Careful Consideration
This was the hardest yet most therapeutic part of creating my book. Sitting on my living room floor with all my pieces laid out was a deeply personal moment. I was physically touching the words of my story. My story that I was afraid of telling, my story that was stowed away in notebooks and journals for over a decade. But now here I was reviewing each piece and reminding myself of my incredible journey to healing.
Hours and hours passed by but I didn’t even notice because I was laser-focused on my end goal of shaping a cohesive recollection of my life for readers to follow. Each piece was placed with careful consideration. I just can’t wait for you to hold it in your hands and savor each piece of my story.
The pictures are blurred for obvious reasons ;) if you look close enough you can see my cat, ShaQuay, supervising me and keeping my on track.
Check out the Poems page for another sample poem from my book :)
COMING MAY 14TH!
The journey to creating this book has not been an easy one. Several times I questioned its validity and its worth. Was telling my story really worth it? Who would care to read about me? Questions like these bounced around in my mind as I tried to focus on creating my book. It was only when I read through my work, piece by piece, that I felt the full impact of what I had created, what I had crafted from fragile memories. I realized how life-changing this process was for me as I reflected on my own growth and strength. While this process opened old wounds for myself and my family it also opened doors to conversations about traumas we had locked away years ago. It brought clarity to misunderstandings and closeness to distant relationships. In a nutshell, this book has done wonders for my healing and I cannot wait for you all to read it. These are my tears, this is my story.
Check out the Poems page for a sample poem from my book :)
Letter to My Mother
Mom,
It’s hard to describe the gut-wrenching pain I feel when you stare into space. Wondering. Wishing. Thinking. Or when you question yourself as a mother. I meant it with every fiber of my being when I said you were the best mother I could ever hope for, the greatest woman to raise me into the woman I am today. I have watched you move mountains for me and my siblings. Fight tooth and nail to give us the opportunities you never had. You have done more than enough. And you are more than enough for me as a mother.
I think back to the nights you were exhausted from working all day and yet you always put food on the table. You made everyone else’s plate before making your own. Sacrificed the chance to rest your aching body to give me back rubs until I fell asleep. You sacrificed well-deserved sleep to listen to me go on and on about things I didn’t even remember the next week. You have always been a good listener.
I remember nights of sitting in between your knees at the couch while you worked miracles on my tender-headed locks. Never stopping even when your wrists were hurting, and your fingers begged for a break. Because you wanted me to feel beautiful. And I always wanted to be as beautiful as you. I would watch as your hair cascaded down your back and the coconut oil glistened on your curls. I just knew I would be as beautiful as you one day. Not just outside, but also as beautiful as your heart.
You’ve given everything for me and my siblings. You’ve helped strangers with many a favor. I’ve watched you take on more than your job duties all in the name of goodness. The goodness that resides in you and will forever be a part of you. Because you have a heart of gold and a wonderful soul.
You are the quintessential mother, the greatest of the great. I hope you feel that in your bones. I hope it warms you inside. You deserve to be acknowledged and this letter is just that, an acknowledgement. Of the unconditional love, joy, and inspiration that you have poured into me for nearly twenty-four years. It’s the least I could do—the rock bottom least. And if God will make it so, I will give you everything, and more, that you deserve. If only I could lasso the sun for you, I would because you already lassoed the moon for me.
I hope God aligns the stars to create your very own constellation when your body leaves this Earth so I can continue to look up to you the way I always have. But we still have many, many, many years before that time will come, and I thank God for every day I am blessed with your presence in my life. I would truly be lost without you.
Thank you for the guidance and wisdom you have instilled in me. I hope to reflect that with my own children one day and pass on your legacy of love. I love you, Mom, with every beat of my heart.
Your daughter forever and for always,
Pooh
(Un)believable
I was told I was lying. I was told no one would believe my story. I was told people would turn on me because my rapist was popular in school. Some said it wasn’t rape because there was no penis involved. But I knew what I experienced. I knew what happened. I knew I said “No.” I knew I said “Stop.” Yet others tried to tell me what really happened. Survivors already deal with so much. Why must we also have to prove that our bodies were stolen from us? Most people don’t know the painful healing process you must go through to reclaim power, to reclaim control, to reclaim your body.
I was scared to wear bathing suits. I refused to look in the mirror while getting dressed. I covered my body in hoodies and sweat pants. I started shopping exclusively in the men’s section of clothing stores because I liked a “baggier” style. I said I was going to become someone new, someone who would never be taken advantage of again. It’s painful to think you have to completely change yourself to survive. I watched more and more of myself wash away down the drain as I got ready every morning. I felt my joy seeping from my joints with every passing day. Eventually I was lost.
It wasn’t until I participated in a #TakeBackTheNight peaceful protest march at my undergrad that I started to find myself again. This was an event that spotlighted survivors of sexual assault and encouraged them to regain control over their lives. I was too afraid to disclose my experience or label myself as a survivor because I did not think I would be believed. Although the experience was empowering, I knew that it was only the first step of my healing journey.
10 months after marching, I found the courage to read my poem Healing Is…Healing Isn’t to a small crowd of strangers (and a few friends) in a tiny coffee shop. As I performed my poetry, I felt an intense, positively-charged connection with my audience. People cried, people laughed, people smiled. For the first time in a long time, I was seen, I was heard, I was believed.
I know I am believable because my story is true. No one can silence my truth.
Year 24
God has blessed me with another year of life! Cheers to 24 years! This year was my ‘golden’ birthday, too, because I turned 24 on the 24th of July! *Cues Golden by Jill Scott* I’m looking forward to this chapter of my life story.
If you would’ve asked me 10 years ago where I would be now, I would’ve told you I’d be married with kids and going to school to become a pediatrician. Welp, none of those things have happened, lol. I’m not rushing marriage or kids (at all!) and I have a new career path. I’m in my second year of a Clinical Mental Health Counseling program and loving it so far!
I just moved into my first apartment, my very own space that I can enjoy and somewhere I can entertain guests. I do love having company but I am also starting to appreciate and value alone time for the first time in my life. I guess that kind of awareness comes with each year that passes.
In short, I am officially 24 and this will be my Golden Year! I am manifesting this until next year when God blesses me with my quarter-century year!
*Live everyday like it’s golden*