Mastering Your Lane

Until recently I did not really understand the essence of this statement. I heard someone say, as I now echo the importance of Learning your role and Mastering your lane. What does it all mean? The interpretation may vary, depending on who you ask, when, why and how. The asking of this question from women will differ in response from that of men. The ‘when’ of asking may invoke an unwelcoming response or unexpected behavior whereas the ‘why’ and ‘how’ of asking may not sit well either. So let’s talk about this for a minute.

Let’s take for instance your new position as Office Assistant. The staff welcomes you with open arms. You are introduced to your work responsibilities that of which include assisting others on how to best and seamlessly alleviate their stress, i.e. answering telephones, interacting with clients and the list continues. In this capacity you are later expected to adhere to subsequent duties because you have mastered your primary function with such tact, diplomacy and professionalism. Consequently, you are an essential fiber to the office whereas if absent, stress and chaos are apparent. With that said, now envision the staff without you!

If we, as employees are consciously able to give of our best selves to an employer, why is it that we lack the same practice in our personal space? The answer is complicated, but chiefly found in the protocols and guidelines that regulate our behaviors in the workplace which are less governed in our personal lives. The aforementioned vignette displays a sense of loyalty from the Office Assistant to the employer because there are capital interests attached, e.g. job promotion, employee recognition or peer notoriety that could possibly lead to professional openings. Whereas, in our personal lives the comparison may be abstract.

Staying in our lane and mastering our respective responsibilities are paramount in both aspects of our life – professional and business. Hence, I will be the first to admit, I have failed in this department, which is probably how I know so much about it. So let’s talk about how this can be introduced and better achieved so that both components of our lives are met. As one who is competent, proficient and effective in business development, I have worked in various capacities of sales: door-to-door, inside, outside, tangible, intangible, face-to-face, consumer-to-business, business-to-consumer and telemarketing to name a few. However, those who know me well may say my forte is that of an effective speaker of large audiences. Conversely, there is self admission to the enjoyment and comfort of a speaker role that I attribute to four years as a health instructor who still occasionally teaches life-saving techniques to persons who desire to learn and master the practices of CPR, AED and first aid.

Conversely, I am further confident in other fields of profession, particularly ones that are autonomous. Nonetheless, I am aware of what areas of business I am my best self although discerning this in my personal life is a recent pursuit. I function best when I visually see progress. However, I also realize and you will regularly hear me say that ‘Progress is defined as steps forward toward a goal, objective, project or mission, no matter the pace,’ which speaks to how we should all learn from our past to no longer be stuck there, yet grow from that stagnant position.

Is it ever a wonder how the personal bothers in our life have a spill-over detriment into our professional positions and vice versa. For instance, did the argument with your significant other leave you unprepared to finish that urgent- deadline-group project the next day? Or did your personal counseling session last night ultimately lead to the inaccurate figures you sent to the client, costing your department $16,000 in overhead costs? How about that awestruck comment from the VP who sent out a company email about how you caught a miscalculation in the business proposal that may have resulted in an over-staffing of volunteers on the company’s humanitarian assignment?

Stay in Your LaneThese are all examples of how we can either manage or mismanage our emotions. Further, these are also patterns that exude mixed emotions when our minds are at peace or, worse, disrupted. Conversely, we, as employees are often in tune with self that when there is an inkling of discomfort in our professional space we can usually discern the end result, i.e. conversation with the boss and the like. We are likewise able to decipher the same sentiments in our personal space, but the difference is often in our incapacity to exercise these practices. Simply put, we have policies and procedures in the work place that guides our actions, emotions, behaviors and the list continues – these actions inadvertently keep us in line with appropriate and inappropriate conduct or else our job is at stake. Unfortunately, this is viewed differently with our loved ones.

Grant it, there are a few who have mastered the skill of ‘staying in their lane,’ yet I am sure personal guidelines are at the core of their persistence and its consistency because we are all flawed. Therefore, learning, staying and mastering your lane is simply put as one’s understanding of the role s/he has in another’s life. Albeit a mother who accepts her role as mother and endorses the concept with complete onus. That mother will nurture, console, consult, guide and instruct her offspring in the different paths they must go; however, the mother will also know when to set aside personal time for her young to develop and grow individually, thereby appearing to be emotionally distant only long enough until she needs to hold her daughter’s heart or grab her son’s hand to deliver that maternal grace of leading each child by example. This same mother possesses a particular discernment whereas she will intuitively listen to her heart, asking it and God to guide her along the trails of wisdom and streams of maturity so that her respect remains in tact.

This mother who holds wifely responsibilities is further confident in her role as the spouse. She is considered an equal and respected partner because she brings her whole self to the relationship. Her heart is healed of past hurt and although she may speak of the past, her words are delivered with empathy and without contrite. She further ushers her husband in his masculinity, encouraging him and endorsing his dreams as the sole cheerleader and exclusive partner that he desires and deserves. His pains are her pains. His hurt is her hurt. His past is her past because it’s been shared as luggage lifted along the way towards a healthy relationship for the two to enjoy and reflect upon as lessons learned. She is his buddy and he likewise. They are cognizant of one another’s space because they realize that space and silence allows oneself to gather thoughts so that hasty words and reactive steps aren’t introduced. Both are attentive to the other’s needs, respecting the body, mind and spirit they each share in the place they call home – please read my post about how a home differs from that of a house.

Mr. Husband, who may have been hurt before is transparent about his wounds, yet possesses an astuteness for personal counsel to help him heal beyond the hurt. Because he has a partner in his wife, he is conscious of her wants, desires, needs and the essential ‘me’ times needed. Instead of interrogating her, he solicits responses with selective-word choosing. The traditional ‘telling his wife what to do’ does not sit well with him because he knows that will quickly result in her ‘feeling some kinda way,’ so he instead engages in substantial conversations that includes words like ‘we, us and our’ because they both know that the ‘I’s, me’s and you’s’ of conversations can drive each in separate directions. Mr. Head of Home will ask for his wife’s input in decision making because he realizes that exclusivity may lead to toxic situations that could have been prevented and avoided.

These respective roles are challenging to perfect. Mastering one’s lane simply implies that whatever role you are given in another’s life, you are expected to be that and more. Study your role description, become efficient in it, excel in it, promote it, guard it, nurture it, praise it and usher others who are misguided on how to become a like-minded peer of that great spouse, awesome co-worker, loving husband, unforgettable partner and appreciative boss. Venture out, daringly asking others how you may help them feel better about themselves so that others can feel the spill-over benefit. Don’t shun the opportunity to become the awesome mother to your child because your own lacked the ability to do so. And most importantly, embrace your role as wife, mother, significant other or partner, viewing it as a title that you wear proudly, adopt fully and apply proficiently. You are not a label because there can never be a monetary value attached.

When God gives us the title parents, we are actually chaperones of his children. If we each veer from our assigned and respective lanes, we thereby engage in areas of neglect. As with that opening position where you were hired to create that seamless atmosphere at your workplace, you are thereby accountable to ensure the role at home is properly filled so that spill-over detriments and loss of emotional stability are proactively handled to create a happy home instead of an unstructured house.

Be kind to others. There is enough to g’round!

Cheers –

My reciprocated partner

Happy Valentine Day!

On a day like today, i.e. the romantic-commercial holiday of exchanging and expressing love gestures to signify the appreciation we have for our partners and loved ones, don’t forget to keep the flame burning in your relationship. Whether you’ve found it already, still looking for that desirable match or are choosing to love on self because you need more ‘me’ time, be mindful of the gesture instead of its monetary gain or the public notoriety of receiving. Last year I wrote an article, titled Flowers and Chocolate where the giver of my gift was acknowledged for the Gesture of giving. I was grateful because the sender lifted my spirits insomuch the deliverance of joy was received at a time in my life when there were more downs than ups. Hence, his gesture of buying and ordering the deliverance of flowers and chocolate dispelled all self negativity.

Hence, today is unlike that day and now is a different situation because I am no longer in a committed relationship. I have thereby graduated to a stage in my life where the gesture of receiving is less valued than the act of giving. I will continue to usher more importance to the reciprocated practices of my very own Valentine who quickly forgives me when I make parental mistakes, compliments me when I feel low, lifts me when I am exhausted, reads to me when I need to hear an inspiring story and values our conversations during the slow-dance lessons on days when I will grab her hand to share the significance of ‘loving on self’ and why so. This person is my ultimate gift, my protege, my forever love, my darling, my Sweetheart, my shoulder when I am tired, my napkin when I weep and my partner who will sit across from me to work on her assignments when I also have work to do. She is my daughter and today is my day to make sure she continues to understand the essence of love, the act of giving and the significance of ‘marry to date’ so that flames in her future relationships are fueled with passion and substance.

Mommy and daughter

Enjoy your V-Day!

 

 

The Apology that Mattered. A House is not a Home.

A House is not a Home.

A house is a structure that includes different participants with dissimilar objectives. Each entity has a different focus and goal that is notarized and projected. The members in the house will behave in an agreed upon manner insofar of guidelines but each person has a different direction or objective to accomplish that, when given an opportunity, may lead to enticed conduct, e.g. stealing from one another, inflicting harm upon another, cheating or moving on to the next available offer. Further, the house members will enter and exit as they please because whatever laws that produce civilized conduct will be breached and persons will ultimately succumb to individual propensities, such as biases and judgments. Later, the ambiance in a house will fluctuate and grow uncomfortable, sometimes so unsuitable that it greets excessive admittances, produces high attrition, and invites intolerable demeanor and ultimate distrust.

In contrast, the home is a feeling (ambiance) that provides, produces and breeds tranquility. The cohesion and union cannot suitably occur without accordance. Certain things must be in place for a home to mature because it requires clarity, time, patience, tolerance, management, calm, a certain temperament, active collaboration and proactive teaching. Metaphorically, each member is a fiber that adds to the value of a finished product. The difference can be witnessed with the role of a project manager (PM) who is assigned to lead a group of 5, which was our household size before my parents divorced. The PM will wear many hats because he is the appointed overseer who will allocate funds, deliver assigned tasks, disseminate materials and issue project deadlines to name a few. Thus, I equate the PM to the head of the home; the father who is further designated to answer questions and provide clarity with the goal of delivering a finished-quality product.

The Apology that Mattered

love-daughter-dad-quoteClarifying these two distinctions lends itself to a question about the modern marriages compared to what I will call contemporary unions today. Shortly after sharing my most intimate post yet, titled “Sharing my Personal Scar” I received a phone call from my dear father. I will preface this to say that my dad has become my best male friend. He was overly apologetic and emotionally moved to learn that I had not reached out to him at a time of need. The content of my recent blog lends itself to a lot of speculations about the quality of parenting I and my brothers received when we were young; hence, I point the blame at no one because I attribute my parent’s parenting styles to that of which was passed on to them, i.e. adopted practices that were observed and illustrated in what I describe as the house where the parental figure was absent.

Conversely, I wonder if my grandparent’s decision to withhold facts about what they knew of their predecessors deprived my parents of an opportunity to predict and monitor certain tendencies that were imparted? Today I know the spoiled- rotten-little girl, who was left to self-parent because her older siblings were creating lives of their own, did the best she could to take care of house while her mother worked odd hours as a private-duty nurse, is the mother who parented us to the best of her ability. I also know the young man who pursued her because he wanted to be the paternal example that was absent in his life was improperly coached on chivalry and dating etiquette. Hence, both teenagers made conscious decisions to marry and create a nuclear family.

 “The future of every generation lies in its progeny.  Prepared or, unready they are the unwitting guarantors of familial memory, living time capsules filled with stories that define and sculpt family identity, culture and history.  All of us are both mirrors and windows reflecting what has been and apertures allowing a brief and narrow look into the limitless potentialities of what can be.”

Dr. Joy DeGruy

Systemic Practices

Dr. DeGruy alludes to the practice of inheritance. Whether it is knowledge bestowed upon us, experiences lived in the footprints of those we follow or the psychological incapacity of discernment, we essentially become what we may want to disown. Having said that, I see the authoritative, stoic, guarded, independent and covert habitudes that were instilled in me from my maternal upbringing that contradicts my paternal traits of balance, candor, transparency and objectivity to name a few. However, I also know that a lot of my characteristics were acquired along the way through my exposure to others and their experiences.

“In families where the father’s interaction with the children is limited because of marital statuses, he still has an effect on the children—but to a lesser extent. The roles of the father figure are assumed by male relatives, partners of the mother who live in the home, and by extended family helping networks (McAdoo, 1996).”

Excerpt from the Michigan Family Review. Section, titled The Child Socialization Role

For instance, writing and sharing my Personal Nuggets are necessary not inasmuch for personal healing but for others who are also reserved about why the black family is prone to systemic practices that seem challenging to overcome. For instance, if we were to poll children of divorce parents in the black community and ask them questions about their experience each person may have a different outcome; however, the common theme and take away may convey a degree of self-blame in their parent’s decision to live separately. Thus, my childhood history resembles other children that are now caught in the crossfires of a ‘tug of war’ between parents who have become fierce opponents. Accordingly, has the home structure that many black fathers desire been unreported?  Is the black man stigmatized by the mainstream media as deadbeats and uncaring?

There is supportive research that highlights the positive image of black males, who are willingly and actively involved in their kids’ lives, as was our father. Yet, for reasons I will write about later, both parents were subjected to unhealthy conditions that compelled him to leave when I was 10. Subsequently, his efforts to constructively co-parent and the attempts to remain in contact grew challenging as years passed. What I didn’t understand then I absolutely understand and agree to today. So, although the intentions of creating a home instead of that ‘house’ environment may be short-lived, our relationships with the comprised members don’t have to be. It is possible to maintain contact with our loved ones, albeit a grandmother or the village that reared us. And it is further possible to open our hearts to misunderstandings and disagreements. Today I thank my dad for the apology that matters because I am now receptive to hearing and receiving without reservation because he was the ‘Head of our Home’ and has accepted fault.

Note: This is dedicated to my Father.

Sharing my Personal Scar

I seek no pity, yet request a silent prayer as you read this post because each thread of my human fiber remains deeply affected and permanently damaged by the choices I made at age 16 and 17. To lift my fingers and write what has been on my heart for years and to give voice to my experience is a step towards my healing. I can no longer hide from the truth of my scarred life because each time I attempt to mentally and emotionally isolate myself I am reminded of how a 20-minute procedure has forever affected the way I view myself.

Looking back, I must have hated myself and my life as a teenager. I lived a life of little hope, grave desperation and blinded guidance as a teen, who yearned the attention of both my parents but instead received it from a 26-year old who profiled me through mutual friends. I remember that one photo, highlighted in the ‘View Finder,’ section of the local newspaper that attracted him to me. It was labeled a ‘Sweet-Sixteen’ shot that precisely captured my freshly permed hairdo, red lipstick and green contacts. I was feeling radiant on this day, yet unprepared for the popularity that subsequently followed.

As with any young teen who had recently experienced pubescence, I was ‘feeling’ myself in my small town. It was a sunny, nice day when me and my girlfriends decided to go to Caldwell Park. Cars were lined up, music booming, and everyone was dressed in what appeared to be their Sunday Best. And I was no exception! Although I forget what I wore on that day, I could sense that he was staring me up and down with his hazel eyes, which was shortly confirmed when my girlfriend left his car to deliver the news that he was highly interested. I was immediately flattered but showed no emotions because I knew that he was much older than boys I previously dated.

I never asked his age while we dated and frankly, it did not matter because I thought he has exactly what I needed – good conversation, independence, a great job, his own apartment, a nice car and an inconspicuous reputation. Conversely, it wasn’t soon after getting acquainted that he and I grew closely attracted, i.e. talking to and seeing each other almost every day. Infatuated with this gentleness, particularly when we assertively pursued one another each night, he calling from his car phone in the Toyota Supra that waited for me to exit my bedroom window, he maintained a private lifestyle. His privacy is what drew me closer insomuch that I never wanted anyone to know that I was dating someone much older.

There were many nights, including weekdays, when I excitedly waited for the phone to ring in hopes of another rendezvous. Equally, I slowly felt myself drifting away from my small social environment and my school grades were a distant focus. I was physically present in most classes, but emotionally distant. I thought of him often, wondering where and what he was doing when I had to go to school. I was maturing way too quickly but had no clue how to control my emotions for a guy who cared less about my well-being. It was way too late for me to realize that I was just a warm body at night and a piece of convenient @$$ when his schedule permitted.

Mature Physique. Immature Actions.

I should have known because he was precise with almost everything. The phone calls happened at the same time each night when he wanted to spend time with me instead of his long-term girlfriend who had no idea about us. However, I promptly received a quick lesson in what I now call Relationship 101 when I stood there in confusion and fear on the day I told him that I was pregnant. What? I remember the words up to this day – “I will give you money to take care of it.” I was completely confused and asked, “what do you mean, take care of it.”

My heart dropped. All hope was completely lost. I was totally afraid, alone and left with no choice (or so it seemed). How could this happen, is what I asked myself? What the hell did I get myself into and how do I tell my mother and what will my father think of me? I felt absent from my body and abandoned by ‘the’ person who I thought loved me unconditionally. A few hours had passed before the phone rang after he abruptly dropped me off at the house. “What are you going to do and when” were the questions being tossed at me – one minute after another.

I knew of no one to turn to aside from my older female cousins who both provided their emotional support even after learning I was told to terminate the pregnancy. My mind was scattered, thinking about where my support system was beforehand. I recall thinking one thing, while my body was telling me something different. It was awful and horrifying and his actions, threats, calls and persistence prevailed. It took him no time to give me the money and when he did, he made sure that I called him to report the results.

For years I harbored suicidal thoughts. The year was 1992 when I asked God to take my life in punishment for refusing to parent at such a young age. He gave me two chances to parent and I disobeyed. After the first termination I accidentally bathed against doctor orders and I am positively sure (until today) that that was the day I became infertile. Blood was everywhere, while excruciating pain came over me like a ton of bricks. I had never, ever experience that type of pain. Doctors are very particular about the ‘do’s and don’ts’ after an abortion.

On the list of what not to do because of the dangerous side effects is to “not sit in water (e.g., take a bath), douche, or use any medication in or for your vagina” – only shower. Persons are further asked to keep away from the use of tampons and refrain from “swimming in pools” and “bathing in hot tubs or jacuzzis.” I am sure these warnings were clearly shared with me along with handed literature about safety and health tips, but all memory was lost when I arrived home after the procedure. I physically felt empty and invaded. I wanted little to do with life, particularly after my second termination but – somehow in some odd way – I kept on existing.

Until this day I am disgusted by my experiences because it was less than six months later when I became pregnant again, succumbing to the same outcome. The second pregnancy occurred with a different person who I openly invited for reasons that I cannot explain, aside from feeling empty and so desperately wanted. He and I hardly knew one another and when he found out I was pregnant, he and his mother called me to share that I must terminate. They each wanted nothing to do with the pregnancy and I was fearful of the constant calls. After the second procedure, which severely scarred my ovaries, I was numb about not having a voice and knew that God had finally disowned me as His child.

Today I am a witness to how your life will forever change when impulsive decisions are made. God clearly wasn’t happy with me then and He hasn’t been ever since, although I believe my sins are forgiven. I was 17, looking young, yet feeling like a mid-20-year-old who had experienced a life-time of events. My body was physically tired and my emotions where scattered all over the place. I felt used, washed up and forgotten about. It was 1988 and next year I graduated high school. Somehow, someway, I made it through the tumultuous year. Frankly, I was surprised that I managed to keep my grades up to graduate on time. I had survived, literally, two life-threatening events and few people knew about it.

After my first termination I remember returning to school and continuing my normal events like nothing major in my life had changed. I believe I told the mutual friend about the first procedure, but I cannot recall her reaction nor comment. The silence I received from the few persons who knew about what happened should have spoken to me, but I was senseless to the whole process and series of events, which was very troubling. I wish then I knew what I know now! Before I became pregnant I was once a loving person who felt things; was somewhat emotionally healthy and naive to how things worked in the real world.

Ahem! Maybe I should rephrase the last sentence to say that my heart beat was a healthy one because it is apparent that I was not emotionally healthy through the ordeals, nor did I think much of my body and self-worth. There are many days and nights that I ask myself ‘why’ and ‘where’ did I go wrong in seeing the value in others but not within myself. Why did I feel that my voice, feelings, desires and wants meant nothing? I clearly had choices, but chose not to listen to my heart but the sentiments and demands of others. Why did I diminish my self-worth by putting a high price on those of others? What the hell went wrong that, at the age 16 and 17, I felt nothing inside me that spoke to how wrong decisions were with the choices that I had made?

I wanted so much to speak to and cry out to someone who would understand, but I trusted no one. The only three people who knew my true worth and provided sound advice were my older brother and two older female cousins. My brother was supportive as much as he could while also dealing with his own personal matters. One female cousin supported me the best she could by providing consolation and advice about how wrong decisions in life can have a positive learning experience. Of course, I did not understand her words then as much as I do now. My other female cousin, who is the oldest of us all, gave me housing, food and clothing when I needed it most. Subsequently, all three supporters were finally told who the older guy was that impregnated me first and neither were happy to learn that his identity was nearly 10 years my senior.

 “Accepting what is instead of resisting frees you up to change.”

– Josie Kelly M.F.T.

It took two major-life changing events, a tumultuous relationship that involved physical abuse from a guy that I dated for 2 years when I worked for a company in NJ and other suicidal thoughts that paused my life and lead to a Complete 180! The year was 1993. Before accepting my aunt’s offer to visit and potentially live in MD for a life-changing overhaul, I prayed to God for forgiveness, asking for grace, favor and mercy for all my transgressions. I further asked Him for a second chance at life to correct and make right what I had wronged. There were many days and nights of prayer, but there is this one time when I clearly heard Him say that ‘experiencing another pregnancy will gravely cost me.’ That was the closest I had come to God’s voice and decided that I would do whatever I could to keep my promise and make conscious decisions about the precious life He gave me.

The common adage we regularly hear in the Christian faith that reads “… more than I deserve” could not be more relevant to what I have and continue to experience because of my actions at such a young age.

Again, the choice to parent as a teenager was that of my own, as was the decision to refuse. My kids would have been in their late 20s today. I will forever be haunted, affected and emotionally scarred in my many roles as a sister, daughter, aunt, female, woman, mother, niece and granddaughter. However, I know that our God is a great God! He reminds me every day of how a 20-minute procedure (twice) will have a life-long affect each time I see pictures of young adults in their late 20s and early 30s whose mother gave them life! The pill I swallow each day when I think of what happened years ago chokes me up, and then I am reminded that I have a major role to play to ensure that no one should ever experience what I endured.

I love differently than I used to and my sexual life isn’t as healthy as I would like. Today I question everything about myself and subconsciously wonder if I am being taken advantage of by men. The way I love myself is different. Sometimes I wonder if I am deserving of the things and blessings that are bestowed upon me.

Don’t ever criticize yourself. Don’t go around all day long thinking, ‘I’m unattractive, I’m slow, I’m not as smart as my brother.’ God wasn’t having a bad day when he made you… If you don’t love yourself in the right way, you can’t love your neighbour. You can’t be as good as you are supposed to be.”

– Joel Osteen

The 180 that Mattered

In 1994 I visited my aunt and late cousin where a few weeks at their home resulted in permanent living quarters in the Mid-Atlantic region. The complete 180 happened outside of my state of NC in a place that was literally foreign to me. A culture shock is how I will describe it! Public transportation was offered, diversity was on the rise, jobs were plentiful and everything and everyone moved fast as if there was always somewhere urgent to be or someone urgent to see, respectively.

I found a job at a local theatre in no time. My cousin showed me the ropes and schooled me on how to ride public transportation to and from the city. We lived in Silver Spring (SS) MD, a city 24 minutes from Washington DC. Mostly I was reserved about my new area because I was unaware of what to do when and how to maneuver around the city. Yet, when I had doubts, my cousin was there to help me transition. That cousin of mine was the real deal and I miss her so much. Life happened in SS and my job at the movie theatre was short-lived to about 6 weeks when I subsequently accepted a receptionist position at a law firm in White Oak, a nearby unincorporated neighborhood. Unbeknownst to my aunt, MD became my place of refuge, hypothetically and it was the place where I would find my husband of 16.5 years and ultimately create a multi-cultural family.

Fast forward: my new male friend who had migrated to the United States 2 years ago became my husband after our 4-month friendship. Today my mental and emotional condition speaks volumes to where I was some 24 years ago when I met my former husband at age 23. Supposedly I had self-healed, was convinced that a physical move from NC would psychologically repair the severed life I created some 400 miles away. It was like I had traveled across state with torn luggage, unpacked midway, and put on new clothes before I reached my destination in hopes that I could masquerade around in an healthy soul. Accordingly, I loaded every fiber of me on that bus from NC to MD factually unaware that my messy flesh would further hemorrhage.

Remember that voice I told you I heard when God clearly spoke to me, i.e. another chance at motherhood? He spoke after several unsuccessful attempts at natural conception when I prayed to Him. Our preteen daughter is the ultimate gift that happened to me and my then husband! We are grateful to God, the many prayer warriors and a village of emotional supporters for our baby girl. I finally decided to publish this blog for reasons that support my present motherhood. When I look at my child today in our many chats about pubescence, I cannot honestly speak from the heart unless I am cleansed of my wrongdoings. Have I told her what happened to me when I was only 5 years older than she is now? No. Will I? Most likely when it is age appropriate unless she reads it here first. Why? Because she, as do others, can benefit from my testimony.

Where is my emotional condition today? God has delivered me but I am forever reminded of my decisions. Do I live in the past? No, but I am cognizant about how my past influences my relationships, particularly, with men. I regularly talk to God and not just on bending knees. He and I talk as I commute to work, before I write and publish a post / blog, before I eat, when I parent, and the list continues. I confessed to be a sinner many years ago and my relationship with Him is improving now that I am finally seeking therapy.

Please continue to pray my strength in Him, as I work to obey His instructions, follow His deliverance and seek His guidance in every path that I cross. Today I am at peace that this story is going public because I pray that for all who read, reserve judgment. My soul is now delivered from the multiple threats from that one person who said she’d go public with my story if my book on PA was published. She wanted the first voice, yet God has given me strength to share.

One last thing! Please keep an open heart to receive the words of all teenage mothers for reasons that are multiple.

Masquerading Around

A lot happens behind the scenes and we can grow dangerously comfortable in these areas where masquerades are consistently worn.

My surprising week began on Saturday, 9/23/2017, instead of Sunday this time because it was the morning we picked her up from the train station when she finally visited for the first time in nearly two years. I remember saying to my daughter “I’d be surprise if grandma comes but I don’t believe she will,” when soon after she called and told us about her train reservation. I remember hanging up from the conversation, thinking about how the text I sent her on 9/15/2017 at 06:24 that read “Good morning. You should visit us this weekend” must have touched her the same way I felt when I sent it – sorry, wishing we could make forward steps to heal our hurt. 

It was awkward, I was nervous and my daughter sensed every emotion. I remember Butterfly saying something that insinuated my acting like a little girl who was happy to see her mom. Bingo! That was the exact feeling I had: happy like a little girl who would finally have a chance to ask questions about us and get clarity but also apologize for anything I did or have caused. When we finally had a chance to talk we were like foreigners in unguarded territory, hoping that certain questions weren’t asked because we did not want to hear the answers because dealing with what we heard would require us to do things we don’t normally do, such as show emotions. The feelings we conjured up were so unusual – at least for me – because a part of me wanted to let my guard down, but my cautious side knew that relaxing too much and exercising true candor was too risky too soon in our process of making amends after years of breached trust.

Moreover, most of our conversations resembled interactions you may see between strangers who would use their eyes to communicate because it was the only common, understood language, e.g. body language. However, unlike strangers, we had a common language but were afraid to speak it because it was the voice of pain, hurt, humiliation, turmoil, ugliness, immaturity, suffering, and deep wounds that, if exposed, would not survive the environment without professional intervention, which we did not have. So instead of daring to dive in, sort of speak, we talked using cues and at the surface of our pain insomuch that we each spoke our apologies, but only long enough to not feel the sincere result because we both wanted to keep a cordial atmosphere for my daughter’s sake, who was in listening distance and could sense if things were going sour. Yet, there were a few occasions when I would look a certain way and feel differently when responses were shared because the lag of time between each past incident left us both unsure of certain facts that needed proper addressing.

So, the remaining time spent together included bouncing around my small, intimate apartment, tip-toeing from room to room with hopes of not getting too uptight and in our feelings because we each knew that should things get out of hand, my daughter would be left to witness the very ugliness I have been trying to avoid, i.e. disruptive relations between females in the family. And although my attempts to make a positive difference was slightly successful, the result was expected: elevated voices, speaking over one another and wearing the mask that kept us safe for all these years – the facade that tricks one into believing that the image and scenery given to the public is just the opposite. Nonetheless, not all was lost because efforts were made and attempts were illustrated and the result left us both feeling a little better about what we dared to resolve on our own, which is our differences, misunderstandings and hurt. But at least we scratched the surface of what has changed the way we see, speak and perceive each other and I remain optimistic that our next visit will be sooner rather than later to gradually peel away our masks.

Author’s Note

It was titled, an ‘Author’s note’ about self, and it reads:

The relentless blame a daughter carries is the closeness she has with her father, while her mother’s heart sears because of the supposed open wounds she still has from a bitter divorce that led to misunderstandings . He is aware there is no favorite ‘parent’ although she believes otherwise. The daughter will forever pay a hefty price because she is caught in the middle.

This is my story and I am finally shutting the door of fear to put a voice to why I consistently experience bouts of sadness. Truth is – what you see at the surface is not my reality. The ‘real’ me is a gullible, naive and inexperienced adult who still cries for her mother’s attention. So although I pretend to be strong in front of the people who know of me, those who know me on an intimate level remain hopeful that I will find my happy place (one day, somehow someway).