The Reason Behind My Voice

As 2022 ends, I greet it with nothing but sheer gratitude. This year was not without its challenges, but there was also the moments of joy.                                                                       Photo captured in September 2022 I am grateful for the good, the bad and everything in between. I am also grateful for this space where I get to show up as my authentic self and where my writing doesn't have to be perfect.  There are a few things I will remember most about 2022 - Surviving Covid-19. My family and friends surviving Covid-19. Fighting acne.  Loving and losing.  Finding a skincare routine that works.  Learning to let go of what wasn't mine.  Shedding dead weight. I took my meditation practice seriously.  I took my healing seriously...

                                                  I Am Not Alone.                                                                                  Photo by Saffu on Unsplash If we are anything alike, then you most likely value solitude. And there is nothing wrong with that. However, there are lessons that we need to learn alone and those we need to learn through community.  Photo by Hans Vivek on Unsplash I am finally brave enough to embrace a lesson that the Universe has been trying to teach me for some time now. Whenever I go through hard times, my first instinct is to isolate myself. I hav...

  The Adinkra symbol  Sankofa has   been heavy on my mind lately.  The symbol is a bird that flies forward but looks backward. It means "Reach back and fetch it." Photo credit: Adinkra Corner How many times were we told that we should not look back, only forward?  Poets like Lucille Clifton were always "reaching back and fetch it" for great wisdom resides in the past. When Hurricane Maria struck on 18th September 2017, life as I knew it was over. Instead of celebrating my 25th birthday that year, I was salvaging my belongings. I concentrated on all that was lost. I held grief around my neck and, my waist and I carried it with me for years. When my birthday comes around, so does a great sadness. Photo credit: Melchior Damu     A few days before my birthday this year, I subconsciously began noticing things that had survived the floodwaters. Like my family, my guitar (which I haven't touched in years), my hot wheels cars, my favorite fountain pen, and my ...

 Rest  Photo by Annie Spratt on Unsplash I recently rang a relative to wish her happy birthday and asked her what she planned to do for the day. She candidly replied, "Work. We are a hard-working family, remember?"  She was telling the truth. I grew up watching my family till the soil with their bare hands, after all "by the sweat our brow" we had to eat. There is nothing wrong with working hard to provide for yourself and others but at what cost? I decided a long time ago that would not be my narrative.  Balance  Photo by Karsten Winegeart on Unsplash  I know what it means to work yourself to the ground. I know what it means to grind and hustle. I know what it means to get caught up in the horrors and toxicity of capitalism. I had to watch my mother do it and, for a while, I inherited that culture.  But there is nothing wrong with laying it down and walking away to redefine productivity.  I know what it means to work myself to exhaustion but, I...

Photo by eberhard 🖐 grossgasteiger on Unsplas h It took me a while but I am finally woman enough to admit it. I used to be afraid of being happy. I was afraid of experiencing joy.  It might seem silly, I know. But cherophobia is more common than we care to admit.  I think much of my fear stemmed from the false narratives I was fed as a child. "After laughing is crying" I would often hear. Whether it was on the basketball court, at school, or home. It did not take long for me to associate joy and sadness. I came to view happiness as a preamble to mourning. Photo by eberhard 🖐 grossgasteiger on Unsplash After hours of playing basketball or swimming in the river without my mother's permission, I would come home to a waiting belt. No matter how much I enjoyed myself that joy was overshadowed by the punishment.  I had my first and only birthday party at 12 years old. I enjoyed it. But soon after that, I lost most of my friends who came to the party. Part of me wished my mo...

                                                                    Photo by Hans Isaacson on Unsplash I recently listened to the Talisman album by Colton T and it has been on repeat since then.  In all honesty, the compilation has given me fuel to continue creating but it also helped me realize how difficult it is to create when we have been fed false narratives. "It is my story. I will write it." Too many people wanted to write my story for me. Too many hands attempted to spin my narrative. It was and still is my life and I had to be brave enough to live it on my own terms.  Too many times we allow others to project their fears onto us. Too many times we drink the potions we are offered and take it as gospel.  They will try to tell us how our dreams are too big and ...

Annie Spratt on Unsplash I once wrote a poem about succulents. But the truth is I was writing about myself and my story. Indeed, I had come a long way and progress looked good on me. (Poem can be found in my book Bonfire available on Amazon.com) As we celebrated the stories of many women and how they changed the narrative, I began thinking of my story. Many will try to convince you that they know me or know my story. But albeit, I beg to differ. The truth is no one knows my story like I know my story. And no one can tell my story like I can tell my story.  I never wanted to become a teacher; that was my mother's dream and pretty soon it became mine. I handled that dream like it was an heirloom or a rite of passage. Something handed down to me and by all means, it would enable me to lift the family name, rinse it from the mud and hold it towards the sun.  Teaching would be easy. Everyone would be proud. They would all be happy for me. These were my thoughts. This was not so an...