My "No Negativity" Challenge

Please allow me this moment of transparency. 

Sometimes (okay … a LOT of times), I can be very self-conscious about myself and the way I look.  This is an issue I’ve had for 40+ years, so this is indeed a very hard habit to break.  It may start off when I look in the mirror and not like the image looking back at me.  Then it may be compounded when I go to put on an outfit that may be fitting a little more snuggly than it did the last time I wore it.  And then it always ends with me saying something negative about myself.

I have decided that 40+ years of being my own worst critic is 40 years too long.  Enough is enough.  Why not love on myself and change the narrative?  So, that’s exactly what I’m going to do.  From now on, I will make the conscious effort to concentrate on the good and the beauty I see.  No more negativity.

There are two reasons I need to do this.  One, I simply need to stop beating myself up.  All the negative self-talk can be a heavy burden to bear, and I have tired myself out from the toll it has taken on me over the years.  Secondly and most importantly is that my daughter is watching me.  I have always made sure I never say anything negative about myself in front of her because I don’t want her doing that.  I don’t want her caught up in this vicious, self-defeating cycle. 

I know I am not the only woman who does this.  In talking with friends, we all have done this to ourselves at one time or another.  And sometimes it can be so intrinsic and automatic that we don’t even realize what we are doing to ourselves. 

So, I want to issue a challenge to you today.  Whenever you have a negative thought about yourself, send that thought back to the pits of hell from whence it came.  Whatever you have to do to hype yourself up and remind yourself of your Queen status, DO IT!!!!  Keep a favorite photo of yourself nearby to remind yourself of who you are.  Find a theme song or some hype music.  Blast the hell out of it and walk around like you are Muhammad Ali and about to go into a boxing ring and kick negativity’s ass!  Just do it!

No more negativity.  More self-love and care.

I created my own hype video to remind myself of my QUEEN status.

(Music by Alicia James "Love Me So Naturally")

Black History Is 365

When I was growing up, I remember February always being a very busy month.  Because it was Black History Month, we were always on the go.  There was always a church or community event or program my family attended.  My parents took me to countless plays, presentations, exhibits, and speakers throughout the month.  I remember participating in a Black History quiz bowl competition with some friends of mine when we were in junior high.  Even though I attended a predominately White school district, the high school made an attempt to have a Black History assembly every year ... even though several students chose to skip that day of school.  (That's really no surprise considering I grew up in South Carolina, but I digress.)

February was a month of celebration.  It was a month of reverence.  It was a month to remember and reflect on the sacrifices of our ancestors, to remind ourselves of the contributions we’ve made to America and the world that aren’t included in school history books or classes, and to re-dedicate ourselves to keep blazing the path for future generations.

February was indeed a very busy month, but it wasn’t the only month my family celebrated or studied Black History.  The way my parents saw it, we were Black 24/7 and 365.  Therefore, Black History didn’t come and go in February.  It was an everyday thing. 

My parents never missed an opportunity to teach or expose me to Black History.  Like many Black households back in the day, my parents kept subscriptions to “Ebony” and “Jet” magazines.  If there was a movie coming out or a play nearby they felt had any cultural or historical significance, they took me to see it.  They shared with me their personal stories, experiences, and memories of growing up in the South during the Jim Crow / Civil Rights era.  And if there was something I heard about that I wanted to learn more about, if my parents didn’t know about it themselves, they gave me all the tools I needed to research that person / place / thing / event for myself.  My Mama worked at a library.  If she wasn’t bringing me books to read, she took me to the library and turned me loose to explore, read, and learn.  (Those were the days before Google.  J)  The way my parents saw it, you can’t begin to know yourself if you don’t know your history.

My son Randal at the MLK Memorial.

I plan on doing the same for my children that my parents did for me.  Every chance I get, I will expose them to their rich cultural heritage and history.  They will know our history didn’t begin with slavery, and there are more Black heroes besides Martin Luther King, Harriet Tubman, and Rosa Parks. 

Randal at the slave burial area at Mount Vernon.

Randal at the Frederick Douglass house.

Randal at a Negro League Baseball exhibit.

The thing I love about Black History is that it’s so abundant that I’m still learning things that I can pass along to my kids.  While I was thrilled to hear the stories of Katherine Johnson, Dorothy Vaughan, and Mary Jackson and share the movie “Hidden Figures” with my son earlier this year, a part of me is a little upset that I didn’t know about these Black sheroes or their contributions to NASA until I reached my forties.  It makes you wonder what else and who else don’t we know about.

And as a parent who loves sharing Black History with her children, it makes my heart burst with so much pride when they show interest in what they are learning.  My daughter is only three years old, but she loves the books my husband and I read to her by Black authors and about Black historical figures.  When my son asked me to take him to see “Birth of a Nation” last year, I couldn’t get him to the theater fast enough.  We saw it opening weekend.

My daughter Sydney and I on a Gullah Tour bus in Charleston, SC.

Sydney with Ms. Louise.  Ms. Louise makes hand-sewn baskets in Charleston.

The whipping house in Charleston, SC.  This is the place where Denmark Vesey was held,

whipped, and eventually killed for planning a slave revolt.

(If you ever get the chance, you MUST go on the Gullah Tour with Mr. Alphonso Brown in Charleston.  My family loved it, and we learned so much,)

The date on the calendar says March, but today is just like yesterday or any other day at my house.  If there’s a lesson to be learned on Black History, we’re all in.  Black History is 365. 

Thank You, Obama Family!

I have been dreading this day since the man I will leave nameless won the 2016 Presidential election.  Of course, we all knew President Obama and the First Family’s time would be coming to an end, but it’s hitting me especially hard now that the time is actually here.

Saying that I am going to miss them is a gross understatement.  While depression and sadness are setting in and hitting me like a million tons of bricks, there are some things I am thankful for.

I am thankful that my parents lived long enough to witness the election of the country’s first Black President.  My parents were born in 1938 and 1941.  Both were born in the south.  Both came of age and lived through the 1950s and 1960s during the height of the Civil Rights movement.  Never in their wildest dreams did they think they would live to see Barack Obama.  My father passed away just a couple weeks after the 2008 election, but my mother was front and center at President Obama’s first inauguration in 2009.  She lived to see and experience Black history.  What a blessing!

I am thankful that young Black girls all over the country had a positive role model in our First Lady Michelle Obama … a beautiful chocolate sistah from the southside of Chicago that sprinkled Black Girl Magic everywhere she went and to everything she touched.  She stayed slaying, and we love her for it.  I have said it a million times, and I will say it a million more.  Michelle Obama didn’t just break the First Lady mold.  She shattered the ding dang thing. 

The Obamas survived.  I’m not just talking about all the vicious personal attacks they have endured over the last 8 years.  They are leaving the White House with their lives.  I can’t be the only one who said prayers of protection over the Obama family, who held their breath when President Obama first got into office, and who gave much-deserved side eyes for all the security breaches with the Secret Service that never seemed to occur with past presidents.  They made it out … alive.  Thank God for that.

We loved Barack and Michelle’s love.  Time and time again and over and over again, we saw countless examples of how much they love each other.  Their love is a beautiful thing that gives us all the feels.  Who can forget this picture of President Obama admiring Michelle?

And when he gave her a shout out during his farewell speech last week?  I made it through his whole speech without shedding a tear until that moment.  

We were able to watch Malia and Sasha grow to be beautiful, intelligent young women right before our very eyes.  No scandals.  No issues.  Even though they also had to endure their unfair share of personal attacks, they did it with dignity and grace.  They make all of us play aunts and uncles all over the country very proud. 

Thank you.  Thank you.  Thank you to the Obama family.  You are loved.  You will be sorely missed.  We are forever grateful for your service, for your patriotism, for your perseverance, for your dedication, and for your courage.  

Somebody pass me a box of Kleenex. 

We Have Failed Dr. King

Today is the MLK Holiday.  Normally, this is a day that I set aside to celebrate Dr. King’s life and legacy or it’s a day of service to the community.  But today, especially with the inauguration of Donald Trump just days away, is more of a day of reflection.

As a country, we have greatly failed Dr. King.  Greatly.  I have wondered what would he think if he could see the current state of affairs in these Divided States of America.  Would he wonder why he marched, protested, took beatings, survived a stabbing, had his home bombed, his family threatened, and his life taken for things to be just as they were decades ago?

Would he wonder why there is still a problem with police brutality in the Black community?  Would he wonder why unarmed Black men and women are killed by the police at a rate far higher than other racial groups?  Would he be surprised that the reasons the police give to use deadly force now are the same ones the officer in Selma back in 1965 used after the murder of Jimmie Lee Jackson … that the officer feared for his life?  That the Black man was threatening?  That the officer thought the Black man had a weapon?  Would Dr. King’s heart skip a beat when he watched videos of school resource officers forcefully slamming our Black teenaged girls to the ground and not face any punishment?

Would Dr. King be saddened that after all these years it’s still necessary for us to remind the country that Black lives matter? 

Would Dr. King be disappointed that groups of people are still fighting for their rights to equality?  Fighting for the right to basic healthcare?  Fighting for the right to marry whom they chose?  Fighting for the right to equal pay for equal work?

Would Dr. King’s heart be broken to know that nearly 54 years after the bombing of the 16^th Street Baptist Church that church still can’t be a safe space for Black folks as evidenced by the shooting at Emanuel AME?

And after the election of America’s first Black president and all the hope for a post-racial America we saw after President Obama’s time in the White House, that the country has elected a president with a history of racial discrimination that is decades old?  That the country elected a man endorsed by the Ku Klux Klan?  That this same president-elect is trying to fill his cabinet with known racists … including one his wife Coretta wrote a letter on why he shouldn’t be appointed to a federal judgeship?  That we are turning over the White House and our government to a man who had the audacity to disrespect John Lewis, a man who marched and fought on the front lines with Dr. King time and time again for a better America and continues the fight to this very day?

What is this country coming to?

So on this day that is set aside to honor a great man, his legacy, and his dream for his country, I can’t help but feel sadness that we still have such a long way to go before the dream is realized.

Take The Picture And Capture The Moment

I’m about to get a little personal with y’all.

Sometimes, I can be self-conscious about the way I look … especially when it comes to my weight.  I know I’m well in my forties, and I am at peace with the fact that my high metabolism days have been long gone.  I also realize that it’s kinda hard to lose weight because I love to eat and hate to exercise.  But there are times when I look at myself in the mirror and wonder, “Who in the hell is THAT?!?!?”  Full face.  Chubby cheeks.  Belly rolls.  Dimples in places they have no business being. 

My self-consciousness gets especially high when it’s time to take pictures.  I either avoid taking pictures all together or I spend way too much time trying to manipulate my surroundings so I can capture the best possible angle of myself.  I cringe when Facebook friends tag me in photos in fear that an unflattering photo of me will be posted.

I have wanted my family to take portraits for a couple years now, but I have not scheduled any photography sessions for us because I was concerned about how I would look in the photos.  I don’t want to immortalize all my thickness on canvas for the world to see … forever.

And ever.

Recently, I saw, fell in love with, and bought t-shirts for my family, and I thought it would be cute to take some informal photos of us in the shirts.  In my excitement over these t-shirts, I called the photographer and set up the session.  When I hung up the phone, my first thought was, “Ummm, so how do I lose 50 pounds in the next week?”

We had the session about a week later.  We met our photographer at a local park and had a really fun time taking our pictures.

A couple days later, we got our proofs back … and I couldn’t have been more pleased with what I saw.  When I saw my family’s pictures, what struck me was how happy we looked.  We were smiling, having fun, and enjoying each other’s company.  I saw two beautiful kids with beautiful brown faces being kissed by the sunlight.  I marveled at how big my son has gotten.  He’s taller than me now, and it won’t be much longer before he’s taller than my husband.  I chuckle because my husband and I took a picture together.  We’ve been together and/or married for 24 years, and you can see we still like each other in the pictures (lol).

All the love I saw in the pictures made the body image issues I have go away.

Moral of the story and lesson for me is capture the moment.  I hope my kids will treasure these photos when they are older.  I already do. 

Photos by Soul Sistah Photography (Durham, NC)

T-Shirts by Bee N Creative Designs (www.beencreativedesigns.com) 

6 Things This 2016 Election Cycle Have Confirmed For America

It’s Election Day, everybody.  Hallelujah, and praise the Lord!!!  I have never been so ready for an election cycle to be over.  Never in my life have I ever seen a political season that’s been as ugly, scandalous, or embarrassing as this one.  America, your dirty draws are showing, and it’s not a good look.  (And, yes.  I said draws and not underwear.)

This election cycle has confirmed several things about people for me, which I will state below.

First and foremost, it has been confirmed that our actions indeed have consequences.  Case in point … for the last 8 years, the GOP has been so steadfast in their mission to destroy the legacy of President Obama that what they have successfully done is lose control of their party.  Eight years of blocking legislation the President has tried to pass.  Eight years of boldly declaring what they weren’t going to do come hell or high water (ie. not even waiting for Scalia’s body to get cold before announcing they would block anyone President Obama nominated for the Supreme Court).  Eight years of blatant disrespect, like the congressman from South Carolina shouting out “You lie!” in the middle of a State of the Union address.  Do we really have to wonder how or why Donald Trump’s message of racial division has resonated with so many people?  The popularity of Trump is a direct result of the GOP’s decision to work to take out a President when they should have been working to serve the people who elected them to office.

Secondly, that whole theory of America being a post-racial society after we elected the country’s first Black president was a bunch of bullshit.  I mean really, y’all.  Let’s not sugar-coat this.  A post-racial environment is one where folks are supposed to live freely without the fear or condition of racial preference, prejudice, or discrimination.  Look at all the hate that has been stirred up in this country.  All the folks that used to be closet racists are suddenly feeling empowered to the point where they are freely expressing themselves in words and action.  America still has a long way to go before we can truly say we are a post-racial society.  It’s an ugly truth, and America should be ashamed.  The world is watching us. 

We’ve also seen that while there may be one set of rules, the same rules can and are applied differently to certain people. 

Can you imagine what would have happened if President Obama had done any of these things?  Well, actually I can imagine … because he wouldn’t have been president.  I am absolutely astounded at the fact that some people are willing to turn a blind eye to everything Donald Trump has said and done … or not done.  The hypocrisy of the GOP and their faithful followers is mind-blowing. 

Here’s another.  Silence or inaction is acceptance.  Trump has been openly endorsed by the KKK.  Just last week, a Black church in Mississippi mysteriously caught fire and was spray painted with a “Vote Trump” sign.  Did Trump come out and speak against these things?  No.  So … what kind of message is he sending?  That was rhetorical, by the way … ‘cause we know the truth.

Another thing that has been confirmed is that America still has issues with matters dealing with women’s equality.  Whether we like it or not, Hillary Clinton is the most qualified of the candidates to be the POTUS.  She was the First Lady for 8 years and saw firsthand what it takes to be President.  She was a US Senator.  She was Secretary of State.  But according to some polls, the race for President is a dead heat.  Really?  She, being the most qualified candidate, may lose the job to a man with no absolutely political experience?  Why is this race even close? 

                                                                   

And last but definitely not least … Michelle Obama.  I’ve said it a million times before, and I will say it a million times more.  There will NEVER be another First Lady like her.  She’s the most educated FLOTUS we’ve ever had, holding degrees from Princeton and Harvard.  She’s beautiful.  She’s elegant.  She’s a force of nature like we have never seen before.  She gives a speech that can move a crowd so much that even Melania Trump had to “borrow” some lines.   Michelle didn’t just break the FLOTUS mold.  She shattered it.  She is #BlackGirlMagic personified, and we love her for it.

Stay strong, y’all.  We’re nearing the end of this election cycle.  I’m praying it’s one we’ll be able to recover from.  

Lamentations Of A Black Woman ... I Am Sick And Tired Of Being Sick And Tired

I don't know about y'all, but I am still reeling from all the events of last week.  The country starts off the week by celebrating "Independence" Day, but the rest of the week was pretty much the week from hell.  After a national holiday that's supposed to symbolize freedom for all its citizens, we watched video of Alton Sterling being shot to death by police in Baton Rouge, LA.  We woke up the next morning to learn that Philando Castile was pulled over for a broken taillight and was shot to death when he reached to get his identification at the request of the officer who stopped him.  And the day after that, what started off as a peaceful Black Lives Matter protest in Dallas turned deadly when a lone gunmen opened fire on the crowd killing five police officers and injuring several others.  There was also a lynching in Georgia and another officer-involved shooting death of a Black man named Alva Braziel in Houston that didn't make the news for whatever reason.

Last week was a very difficult week for me.  The police killing Black men is nothing new in this country, but to have all of those events happen within just a few days of each other took a toll on me mentally, emotionally, and spiritually.  While I could not bring myself to watch the video of Alton Sterling's murder, I did see his son Cameron crying on television.  His tearful moans of "I want my Daddy" absolutely broke my heart.  Even though the aftermath of Philando Castile's shooting was posted live on Facebook for all to see, my heart was broken yet again when I heard a four year old girl try to console her mother after witnessing her father being gunned down by police.

Last week was too much.  It was just too damned much.  It was hard for me to concentrate.  It was hard to get back to business as usual.  My soul was and still is tired.  I'm tired of being sick and tired.

I am tired of having the same conversations with my son about his safety and how to deal with the police should he ever have an encounter.  I'm also tired of the rules changing.  My husband and I have had the talk and have gone over the rules with our son on how to deal with the police.  One of the rules is to do exactly what the police tell you to do.  What now, then, do I tell my son after Philando Castile?  The officer asked for his identification, but he was still shot dead after complying with the officer's request.  I'm tired of having to come up with answers for shit that doesn't make sense in the first place.  I'm sick and tired that with every shooting death of a Black male in America, my son loses a piece of his childhood innocence because he's having to learn about and deal with grown man issues.  

I am tired of the lack of empathy shown to Black folks when our brothers and sisters die at the hands of the police.  My Facebook timeline was flooded with outrage when news broke that a gorilla was killed at a zoo because of the very real and present threat it posed to a child.  People are quick to offer up condolences and prayers when there are terror attacks in foreign lands but are noticeably silent when news breaks of a Black person dying at the hands of the police.  As a country, are we more sympathetic to animals and atrocities going on in other parts of the world than we are to our own countrymen dying unnecessarily?  

I am tired of so-called Christians not being so Christian-like in their commentary of what's going on with Black folks.  As Americans, don't we have the right to protest injustice?  Imagine my surprise when a church-going, Bible-thumping person I've known all my life posted this on Facebook regarding a protest in upstate South Carolina ... and then co-signed on the comments made by others.

I started to engage in a conversation, but I didn't.  Why?  Because I'm tired.  I am tired of having to explain over and over again why Black Lives Matter and how saying that doesn't mean that no one else does.  I am tired of people choosing to live and be comfortable in their own ignorance or privilege and then get mad when Black folks call them on it.  I am tired of explaining just because stuff doesn't happen to YOU doesn't mean it ain't happening to someone else.  (The delete and block buttons have become my friends these last several days.)

I am tired of having to explain that being pro-Black does not mean I'm anti-White.  At the risk of sounding flip and cliche, some of my best friends are White.  And guess what?  While they may not understand everything I experience as a Black woman in this country, they are sympathetic to what I go through as a Black woman in this country.  A friend and cousin of mine, and yes she's White, reached out to me last week.  She has a teen-aged son.  While she has her own fears regarding his safety when he's not with her, she realizes that I have those same fears IN ADDITION to the fear of my son being approached by police.  She confided that she doesn't know how that feels, but she appreciates and is saddened by the extra burden of the fears I have regarding my son and husband.

I am tired of having to get up everyday and go about my day like there's nothing going on around me.  It was business as usual at work last week.  It was hard to focus with everything going on.  It's hard to concentrate when you and your fellow Black female co-workers are either expressing anger or shedding tears about another Black man dying and how all you could think about is "What if that were my husband / son / nephew?"  I am tired of our very real feelings going unnoticed and not being acknowledged.  All my work friends last week didn't say a mumbling word about everything that happened ... but were all around the water cooler discussing Harambe, the gator attack at Disney, terror attacks in France, and the like.

I'm just plain tired, and I'm tired of being sick and tired.