excuse anymore.

So, I am starting my journey of mental health. I will be consulting with a therapist and a psychiatrist to figure out how to cope with my feelings and I will keep you all updated on my progress.

Why Lizzo Made Me Cry

Every year, I like to watch the various awards shows and commentate on them on Facebook. I have a tribe over there of other awards lovers and we share notes on outfits, speeches, and deserved, or undeserved, wins. At this year’s Primetime Emmy awards, rapper/singer Lizzo won her first Emmy for best reality competition show, Watch Out for the Big Girls. In her speech she said, and I am paraphrasing, “When I was a little girl, I always wanted to see a girl who was Black like me, fat like me, beautiful like me.” Her speech and her win overall made me cry tears of actual joy.

After hearing her speech, I had to think about whether I ever saw anyone who looked like me on TV. I have always been plus size, though as a child it was called chunky or “big boned.” My earliest remembrance of a plus-sized child on TV was Rudy’s friend, a chubby white boy who appeared on a few episodes of The Cosby Show. He never had any lines and but was known for fleeing the scene whenever something went awry.

Other than that, the bigger people on the show, if they were women, were motherly types who cleaned homes, sang in the choir, or were mothers or grandmothers.

The first time I can remember a Black plus-sized woman who had a dating life and wasn’t portrayed as maternal, was when Khadijah James, played by Queen Latifah, came on my screen when Living Single premiered on TV in the 90s. By this time, I was all of 11 years old and it didn’t dawn on me that seeing someone looking remotely like me on TV was necessary.

I’m sure I’ve said it before, but in my formative years, I was not comfortable in my own skin. I developed early, breasts budding by the time I was 8, and I always had a hips, a booty, and a soft tummy. I was also dark skinned and somehow some way, the girls I was closest to were both smaller and lighter than me, and this includes friends and family. Being around them and seeing the attention they received just made me retreat into my shell more.

When it comes to Lizzo, I would not proclaim to be a “fan.” Her songs are catchy and I will listen to them in the car and even have a couple of them on a playlist or two. I appreciate what she stands for and her determination to spread the word about loving who and what you are, no matter what you look like.

For some reason, her love of herself has brought her criticism from both men and women as if she is offending the world by loving the way she looks. After a comedian made disparaging comments about her and her body, a podcaster commented that “people want Lizzo to hate herself so much.”

If that’s true, why? Why is it anyone’s business? Why do some people still subscribe to this idea of what beauty is or isn’t?

These kinds of comments would have shattered the teenage and college version of me who still picked myself apart every time I looked in the mirror. It’s only in the past 15 years or so that I have come to the same conclusion as Lizzo. I am sexy, beautiful, and love this body I am in.

3 + 3+ 3 (The 9 Year Mark)

It’s my wedding anniversary. Nine years ago on September 8, 2013, I married my lover, my best friend, my one and only husband.

The gift for the ninth year is pottery or willow, which symbolizes flexibility and creativity in building a beautiful relationship.

I love my husband and my marriage and I loved my wedding so, for fun, here are nine facts about my big day.

1. Our wedding date was chosen because it was close to the day we actually met, which was September 10th.
2. We got married on a Sunday afternoon which is more financially feasible than getting married on a Friday or a Saturday. My husband was pretty hands off with the planning but the 2 things he asked for he got: an outdoor wedding and a song to accompany him when he came down the aisle.
3. My husband had a best man and 2 groomsmen. I had my 2 best friends as my maid of honor and matron of honor and 2 of my favorite cousins as my bridesmaids. My Goddaughter was my flower girl and instead of a ring bearer, we had a broom bearer who carried the broom we jumped over, our 4-year-old son.
4. Purple is my favorite color and I always knew that it would be the central color of my wedding. I used two shades of purple for my girls and there were hints of silver as well. I also had 2 shades of purple in my wedding bouquet that was designed by Michaels (yes, the arts and crafts store).
5. We had a mixologist who made a signature drink called a Purple Hawk, named by me, made from Vodka, blueberry juice, and cranberry juice. It was delicious and all of our guests raved about it for months after the wedding.
6. I walked down the aisle to Savage Garden’s I Knew I Loved You, my dance with my daddy was Blackstreet’s Joy, and our first dance was Always by Pebbles. I didn’t cry during the wedding until my daddy whispered in my ear during our dance that my grandmother was proud of me. She had passed away the previous year.
7. We did not write our own vows. I’m a writer by trade but the hubby isn’t so we stuck to the traditional. But since I’m a writer, my maid and matron of honor went over the top with their vows and my male best friend and his wife recited poetry at my reception.
8. My dress was from David’s Bridal. I only tried on 4 dresses that I had already researched ahead of time. When I went to try on dresses I ONLY brought my mother with me. I didn’t want to have too many people giving me their unsolicited opinion.
9. We had two empty seats in the front that were for both of our grandmothers. The guest list itself is normally a sense of contention at weddings. But our rule was that we couldn’t invite anyone that we had not been in contact with in the past 5 years, this included family. When you’re paying per person, you have to be selective

All in all, our wedding day was full of love and despite the small bits of drama, I wouldn’t change a thing.

Mommy: The Interpreter

I am in a unique position in my household. I have known my husband longer than my babies and I know both of my babies better than anyone else. This knowledge means that at times, I will have to act as interpreter when conversations occur between them.

Case in point: my son and my husband had a spirited discussion the other day about my son’s fears and his aversion to taking risks. I decided a long time ago that at times like this, I would not interfere. Their conversations remind me of my own brother and father and how their different views and interests caused them to butt heads on more than one occasion. My mother was normally nearby and would often act as the mediator before things got out of hand.

The first time my son and husband had a serious talk and I heard voices rise, I contemplated jumping in like my mother did. I am just as protective over my babies and wanted to play the superhero but one thing stopped me: knowing my husband loves our babies.

Yes, he sometimes says the wrong thing. And yes, sometimes his delivery sucks. But at the end of the day, I trust that the things he says are out of love. But since I know my husband better than the babies, I’m able to translate what he’s really trying to say in a softer voice.

In the conversation about my son not taking risks, I think my husband realized that at 13 years old, we only have about five more years to shape the character of our son. There are still so many lessons we want to teach him but those five years are slipping away fast.

I emphasized to my son that we, his daddy and I, never want him to walk around fearful of the unknown. We don’t want him to grow into the type of man that always plays it safe because the idea of pain or failure is enough to make him never try something new. Neither of us want that for him.

On the other hand, I sometimes have to remind my husband that our son is not a “typical” teenager. He doesn’t play video games or sports and has an artist’s heart. My athletic husband sometimes has trouble coming to grips with the fact that his only son is not interested in sports. However, I applaud him for never discouraging our son’s interests and always supporting him no matter what.

I let them talk and then pulled my son aside after my husband left to see how he felt about the situation. In knowing my son best, I know how sensitive he can be. I also know that in the conversation with his daddy, he was impacted more by the tone of my husband’s voice as opposed to the actual words; so I knew he didn’t really absorb the message.

I was careful not to dispute what my husband said, though I didn’t agree with all of it, but I did explain to my son that all we want is for him to be the best version of himself. And I encouraged him, once he calmed down, to sit down with his daddy again and talk in more detail to get a full understanding of what his daddy wants to teach him.

This is the age where a boy really needs his daddy and needs to develop his own relationship with him. I would hate if I stood in the way of that.

Purple Parenting

As part of my week-long Camp Me, Myself, and I, I took myself to a play to see an off-Broadway production of The Color Purple. The play is based more on the book than on the movie so there were some visible differences from the 1985 film that most people are familiar with.

I read the book once but have seen the movie multiple times. Seeing the scenes play out right in front of me was so different but went a long way in me understanding the characters in a fresh way. (I highly recommend seeing the play if it comes to your town.)

The most interesting thing to me were the depictions of parenting from Mister and his relationship with his dad to the comments made about Sophia’s own parenting style. Here are some nuggets:

• It is only recently that people have appreciated and encouraged mothers to take time for themselves away from their babies. In the play, Sophia is chastised by both her husband and her father-in-law for choosing to visit a jook joint and her family as opposed to staying home with her children. Of course fathers very rarely get that same confrontation as mothers are the ones who are “supposed” to spend the rest of their lives catering to the little people that came out of them. People fail to remember that no one was born a mother. At some point, I was just a girl, and then a woman with my own tastes and interests that deserve to be nurtured.
• As parents, we are all just doing our best and most of the time that means we fail in big, and sometimes small, ways. Most parents model their parenting style after their own parents by either emulating what they saw or doing the exact opposite. At the end of the day, we work with what we’ve been given and try our best not to screw up too badly. But it’s important that at all stages of your child’s life you check-in with them to make sure you are providing their emotional and physical needs.
• The way parents view their children will ultimately lead to the way they view themselves and their worth. Celie’s stepfather called her ugly repeatedly, though he slept with her at least twice, resulting in 2 pregnancies. But with Celie’s sister Nettie, he encourages her to go to school and become a teacher. Celie internalizes everything her father says and never develops dreams of her own, she instead chooses to help Nettie become the teacher she longs to be. Nurture the dreams of your babies now and be mindful of the words you speak into their lives.
• Mister, though not a likable character for most of the play, is not only an abusive and surly father and husband; he is also a scared son who still cowers in his father’s overbearing shadow. Because of his father, Mister wasn’t able to marry the one woman he loves, Shug Avery, and was pressured by his father to take over the family’s farm. All children, no matter the age, work to please their parents or make them proud, even if it goes against their own desires. Parents, let’s try our best not to push our children into the lives we think is best.