As I lay to sleep crowded of fear.
Full of sadness.
Jammed with uncertainty.
I wake loaded with courage.
Bursting of bravery.
Packed with vulnerability.

We dance in joyful essence as a group
We gather in robust laughter as a family
We shoulder the duties of work diligently as partners
We cook in companionable camaraderie
But why do we cry alone

Imposter Syndrome, it’s real.
The more I step out of that silent box, the more my inner critic tries to peek through.
The more I raise my voice for my truth, that burden of “silence protects” tries to scream louder than before.
I’ve held my breath for far too long.
Bit my tongue more times than I should “to keep the peace.”
I’ve stood frozen in spots I should have walked away from.
Acknowledging what was is not what is has been a work in progress.
These mini steps that have turned into big steps have been exhausting yet fulfilling.

Imposter Syndrome, it’s real.
It does not define me, nor will ever define my character. I will not allow such. This voice will now be told across all the noise.
My truth will inspire.
I will gracefully inhale and exhale this breath of mine.
My tongue will no longer hold scars.
I will no longer stand frozen, for I’ve defrosted a long time ago.
What was is just that, was. What is, is just that, is.
These big steps I’ve created have gotten me so far. To this moment.
Bigger steps are being made.

Imposter Syndrome, it is real.
But, it is not me!

I can remember the feeling clearly. I can still taste it, I can still feel the weight of it dragging on my heels, filling my lungs, and chilling my bones.
I am grateful I made it out alive, because looking back I can see that I needed serious help, but help was not coming for me.
I lived with severe depression, suicide ideation, low self esteem, and a handful of other BPD/BP symptoms that went undiagnosed for years.
I was never introduced to the idea of coping skills, boundaries, self care, and I had never heard of things like self fulfilling prophecies, victim mindsets, and justification/avoidance/etc. I wish someone would have brought these things to life, because I think I may have realized sooner that I wasn’t alone or the one to blame for the awful sadness that clawed at my chest like some tortured animal.
I began self-harming as a form of punishing myself. I believed that I was selfish for even breathing. I hated myself so much that I truly, truly believed that I deserved to get hurt and I should feel guilty because if I loved my family then I wouldn’t poison their life by being present in it.
Often I would fall asleep in tears, praying to wake up as someone else or to not wake up at all.
It breaks my heart sometimes when I look back. As a child, I just wanted to be loved and important, and as a teen, I just wanted to be loved and beautiful.
I wanted to be beautiful more than anything.
To me, beauty was something unattainable and far away.
I really was an ugly duckling , so to speak. I don’t believe there are more than 3 photos of me from the time I was in 2nd grade to about 5th.
The summer before 2nd grade my babysitter decided to shave my hair off. On top of being malnourished and having extreme dental issues, having no hair was enough to push me to become a social outcast.
Those little kids treated me like I wasn’t even human.
But every day I woke up just hoping to have a good day. I could forgive my worst enemies without blinking. Every day I just wanted to have a good day.
But I started fighting a lot, partly because the other kids thought I was a boy and partly because I wouldn’t tolerate being bullied any longer. After some months went by, even the adults at school and around public spaces were confused about my gender, and a few had even asked me to stop saying I was a girl.
I felt betrayed and confused. I learned during that time that I could hurt people back if they insulted me, and that love is conditional to beauty.
I moved away after 7th grade for 2 years but was forced to move right back.
They acted like I was a completely different person.
Now people suddenly expected me to be female?
I couldn’t hang out with the guys anymore, and if I did they were trying to throw game at me? I couldn’t wear whatever I wanted anymore because people couldn’t control themselves? I’m supposed to do my hair and makeup and wear dresses and walk in heels now?
Deep down I yearned to be in touch with that femininity that had been denied to be so long ago, but it was hard.
I tried to be grateful, because I knew some people’s journey required surgery and years of hormone therapy. To be told your something that you know your not and trying to play pretend as something else causes a pain I can’t describe, so even though I was secretly relieved I wasn’t sure how to just “be a girl.”
I obsessed over my appearance, I would often stare at my reflection until tears welled in my eyes and whisper to myself these horrible things like, “you’re so freakin ugly. No wonder your mother drinks all the time. No wonder everyone hates you. Your so freaking stupid look at you. I wish so much that I could just beat you up, I hate you so much.”
… It was just one vicious cycle after another.

There are a lot of factors that led to my escape from the prison of that perspective.
But the main one I want to share happened on my own.
Its strange, because now I am considered “hot.” Sometimes I even feel beautiful, but not a whole lot. That’s okay with me, though. I wish that the younger me could feel even the small approvals I give myself, even the smallest kindnesses… But it wasnt until the day I came to this conclusion that any of my self esteem started to change.
I realized… There are worse things to be than ugly.
It may sound ridiculous or even obnoxiously obvious… But this thought had never actually occured to me before.b
There are better things to be than pretty. There are worse things to be than ugly.
I mean, id been through some of them. Being lost in the woods, feeling heartbroken, searching for a missing person that you care deeply about, losing a parent to prison, and being miserable were just a few of the things that I went through personally that I decided in that moment were much worse than being ugly.
This was a breakthrough.
I don’t NEED to be pretty. Sure I want to but do I NEED to be?
Hell no.
I was tired of chasing people’s love, tired of wasting so much energy on their approval. I was just plain tired.
I realized that people couldn’t see right through me. They couldn’t see the damage beneath the surface.
The day I stopped caring if I was ugly or beautiful changed my life. Because that’s the day I started caring about if my life was beautiful or not. I started caring about what I was doing and not about if others cared.
This led me to getting some painful dental surgeries that ended with dentures and a normal smile, some crazy tattoos, and a few hair color choices I could have left in the bottle but mostly it led me to freedom.
I don’t know if my story is unique or if anyone else out there is trapped by the beauty myth… But just in case I’ll say it again:
Beauty does not define value.
Others do not define your beauty.
Your value is yours to see and appreciate. You set the bar for how you will be treated and respected.
Beauty does not define importance, power, or entitlement.
Beauty is not just appearance.
Love yourself, you will see the change in your reflection yourself.
You are beautiful, you are worthy, and you are human.
There are so many worse things to be than ugly.
-a horrible person
-attacked by wolves
-evil and cruel
-dying
-mean
-lost
-sad
-going through the motions
-uncaring, inconsiderate
-starving
Etc. Etc. etc.

I was strong… Loneliness so deep, like the sea.
I was strong—I didn’t need nobody.
I was so strong, I needed everybody.
I was strong enough to pass as Happy-Go-Lucky,
Even when the cracks showed under the weight.

But strength, they say, isn’t always a gift.
Being “The Strong Black Woman”—what a cruel myth.
A title dressed in resilience but laced with chains,
Hiding the truth of my heart’s quiet pains.

I was strong, even when they looked past me,
Strong, even when disregard was all they’d see.
Strong enough to hold the world,
Yet too strong to be held myself.

They called me strong like it was praise,
But strength became my cage in so many ways.
No room for tears, no space for need,
Just a shell of power, a soul to bleed.

But what of my vulnerability?
Why is softness seen as fragility?
I’ve learned that strength isn’t just standing tall,
It’s also knowing when to let yourself fall.

I am both—strong and tender, bold and unsure,
A mixture of fire and water, pain and cure.
I am whole, not in spite of my duality,
But because I embrace all that makes me me.

So don’t call me strong if it means I must break.
See me as human, for my own sake.
Strength isn’t a shield; it’s a choice to be free,
To honor both the strength and softness in me.

The ghost of “us” still lingers, a haunting refrain,
A melody of memories, a bittersweet pain.
I grieved for the future we’d never attain,
Two souls entwined, then severed in twain.

We’re like two planes in the sky, headed in two different directions,
A near hit or miss, a fleeting connection.
I gave it all I had before I ever decided to quit.
Deep within the depths of my heart, you’re someone I’ll always miss.

But the weight of “what ifs” began to erode,
A heavy cloak of sorrow, a lonely road.
I knew I deserved better, a love that would unfold,
A story where my spirit wouldn’t grow cold.

So I broke the chains, shattered the illusion,
Found the strength within, a silent revolution.
Each step forward, a victory, a new constitution,
Rebuilding myself, a slow, steady evolution.

The sting of regret still lingers, a phantom limb,
But I’m learning to breathe, to finally swim.
In the ocean of life, I’m no longer adrift,
I’ve found the courage to rise, to finally shift.

Truth be told, we’re better off apart,
But our connection is one that genuinely touched my heart.

I look around and see so much loss. Be careful in life; it comes at a cost.

There’s no avoiding death; it’s a scary fate. Live life to the fullest before it’s your day.

It’s excruciatingly painful, but it’s a part of life. Grief is an emotion that cuts deep like a knife.

Cherish every second, minute, and hour with the people you love. Always be prepared to relive memories with your loved ones up above.

There’s no right or wrong way to grieve when someone leaves our lives unexpectedly. But we can keep their memory alive by living out our lives intentionally.

Of course, they wouldn’t want us to be sad, yet they’re no longer here. It’s hard to be happy when life takes away someone we hold dear.

There’s no time like the present when tomorrow may not be promised. It’s okay to be sad and to cry. Embrace your feelings and keep it honest.

I don’t handle loss well, so I write my feelings down. It’s hard to stay strong when there’s loss all around.

Don’t take loved ones for granted; appreciate them while you can. Everything happens for a reason; it’s all part of God’s plan!

I remember the smell of Charlie perfume and peppermint candy, the sound of her strong voice and the feel of her warm, calloused hands. Grandma Lee Lee, as she was fondly called, loved to cook, dance and play the piano at church. Often when GaGa had political engagements and mommy was busy living her life, I spent immeasurable time with Grandma Lee Lee. I just had my sixth birthday party and although Grandma Lee Lee wasn’t feeling well, I remember her being the fun hostess everyone adored because she always loved a good party. I remember going home and a few days later waking up to everyone crying in my house. When GaGa told me Grandma Lee Lee had died, my little mind couldn’t comprehend it. I told my grandmother that Grandma Lee Lee had just come to me that night, beautiful and not sick. She told me that she was better, that she loved me and I was to be a good girl because she’ll be watching me. How could Grandma Lee Lee come see me if she was dead? My grandmother looked at me, the tears streaming from her eyes and held me close without saying a word.
That was my first memory and experience with death and a couple of years later a childhood friend, Karla Campbell, was kidnapped and murdered. We were just eight years old and all I was thinking about was that I was never going to see her again because a bad man hurt her. My biggest heartbreak came in 2000 when we had to make the most difficult decision to take my grandmother off life support on Easter Sunday at noon. GaGa had been my world and I had been her caregiver since a senior in high school. I never fully recovered from that decision or day and over the years, I would replay and relive the moment to my mental and spiritual detriment.
Since then, death has often paralyzed me each time; with the last decade experiencing multiple losses, seemingly back to back with little time or rest to process the last transition of a loved one. For example late 2011-2013, I had lost thirteen loved ones; among them my god child, the suicide of a cousin, the murder of another cousin, my uncle who was my father figure and finally ending with the sudden death of my grief counselor herself. I had started going to therapy in 2012 to deal with my compounded grief and she was a great inspiration for my healing. Imagine someone giving you coping tools for grief processing and ultimately you have to deal with losing them as well. It was the first time I had heard about complicated and compounded grief:

“Complicated grief is like being in an ongoing, heightened state of mourning that keeps you from healing. Signs and symptoms of complicated grief may include: Intense sorrow, pain and rumination over the loss of your loved one. Focus on little else but your loved one’s death.”

“Compounded grief, also known as cumulative grief, is a pile-on effect of grief or “grief overload.” It may mean losing several loved ones in a short period of time. It may mean losing a loved one, then a relationship, then a job, then a pet, then a natural disaster hits and damages your home, etc. The losses can come from various sectors, but put together, it’s a big pile of grief and loss to deal with”

I thought I would never see a season of so much loss like 2011-2013 but unfortunately, I was wrong. And although my perception of death matured with my spirituality, my constant and prolonged grieving has often prevented me from healing as much as I could. 2017 I lost my mother to breast cancer after an estrangement. Being at her bedside, despite it all, I was allowed to care for her the last two weeks of her life and by the Lord’s grace, we found our closure before she transitioned but the mourning of our relationship and time lost continues until this day. I would experience more loss soon after, a village mother and two pets, which only compounded my grief. Then the pandemic hit and of course like many, Covid-19 took some loved ones I thought I’d never be without and I found myself drowning in depression even as I facilitated grief and bereavement support groups for Project WINGS.
Last year I lost my big brother Sean and a childhood friend back to back. The holidays are hard to endure and haven’t been the same for years but I push through for others sake and not my own. It can be daunting to have to smile when inside you are drained and emotional from grieving.
Even as I write this, I’ve experienced the loss of five loved ones since June 2023. A dear cousin that was like a brother, a best friend since seventh grade, a nephew to murder, a father figure/mentor and a young man that had become my earth son the last few years. As much as I try, the world seems so hard and feels so cold dealing with loss. However I heard a saying recently “Grief is the price you pay for loving that person” and Dr. Joseph Smedley tells us that after each loss, you have to reinvent yourself because you are not the same person who was before the loss of a loved one. Having cumulative grief means constantly reinventing myself almost to the point of not recognizing who I am sometimes. I’ve found some solace in therapy, family and friends as my life lines yet sometimes I struggle with feeling like a burden or downer to them, so I tend to isolate which isn’t good for my mental health. Though I still struggle and will continue to fight myself, I offer these tidbits for someone who is dealing with complicated or compounded grief:

Therapy
I can’t stress enough the importance of counseling to help with your mental health! You can have theology/religion and therapy too, in fact, I strongly suggest you do both to help heal your overall being. Because grief is also a mental health crisis, it is important to get the tools and resources you need to survive it.

Coping Skills
Whatever your healthy coping skill is, use it!
I know people who walk or jog, I know others who are creatives using their talents and some who volunteer for organizations. I’m grateful to be an artist that can utilize some of my gifts to help relieve stress, anxiety and depression. Laughter is also one of my coping skills I utilize to get me through hard times. Coping skills help us to raise our resilience against life stressors. Just a simple act of sitting in the sun, watching a movie, listening to music or helping someone can make you feel better. Find a way to celebrate or honor their lives in some way. Being grateful for their lives, the impact they have in yours and cherishing fond memories.

Life lines
Have a circle of family/friends that you can lean on during this time. There is power in reaching out to those who love you and empathize with you. Having a trusted circle that you can go to in times of need is essential to your wellbeing and self-care.

Griever’s Rights
You have griever’s rights, use them! I find it necessary to remind myself to be kind and gracious to myself while grieving. That everyone grieves differently and that grief is not a straight line. Look up mental and spiritual health resources that can help you during your grief process. Know that grieving is a unique journey for every individual. Know your grievers rights and honor your grief processing.

Prayer and Praise
Pray, Pray and Pray! We are social, biological, psychological and spiritual beings. The journey of healing entails addressing each aspect of our beings and I personally have found that praying daily, listening to mediation and/or praise music helps to stabilize my moods and helps to raise my vibrations against depression. It’s not easy but there are times when I have to literally stay in prayer all day to stay focused, encouraged and to keep my mood up.

Self-care
Take care of yourself!
All of the above is self-care and self-care is imperative to the grief process as well as the journey of healing. Sometimes self-care is hard to do when you can’t get out of bed, or just taking a shower seems so overwhelming. In therapy and living through cumulative grief, I’ve discovered that small steps, coping skills and grace for myself aids in my self-care.

Loves and Lights, grief is something you don’t get over but live through. For those of us who are experiencing cumulative grief, the journey can often feel endless but after every storm is a rainbow. Sometimes you have to fight extra hard to see or find it, but the rainbow is always there, a promise from The Most High that this too shall pass and that we are not alone. There is help and hope for us if we choose to seek it. As I live out my grieving process, my prayer for myself and for anyone struggling is that you have comfort, grace and strength on your healing journey. That you celebrate Life’s about moments so please don’t give up; stay encouraged and find your joy in every moment and everywhere that you can, while you can.

I love you

Why is Grief alive when the person I love is dead?

Why does Grief taunt and speak when my relationship is quiet, nothing more said?

Grief keeps coming to over power me, over take me, overcome me-

Leave me Grief!
No! You’re all I have left.

Stay I Guess

Have you ever wanted something so deeply, prayed for it for years, and finally had it within your grasp—only for it to be taken away? That kind of loss is indescribable, a pain that shakes your very soul. I’ve seen people in moments like this lose their faith, turn their backs on God, and cry out, “Why me?” But I’ve also learned that the real question is often, “Why not?” What if the denial isn’t punishment, but protection? What if it’s God’s way of preparing us for something far greater than we can see in the moment?

Sometimes, we carry unhealed wounds—trauma buried so deeply it shapes our lives without us even realizing it. Instead of confronting it, we move forward, adding layer upon layer to a foundation that isn’t stable. We pray for blessings, but how can God build something beautiful on ground that’s fractured? Before He gives us what we’re asking for, He often calls us to heal, to prepare for the weight of the blessing. That’s what I’ve come to understand through my own journey.

In 2020, my world was turned upside down. I lost my dad, a man whose presence was a constant in my life. That same year, I ended an eight-year relationship with my fiancé. At the same time, I received a promotion at work—a bittersweet high in the midst of so many lows. Life felt like a chaotic mix of gains and losses, but I buried my pain under work, pretending everything was fine. I kept smiling, kept pushing forward, even though my heart was heavy and my spirit was weary.

Then came 2021, and instead of taking the time to heal, I jumped into a new relationship. At first, it felt like the escape I needed, the fresh start that could make everything better. But I wasn’t okay—I hadn’t dealt with the grief of losing my dad or the pain of my broken engagement. I was running from myself, hoping a new love could fix what was broken inside me.

When I found out I was pregnant, it felt like a sign, like God was finally giving me the joy I had been praying for. My kids were so excited, especially my son with autism, who joyfully spoke about baby clothes and all the things we would do. For a brief moment, it felt like everything was coming together. But that joy was short-lived. The dream was shattered when I was told my baby had passed away.

The loss was devastating, and the weight of it all overwhelmed me. The day before the procedure to remove the baby, I finally broke down, letting out the tears and sorrow I had been suppressing. It was one of the hardest moments of my life, but in that pain, I began to find clarity. As much as I wanted to hold on to the hope of new life, I couldn’t ignore the reality of my situation.

The relationship I was in wasn’t right. My partner wasn’t ready to be the kind of father I needed for my child, and the foundation wasn’t stable enough to support such a blessing. It became clear that God wasn’t denying me; He was protecting me. He wasn’t going to bring new life into chaos or confusion, and as painful as it was to accept, I knew He was saving me from something I wasn’t ready for.

December 10th, a day I had always celebrated as my parents’ anniversary, became a day of deep reflection. Though it was marked by pain, I never lost my faith. Instead, I began to see the spiritual meaning in the loss. Sometimes, the blessings we pray for require preparation. They demand healing, clarity, and a solid foundation. God’s timing is perfect, even when it doesn’t align with our own. What felt like denial wasn’t punishment—it was protection, a reminder that some blessings aren’t meant to come into chaos.

This experience, as painful as it was, taught me strength and patience. It deepened my trust in God’s plan and reminded me that not all delays are denials. I’m still grieving, still healing, but I hold on to the belief that when the time is right, the blessings meant for me will come. And when they do, they’ll come on a foundation that is whole, healed, and ready to embrace them fully.

Hey you ;
Thank you ;
Thank you for being here ;
Thank you for creating Truth that keeps the noose loose as you choose to continue through the fears ;
Thank you for trying your best even when it seems like every seam that holds yourself together has been Severed and ripped to shreds ;
Thank you for trying your best even when it seems like everything you’re thinking is like a hoarders dream, thoughts of a convoluted mess ;
Thank you for trying your best even when things that are in and out of your control seem to spin out of control, and you try to hold on to the right when it seems like there’s nothing left ;
Thank you for staying alive, even though every day seems like a daily struggle just to survive ;
Thank you for choosing to resume these pages of life, even when you’re burnt up and exhausted and no longer want to write ;
Thank you for being here ;
Thank you for being you ;
Sincerely true ;
From me to you ;
Thank you ;
;

Content, a word that strikes my soul,
A whisper of stillness, an impossible goal.
It seems so small, yet feels so vast,
A memory of my past.

Perhaps it’s my youth, so restless, unkind,
An experience that shaped my mind.
Or is it the hunger to strive,
To chase the horizon and feel alive.

What if content is comfort’s face?
A quiet corner, a gentle space.
And yet I flinch—am I afraid,
Of the peace that comfort has made?

Is it the lie of stillness, so untrue,
The quiet, my mind can’t pursue?
A darkness woven deep inside,
Where comfort and fear collide.

Will I ever grant myself the grace,
To rest my soul, to find my place?
Or will I run, forever torn,
Chasing a dawn that will never be born?

So she lived- she didn’t have a choice. It was a gift granted- although there were times in her life when she wanted to lay in the middle of the parkway or on her knees and pray.
It all depended on the day- the weather and the color of her lipstick.
Lately it’s been neutral – as everything she thought for 547 days never appealed-
She was duped for allowing someone in her heart…
“How” she asked herself- the promise to keep her wall up was broken at the sound of remorse -not from her lips but those of her distant lover- the one who saw prey and tried to ravage the Beast while she slept – She gave in. The truth was real. The honesty was from the heart but the storyline line and pity was one for the books, as she had never been that stupid to believe in someone else’s dream- Like- Who does that? The Fool!
Should have, would have and finally did with pain – not in her heart, but in her body. She walked away.
Her biggest fear is becoming cold- losing the innocence- not being able to find that place within her that makes her dance on the rainiest of days-
But she knew it was in her genetics – it was how she was bred.
Strength and wisdom come from silence.