Leading With Love and Compassion
This blog is for the individual that desires more of themselves + the people in their lives.
Maintaining friendships as we age can be challenging, but it's essential for our mental health and well-being. In this blog, we'll explore why friendships can be hard to maintain as we age and share some tips for staying connected with the people we care about. We'll also discuss the importance of having friends who are easy to be around and genuinely love spending time with and how this can make staying connected much more accessible.
Read MoreI am product of abuse. Physical. Emotional. Sexual. I say this because most of my life, I would never have admitted such a truth. I would have made it sound more colorful, delightful so that it would be more palatable to digest. I would have danced around the verity of knowing that the pain I have endured didn’t start with me. It began with a trembling urgency to break free, it lingered in exchanges that were damaged from survival, it is suspended in generations that will not allow the pain to visit long enough to heal it. I am a guest in my family. They just don’t know it.
Read MoreI did not grow up with my parents staying together. It was one of the things that I missed the most. Not them specifically being together, but the idea of a love so expansive that it survives. I would have settled for a divorce coupled with a reconciliation that echoes “We did it.” It never happened + I never got to see two people making it, in + out of love. I missed that. It was not like I was a child that whispered, “God please keep my parents together.” I often prayed the opposite + hoped that they find peace individually. However, as I got older, I begin to see that relationships are this complex narrative that everyone tries to figure out. Some people never figure it out because they in no way make it to the part that ends in completion. It just stops. Abruptly sometimes, but all at once. Sometimes it ends so rapidly, everything comes undone + nothing can be salvaged. I was hoping that my parents could reclaim a few things left from the wreckage. But they never survived.
Read MoreWhen I think about my father + I there are few memories. Some of which are tainted with absence, addiction, laughter + hurt; yet it all tells a beautiful story of a man I never knew. When I think over the history of my life experiencing my father, I remember the silence of a man that never understood the power of his own words due to the pain of his own parents. His laughter was filled with all the things that he often desired as a child but never got to enjoy until he became a man. His stature was built from being torn down from the lack of a mothers’ touch, a father’s affirmation + a world that didn’t see the value in him. His anger was often like the wind, unpredictable + harsh; but if you were armed with the right stance you could learn a lot from his breeze.
Read MoreThere are moments + times when your family is created by difficult circumstances designed to tear you apart. They happen so suddenly that you are unable to prepare for them. You know the situations that leave the family in disarray + everyone heartbroken; frayed from unspoken truths. Often times you are left with the reality that we “just didn’t talk enough.”
Read MoreBlack people often laugh a lot because it is the thing that keeps us sane. It is the only space where we can reside without using our energy to preserve the ego of someone else. We chuckle loudly because it is the defense mechanism we learned from our slave owners when we loss loved one’s due to death. It killed us keeping up facades that wounded our smile. It murdered us to lose all emotion to the things that mattered most. It desensitized us to pain + we learned how to watch suffering with a straight face. It became a narrative that we became accustomed to. It taught us how to swallow our troubles + pretend that they didn’t exist…knowing full well we were never good.
Read MoreThis image impeccably illustrates my life. Uninhabited + varied; yet filled with loads of oxymoron’s coupled with a lot of love. Our life is full of many imperfections; but it just works! I envision somewhere in the near future; we will weep tears of joy witnessing this moment come together. This moment is a flourishing smile from the Universe with an assurance that everything is always working out.
Read MoreThis moment is healing in motion striving to overcome the absence of women that put strained obligations of family + career before their children. Bygones! These smiles are therapeutic chandeliers that we are now beginning to hang in lieu of carrying the burdens of unmet needs of endless generations. These emotions are amplified from years of suppressing joy due to abusive lovers, absent parents, neglectful grandparents, Jim Crow, share cropping + clandestine meetings shared between broken adults recycling trauma. It’s complicated! Being black is complicated!
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This moment is essential not because it’s a photo of black women but it’s a snapshot of generations being healed + patterns being broken. When I divorced my kids father I didn’t understand the gravity of witnessing a family being torn apart by epigenetic trauma while trying to balance your truth + your kid’s hearts. It’s complicated!
Read MoreThere is a saintly aura that transcends my life every time seasons change. I can feel it in my bones, my back aches + my mind tries to coerce my spirit into thinking this feeling will pass, but the flesh won’t allow it to subside. It is no surprise that I am deeply introspective + probably more honest than others care for me to be. Blame it on my tragic beginning, all the hearts I broke, the lies I told + the trauma I ingested. I gather my mistakes + rinse them daily because unlike most people I see myself clearly because I like my coffee dark with lots of self- reflection. I sit in every choice + every regret until I can cover every circumstance in forgiveness. Lately I’ve experienced all kind of loss which reminds me that I’m still learning how to let grief take a seat until its ready to vacate my sanctuary.
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 MoreI remember vividly, when I recognized that I could no longer pray away my queerness. It was as if my world ended while simultaneously crushing the dreams of my family. You do understand that everything you are rests solely on the approval of your family? Meanwhile, I was dying inside as I suppressed my feelings and stifled my pain. The truth is when I consciously decided to not accept myself, I involuntarily made myself invisible to others.
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