Leading With Love and Compassion
This blog is for the individual that desires more of themselves + the people in their lives.
When I see my daughter, I am humbled by her ability to carry the weight of peer pressure + being a middle -schooler like a 4-foot promise. Committed + occasionally drenched in momentary sadness; yet wearing her resilience like a finished sentence. On point + exact! She is everything I wanted to be but never had the space, bygones!
Read MoreLately, I have been mourning the parts of me that carry the pain of holding onto my will for so long. I ache at the thought of surrendering + I cringe at the work that is going into relinquishing years of trauma. My muscles are bruised from the plight of being a single mother. There are parts of me that collapse under years of silence; having to stuff down fragmented sentences hoping that later they would make sense. Make no mistake, the heart listens to the suppressed emotions that eventually manifests in our bodies + the deeper burden is to be aware of it all. With every bit of knowledge and acknowledgment there comes an inevitable lingering despair which beckons us to forgive.
Read MoreThe weight of my skin wakes me up every single morning. I am jolted by the day begging me to be quieter + less black. I crawl out of bed pulling the hopes of my ancestors from under years of self-degradation praying that my parent’s trauma doesn’t trip me up today. Trusting that my vernacular is articulate enough to get your attention because most days I am injured by the explanations; bruised by the shape-shifting + code switching. Transforming to fit into something worthy of being acceptable + magnificent. Grasping the understanding that we wouldn’t return or recover. Reminded that being glorious is dangerous, especially when you are black. Warriors must walk lightly taking into consideration their gifts as well as their frailties. We hail from things that are fascinating, but up close can be misconstrued as ice sculptures; gorgeous + emotionless.
Read MoreWhen I reflect on my years as a parent, I often wonder how am I doing it. I am astonished at how I am able to give my children the very things I missed as a child. I am overwhelmed at how I speak to them + acknowledge their every effort. I am surprised at how I am intentional about exposing them in an effort to spark conversations that will give them the space to be critical thinkers. I often remind my children that I would be remiss if I didn’t confess that I am far from Mary Poppins + I am not even reminiscent of a Claire Huxtable; yet somehow I manage to give them what I never received.
Read MoreWords were abused in my home + smashed against mistakes as you casually watch your self-esteem fall slowly to the ground. Disputes were adorned in extravagant gifts + gently wrapped in confrontations that never ended with forgiveness. I don’t know what resolution looks like + often times it’s an all-out tussle to find it. Sometimes it’s a street fight where no one wins + I am left with the baggage of seeing way too many adults disagree in unhealthy ways. It’s a thing!
Read MoreMy mother, Mavis A. Carter (born McRae) is the oldest girl of 12 siblings. She was born in the 1940’s just a few years removed from slavery. The sound of that truth still haunts me; yet allows me immense understanding of who my mother was destined to be. I am a firm believer that every child should fully understand the weight of who your parents are. Alcarez, as she is affectionately called is absolutely forthright, exceptionally amusing, tremendously magnanimous, and relatively convoluted. However, I was blessed with the privilege of having her as a mother. I don’t think I always believed that it was a privilege, but wisdom grows as your experience of the world is elevated.
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