When it comes to writing, it’s deeper than just words on paper for me. I’ve always looked at writing as a personal portrait of oneself. Writing has always been my safe haven, it’s my place where I am completely free to be me and not be seen. A place where I can be one with myself, without judgement. It’s where I show face, both good and bad. It’s the “X” you would land on if you ever wanted to find me. A secret location where I hang all my skeletons and occasionally shine them. It’s where I feel most accepted. It’s an intimate place that I protect like collection of fine china. With that being said, “Keep in mind that I’m an Artist, and I’m sensitive about my shit.” – Erykah Badu
For so long, I’ve lived with mindset of fitting the mold. As long as my ass had a job and a roof over my head, paid my bills and didn’t ask anyone for shit, I was fitting the mold. The same mold that has been passed down from generation to generation. I’m not sure why I settled for a cookie cutter. But, I’m done with anything that puts me at the capacity of a chocolate chip cookie, for my paying bills! I want more and in order for me to experience all that life has to offer, I need to be able to embrace who I am and what I can contribute to it.
My natural capabilities are what truly led me to success in the Corporate world but not so much in my personal life. A part of my personality is… I’m a control freak and I like to execute with perfection. I like things to be organized and well put together (all the way down to my nowhere near fancy wardrobe… I get cute tho!). You gotta deadline, I’m making it happen. Ask me to build a leadership team, they’re taking over the world when I’m done with them. Feeling down and out, I got you, I’m listening while I drive, I can be there in 15 minutes. It’s who I am but it doesn’t fulfill me. I’m a people pleaser and it’s been my biggest enabler of all my trauma formed habits. My habits are what I rely on to avoid the feeling of emptiness.
After my Mother died, it was the first time I was forced to face this emptiness inside of me. The pain of losing her was severe. I reverted back to infancy trying to feel our connection again. I didn’t talk for days. I felt abandoned and I no longer felt the warmth of her womb. I was comfortable living my life knowing it made her proud. To be honest, I lived most of my life making decisions strictly ployed to stay warm. It was as if it was a game of survival for me. I had created a false narrative all based on a the traumatic experience I encountered at the age of 9. A storyline derived from a young girl who needed answers but was fearful of the questions and with whom she sought answers from. It’s the same fear I struggle with at 36. It’s the fear of truth. We all seek it but choose to mask the fear to hide the truth. The loss of someone with such significance in my life, forced me to face this fear and start living and stop creating.
This blog is my journey of acknowledging the fear and embracing the person I am and not the person I’m “expected” to be. It’s the process of understanding the revolving doors I built between myself and an alter ego, Shae, when faced with difficult situations. Each series of events, follows my growth from being a distant stranger, into a confident woman. This is my journey to self-love. My journey to understanding my responsibility as a human being and not passing on intentional trauma. It is my chance to change a generation of embedding pain to resilience to a generation of strength in healing. I don’t think we realize how much we abuse ourselves, by not having more compassion, transparency and setting boundaries. Without proper boundaries, how are we really allowing ourselves to fully heal? If we aren’t healing, how are we truly loving? As we all get to know and love ourselves, maybe then we will realize we don’t need control to get what is already ours to have. But, by setting boundaries, we allow ourselves space to reflect, heal and grow.