It's All in the Details

I have a thing about secrets.  I used to be a secret keeper.  Secrets of assault.  Secrets of abuse.  I held my secrets until they literally broke my body down and spilled onto the floor beside me.  I held them because I was told through words and actions that my experiences were not valid.  I held them to shield hearts against breakage.  I don't do that anymore.  I no longer bear all of the responsibility.  The thing about secrets is that, one day, one way or another, they will be revealed anyway.

During my quest to finally find out who my mother really was, 20 years after her death, there were a lot of secrets revealed to me.  Secrets that, had I known at an earlier time, could have completely reshaped my life, my understanding, my identity.  Secrets that ultimately repainted many pictures of people and judgement calls.  Secrets, which in the end made me feel much better actually knowing.

I do not want to raise my daughter within a web of lies, and do so on the basis of "protecting" her.  I think it's safe to say that, universally, parents care a great deal about protecting our children.  In the process of providing that protection we will bend, omit, restructure, hell... even recreate truths.  Essentially, we don't give our children enough credit for their ability to comprehend and process truths that need telling.  To avoid being across the table from my child 15 years down the road listening to her tell me all the ways in which new news could have provided her so much more way back then, I will sit across from her now, and answer any and every single question she may ever have.

Apples and Pears

Source

While we're talking about the body, how long is this new weight loss age going to last?  Maybe it's not new, but it feels like it's newly aggressive.  Is that because it's the beginning of a new year?  I never considered the fact that one day, I might become overwhelmed by the amount of diets, comparison photos, missed meals, body envy, self hate and transformation updates that appear on my Facebook timeline.  I think that being health conscious is a beautiful and life changing thing, but I also think that self torture and self bashing is dangerous, unnecessary and sad.  

A friend once said that nobody's body actually wants to be fat.  Here's something else to think about: perhaps the body does not actually want to be deprived either.  I've noticed some women who have created a life of losing weight.  Meaning, they've lost weight, gained weight and are losing weight again.  Maybe that struggle is not needed.  Maybe a particular body wants to be a certain weight, and when that body drops below that weight it simply returns. 

And something else to examine: being content within the body you're in, right now.  It's just a much better look to be kind to ourselves.  I know it's not always easy, but it's something we must do.  If the goal is to lose weight or to get healthier, we should be able to work toward that goal without telling our asses, thighs and stomachs that they aren't "normal", and without tearing down those around us who inhabit the same kinds of bodies.

My Body is Entitled to Peace

From my Writing Ourselves Whole writings:

My body wants to be at peace.  Not within itself, but within the world.  When my body is bestowed upon or in the company of men, my body is entitled to appreciation.  My body does not wish to be taken advantage of.  More than my body's large breasts and vagina want to be worshiped.  My body's heart and soul want to be caressed.

My body is entitled to peace.  Not within itself, but within the world.  My body's uniqueness ought to be accepted.  With its hair gracefully covering its arms and legs, short stature, short torso, large waist, blemished skin.  Stretch marks from skin stretching to bring forth new life.  My body is amazing.

My body is entitled to peace.  My body knows what's good for it.  It knows what it likes and what it wants and just what to do.  My body does not want to be demanded, for my body has agency.  My body is entitled to peace, love and appreciation.  My body is entitled to safety, my body is entitled to care, my body is entitled to itself.

Family Is...

Ha, I've been trying to hash out what "family is" for a few days now.  With every single day and every single familial encounter it changes.

Family is ups and downs.  Family is pain and love.  Family is complicated.

Jen writes:

"This is the long legacy of trauma — how such violation and abandonment hacks away at the parts of us that do intimacy, and how long it can take to heal those tendons and muscles."

Since I've allowed Emma and I to be accepted into a number of deeply loving families, and to build lifelong bonds, I guess it's safe to say that some amount of healing has taken place within myself concerning what family is, and can be.  Still, there are scars.  Surprising scars.  Society would have you to believe that since my father resided behind bars for the majority of my lifetime, and probably his own, that my deepest scars would have been formed by his frequent, repeated absence.  Society would probably also have you to believe that my father's absence is linked to the absence of a man in my household - that's another post for another day.  No, my deepest familial scars aren't paternal, but instead maternal. 

I don't think I could ever accurately explain the level of pain/damage/stunted growth/loss that came to me after my mother's death.  Really, how does an 8 year old girl process the death of her mother, especially if she never got the tools from the surviving members of her family.  How does an 8 year old process death period?  I think I've ridden in more limousines and followed more hearses than any young person should ever have to.  My mother died in 1992, and by 1994, I was again, in a limousine, following the hearse that transported my cousin's body - a cousin whose head had been riddled with bullets.  How does a 10 year old process horrific and life changing death?  Probably much the same way my 10 year old self processed the news from my father that I had a 14 year old sister.  With some kind of misguided maturity that does not allow for questions, just acceptance.

Do I really wanna write this today?  Do I really wanna "go there" today?  I should.  

Scarred.  Scarred maternally by death, and by coming of age in a household with a head who was two generations ahead of me.  Scarred by non-existent relationships with aunts and great distance between granddaughter of first born and grandmother.  Just, plain old scarred.

Jen asks:

"Can we heal what family means?"

Yes.

Somewhere That's Green

Berkeley is green.  Berkeley is familiar and safe.  Berkeley is where my extended family originates, and where we always return.  Berkeley is a centrally located driving distance away from my grandmother's city of Martinez.  Berkeley is home.

Home.  My home.  There are 20 steps up to my home's front door, and earlier this season, raindrops dripped from my home's ceiling.  Not anymore.  

Although my parking space covers my car, the complex's maintenance equipment (which includes an assumed non-working stove), and the few neighbor guys who like to smoke their weed there, I've tried to focus solely on the fact that, my parking space, and my home, with all of their flaws are good enough for just a woman and her 9 year old daughter.  It's Berkeley living at its finest.   

Still, I dream of somewhere that's green.

The kind of green that Emma can turn cartwheels down, through and all around, while our furbaby gives chase.  From my special seat atop the balcony, I will look up from my book, and out on them, through the growing tomatoes, green beans, kale, brussels sprouts and other deliciousness.  I'll even give a wave to my sister in-law, just across the way.  I may or may not turn down an invitation from Emma to come join in the play or rinse a little of the new desert sun off with a swim.  For, there will probably be dishes to load into the dishwasher, or clothes to wash and dry in our laundry room.

Those creature comforts.  The extra storage space, the schools right down the street, the shopping center within walking distance.  This time the rent would actually be worth the living, but the possibility to be free of hardship will come at a price.

Chasing, Rebirth, Metamorphosis

From my Writing Ourselves Whole writings:

Chasing metamorphosis, chasing metamorphosis, chasing metamorphosis.  Emphasis on the chasing and less on the metamorphosis.  I do an awful lot of chasing.

You gotta crawl before you walk, start at the bottom and work your way up.  But what if one rolled before the walking, or started in the middle and climbed to the top?

Metamorphosis is to rebirth as chasing is to... well, chasing.  Yes, I do an awful lot of chasing.

The clicking in my mind of the rebirth is taking its own sweet time.  Therefore, I chase.  Probably in the wrong damned direction because that beautiful mosaic of possibility has not opened, but remained closed.  I want to do better and be better and have better.  I should know better.

It's completion that's the real problem.  That very last class that officially earns the degree, the reorganization of my household, the continued journey of passions, the permanent residence in the past and future.  The present takes a backseat because I'm still chasing.

She Does Not Have to be Good

From my Writing Ourselves Whole writings:

And she decided, right here, right now that her broken record does not have to be good.  The record that replays itself over and over on days like today.  She's come to the realization that, just like other things, she can also change the meanings of words.  Bad does not have to be entirely bad because sometimes good is just plain old safe.

Like, if that broken record's lyrics profess all the ways in which she is different from other women her age, she can let those lyrics in with the warmer meaning of transformation.  Meaning transformed into girl, not woman.  Of course she is different because that girl within her has not fully healed, but is still seeking, chasing metamorphosis.

And if that broken record's lyrics begin to paint a picture of all the things she does not have, she will simply uncap her sharpie and pen "YET".  For maybe not this time, this place, this state, but another that is more appropriately her own. 

She decided right here, right now that everything in her life does not have to be all good.  If everything were all good all the time, she would have never grown.  She would have never wanted more, she would have never moved.  She may not have been able to keep convincing herself with her famous inner monologue, "it's ok, it's ok, everything's ok".

If she does not have to be good nor does her broken record, maybe she will have the courage to rewrite the lyrics, to sing a new tune - out loud, for the world to hear.  To be seen, to be heard, to shine, to make mistakes and bounce back from them, to actually see within herself what others tell her they see.

Love

One of 5 Love Languages

The other day, a friend read to me about love.  More specifically, a friend read to me about the languages of love.  Love has a language?  Love has more than one language?  You learn something new everyday.

Apparently, according to Gary Chapman, there are 5 languages of love.  My friend determined that her love language is actually a mix.  She's a lot of Words of Affirmation with a little Physical Touch.  She needs to hear what one is feeling, especially when it comes to feelings about her.  Verbal appreciating keeps her "love tank" full.

I, on the other hand, have had an overdose of Words of Affirmation.  Over the years I've realized, that for me, words without action don't mean a thing.  While a little Physical Touch goes a long way with me, I run on Quality Time.  It's just one of those things that I find so important, and this is coming from a woman who likes to hide out in her apartment!  There is nothing more gratifying than spending time with someone and having their "undivided attention".  There is nothing more gratifying than feeling like, within that moment, it's just all about me/us/we.  

Seems so simple doesn't it?  Yet, I don't remember ever voicing this need, in this way, in my last relationship.  And looking back, at all the things he did and didn't say, I can now clearly see that, like my friend, he is a mix of Words of Affirmation and Physical Touch - with a whole lotta introvert thrown in for fun.  I'm not saying that knowing this now would remove the "ex" from our current titles, but if the knowing would have been in those earlier years, perhaps we would have survived what he came to realize was unsurvivable.  Hmph...

Yes, you learn something new everyday.  Love and communicate are no exception.  

 

It's Been a While...

Are we really 3 weeks into 2013 already?  And has it really been 360 whole days since the last time I've shared a thought?  And did I really just type, delete, retype, delete and retype those first 2 sentences?  Yes, yes, and guilty.  It's been a while.  I've had many thoughts.  I've journaled.  I've scribbled.  I've toyed around with the idea of cheating on my current journal, but decided not to.  I've asked friends about manuscripts.  I've supported passionate writing.  And finally, finally, I've jumped into a welcoming writing space, with folks who are there to support me.

It feels good to be back, if I am indeed really back.  It feels good to truly know that my voice is truly my own, and know that that is perfectly ok.  It feels good to sit in a cafe, and stare once out of the sectioned window, and once back into this screen, and know that I am no longer being screened.  The grande hot chocolate helps too. 

TGIF!

1. It's time to start asking the hard questions.

2. Hold the mayo ... and don't forget the onions!

3. I'm trying to wait it all out.

4. In response to my comment about going out on a limb, a friend asks, "Legs open or legs closed", that was the last funny comment I received.

5. Please send me lots of energy and motivation.

6. You'd better ask somebody, cause I'm in it for the long haul.

7. And as for the weekend, tonight I'm looking forward to coming together with the ladies of my Motherless Daughter's Support Group, tomorrow my plans include having the house all to myself and Sunday, I want to get all dolled up for a nice evening out!

What's your Friday and weekend looking like? Click here to participate!

I Declare This a Year of Celebration!

I'm broker than I wanna be, my car still hasn't made it to the shop yet, and I'm gonna have to take another math class before the year is over, but you know what, it's all ok, because I plan to celebrate along the way.

The last real get-away that I went on happened to be the very first real get-away that I'd ever been on. My baby was not yet a toddler, and I almost decided not to go, because, 3 days was just too long for me to be away from her. In the end I was happy to have had the experience with a group of good friends. Fast forward 8 years later, and I'm way overdue for a vacation. And not just a formal one, but also overdue for celebrating the little and most present of things in my life. I want to make some changes this year by putting myself back into the mix. Like I said in an earlier post, I'm always moving myself down to the bottom of the list, and also allowing others to bump me down a few spaces. It has to stop. All a part of my quest to add more self care into my days.

I've been busy this week thinking and planning my mother's celebration. I've been able to chat with my aunts and grandmother to pinpoint the things that she would most enjoy, the things that were most important to her, and also getting a good idea of how to include everyone in the event. I feel like I'm off to a really good start, and feeling a lot better about the process today.

A Liquid Lunch

Blender: Easily the BEST housewarming gift ever!

I'll admit, when my friend gave me this blender, the first drink that popped into my mind was not a smoothie. I was thinking more along the lines of entertaining, but my love for Jamba Juice has made this one of the most used appliances in my kitchen. Emma and I just can not get enough fruit blends into this thing. We love mixing different berries and fruits with different juices and liquids. We have yet to create a combination that we didn't like.


I never have to worry about whether she's getting enough fruits because I can easily get various into one glass. And she enjoys being apart of the process. Smoothies come in handy for myself as well, specially on those days when I'm so busy that I nearly forget to eat. I'm always fulfilled after a glass or two and there is no guilt because its all healthy ingredients.

Do you have any favorite go-to drinks or snacks that you and/or your kids love?

Bedtime Reading: The Period Book

Amazon

It's here. Well, not quite. I could possibly have another year and a half before my baby makes the complete transformation. She's very mature, but still so young. I was young too. 10 years old. I had not taken sex education in school yet, and no one had ever talked to me about puberty, the female body, sex. I only knew where babies came from after having a conversation with my neighbor, who was pregnant with her fourth. My first lesson in menstruation was via a PBS special, and I'm thankful. Unlike other girls, I didn't think I was dying. I knew exactly what was happening when it happened, and I was able to inform my great-grandmother that "womanhood had come on me".

I clearly want something much, much different for Emma. Early bloomers often have early bloomers. After asking my grandmother about her experience, my mother's and my aunts', paired with Emma's developing breasts, I'd say that it's the truth. So, now I'm grooming her for a positive experience. We're reading, we're talking and we'll soon be practicing. I don't want her to view getting her period as some kind of curse. I don't want her to be afraid. I don't want her to feel insecure about her body's changes. I want her to see it all for what it really is - a rite of passage, a complexity of coming of age, and an induction further into a vast circle of sisters.

Although Emma will always be my baby, it's undeniable that she's growing up. I'm determined to try to make every step of the way as enjoyable as possible. In true fem fashion, when she transitions, we'll call on our closest women and celebrate with a Period Party!

"Don't Get Pregnant"

Last month, I was in my doctor's office for my annual exam. Just a routine physical and some catching up on my chart, since she'd been on leave for quite a while. She jumped back into the swing of things as if she'd never been gone. I was actually happy to have her back, since I had been seeing various practitioners in her absence. All was going well until that fateful conversation that we always seem to have during our visits. The one where she tries to pressure me into returning to a birth control method, other than condom use. Over the years, we'd come to an understanding that she'll ask, I'll say thanks but no thanks, and we'll leave it at that. Because, as an educated adult woman, and mother of one, I have the right to choose whether or not I'd like to be on birth control, and more importantly, I have the right to choose whether or not I'd like to be pregnant. In a nutshell, I'm well versed on how to control my ability to reproduce.

During this visit, my doctor seemed to be attempting to lightly "lay it on thick" by not dropping the birth control issue. I decline, and she gives me a mini lecture about the failure rate of condoms. I decline once more, and she suggests that we discuss the issue again at our next visit in a few months, and then IUD falls from her lips. And just to be 100% sure that I got the message, her last words to me on my way out the door were, "don't get pregnant."

Ummmm... excuse me??? I was completely shocked that she'd said those words to me. I would have rather her made a comment about my vagina than make an oppressive statement such as that. It hit me with such force that I went to my car and cried. Cried because it genuinely hurt me. Cried because I felt like I was being judged for being a single mother, with less money than I'd like to have, and a mental illness. Cried because I'd like nothing more than to complete my family with the addition of another little one. Cried because I'm tired of being robbed of the joy of my own desires by comments and thinking like her's.

I'm not naive enough to not understand where she was coming from, but I'm intelligent enough to know when I'm being placed in a box and omitted from certain paths and avenues based solely on my socioeconomic and mental health standing. Bottom line - she was out of line. Now that I've had time to fully process what took place, I will be able to better assert my rights and be present enough in the moment to make it aware to her that I, and I alone, at damn near 30 years of age, have complete agency when it comes to my body.

A Little Hair Time

We got some hair time in tonight. It would have made much more sense to tackle shampooing, conditioning, detangling and styling more than two hours before bedtime, but hey, you know me, I always have to be difficult different. To my surprise, we actually finished 30 minutes before bedtime, granted, we didn't do a lot of detangling. The middle of this length is still a jungle. We'll devote more time on Wednesday with some planned two-strand twists (I've banded to stretch).

And speaking of length.


I love to do these length checks from time to time, just to be able to remind Emma of how long her hair really is. She has her moments of wanting her hair to be straight, particularly for length, so its always nice to be able to show her that she has the length already, and that she can sport her length without having to straighten her hair.

Its been quite a while since I've blown her hair out. Now that my hair has grown a bit, I really want to get some mother-daughter photos taken with some blown out hair. I think they would be some amazing keepsakes. One more great thing to look forward to this year.

Collard Greens & Cornbread, Yeah

Collard greens from last weekend's Farmer's Market

I asked for Winter weather, and this weekend here in the Bay Area, we got it. Chilly, chilly wind and rain. I appreciated the serenity it brought during the night, but when I got caught up today with a broken umbrella and 30 minutes between bus transfers, I suddenly started giving the passing cars the super stink eye.

Back at home, a mug of hot peppermint mocha coffee, and a pot of collard greens brought me back to my happy place.

Love, Peace & Creativity

The beginnings of my vision board

Just a lazy Friday night. While Emma managed to take over just about every inch of my queen sized bed with pillows, snacks and Netflix, I moved my stack of Essence magazines to my desk and continued to let the pouring rain pacify me. Samantha, of Rich Single Momma, recently shared a picture of her vision board with us on Facebook and it got me to doing some envisioning of my own. I've never created a vision board before, although one has been on my mind for the past year! It's the reason I bought the above corkboard in the first place. To mount, display and inspire. It quickly filled up with photos of Emma and cards from Emma and test scores of Emma's. Can you see where I'm going with this? What was originally intended for me, I succeeded in devoting entirely to my kid! Again, I moved myself to the bottom of the list, with something as simple as an array.

I put myself back on the list last night. I sat with my huge stack and just browsed. I had no idea what I was looking for, but I somehow knew it when I saw it, and so I cut it out. By the end, I was able to decipher three distinctive areas through all the images.

Love. Peace. Creativity

In a nutshell, those are the three most important areas of life for me. Having a balance in these areas equals an immediate happiness. I also realized that I tend to focus solely on the subsets of these areas - finances, mental health, family, travel, etc. When I think about these things individually it keeps me stressed out. It's as if each subset has its own never ending to-do list, which as you can imagine can be very overwhelming, especially when the expectation is to simultaneously work within these areas to get them to the finish line. When I was able to post these various images up on my corkboard, I was able to clearly see the interconnectedness of my desires and that the balance of it all is wellness. That's the starting point. It's reassuring to know that I'm already on the right track.

Do you have any experience with vision boards? Have they helped you stay on track? Did they teach you anything new about yourself?

A Lifetime Ago

He said I'm gonna put my guns into the ground,
I can't shoot them anymore,
That long black cloud is comin' down
And I feel like I'm knockin' on Heaven's door.

My grandmother once told me that my mother was fond of this song.

She also told me that there was a time when my mother desired death.

That I was a gift, and she was to be the sacrifice.

I would be her greatest accomplishment.

At 27 years old, and 20 years after my mother's death, it's occurred to me that I've never once asked even the minimalist questions about her. I think I thought I knew her. I don't remember what she smelled like, but I know what she looked like. I don't remember what she sounded like, but I know what her smile looked like. I don't know what her passions and goals were, and nobody ever told me.

I don't know the true essence of the woman she was, but I do know that I've spent, at least, the last 19 years attempting not to become her, while subconsciously reliving many of her horrid life experiences. I knew, and ran from, and learn more about, her pain, but I've never been introduced to her happiness and joy. Without that simple knowledge, life has been at a standstill. Just when I had begun believing that I was no longer grieving, I learned that the grief of a loss of this kind of magnitude is endured in waves, and I'd just been lying in a valley.

Now is the time to reshape and reclaim. I am reshaping and reclaiming my relation to, and relationship with, my mother by rustling the family tree and the family's collective memory. I'm in the process of drafting every question that I've ever wanted to know about my mother, to be shared, and hopefully answered as honestly as possible. This will lead me to the ultimate climax the middle of this year - to bring the family together in celebration of my mother's life, to breathe new life into the memories that I have of her, and to further help me in my healing process.

Deep

I'm feeling very, very full right now. Full of thought. Not singular, but a tangled web. Every important detail of every important area colliding, listing themselves, and then re-scrambling again. That means its time for a LOT of organization over here.

Let the listing begin...

A Rebirth

Sitting next to my great-grandmother, feeding a sleepy Emma on her 1st birthday

I had a dream last night about a baby. A baby girl. A baby girl that I'd had at home. A baby girl that I had named and was planning to announce to the world. We were in bed with energies that felt like Emma and my grandmother. I was happy with this beautiful, chocolate, bouncing baby girl. And then I started to fret because it had been hours, and she had not cried to be changed or to be fed. I thought surely an infant would have to want to eat by now. And so I put her to my breast, and upon tasting my milk she started screaming. I thought that maybe she was frustrated and wasn't latched on properly, so I tried again and got the same results. So, I switched her to the other breast, and again, upon tasting my milk she started screaming.

I didn't know why she was rejecting me, but it was familiar so I didn't force her. I thought of formula and bottles and formula appeared. I went into a room with a crib and searched through a mess of Emma's baby treasures. All I could find were sippy cups. I needed a bottle to feed this baby, and all I could find were sippy cups. I finally found a bottle, picked up the baby, and then...

I woke up.

It was one of the sweetest and weirdest real-life dreams that I've had in a while. I wanted to ignore my alarm and get back to sleep so that I could get back to this baby girl. The baby who had rejected me, the baby who I had named - whose name I fought hard to remember. After talking it over with my grandmother this morning, I realized that this baby girl really was my baby. It was Emma who had originally rejected breastfeeding, and it is Emma who will be going through a rebirth.

Last week, Emma's dad agreed to the legal name change without any resistance. The only compromise made was that the name "Jalia" remain, which I was completely ok with. At the end of this process, although she will have a lot of names to print, each that she will choose to answer to will have been given to her with the deepest amount of love imaginable.