Just Start (written February 7th)

Today I experienced something ethereal.

I saw so many beautiful melanated faces paired with inviting smiles. The setting was so intimate and warm that you could feel the energy emanating from every table. I attended an event hosted by the Black Mom Collective, meant to celebrate moms for Valentine’s Day. You’ve heard of Galentines, right? Same thing, but you are meeting up with friends you haven’t met yet.

This event was inspiring because I got a peek behind the scenes. I’ve heard stories about people fighting to become who they are, but I’ve never witnessed the work in between. It is a wonder to see the work and then another to be amazed at the result of that work. Now, I guess I’m living that out myself.

I’ve been writing for such a long time. I never wrote anything intended to be read by someone other than me though. Think Erykah Badu: “Keep in mind that I’m an artist…and I’m sensitive about my shit!” Outside of being sensitive and afraid of judgment, I thought that nobody wanted to hear me or read my words. Why? Who am I? No one important. I thought one day I’ll write a book about my life…but again, why? What makes my life so special? How can I help people by showing them how often I’ve failed? What about my marriage is special? I hated being married, because we never transcended beyond trauma bonding. I just had so much pain. No one can benefit from that.

When we lived in Taiwan in 2016–2017, I started writing a blog. I thought, people will surely want to hear about my experiences in a different country! How often do we get to hear about Black families with small children uprooting their lives to establish a home as an expat? But when I started writing, I was soon discouraged—not by my own thoughts, but by his. I wasn’t writing enough about him. I was writing about the beautiful friendships I’d cultivated while he was away with his friends, leaving me at home with the kids, neglecting my heart. The way I understood it, he was displeased at the amount of appreciation I was showing my friends, and the lack thereof for him. Yeaaaahhhh…we argued about that for days. 

The women I became friends with were open hearted. They were American, but they didn’t look like me. I mean, you could count on one hand how many Black people were in this country…and we knew all five of them! The women were several years older than me. We loved each other. We grew close, and I miss them now. Our friendship ended up falling apart because of some choices I made. The choice to stay with this abusive man. They couldn’t keep seeing me hurt. They even gave me money to get away once… even after that I went back and I was ashamed. I cut off our friendship out of embarrassment. But I told myself my marriage was ultimately my priority and I should hold firm in my decisions. Such a stupid thought now, considering how decaying that period of my life was. I lost MANY friends and relationships that way.

Anyway, needless to say, the blog fell off. I was too busy worrying about my marriage and then eventually fleeing the big country that became suffocatingly small and lonely. 

I didn’t think I would ever be back here—sharing my words, these fluid thoughts, on a page again.

This time around, when I decided to write, it was because of a conversation I had with another friend. She invited me to her home and showed me her vision for her life. She is becoming a fashion designer. Against all odds—she isn’t going to give up, and it lives on her skin. She glowed every time she talked about her passion that day. As she shared her ideas with me, I told her how grateful I was to have met someone that seemed to know their purpose because I felt I had a purpose too (I didn’t tell her that I had abandoned it, though). I feel so strongly about helping women like me, young women that remind me of my young self, not make the same mistakes I did. Losing myself in a harmful relationship that lasted way too long.

At first, I figured the best way to do that was to become a psychologist. But let’s be real. I’m 39 years old, with three kids and two dogs. I’m finally learning how to manage my funds like I only have one income, not two. Where is the money going to come from to take the classes, and will God suddenly allow me to be in two places at once? Will He loan me His omniscience? I do believe anything possible, but the means didn’t justly the end for me at the time.

So, as I was talking to my friend determined to live out her truth, a spark lit because she asked me one question: “So what is your purpose?”

I now accept that I was given a gift to emote on a page. I know that because I feel like words flow through me like water sometimes. At any given moment, I can be in a flow state because words strung together methodically can put me in the zone. Like Joe Gardner from the movie Soul, when I read or write, I am pushed into that space between the physical and the spiritual. It’s an entirely immersive experience. At those times, I am fully present, and focused on what lives on the page, or what is expelling from my fingertips, or what is spilling out of my mouth.

I got to experience that today at the Galentine event. I was asked to lead a segment about writing a love letter to yourself. When I was asked, I had no idea what I was going to do, but I knew I could do it. Was I terrified? Absolutely! After I said yes, I immediately had the bubble guts. But the discomfort was met with pure excitement. And the actual experience surpassed any outcome I could have predicted.

I remembered all of those things that I used to tell myself about not being enough, or not being worthy enough to be heard. Now, I’m learning that all those false starts, and the falls I’ve taken over the years, are the exact reason why I should be writing.

I wouldn’t have a story to tell if I didn’t live a life drenched in unfortunate events. All I had to do was start. I don’t have many posts on Instagram, nor do I have a ton of followers. I don’t have a production team or a publicist. I don’t have an editor. I hardly have time. But I have the will to start. That’s all that we need.

Now I’m committed—to myself, to this journey. I welcome all inspiration. All my failures. All my embarrassing moments. All of my rawness. I am even willing to accept those who dispel my efforts. And because of my unconditional acceptance and the courage to start, I know opportunities will continue to place themselves in my path along this rocky journey. 

Today, I saw faces that were also receptive to acceptance, to showing up for themselves, to loving themselves. I saw faces that understood there was nothing to fix.

I would like to think that I fulfilled one small part the purpose I once abandoned by helping someone consider starting a healing journey of their own today. Dare I say, I might even inspire someone to start something of their own by inviting them to read about all the good things I find that lead me into becoming whole after hurt…

P.S

Thank you to all the women that contributed to this uplifting experience by simply opening your ears (especially my girls at the back table…you know who you are). I don’t know if I described it well enough in this post but in the simplest of terms – YOU made a very positive impact in my life today.

Thank you to the Black Mom Collective for allowing me to live in my element for a few moments in time. The work you are doing is going to create so many beautiful memories, meaningful friendships, growth and support across the black community. I love everything that you are doing and will do!