I'll Be Better

I can’t believe 2016 has come and is on its way out so quickly. It was definitely jam-packed with its ups and downs - emotionally, physically, and spiritually. I was my both my best and worst self, as a parent, wife, and friend. I learned a lot about myself when under pressure, extremely stressed, and over the moon with joy. Things that I thought I would never do, I gave a shot.  2016 totally stretched me, and so many others I know, to the limit.

I started the year unsure of myself, starting a new business and feeling very unprepared. I had a few exams to take, in order to obtain necessary certifications, so I would fully be able to help families and individuals reach financial independence. Having come from a journalism, mass communication, and sociology background, I doubted myself and my ability to succeed. I had many moments of failure, where I beat myself up and convinced myself I was letting down my family (both nuclear and extended). I was ashamed of how many times I had to take each exam, due to self-doubt, and didn’t believe I deserved the support so many dear friends gave me.

Due to what I considered my deficiencies, I became mean, because as Iong as I pushed others away, they couldn’t see that I was breaking down inside. However, the moment I was hit with the gravity of how much my behavior had affected others was after I passed my first exam, the second time around. I remember announcing it to our children during dinner. Everyone was excited, but my first son seemed sad. I later pulled him aside and asked him what was wrong, and his body language spoke volumes: head down, near tears. I was at a loss.

It was after much prying that he admitted, “Mommy, my brain keeps telling me you don’t love me.” I was tumbleweed. I’d convinced myself that I was unworthy and in turn had made my son feel the same, by my actions. Unwilling to accept that I was that horrible, I probed further. He shared, “I know you love me, but my mind always tells me that when you (discipline) me, you don’t really love me. You study all the time and always get mad if we play too loud or knock over your books.” I was melting wax, but I allowed him to continue. “I know you passed this exam, but you have another one.” I understood what he was saying.

After I assured him that I did love him and apologized for making him think otherwise, he asked me something that he’d apparently been wanting to ask me for weeks: “Mommy, at your book signing, will you let everyone know that the book is about me?” I couldn’t help but pull him close, as I fought back tears, and whispered, “Yes”. I must have told him a dozen times how much I loved him that night.

Another moment of failure came in November when I had to inform our children that I had not won a trip to Disney World that I promised I would win by working extremely hard and staying on task. The toughest part was my one-on-one with our second son. He was my biggest cheerleader and had cheered me on every step of the way: “Mommy, you can do it! I’ve told everybody we’re going. Go help families; we’ll be okay.” It was only right to break the news to him first.

I remember calling him into our bedroom the afternoon I realized there was no way in the world I would be able to make the cut. He walked in, all smiles, but his countenance changed when he saw my face. I had him sit on the loveseat across from me. As I opened my mouth to speak, hot tears began streaming down my face. He jumped up and ran over to me and asked what was wrong. I hesitantly told him that I had not won the Disney World trip, because I had not worked as hard as I should have. He looked up at me, obviously heartbroken, and said, “That’s okay, Mommy.” I asked if he was upset, and I remember it as if it was just today: “Mommy, you tried. I’m only a little bit disappointed.” I was a puddle. I was in such shambles I asked that he break the news to his siblings, who apparently had never believed we were going in the first place, which was a spear to my chest. I was simply done for the day.

Despite the grief and many tears it brought, 2016 brought great highs. I had my first book signing, and a lot of great friends and family showed up and supported me. The love in the room that day was undeniable. People who believed in me stood there beside and around me. I had not felt a high like that since my cross country running days. I was Rocky Balboa.

In 2017, I intend to soar. I intend to host my first public play, which is something I’d never fathomed. I will be the Baobab tree, which has fire resistant bark and is unmoved by drought. I will be pliable clay, more yielding to my Master’s will, rather than attempt to do things my way alone. I will be Matira Beach, one of most beautiful beaches in Bora Bora with public access. I intend to keep my promises. I intend to do and be better.

Black Friends, Perspective, and Other Things

Last night, during dinner time, we went around the table sharing our highs and lows of the day, as usual. The boys were excited about the fact that they were able to play with their friends at the park after school, a break before tutoring and homework afterward. Their lows pretty much had to do with wishing they could have played more with one of their friends in particular. My husband and I shared our successes of the day and how we wished we had been more productive with our time.

Then you have our six-year-old diva. From time-to-time, she has a way of changing our five to seven minute check-ins on each other to a full blown dinner conversation. When it was her turn, she simply stated, “My high is that I have two new friends, and they are black.” Her dad and I looked at each other, wondering if we should comment.

Before we could say a word, one of her brothers asked, “So, why do you have to say they’re black? Why can’t you just say you have two new friends? It doesn’t matter what color they are.”

She then began to school the rest of us at the table about how black her friends really are. “One of them has short hair like you, Mama, and the other one has long, long hair with lots of braids. (Ly) is darker than you, kind of, and (L) is the same dark as you.”

Her brothers then proceeded to ask if either of them is mixed, like them. She continued, stating that having met one’s mom and the other’s dad, as well as one’s sibling, she’s certain that both are fully black. “I think that their families are all black.” She explained that both girls are pretty and nice. I, for one, was very happy to hear this, as her prior school was not very diverse at all. The entire year, at the other school, she complained about how she was the only one not able to wear her hair down, how she wished her hair was straight, how much she hated her curls and braids and being so different. She constantly compared herself to her other mixed friends outside of school who had very different hair from her.

As she continued talking, I could hardly contain myself. She said she loved their hair and the fact that each had curly hair and that even though each had a different hairstyle, she liked how pretty each of their styles were. She even asked if I could duplicate one of the styles on her and stated that after her next shampoo, she no longer wants to straighten her hair, because “I have a lot of hair, and my curls are pretty”. This in particular was music to my husband’s ears, being that he prefers her natural curls and hairstyles.

I think we were both in heaven and ate our meals in silence, as we listened to the children’s back and forth conversation. However, as usual, the conversation did not end there, as our little ones seldom leave good enough alone. One of our sons continued to press on the whole color matter: “So, maybe they are mixed and they have stepmoms or dads.”

To which our darling princess responded matter-of-fact, “I think their moms are black, because I think black women like black men,” to which my husband asked, “Did Mommy marry a black man?”

Without skipping a beat, she put her spoon down, looked at him and replied, “No, but she wanted to.”  I felt like crawling into a hole, as her brothers turned and looked at me in surprise, having being absent during a past conversation she and I had months ago when she first stated that she would NEVER marry a black man and accused me (indirectly) of being a hypocrite, being that I married a white man and was encouraging her to keep black men as an option in the future.

Being less concerned about me and how out-of-context her statement was, she continued, saying, “ I want to get a white man, but he’s probably going to be black.”

To which her brother asked, “Why? I thought you wanted a white man. Why would he be black?”

Being the comeback queen she is, she stated, in-between mouthfuls of soup and Hawaiian bread, “If I say I want a white man, He’s going to give me a black man. If I say I want a black man, He’s going to give me a white man, and I’m going to be like, “YAY!!!”

My husband and I almost choked on our food. To say we have a lot of work ahead of us is an understatement. Why these conversations are even taking place now scares me. What will we be talking about when she’s 15?!?

However, I am happy to know that she is starting to appreciate her natural hair as it is and hoping this leads to other “ah-ha” moments. May God grant us wisdom as this little one slowly but surely approaches the teenage years. 

Almost There

Some days, as a mere human, you sit and wonder why it feels you run around in circles over and over again, achieving little or nothing. You reach out for a handful of dreams and find when you open your hands nothing but thorns…or even worse, just air. Why would air be worse, you ask? At least if you’re bleeding from the thorns, you know that at some point in time, there were and will be roses, so there is hope.

Some days feel like a walk in a desert full of mirages. Those days feel like no matter what you do, you just can’t catch a break. Some days feel like the chill of winter in the awesomeness of Spring. You see the beauty around you but can’t seem to take it in and fully enjoy it as you should.

Some days, you wonder if it was all worth it. Were they only pipe dreams? Or, is there truly a light at the end of the tunnel? Some days are just for wandering, while others are full of adventure. Some are full of victories, while others are full of defeat. Some days are full of laughter, while others are full of tears.

In the long run, there is hope for each new day. We’ve been given the power to turn our lows to highs. All we go through and walk through are but for a moment. The ups and downs are necessary. They toughen us, make us strong, and help us realize we aren’t alone. We can take flight or choose to lick our wounds and never try again. It’s our choice, and they (whomever that may be to you) are watching us.

Don’t wait around for anyone else to pick you up. Wipe the dew out of your eyes, dust yourself off, find your bearing, and purpose in your heart that no matter what life throws your way, you will win. Breakthroughs occur when you take one step in faith at a time. Be your own cheerleader in that stadium of obstacles. You can do it. You can make it. Just keep pushing through. You’re not alone. You’re almost there.

Go

Growing up in West Phoenix back in the 80’s and early 90's, there were a few things I knew how to do fairly well: run, pretend I was awake in Sunday School, and write. The first was not discovered until I was 9 and in the 4^th grade. In our group of friends, we only wore skirts and dresses, so many of my classmates found it funny that I could run as well as I did, especially during P.E. and at track meets. The second was a skill I developed, because Miss Michelle (who I love and still see every Sunday) had a particular method of teaching that I pretty much had down. So, if called on, I somehow could figure out the answer to her question, even if straight out of a doze fest. The last wasn’t something I realized until I was 11 and in Ms. Kordelski’s 6^th grade class. I still remember my very first haiku:

Where can I find peace?

Peace is nowhere to be found.

Where can I find peace?

It’s then that I fell in love with writing and putting words on a page, like my mom, who loves the English language. I was never any good as an orator though, which is pretty much still the case, but that’s beside the point.

The funny thing is that by the time I was about to start 7^th grade, during junior high orientation, my mom ran into a colleague from her broadcasting days in Nigeria. Soon enough, her friend’s daughter and I became fast friends, and we were pretty much the Nigerian Nightmares of track at our middle school. Our goal during track season was to beat one another’s times. We had different periods for P.E., but when the annual mile day in P.E. came around, we took mental notes of our stated times and compared them either during lunch or after school. Our goal was always to better one another, and excuses were not allowed. If my time sucked, she’d tell me so and vice versa. Our mindset was that there was always room for improvement, so whichever one of us made the better time would always say, in her own way, “You can do better.”

In time, we found that cross country was our thing; neither of us excelled in sprinting. Every time our coach, Señor Calderon, gave us tips, we took mental notes. Both of our dads loved that we enjoyed running, and they attended every Saturday meet we had, especially if they were unable to make our after school meets. My friend, Ekwui, and I learned to lean on each other. We were a team; it was us against them.

I recall several meets where I started slow, as I always did. I’d catch up to her and she’d say, “Go”. That was our way of signaling to whichever of us had the strength to continue to go ahead, no regrets. If after her rest, she caught up, I’d say, “Go”. However, at home stretch, we’d hold out for one other and make sure that we were back-to-back, if not shoulder-to-shoulder, to make it as 1 and 2, 2 and 3, or 3 and 4. Our goal was to always be in the top 3, if possible, but we each got 4^th place at least once. We were always proud of each other’s accomplishments and dreamed of training and making it to the Olympics someday as well as becoming doctors.

Today, we still cheer each other on, even though she went the path of the M.D. and I followed my passion for writing. There’s nothing like having someone who shares your dreams, or at least knows from where you came. We laugh now, as we get older, about how we could run without too much thought back then. These days, however, we have longer stretching routines and our bones tend to ache more and our bodies don’t always cooperate with us.

Sitting back now, I realize that I may not have challenged myself as much as I did in my youth if I didn’t have so many cheerleaders in the form of teachers, friends, siblings, and parents. The thing is, no matter how young, old, talented, educated, experienced, or smart we are, having individuals in our corners who believe in us is important. We achieve more and seem to be better with those sometimes annoying voices in our ears saying, “That’s not going to cut it; I know you can do better.”

So, today, I implore you…if you have a dream or goal, anything your heart desires to do, find a friend or loved one you trust. Tell your vision or goal to that individual and ask him or her to keep you accountable. Heck, keep one another accountable. You don’t quite appreciate the power of a sometimes not-so-gentle nudge until you reach the finish line and look around for that one cheerleader who’s carrying your duffel bag, towel, and all the weight you had to shed along the way to successfully get where you’re going. It’s then you realize that all he or she wanted all along was for you to reach your full potential. So today, I challenge you all: Go, you’ve got this (whatever your ‘this’ is). You’re not alone.  

Rebuilding Me

I’ve always considered myself a strong person. I do my best to stay to myself; otherwise, I get into trouble being me. As I get older, I realize that I’ve never let any one person know all of who I am. Why? I think it’s a way I cope. I don’t want to be judged, but at the same time, I don’t mind the judgment.

I’ve bought into the idea that if I remain somewhat compartmentalized externally, it will keep people away. To some degree, I don’t believe I’m anything special that should draw others to herself; yet, on the other hand, I believe I have so much to offer the world. I think deep inside, I’m afraid to fail others: their idea of who they think I am or simply failing them by being me.

I’ve taken this month to evaluate who I am, and I’ve really struggled with that. Like who am I, outside of being a wife, mother, sister, friend, or daughter? Not counting the outside world, do I truly have an identity? The truth hit me at some point today, and I’ve been digging deep into why I became how I am. The longer I think, the sadder I become. Issues I’ve never dealt with, because I pour myself into just about everything else, began to surface late last year.

The year ahead is going to require me to be more open and honest with myself. Just about everything I do is calculated or weighed: my relationships with people, the work I do, and everything else in my life. I think this year is going to be one of exploration for me. I’m going to do a personal audit, because I don’t really like all of who I am. I’ve carried hurts and anger with me for years and thought that they would somehow just disappear at some point.  The truth is, if I don’t deal with them, they may destroy the beauty that surrounds me, because without facing them, I can never truly be happy or able to enjoy the gifts I have been given. Also, my children, husband, and friends will never truly know who I am and all of who I can be if I don’t evaluate myself and put down my guard.

It will definitely be a long process, and there will be many moments of silence. I need to truly let go and let God. So, to those I’ve let down over the years, I apologize. I’m truly a work in progress. He ain’t through with me yet. This year will be one of rebuilding , strengthening areas of weakness, much pondering, and growth. To be the best me for my family, and the kingdom of God, I need to rebuild the real me God’s way, with His help.