A Daily Dose of Freedom

"You can't "prop up" a person that refuses to stand ."-me Recently, I asked one of my " homeboys " to read a few of my blog posts and help " plug the gap " where my feet often stumbled. He didn't read one, but he read all of them! After a gut-wrenching, " throat punch of truth ," he unleashed the dragon. I was knee-deep in the swamp of hot ashes. Needless to say, I had allowed fear to become my glass ceiling ! Each time, I took off running for the hills , I looked back to the valley for "familiar hands." The " child within " had learned to go without the things needed most; so as an adult, I counseled my fears. I nursed my vulnerabilities. I coached my failures. However, my hands kept reaching for the " mentor within " that the younger version of me survived without. Let's face it! Kids learn what they live, even inherited dysfunction. Grown-up habits can resurf...

" Don't let doubt make you a slave to fear " My friends keep trying to talk me off the ledge... B-U-T ... Some days, I am afraid to jump! Some days, I give a slight pivot but retreat ! Some days, pitiful outweighs powerful. However today, I am " crip walking " blindly on faith. I am out here in " these streets " without: life support , a respirato r , mechanical ventilator , or back up plan . Don't bother asking for further clarification, cause I can't explain what I don't understand. ( inserts nervous laugh ). All I know ( for certain ) is my 2020 vision got downsized by the " survival of settling" and I had been sulking in bondage every since. This morning, I intentionally crawled out of my " woman cave of darkness " and declared that I'm not " finna " waste one more tear on anything left behind. I refused to yell to the masses that refused to acknowledge my wo...

Sometimes the " pain of remembering " is just way too overwhelming...   I opted out of the traditional Father's Day this year. I did not make my annual graveside visit. I did not make a social media post honoring my dad. I did not celebrate the legacy seeds that he deposited on the inside of me. I did not share the memories. Sunday, June 21st popped up ( on me ) like spam with a virus attached--my dad was not physically present! So, I could either cram my face with carbs, cry my eyeballs out, or retreat to the confines of my bed. Somehow, I  mustered up enough strength to step out of the pain and into a garment of praise. I met my responsibility with accountability,  because I had " eyes on me ." My grandson was starting to show signs of distress, due to the overwhelming nature of surrounding events and I could not allow my grief to take root in his heart. I knew dad would want me to take care of him... to be bold , coura...

" Grief is love unfinished ." -author unknown Yesterday, I intentionally chose to ignore the cardboard trail of boxes that disrupted my path of productivity. I snoozed on the to-do-list! I really didn't care to entertain the emotions of " unpacking ;" because then, " moving " would become an immediate reality. Somehow, I just knew that God was about to flip my world upside down, but I watered the " adrenaline rush " down with a cocktail of hesitation and insisted on a splash of doubt. What if things went left? What if my ambition was " overstepping " God's plans? What if my expectations exceeded what was available ( for me )? As my eyes scanned the piles of excess, tension erupted into an aggressive, fire blazing migraine. I felt flushed and consumed by the ashes of despair. However, my agitation was interrupted by a quote from Alphonse Karr, " The more things change, the more they remain the same. ...

In due season , you shall reap a harvest ... Over the past weekend, my family and friends cleared their hectic schedules and helped empty my cluttered apartment. According to the 2020 vision , my time had expired in that temporary space, but closing doors ALWAYS created a veil of doubt, anxiety, and FEAR. My lack of formal planning had unintentionally created all sorts of challenges for my help and the future uncertainty of those cardboard boxes flooded my heart with waves of uneasiness. I had buried my head in the sand of chaos for months and " my indecision " had become a landfill of never-ending complaints that sheltered my inconspicuous agitation and heaviness. Sadly enough, I had perfected " good-bye's " a long time ago. ( Leaving was familiar) . It was like breathing--necessary for survival and required little effort on my part. In fact, I was ALWAYS the first to Q-U-I-T , because staying required the courage to ENDURE unwelcomed rejection! ...

Seems like the " outside world " had finally caught up to the unfiltered chaos that had been churning in my belly for months. In the midst of all the madness, COVID-19 came like a " thief in the night " and interrupted my trajectory. My optimism faded into the backdrop of forest fires caused by consuming racial tensions. My faith wavered on the mountains of constant criticism of the "judge & jury" trying my every move. My hope became overshadowed in the valley of contagious helplessness. Social injustices claimed my attention: on the news, in the workplace, and even in my own backyard. The roses wilted. The gardenias lost their fragrance. The lilies surrendered their petals. Everything that I had prayed for last season became an eyesore in this season. I missed the " calm in the storm " days of: watching my grandson, stand up on the couch and play in my grandmother's silky, black tresses. having morning coffee...

Every " ending " has a new beginning... COVID-19 hijacked my 2020 vision. Doubt silenced the explosive dreams (in my belly) with a sporadic, Diabetic comatose oblivion. Racism robbed every radical hair of optimism from the roots of my graying head. Most days, the alarm clock was the only morning reminder of the faint pulse that surprisingly existed after the reservoir of sorrows dried up from the night before. I had been suffocating under the collapsed bridges of failed attempts. I had been forced into a shelter of introverted isolation. I had been confined by self-imposed limitations. Somehow, " answered prayers " resembled unopened mail, postmarked, " return to sender ." My " hands " kept coming up short! Days became nights. Nights became prisons. Real became fake. Love became hate. When I discreetly unveiled " daily vulnerabilities" from underneath the protective mask of the COVID madn...

One of the hardest truths to face is--being in a space that no longer serves you . Recently, I made a long, overdue decision to " disconnect " from the social media platform, Facebook. It seemed useless to work diligently to produce in a space that refused to acknowledge my efforts as a noticeable contribution. Showing up as a creative, in a world that pretends not to see you, reaffirms the wounds of " unhealed trauma " that remains undergirded by the scars of rejection. The " lack of engagement " sustained unwelcomed insecurities and prematurely wilted the petals of potential from forming full blooms. It reinforced the concrete walls of abandonment that lined the cracks of subconscious childhood memories.  It forced me into the isolated corners of desperation, trying to remain relevant in times of emotional uncertainty. My distress seemed oblivious to the masses that were drowning in their own pain. Help was like foreign aid, unattainable, beca...

I always wake up at the crack of dawn without an alarm clock but force myself back to sleep. Sometimes facing the morning's reality is way too much to fathom on a few hours of rest. As my eyes slowly wondered down the imaginary lines of my bedroom ceiling, I caught myself in the middle of an unwanted " mind mapping crisis ." Somehow, I managed to mentally categorize all my options by lining my ducks up in a row. Who was I kidding?  I hated those rubber ducks! They all represented something that I had "outgrown!" When I opened the blinds, my tears greeted the rain with contempt, so I closed them and drew the gray curtains shut. The clouds overshadowed my "projected optimism " with the gloomy forecast, so I crawled back into bed to make this nightmare disappear. Screeching alerts of potential inclement weather interrupted my daydreams . This was a " living nightmare !" All I wanted-- was to take a " mental health day " ...

"There's such an overwhelming heaviness accompanied by being in a space that you don't love. "-me Although I've been trying to quietly fade into the gray decor of a mundane routine for months, my unsettled stomach rumbles against the currents of assimilation. My desperate attempts to micmic a " traditional, work day, " have landed my best efforts in the discarded "rejection" pile. My optimistic glitter trail had been hacked by the fruit of abandonment: bitterness, frustration, and sadness. Seems I'd been starving myself by refusing to get up from tables that hadn't appealed to my appetite. I'd been sitting in " unoccupied spaces " that obstructed my airways by enforcing the gas chamber of lethargic disapprovals. I'd been showing up with my gift in hand, but turned away, because it wasn't relevant to orthodox demands. I probably should be plum " certified " crazy by the residue left behind...

"Every leaf that grows will tell you: what you sow will bear fruit..." --Rumi Don’t cultivate a spirit of depression in your children by allowing them to watch you “ suffer in silence. ” Your excuses will become their bondage . Your bad habits will become their thorns. Your pain will become their pit. Live life to the absolute fullest! Explore your heartache. Unravel from the unhealed trauma. Don’t let the pain hold your purpose hostage. Don’t selfishly wallow in the pig pen of pity at your children's expense. Don’t stay chained to darkness. Don’t lie on your belly of sadness. Don’t let the lack claim their abundance. Rise up from the “ ashes of defeat ” by taking “ proactive ” steps: Let your words frame their future. Let your life be a testament of your faith. Let your path ignite their hope. Let your prayers comfort their sorrows. Let your reservoir of living water saturate their barren pla...

What do you do when life throws a “sucker punch” that knocks the wind out of you? You smack the “ l iving taste ” out of adversity! You recalibrate. You refocus. You realign. You recharge. You renew. You refill. My “ default settings ” tend to process difficulties as hardships, rather than growth opportunities. “ Challenges ” come with discomfort, require discipline, and take lots of dedication. I hit. I miss. But I never stop “ swinging . ” Life isn’t foolproof; you know? You will NEVER be able to insulate yourself from the risks of potential mistakes.  So you might as well— dig your heels in the sand, stand in your truth, and prepare to knock “ it ” out the park! My grandson defeated the odds stacked against him. Recently, He fell behind academically but bounced back like a beast in a short length of time and got three awards to prove it! He broke through barriers. He overcame obstacles. He conquered lik...

" Although the world is full of suffering, it is also full of the overcoming of it. " - Helen Keller On my Tuesday morning drive to Raleigh, I listened to The Breakfast Club's interview with T.D. Jakes. Jakes discussed ways communities can process the " overall grief " felt amongst the tragedy of Kobe Bryant's death. Charlamagne posed a gut wrenching question that commanded the hairs on my arms to stand at full attention. He blatantly asked Jakes, " Does the righteous ALWAYS have to suffer ? " I felt that from the hollows of my belly. Jakes' response, "Everyone suffers!" " Suffering " wasn't some type of exclusive hardship permissive to a population of believers that professed Lord as the savior of their lives. Suffering didn't discriminate, regarless as to social class, status, or power. Suffering wasn't a " one and done ". I thought about my own journey, whereas " loss " ...

" You can’t win in a collapsed posture of defeat. ” —me Even though I stay in the ring like Rocky ( with my gloves on ) when it comes to my share of undeniable social injustices, there are “ human” moments where I feel “crushed” under the intense scrutiny of personal prejudices, biases, and inequalities. My back has been against the wall for years. Actually, I’ve been in the biggest “ fight of my life … Fighting for a fair chance . Fighting for an equal opportunity. Fighting for justice in an unjust world. At times, I courageously launched out into the deep against the currents of insecurities. Panicked. Then, swam back to the shore of familiar grief! “ Grief ” was my codependent, ride or die that rode shot gun when everyone else faded into the background of indifference. So in a world of pretend, I’d shake off the humiliation of calamities, wipe the grit of sorrow & put my “ game ” face back on. I wasn’t a punk either. Sink or swim,...

The clouds silently mourned blue showers when my feet halfheartedly hit the concrete floor. My unconscious apathy had a mysterious way of castrating the morning sunlight. It hurt to stay connected to the emerging rainbow’s future optimism, when the obvious pain of rejection, trampled the covenant of truth . My “ hope ” went belly up, downstream, each time my sails ended up shipwrecked on a remote island. Those failed missions left an an avalanche of sadness, without the comforts of the birds serenading me over breathtaking skies and crystal clear living waters. Instead, my clogged drain left a swampy pit of fruit flies that draped my potential, devoured my possibilities, and drowned my passion. My flesh burned in silence. There wasn’t any traces of beauty dancing on the notes of these ashes. Life had exposed my fears. Love had promised to stay. Loss had prevailed in the crevices of uncertainty.             ...

Whoever said grief gets “easier” with time, just flat out lied. When I opened my eyes at dawn, I forced them back shut. Maybe extended “sleep” would prolong the inevitable mountain of evidence that proved: the cement of grief still lingers after losing you. the absence of your face sitting across the table for our traditional lunch date. the way your wisdom encouraged discipline, summoned conviction, but was always received in love. Now, all that remains after those ashes of memories is the black coals of burning tears, which feels like some sort of consolation prize that doesn’t appease this jaded heart. My overwhelming tears seek refuge in the glorious fountain of your eternal crown, but my flesh mourns the unfilled vacancy that can never be replaced. My heart skips. My head aches. My hand shakes. How can the predictability of life’s unavoidable circumstances leave such an unpredictable reservoir of sadness behind?  I hope that you find co...