Around a month or so ago, I found myself watching a documentary about Steven Spielberg on HBO Max.  Being a fan of biographies, documentaries, discussions of the creative process, and his movies, this seemed like a perfect way to wind down at the end of one of my usual busy days.  One thing that absolutely stuck out to me, was his realization that he had a tendency to re-visit the same subject repeatedly in his movies, albeit in different ways.  He posited that perhaps that was his way of dealing with the issue subliminally.  He sort of chuckled softly, then stated that "Art is therapy".

Hmmm.....

I haven't written much over the last three years.  I admit it has become hard for me to concentrate.  I have fallen into a pattern of barely getting out of bed in enough time to get to work, horrific eating habits, crawling home at the end of the day with only enough energy to eat, make sure my daughter is at least kinda, sorta okay, then engage in endless scrolling on social media to numb myself enough to kinda sorta sleep, so I can repeat the process the next day.

I participate in both individual and group therapy to deal with both current and lingering issues.  One thing that I notice that comes up in both instances is the suggestion of journaling:  writing down everything relevant to your journey in order to help you gain perspective and assist in your own healing.

I am almost 8 years into this exercise of writing and maintaining a blog.  For the first five years, when I was writing regularly, I admit that I didn't really know what the blog was about.  For me, it was a place to practice my gift, by jotting down whatever was going through my mind at any given time.  Sometimes funny, sometimes angry, sometimes thoughtful, and occasionally mundane, it was just me, unfiltered and mostly off the cuff.  Even through a few rough patches, sustaining the blog was the one thing I could regularly return to as an outlet for whatever was going on with, and around, me.

The last three years, especially this last year, has sorely tested everything that I thought I knew about myself and the world around me.  The exhaustion, the mean spiritedness, the loneliness, the isolation, and not always being able to adequately express it all in conversation led to the aforementioned mindless distraction tactics.

Then a mindless distraction tactic yielded a truth bomb that hit me where I lived.

Art IS Therapy.

What I never realized was that this blog was just me journaling.  I am happiest when I am writing, and when I began to doubt myself, and question whether or not I should write what I actually felt, the form of therapy that had served me well fell away from me almost as quickly as it came. It was never far away, as I made lengthy, thoughtful social media posts, but ultimately, the little angel on my right shoulder would whisper softly in my ear that I knew I missed writing, and that I should return to it.

What this blog is really about, then, is survival.

Through hills, valleys, depression, anxiety, triumphs, failures, exultant highs, and crushing lows.  Keep going.  Through people that spend as much time building you up as tearing you down, and they are often the same person.  Keep going.  Through that day job that you keep because jobs are scarce, rent doesn't pay itself and groceries are expensive, even though at times the job is absolutely soul-crushing.  Keep going.

For me, that means keep writing.  Writing is art is therapy is survival. 

If I take anything from this year of absolute clarity (2020 gave us more clarity than any of us asked for or wanted), it is that I am ultimately the architect of my own survival, and perhaps going into this New Year, I can finally begin to move from mere survival into actually living.  And continue writing, of course.

See you on the other side.

There are memes floating around about how that has been the Lentiest Lent most of us have ever experienced.

A global pandemic has challenged everything we thought we knew about the world around us, the people we interact with (or don't), and our very definition of the word normal.  Especially as we enter into the conclusion of a High Holy Season and find that all of our annual rituals have been disrupted by a disease that is no respecter of persons, class, creed, color, age, religious persuasion, or lack thereof.  All it needs is a host, and anybody will do.

This was going to be a post about how this will be the first Easter in almost 20 years that I have been un-churched.  I parted ways with my church home of 18 years late last year, and as with all long term relationships, I have chosen to make sure that I am healed, and have done some extensive internal work before entering into on another relationship.

But a global crisis was declared, and among many social distancing edicts issued, it was suggested that religious institutions move their observances online in order to reduce the spread to those most at risk of serious complications from this disease: the elderly, and those with underlying medical conditions that render them among the immuno-compromised.

So now, at least physically, we are all somewhat un-churched.

One of the rituals that we practice during this season is the stripping of the altar.  Performed in complete silence, it involves the removal of all of the vestments that are normally on the Altar, and the wiping down of the Altar itself.  And while I know that it is meant to symbolize one very specific thing, I can't help but find myself moved by the thought that there is something else being shown to us as believers as well.  

Everything we cling to as "normal" has been stripped away during this Lenten season.  We may have chosen something to fast from on Ash Wednesday, but perhaps our Spirit has been shown what we REALLY needed to eliminate not just during this season, but going forward:  the artifice that we construct to make our lives appear acceptable before others so that we can be acceptable to ourselves.  Our judgment of people that we see as beneath ourselves, even if all they are is different.  What the great Commandment ( Jesus replied: “‘Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind.’ This is the first and greatest commandment. And the second is like it: ‘Love your neighbor as yourself. All the Law and the Prophets hang on these two commandments.” - Matt 22 37-40) really means, do we believe it, and are we prepared to follow that to wherever it leads, even if that place is only our couch.

What has been stripped away, I think anyway, is the "religion" part of our rituals, leaving us to focus on the relationship part of our connection, not necessarily one to another, but absolutely between God and ourselves.  Deep down in the most private parts of yourself that no one but God can see, who are you, really, and have you been honest enough with, and about, yourself to get real with God?  Spring cleaning isn't just about your material possessions.  Lent is the opportunity to clean out he internal mess that keeps us stuck in places that we should have moved on from long before we were ready to admit that we were in a place that was doing more harm than good, even if it didn't start out that way.  Habit is a brutal taskmaster, and our Lenten promises to replace bad habits with good shouldn't just include the physical manifestations of our internal struggles.  We should be moving to clear our mental and emotional closets as well.  Perhaps by having us forced to stay home, and abstain from everything we use to distract ourselves from ourselves, we have been given the opportunity to clear every closet in our minds and spirits, and finally let go of ideas, habits, rituals, and whatever else no longer serves it's intended purpose.

As we go forward into this Holy Weekend, we are of the belief that the death and resurrection of Jesus Christ set us free from the sins of the world.  We hold ourselves in bondage by clinging to internal things that we consider sacred that have little or nothing to do with our relationship to God, but everything to do with wanting to maintain appearances of whatever gives us comfort.  This season has given us permission to finally, let these things go.

Go forth.

​Be free.

Well...not all my life.  I have been here, obviously.  Just not "here".

The last two and a half, almost three years, have been a Shakespearean mix of comedy and tragedy, with almost as much drama.

And I have talked about parts of it here in this space.  The struggles with my son.  My dream job descending into nightmare territory. Making the best of my housing situation.  But there is one struggle that I haven't really mentioned, and it's a question all writers grapple with from time to time:

What on Earth do I write about?

While I have run, walked, limped, and at times crawled through my personal issues, the question has always dangled just in the back of my mind: how much do I talk about on the blog? How much can I really share without fear of reprimand, or causing offense?  The same goes for the sharply political turn the world has taken in the last few years as well.  Where I thought my views were moderate, at best, there seems to be a running social media campaign against any kind of sensible discussion of actual issues, so much as those shouting rhetoric and insults, protected by the anonymity of the internet.

So, what on Earth do I write about?

My son's finally acknowledging, and slowly getting help for, his mental health issues?

The fact that while Black respectability politics had it's day, and still has a place in certain corridors, for most people it is a losing proposition?

My daughter's huge numbers of false starts with high school, while dealing with depression and anxiety?

The notion that we are so addicted to our feeling of superiority that we willingly ignore anything that reminds that we are all too human, and dare I say it, maybe not as great as we want to believe?

That with all of the people that I know for a fact are going through so much, are so afraid to talk about it, for fear of being labeled as negative, when in fact, all they are really searching for is acknowledgement, and maybe a little empathy?

Not everything is storm clouds, of course.  My fascination with chicken wings has become a delicious search for the ultimate savory addition to a sweet favorite, waffles.  I have discovered peace in unexpected places.  I have come to realize why conversation is an art form. And that binge watching is the last refuge of the procrastinator.

​But, what on Earth do I write about?

Good Afternoon Dear Reader:

Can you believe that we are already six years into this little experiment?

I know that my posts have been few and far between these last couple of years, and I can only apologize.  A combination, of exhaustion, stress, and exhaustion from stress, has kept me from you for far too long.  I promise you that we will meet again soon!  With apologies to Lewis Carroll:  The time will come, and very soon, to talk of many things: of mental health, and drop off lines, and proper chicken wings!

When next we catch up, we can talk about everything that's happened over the last couple of years, and Boy Howdy, has there been a lot.

​See you soon, Dear Reader.

Today, I committed a revolutionary act.

I let my daughter sleep.

We have both been taking turns dealing with various levels of illnesses over the last couple of months, and not always successfully, so for once, after a kinda rough night of alternating between sneezing and blowing her nose, I let her sleep.

During the week, she has to get up no later than 5:30 am, in order to be out of the house by no later than 6:20, so that she can be dropped off with the same sitter that she has had since she was 18 months old before I go to work.  From there, she will walk to school with the same kids she has known all her life.  We go through this exercise because, unfortunately, she is not good at waking up on her own to get to school on time, and truancy is a real thing that parents are held accountable for, and this is my way of making sure she gets to school on time every day.  Despite all of her activities, we do try hard to make sure that she is in bed by 9:00 on school nights.  Although it doesn't always happen that way.  Then she ends up not getting as much sleep as she should.

So today, I let her sleep.

Lately, our Saturdays have been busy.  After having to move her bi-weekly hair appointments from Friday afternoons to early Saturday mornings to accommodate both her new Drill Team schedule, and her very popular hair stylist (who just happens to be the salon's owner.  Who is just that GOOD!), and trying to accommodate her visitation schedule with her dad, balanced against church activities, a doctor that will mercifully see her on Saturdays, and everything else on her packed calendar, sometimes even a nap is asking too much.

For the past 17 years, we have gotten up and gone to same church almost every Sunday morning.  Up until a year or so ago, that meant unless one of the choirs we sing with was performing somewhere else, we were there.  Rain or shine, sick or tired or worn out, we showed up.  It finally occurred to me the year that I kept showing up to church so sick that I could hardly speak, that with the number of children and elderly people at church, that spreading what eventually turned out to be strep throat that morphed into an ear infection, amounted to nothing more than a foolish consistency that didn't impress anyone at best, and exposed vulnerable populations to very dangerous diseases for no real reason except ego, at worst.  I know how much I don't like it when people who are sick are spreading the germs around, so I decided not to do the one thing I quietly hate.

So today, I let her sleep.

In our push to make sure our kids are kept busy so as not to get into any kind of trouble, I think we forget that their bodies and brains are still developing.  Getting adequate food, water, exercise, and REST are huge parts of that development.  We adults love to brag about how little sleep we need to survive, and pass this unhealthy mentality on to our children, as examples of toughness, or fortitude, or whatever.  I admit to being steeped in these kind of attitudes, and this whole self care thing is new to me, and I am still learning when to push ahead, and when to slow down, for both my daughter and myself.  It takes time to learn to prioritize your family's and your own health and well being after a lifetime of not doing so.  One small step at a time.

​So today, I let her sleep.

I am sitting on the edge of my bed, typing this blog post in the waning hours of another year.  As I sit, it occurs to me that I spend quite a bit of time just waiting for things to end. A boring meeting, a long work day, a hard year, a difficult relationship.  When my natural impatience kicks in, I think of the words of wisdom given to me by my father during a very frustrating period in my life: Is this season over, or are you just trying to bring it to an end because you are tired of dealing with it?

While years will always end on December 31st, this particular year, I became much more cognizant of the different seasons that we all go through, and it is how we deal with those seasons that determine what comes next in our lives.  Did we just wait impatiently for the season to end? Did we pray, study, or try to learn from the season?

I retreated.

Overwhelmed by the sheer number of things that both I and my daughter were involved in (for the wrong reasons), and emotionally drained from those background episodes that we all go through (and a couple of incredibly devastating items that exposed me to a type of pain I had never experienced and hope to never go through again), the burnout that had been threatening to take over for years finally tapped me on the shoulder and loudly announced it's presence.  Either deal with it, or it would deal with me.

So I took a month off.  Of EVERYTHING, except work.  That month was the first time in memory that I wasn't always waiting for one thing or another to end.  I suddenly found myself more aware of what I actually did with my time, my actual feelings about what was going on around me, and the reality that all my impatient waiting around for this event or that tantrum to end was just me trying to force an end to a particularly painful season, because all of the distractions I'd lined up to help me deal with it had stopped working long before I ever admitted it to myself.

As my daughter started high school, and slowly added, or added back, activities that meant the most to her, I had to come to the realization that, first and foremost, I had to learn to prioritize myself.  For me, that started with not making decisions based on what I feared was being said about me when I was not present to defend myself, which in turn completely freed me from putting myself in situations where all I could do was wait for the eternal "it", whatever "it" was, to be over.  It took me far too long to figure out that this was no way to live.

This is where I get honest about therapy: had I not found a good therapist (who understood both my Christian perspective and my worldly perspective, as well as the sometimes difficult intersections where they overlapped), I don't know that I would have ever gotten to the point where I realized that occasionally, my own inner voice was was the relentless master in the endless game of three dimensional chess that my life had become, that I was destined never to win.

While the sun sets slowly over 2018, for the first time I am actually looking forward to the new year.  Not just rushing to be done with all of the bad, but finally, the feeling that I may actually done with this season, and prepared to move on to the next.

So one year ends, and another begins, as we move from season to season in our lives.

But is this season really over, or did we just try to bring it to an end because we were tired of dealing with it?

So it seems the theme of much of this past spring and summer has been growth and change.

I watched my daughter navigate no less that three Rites of Passage in the space of six weeks:  Confirmation, Middle School Graduation, and her first plane ride out of state without me.  She wasn't even kind of worried about her first day of high school; it was me that was a bundle of nerves.



We are now on that last stretch of childhood: the journey of the teen as she makes her final approach towards adulthood.

My daughter, who I jokingly refer to as The Teenager in all my social media posts, has surprised me in all the best ways one can, especially a Mother that has told her repeatedly that "I do not like surprises":

- She has pursued, and succeeded, at a goal she set when she first saw the movie "Bring It On" back in elementary school: After realizing that she wasn't really feeling the cheer squad, she tried out for, and made, the drill team at her high school within the first month of being there.

-Realizing that she would need to keep her grades up not only to graduate, but also to remain on the Drill Team, she went back on her medication for ADHD, completely reversed the slide in her grades, and is back to being the primarily A and B student she was in elementary school.

-Most important to me, though, is she has acknowledged our hereditary issues with depression and anxiety, up to and including her own, and is committed to working those issues out in such a way that she won't have larger issues dealing with them later.

She fascinates me sometimes, this daughter of mine.  As frustrating as these years can be, and believe me, between ADHD, depression and anxiety, combined with all of the other teenage hormonal stuff, the parts I don't talk about are going to give me gray hair before this is all over and done with, I sincerely pray and believe that we may both make it through these next four years mostly unscathed and hopefully in one piece.

I can see the beginnings of a person who pursues her interests passionately, and will stick to things that she actually wants to do until she sees them through.  The key words in that sentence are the SHE WANTS to do.  I am learning that at this age, picking one's battles as a parent become paramount in keeping that trust relationship strong, as well as LISTENING twice as much as I talk.  And while I might be losing some respect with other parents for not embracing an Authoritarian parenting style at all times (I keep it in my back pocket to be whipped out on an As-Needed basis), what I hope to see is a young lady who learned to stand up for herself, even to authority figures,  respectfully, and in appropriate situations (see note above about learning to pick one's battles).

We have both come so far, and still have so far to go...

These next few years will feature change and growth on both our parts; she, preparing herself for further education and eventually, a career; me readying to be the parent of two adults, the coming empty nest, and firming up my retirement plans.

Mostly, though, I will be watching her: how she grows, what she knows, emotions she shows, her ebb and flow.  Trying to be there when she needs me, and learning when to pull back and let her go on her own.  Reading her like the absorbing novel she both currently is, and is slowly becoming, carefully turning each page because as exciting as all of this is,

I both do, and do not, want to reach the end to the journey.

So this is a new one for me.

The title of this post was a request from someone who had read a couple of my other blog posts, and was somewhat alarmed by the tone.

So there you have it: A blog post titled I Am Beautiful.

You also need to know that I strive to create a world where women don't have to make affirmations like that.  I've explored my self-image in this space on separate occasions, and even if it seems to be a fractured reflection in a cracked mirror, that is no excuse for other people's petty cruelty towards anyone that does not fall into their specific, and often narrow, definition of "beautiful".  Believe me when I say, that when you post to your blog with a title like this one, the anonymity provided by the internet will bring you unlimited numbers of people gleefully willing to list all of the reasons you are not, which is why I was reluctant to use this title.

The world is a very big place, and there is room in it for more than one strictly enforced, exceptionally hard to attain, definition of "beautiful".  And goodness only knows that just because someone has the desired physical appearance, there is no guarantee that what is going on on the inside is beautiful in any way, shape, or form.  But I have talked about that before as well.

This blog post is not about either of those ideas.

Somewhere in the world tonight, a girl is looking at herself in the mirror, and wondering why her classmates are so mean about her super frizzy hair.  No, it doesn't look like the girls in the magazines, but she thinks it's okay.  Her parents tell her to suck it up, and that people are mean in general, and to get used to it, not knowing that their ideas about "toughening her up" are only partially useful.  Yes, people can be short-sighted and evil, and kids are often no more than their parents instill in them at a certain age, but it wouldn't hurt to explain these things while emphasizing that other people's opinion of you is none of your business no matter how hard they try to make it so.

Somewhere else in the world tonight, a teenager is contemplating another Monday at school, where she has to wonder why she gets the grief she does from both her peers, and now, even some of the teachers in her life.  Whip-smart, funny and kind almost to a fault, she has begun to notice that she is treated more harshly than her conventionally attractive peers.  She  is in the season in her life where she is exploring her identity, and the negative feedback she receives for her maybe too brown skin and prominent ethnic features has her questioning her worth in ways that, if not countered with any positive messages about accepting oneself as is, and being comfortable in one's own skin, could lead to devastating psychological consequences.

In yet another location, a woman stares in her closet for the thousandth time, wondering what to wear to work in order to best camouflage her "flaws", whether real or imagined.  Stomach not flat by any means; hips maybe a little too wide, breasts not as, well, anything, as they once were.  She contemplates the inevitable signs of aging, and silently laments the teeth she never had a chance to get straightened.  She does all of the right and correct things regarding eating in moderation and getting regular physical activity, and yet she still just looks like, well, herself.  She gets dressed in everything she needs for the day, including the mask she wears to hide the fact that she is thinking anything other than all is right in her world, knowing that if she shows her actual vulnerability, there are those in the world that will see it, and take it as license to show her absolutely no mercy.

And I know them, and they know me.

We are all bound spiritually by the knowledge that not conforming to convention can make for  an attractive target for some of the worst people.  What that we could live in a world where we could live in the peace of being comfortable with our imperfection.  Whatever we want to fix would be between us and the God of our choosing, and  those that would spew their own insecurities and negativity in our direction would either keep it to themselves, for once, or re-direct their energies into changing whatever it is that they don't like about themselves that causes them to expend their venom on others.

If you still don't get the point: Whatever you think of what someone looks like is on you, and yes everyone is entitled to their opinion.  But no one with an ounce of decency would dare to treat anyone like less of a person merely because they do not find them aesthetically pleasing.

No. you don't get to treat people badly because you don't like the way they look.  Most people have more than enough going on in their lives without you dumping your fears and projections onto them.  Keep that crap to yourself.

If my experiences on the internet, or in real life, are any example, that might be too much to hope for.

​But a girl can dream, can't she?

It was the best of years; it was the worst of years.

As it were.

Normally I would recap the year, talk about lessons learned, and express my hopes for the new year.

Nope.  Not this time.

I am ready to leave the past exactly where it is.

Because this year broke me in ways I never thought possible.  And for once, I learned my lessons in ways both immediate and incredibly painful.  And you have already read all of those stories.

I am focused on what's next.

So what IS next?

This is the year I finally start to pay a little attention to myself.  I have spent so much time and energy attempting to be all things to all people, that my own health and well-being was reduced to putting out fires that flared up from my benign neglect of me.  It was terrible to realize that I finally started losing weight more by happenstance than design.  I decided that since my job was so physically demanding, that I shouldn't blow this opportunity to better my health, and eat more mindfully.

Minding one's mental, physical, emotional, and spiritual health should not be some incidental thing that one stumbles across in the midst of constantly doing everything for everybody.  Non-stop self sacrifice makes for wonderful novels and t.v. movies, but realistically, the actual toll that pointless martyrdom takes in enough to drive even the most reasonable person around the bend.

Having taken too many drives around bends I never saw coming, I am DONE.

Although I will always prioritize the needs of my family, the days of sacrificial neglect of self are now behind me.  I am moving forward.  For my own best interest and piece of mind.

​See you on the other side.

This was supposed to be a post about finding peace.

That was before a couple of people who seem devoted to disturbing my peace pulled their usual loud conversation to make sure that any peace I was feeling at the moment was incredibly short-lived.

That was also before I found out the full weight of what was going on with both my children.

All before I was due to take a much needed week off.  A week that was supposed to be comprised mostly of rest, with a few errands, a little binge-watching, and a great deal of cooking thrown in.

While all of that did actually happen, I also managed to get in a desperately needed week of prayer and introspection. Honestly, I absolutely needed the time off.  I was beyond exhausted: mentally, physically, emotionally, and spiritually.  After moving from one high-stress environment to another (different type of stress, but still), and everything going on outside of work, I was hurtling rapidly towards complete burnout.Ten days off might not seem like  a lot, but I took what I could get, and endeavored to get as much rest, and perspective, as I could in the allotted time.  I think it was productive.

One of the first things set on my spirit was the phrase "For all of his knowledge, He has not wisdom".  After racking my brain, and searching the internet, I found out that it was a bastardized version of a Lord of the Rings quote.  Looked at in the context of my prayer life, however, I understood it to mean that while we tend to prize intelligence, we also need to take a closer look at whether or not wisdom is gained to go along with that intelligence.  As it pertains to a certain situation that I am dealing with, I have come to the realization that intelligence and wisdom need to go hand in hand; wisdom is intelligence refined by experience.  Intelligence without the wisdom to use it correctly can make for some incredibly cold, unfeeling people, who in turn can create difficult and uncomfortable situations for anyone that has to deal with them.

Somewhere in the middle of that train of thought, I suddenly found myself thinking about the novel, The Catcher in the Rye.  What struck me most was the protagonist, Holden's, vision of someone hiding in a field of rye, waiting to catch people before they unknowingly went over a cliff.

After spending a good two hours wondering how all of those notions were connected, it finally occurred to me that faith was both at the intersection of knowledge and wisdom, and if you look closely, surrounding both concepts. If that sounds confusing, think of it like this: Faith can be the lens through which we view the experiences that move us from mere knowledge to wisdom. When both knowledge and wisdom fail us, as they sometimes do, and emotion takes over, Faith (in the form of prayer and meditation) can also be that catcher in the rye, waiting to catch us before we throw ourselves off cliffs of irrational thoughts and actions.  Where knowledge and wisdom propel you forward, faith steadies your journey, and sometimes, lights your way.

It was in this notion, that where my knowledge of how to deal with people and situations, and what I had hoped was hard earned wisdom for dealing with difficulty began to fail me, and my emotions were ready to take over and send me running toward a cliff taking me I don't know where, my faith was there to catch me, and remind to stop to consider the results of hauling myself over emotional cliffs.

My situations are not likely to change anytime soon.  But I do feel a little more at peace in dealing with them, knowing that in the midst of it all, I can stop and center myself using all of the tools that I have developed over the years to keep myself on track.  

Or at least keep myself from going over the cliff.

Paraphrasing another quote, Of these three remain: Knowledge, Wisdom, and Faith.  The greatest of these is faith.