One Week in September

I just received a very public shout out from one of my line sisters on Facebook that has me blushing. She thanked me for some remarks I gave at a high school retreat, based her recommendation to her sister to invite me. And my very broad smile isn't just over what she said (which was truly overwhelming), but it is based on what it meant to me in the context of everything that has been going on of late.

Remember how I spent time this summer contemplating the meaning of life and trying to write my way towards the 42? How I had been rambling on to myself about fear and doubt and whether the choices I had been making with respect to my business were making any difference? How I declared that I am writing a book (something akin to an opus)?

Well, that brings me to this random week in September that began with my participation in a video and ended with the speech I gave to those high school students. At least that is one set of doubts that have been silenced.

I have unconsciously begun to say yes to things that take me outside of my comfort zone. Earlier this year it was accepting an invitation to take a whirlwind solo trip to New York City. This summer it was deciding to rent a bike while on vacation with a baby seat attached. It has also meant stepping up to take on responsibilities other than caregiving and mothering, such as fundraising and jumping back into community work. It has meant taking risks with uncertain outcomes, and accepting in advance that everything will work out in the end.

I volunteered to participate in this video on maternal health. I am certain that I didn't truly think through all of the consequences of sharing such personal details of my life, and after the fact, I have been rather gun shy about broadcasting it. Yet, I am proud to have offered my perspective and hope that someone will be inspired by my experience.

I attended my first Congressional Black Caucus Annual Legislative Conference in years, which was notable for just allowing me an opportunity to leave the house for "work". Then came the big invitation to be a high school retreat speaker, which was quite a big deal. I responded to a Facebook message from my line sister that asked me for assistance. I naturally assumed that I was being asked for legal advice, so when I received her sister's call, I was completely caught off guard by her request to offer a message of hope to her students. While she was explaining the idea to me, my mind vacillated between why me and how do I politely decline...not for any particular reason, but just because. I asked her why and she offered up her reasons, and I ignored my doubts and said yes.

The choice to say yes was surprising because I wouldn't have imagined that I had anything of value or consequence to say to high school students. I thought about experiences that might relate to where they are and wrote those thoughts down. I worried about over-thinking, about talking too long, and about boring them, and I included all of that in my presentation. Since I am not a natural public speaker, I figured that it would be better to be honest and to use what I would think of as deficits as my strengths. And apparently, it worked.

That is the same philosophy I am bringing to writing this book--just putting what I have to offer on the page. I am already over-thinking, rambling on for too long, and not as exciting or riveting as I would like, but I am writing anyway. I have grand ideas and hope that maybe a few of those come together, but I am also going to ground myself by just doing my best. I am going to keep stepping out on faith alone because staying safe and dry in the boat has kept me safe and dry...and adrift. It's okay to get wet every now and then.

Talking to Myself

I haven't written in this space in quite a while, but that's because I've been "building" over at Busy Black Woman. And I can't say for sure what that means.

I have 128 followers on the FB page. I get on average 20 reads of anything I write on that blog. I'm up to 18 followers on Instagram. Every now and then, I post something that reaches more than 25 people on Facebook (today I reached more than 120 people by posting an article about Pat McGrath). Little by little; bird by bird.

I am still very restless and anxious and unsure about the future. I know that this is the precise moment when someone should send me one of those memes about a person just about to have a breakthrough, but they quit and so it never happens. But since that hasn't happened (I checked), I will share that Ann Taylor Loft is having a sale and so is Nordstrom.

But then I found this:

But I have several dilemmas. I don't have a clue what my breakthrough is supposed to be. Do I want to sell some tee shirts? Yes. I have a few good reasons: (1) I don't want to monetize my blog with third party ads; (2) I think I have something clever to say; and (3) I'm making an investment in my work and I can't afford to give everything away. Do I want to be a tee shirt vendor? Not really, because I am a writer. But, I am trying to build a following, and I heard a voice that told me to do this. And I am not kidding. I listened to a voice that told me to invest in myself in this way.

Of course, in writing this, I am admitting that I have doubts. I am beginning to think that I was just telling myself to try something different and bold. And maybe this will be a disaster that finds me giving away free tee shirts to my handful of followers at some point in the future.

I needed to write that out--to admit that I am having big time anxiety because I am too proud to tell anyone. I don't have any safe havens for sharing my feelings anymore. This has been true for a long time, which is how and why I write as much as I do, because in any given 24 hour period, the only other person in my orbit is a three year old who doesn't really talk to me either. And while I am convinced she understands me very well, her unwillingness to express herself is just another example of how lonely and pathetic I feel.

Despite my doubts and anxieties, I am serious about investing in myself. I will keep the faith, even though it is smaller than a mustard seed right now because what choice do I have? What do I have to lose other than what I already don't have? And I could gain something...

Because I am a writer. And that is why I am still writing even if I haven't sold anything. I may not be a tee shirt/mug/shoe bag vendor, but I have a message that I want people to receive, even if I have to give some of it away for free. You might get blessed with a tee or a mug, or you might be blessed by something you read. And maybe that will spur you to buy a tee that you might remember to wear to some event where someone sees you. And that person might inquire about the shirt and you will tell them about the blog and it happens to be a day that I have been particularly poignant about some random topic. And maybe that person can change my life. Or maybe you might take your free mug to work and leave it unwashed in the common area where someone comes along and wonders who left behind this cool mug. And maybe that coworker swipes it, so you have to order another one (or you threaten to issue an inter-office beat-down). Either way, another new person discovers the blog.

And so on, and so on...

Transparency

I had a really bad weekend.

I left the house last night with the alleged intention of going to the movies, but changed my mind when I thought that it might be too pathetic (but more importantly, unsafe). So I went to Target to return a $5 DVD in exchange for $100 worth of stuff.

The mundane details of today are unimportant, because there was nothing really bad that happened to make me so sad. It was more a series of events that have been unfolding since mid-week. Beginning with a phone call that jarred me concerning something that happened to someone else. I had a very emotional reaction, but then went into problem-solving mode, which helped me temporarily until Thursday. I went over to see my parents and that triggered this slide that has me back in the depths of inconsolable sadness.

Since January, the situation with my mother has been changing, and not for the best. It has been depressing and emotionally overwhelming to experience, and the background turmoil of family drama has made things pretty bad.

I have already alluded to some of my issues in previous posts, but I need to let down my guards somewhat because I feel that I have no other outlet. And while I'm convinced that no one reading this will be able to offer me anything, I just need to get a lot of this off my heart.

My Dad is falling apart because taking care of my Mom and watching her deteriorate is unbearable. He has been dealing with small, nagging health issues that I am convinced are stress-related. But he will not make any changes to his daily habits or routine to deal with things, so like yesterday, he comes home not feeling well and chugs down a glass of soda...I have no idea how to support him in a way that does not backfire and deepen my own misery and sense of total helplessness.

Watching this unfold and not being able to really get any relief is killing both of us softly. Which is part of the reason for my ire at other members of my family. I am still angry with myself for not properly defending my Dad against a sideswipe earlier this year, and when it redirected and came for me, I became and remain furious. And unwilling to forgive. That is totally uncharacteristic of me, and that only intensifies my emotions.

I am trapped in an unending cycle of bitterness and anger and sadness. I cannot break it by pretending that all is well. I cannot break it by focusing on others, not even by focusing on my daughter. Because after I have given every drop of emotional care and concern to others, nothing is left for me. Nothing.

And no one notices. My husband, who is just as unobservant and clueless as my Dad (who didn't notice what was going on with his wife of 35+ years) is incapable of offering me any form of emotional support. And after 20 years, I don't expect that to ever change. Like my Mom when she was well, he can offer the support that others need, but when it comes to his wife, he expects me to be able to shake it off and get over it. Ironic that I would marry my parents...

And my friends, y'all don't notice shit either. When you need me, you call and I am there. If I call, you are busy--out having fun, never inviting me to come along, and then wondering why I never talk about things. Perhaps that is unfair, but it is how I perceive things. I spent the entire weekend sad and alone and saw all the pics of places I could have gone but for the lack of inclusion.

Finally, it hurts beyond words to witness my mother's decline like this. It is incomparable to any other experience of losing one's parent. That doesn't mean that one death is worse than another, because anyone who has endured that loss feels it forever. But I am simply saying that Alzheimer's disease, in particular, is a horrible death to experience. Despite the miracle that some hope will occur, this is a very long and excruciating goodbye. My sense of loss became real the week that I insisted that she be hospitalized...and it is a daily dread.

I am not ready, but I am holding on to that mustard seed that tells me all will be well. It might not be the type of bold faith that believes in abundance and prosperity and dominion; it is a much quieter faith that believes in forgiveness, blessing others, and endurance until the end.

Reconsidering Mother's Day

I actually wrote the piece referenced on Mother's Day for the BBW blog, but I am now going back to read/edit/publish a few outstanding pieces here at the Cafe. Bear with me.

I've been trying to gather my thoughts to write over at the Busy Black Woman blog about Mother's Day for a while, but I think that effort is futile. My emotions are a little too erratic for humor...so I am here to be raw and serious and to try to express my emotions in a more or less coherent manner.

Because I hate Mother's Day. I have probably admitted this previously, and maybe I will go back to see if I am right, but for now, I will let that declaration stand alone. I. Hate. Mother's. Day.

At some point, my mother made Mother's Day a test of how much anxiety could she force upon me by making me feel that I never loved her enough, or that I never demonstrated the right amount of gratitude. You see, before the Alzheimer's my mother was a pill--at times, a bitter, oblong, hard-to-swallow horse pill. In the years after my grandmother's death, and literally up to the year I revolted and determined that something was terribly wrong (when all of this was becoming a reality), she could be a...bitter ass pill.

I will not recount how bad, how bittersweet, how utterly insufferable this time of year could be for me--when nothing I did was good enough (but the nothing my Dad and brothers did was somehow, just fine). But I will say that even after spending my first Mother's Day last year with my in-laws, practically spoiled because the Babe was brand-new and this was the first time everyone was meeting her, I still dread this stupid holiday. Even though it felt good to be the quasi-center of attention for once. Of course, they were all excited about the Babe, a month old, but I have come to realize that a lot of my happiness nowadays comes from her.

All of that was written back in May. All of this below is new:
I survived Mother's Day by going to church, which has become a refuge for me. That is unbelievable because it was only a few years ago that I was declaring myself a proud member of Bedside Baptist. Life, man.

Someone at my church (and I will have to write about this at some point) has decided that they will find whatever opportunity possible to stand me up in front of that congregation. I was asked to give the welcome for Mother's Day, which meant a lot of preparation before and then a lot of rushing the morning of, but we made it! And several months later (because I was asked to give another presentation at church just yesterday and had to do the same thing) I am now getting it.

Public speaking was something that my mother did very well, but as usual, her stage mommy ways made it an uneven experience. As kids that grew up in the church with both grandmothers, an aunt and then later in Catholic school, we had plenty of opportunity to speak in front of church folks. Many of those experiences did not involve my mother, but her spirit was there because the Hawkins children never read from a slip of paper in front of an audience. The Hawkins children always memorized their scripts.

Did I tell you that my mother taught public speaking? And drama? Do you see where this might be going?

I will actually go in the opposite direction to say that she seemed pleased by my presentation. And that I am already thinking of how well-trained my daughter will be when she reached the age of standing in front of the church. Like mother...as they say.

Since the tone of this piece has changed from a whine to a tribute I must say that for all of her faults, my mother was right (just not about everything). I learned a lot from her example. I may never become a great public speaker, but if the people at my church think that I am a decent enough speaker, then it is because of her high expectations. This past Mother's Day, when I was just happy that we made it to church on time, I forgot to reflect on the reason why...

I hope I made her proud.

Perspective

Another one from the archive. Written back in August.

I have been in a terrible funk lately, brought on by a general feeling of powerlessness over various circumstances of my life.  The usual litany of general worries include money, job and chaos...however, lately, that list includes health worries, lingering grief, and anxiety about my new business.

All of that pales in comparison to the ordeal one of my classmates from high school is enduring right now.  Her little girl might be dying.

I am surprised at how deeply this has impacted me, because quite honestly, I do not remember being friends with this woman at all.  But like most of my FB 'friends' she is someone who shared my space at a particular moment in time, so we are connected.

I cannot imagine what it must be like to have a child go through what her daughter has been through.  She and her husband mother have kept everyone informed through regular updates, and because I have been so touched by her story, I have been following a;ong and keeping the family in prayer.  Last night she posted that the little girl's chances of survival through the night were slim--but thankfully she made it through.  Unfortunately, her prognosis is still very grave.

Back in February, we were given essentially the same grim news about my ailing mother-in-law.  And though it hurt like hell to think that her time with us was short, I accepted it with steely resolve assuming that my husband would need my strength when the awful moment arrived.  And then of course, I was not even there...until two days later.  I still rose to the challenge, only to crumble pebble by pebble in the time since.

Today I am writing and praying for strength.  My classmate will need it whether her daughter lives or dies (but I am really hoping for a miracle).  It seems almost inappropriate to pray for a child I will never know, but she is a child.  Children are supposed to live.  I am especially touched by this because I look at my beautiful Baby Niece and know that my world would absolutely splinter into a million pieces if anything happened to her.  So Lord, please heal my classmate's baby.

The irony of this situation is that I did not pray in a similar manner for my mother in law and that makes me feel vile in hindsight.  I thought that it would be more realistic to pray for her to make a peaceful transition and for the family to remain intact in the aftermath.  I prayed for the nieces and nephews and their ability to withstand the loss of a grandparent--which is always harder on the older ones.  I am unsure if I took the right approach...but I know that God knew better than I did about her situation.

As a person who is slowly rebuilding her faith, this is one of those moments when I have to believe that no matter what happens to that little girl, God knows best.  But sometimes it is hard to believe that in the midst of sadness, tragedy, heartache, despair, destruction, doom, and just pure HELL that YOU are here with us.

A Little Calmer, but Still P*&%

I just read a simply outrageous article in the Huffington Post about forced sterilizations of women by the State of North Carolina in the last century.  In case anyone needed reminding, the last century ended just 11 years ago.

WTF?!??: North Carolina Eugenics Board Victims Fight for Justice

Of course, what pissed me off more were the ignorant comments of my fellow Americans who think that forced sterilizations might be a good idea for the future of this country.  And so the slippery slope just got a little slimier.

Look you a$$es, the choice to have children is really not up to any one of us.  The state does not get to decide, and believe it or not, neither do any of us.  The Good Lord decides who gets born into this world. 

And Lord help you unfeeling, all-I-care-about-is-ME-ME-ME whiners, because one day, one of these unnecessary, unfortunate, poor children whom you complain live off of your un-unionized tax dollars earned working as a greeter at the Wal-Mart...someone whom you would never deign to even look in the eye, will save your worthless life.  It might not be in a way that you think significant, but somehow, in some cosmic way, you will continue to live by the grace of God because the least of these will make some sacrifice or develop some skill set that will keep you on the mortal coil.

Don't believe me?  The story of Henrietta Lacks comes to mind, because she too was a poor woman that you probably could not have cared less for in her lifetime.  To you, the cancer that killed her was unfortunate, but a fact of life (because some people are just born unlucky)...except the cells taken from her have been used for decades to do medical research.  She was one of the least of these.  I could mention the men who were subjects of the Tuskegee Experiment, the people who are AIDS-research guinea pigs, the men who risk life and limb to mine coal so that your laptop has power , and every migrant farmworker who picks produce, because in your myopic view, these people have no worth and provide no monetary benefit to society. 

Well, God help you.  Because one day, you'll need Him to take pity on you.

Lately...

I've been blogging up a storm!  I think that the two weeks I had no computer access caused a backlog of ideas in my head, and now everything is just pouring out like water.

I wrote yesterday over at the BBW blog about fried chicken, then I chickened out and did not publicize it...dunno why except maybe it took me soooo long to finish that it was Thursday and so the point was lost.  Not that I was ashamed of what I wrote, but I think that my perfectionism makes it hard for me to just blog and go.  If I had done that, then I doubt the piece would have been all that good, but as it stands, I have no idea if anyone will think anything of it now.

However, I like the fact that my blog gets regular readers.  And I really like having this on the side to have as an outlet for everything else I am thinking.  I did not write here about some of the recent developments in my life yet, but it has been great to have this space as a security blanket of sorts whenever I feel like I have something to say, but am not quite sure whether it needs to be public (which of course it is...but not that public).

Tough Seasons

I have noticed lately that a lot of people I know are going through some very tough times.  A friend from college just lost her mother suddenly and as did another just lose her father.  A few folks I know are going through divorce.  We are dealing with the illnesses facing elderly family members. 

And while we are pushing through domestic issues, there are people in Japan who have just survived an earthquake and may be facing a nuclear meltdown.  There is a civil war going on in Libya and there are protests all over the Middle East for democracy.  There are places in Africa where everyday for the past twenty or more years has been a constant struggle for survival.

I am tempted to wonder why...someone asked if I thought this was the beginning of the end, since 2012 is rumored to be the end of the world.  But that seems too simple--that the world is coming apart because we are about to disappear.

I am a person of faith.  I do not believe Obama is the anti-Christ.  I do not believe in the end times.  I believe we are going through a tough season because that is the nature of life.  People die.  Marriages do not always last.  Illness happens even if we try to keep it at bay.  Natural disasters happen as do man-made disasters.  People fight when they see no reason to get along.  Poverty exists while others have too much. 

Life is unfair.

But the solution is not to wonder why or to rend our clothing or even take to the streets.  The answer is to stop, take stock in what we have, and then press forward.  This too shall pass. 

Two Hundred

I was working on another post, but then I realized that as this my 200th blog posting, I would rather it be able something significant, so I thought to celebrate this moment with a blog about my blogging :)  I started this endeavor in 2005.  I abandoned this effort in 2007.  I quasi-returned to it in 2008.  And I came back full tilt in 2010.  Now 200 postings later, I am very excited about the future!  And here is why:

1. I have learned a lot about myself in publishing my thoughts to the world.  I have a lot to say, but I have not only evolved in how I express myself, but I have become a lot more confident in how I present myself to the world when I am not blogging. 

2. I am more confident in my writing ability than my speaking ability, but that actually works in my favor.  I have discovered a strength that will be valuable to me for the rest of my life.  So what if I can never inspire people with a rousing speech--I can persuade through a well-written piece of prose.

3. My writing persona is authentic.  Not that I am fake in person, but I know that I am revealing the real me in my writing in a way that might not be as evident in person.  When I say something ironic or mean in my writing, I am intending to be ironic or mean. 

4. I want to take more chances.  I want to step outside of my comfort zone and have my writing reach more than just the people who happen upon this site or those who support me.  I have something to say, and I actually know what I am talking about most of the time.

5. This is my journey.  And for some time now, I have considered the opinions and perspectives of others (many quite well-meaning) in charting my course.  I am here by no accident, but because this is how the Lord intends for me to reach my destination.

I need to emphasize point #5 because some well-meaning people have been urging me to make different choices (i.e. get a job that would solve all of my financial and career issues) out of what they perceive tobe my best interest.  Lord knows, I could use some stability, but perhaps it is time to acknowledge that a job is not the only way to achieve that...

And here is what I really want to express--gratitude.  Gratitude to the Lord for revealing to me that everything in life has a meaning, even our stumbles.

I had an epiphany the other day so it had to be addressed in my 200th posting today.  I was imagining how different my life would have been if my career had not been so abruptly derailed.  I call it a derailment on purpose because in my mind, I was simply a passenger riding on a train when everything toppled over.  It began with the loss of a job, but my inability to sufficiently rebound into something comparable led to a detour that has taken me to many unexpected places.

Such as the courtroom.  I had tried litigation during an earlier bout with unemployment, and it had provided me with valuable experience and the ability to be adaptable.  Although I have tended to regard my little practice as insignificant, recently a former client tried to offer me a referral.  To her, the work I had done on her case was significant. 

Another unexpected place was the classroom.  Everyone in my family has become a teacher, and I often joked that at the beginning of each semester that education was the family business and that I was late in joining the franchise.  And truly, I have found the classroom to be a great fit, even as I found certain aspects of the profession to be exhausting and under-appreciated.

I am coming to terms with the prospect that I might never have biological children.  There was a time when I figured that having a baby would help to give my life purpose, but for whatever reason that has not happened.  And it caused me a lot of anxiety because everyone else in my demographic was having children.  It only added to my insecurities about the loss of my job as some massive sign that I was perpetuating a fraud on the world.  But plenty of wonderful people have never had biological children, and if I am meant to raise a child some day, I am fine if that blessing occurs because someone else cannot.

I have been broker than broke.  My savings are meager and my debts are massive.  But I keep pressing forward and have learned the value of frugality.  We have learned to live within our means and that has kept us afloat.  And I cannot help but to think that we are reaping what we have sown--service to others has supplied our needs. 

And finally, I look upon my marriage as a major silver lining in a cloud of despair.  God willing, we will celebrate 10 years in October and I feel so magnificently blessed.  Not because I think marriage is better than being single, but I believe that my marriage has been better for me than being single would have been.

So I am celebrating 200 blogs at the Cafe and hope to build on it with so much more in the future!  Ciao :)

Growing Up Is Hard

I have probably discussed this before, but growing up is really over-rated.  If anyone under 25 stumbles across this blog, please know this to be true--GROWING UP IS OVER-RATED!!!

I am dealing with life wearing my best game face, but that does not change the fact that underneath that mask of holding it all together, I am struggling.  I am at that place in life where the generation before me that held my life together is starting to need me to hold it together for them, and I am not ready.  Not only am I deficient in the strength that they had, I have the weight of my own disappointments to resolve...

Lord knows I want to be a strong enough person.  But I do not wish to be the Hulk, Hercules and especially not Atlas, but just strong enough.  I am in my Garden of Gethsemane...wondering aloud where the Lord is and why has He forsaken me?  Of course, I know that is not the case because the only reason why I am even able to sit here and type all of this is through the grace of God, but that does not change the way I feel right at this moment.

But I remembered just a few weeks ago that the women in my family were prayer warriors and that is what I need to become.  I haven't been a regular church attendee in years, and it seems rather convenient to start that up now, but no matter.  I remember how to pray.  I remember how to find inspiration in God's word and I remember the hymns that bring comfort.  If I put all of these elements together, I know I can keep going.