I.Cant.Breathe

May 26th, 2020 another day, another black man, another senseless CRIME, seeking justice. I.cant.breathe. I can’t begin to understand how I as a black woman, mother of two black sons help my young kings see the worth in life. I can’t begin to imagine what life will be like for the young souls that they will one day birth. I can’t begin to find the empathy and compassion that humanity requires to support former “friends” who still call Trump their president. Despite the fact that he continually espouses the violence against my people. I can’t handle the difficulty of continuous conversations with my oldest about what it means to be a black man in America. I can’t hold this weight of the fact that my youngest son will soon have a license, and I will have to talk with him about the precautionary measures he will need to take EVERY.SINGLE.TIME he gets behind the wheel. “Put your hands on the wheel, don’t reach for your license and registration until they ask you, do not hold a brush, do not look away, do not ask them with the righteous indignation that you likely should have “why have you pulled me over sir”, DO NOT BREATHE. Please, please, please don’t breathe.

This pain is so heavy today, that every small thing that I pass by on social media, via text, in conversation with friends. Happy feel goods, sad solemn reminders, every moment of Trump rhetoric, the numbers of DEATH crawling higher and higher and higher. Every single moment has brought me to my knees. As I write this post, I am realizing I.CANT.BREATHE. I want to know what it takes to heal. I want to know how to invite those hard conversations that will help the thoughtless SEE the world that they have created for us. US, black folks. We can’t find success because our short-comings follow us. We can tout privilege because we have none. We can’t run away because this land that is “our land” is OUR HOME TOO. And…if you run you will SURELY be shot in the back. If you sleep, you will be shot in your own bed. If you BREATHE, that breath will be erroneously ripped from your lungs.  So what do we do, because in these moments I am utterly overwhelmed. Damn it man, I.CANT.BREATHE.

Saying their names, is not enough. Because the list just keeps growing and growing. You lose count, and you will miss one, or two. #blacklivesmatter is not enough, because the people who really, REALLY need to hear that message are blind to it’s worth. Calls for justice fall on dead and dying ears. Taking a knee…well we see how that turned out. So WHAT DO WE DO. Because I.CANT.BREATHE. I think part of me is writing because that is what I do. Oddly, it is often when I find myself completely at a loss for words, that I will take the blogging. It’s my nature, it’s the way I find air in my lungs when it is continually usurped from me. It’s HOW.I.BREATHE.

But I’m also asking this question, from a completely non-rhetorical perspective. WHAT DO WE DO? How do we shift this narrative? How do we save our young sons…and daughters….HOW DO WE SAVE THIS RACE. How do we move past hashtags, and actionless outrage, and a severely flawed failed state that we now call the U.S.A. I want to talk about it folx. I’m here for this conversation. Please reach out, because there has to be something more than this. Email me, msburress79@gmail.com because there has to be something more than this moment where I.CANT.BREATHE.

365 days, 19 Hours, and one overwhelmingly long minute….

So today is a weird ass anniversary for me, but I felt compelled to share. In case there may be (I’m sure) other peeps in my universe with whom this experience resonates, personally or otherwise. 

On this day one year ago I suffered, what I would learn in the coming days, from an acute panic attack. After feeling “out of my skin” all morning, experiencing racing heart rates, and extreme trimmers I thought for sure I was going to die. I took my blood pressure with an at-home cuff…for the record, these are commonly known to be inaccurate. But I registered at 188/110, which essentially meant I was in active cardiac arrest. Thankfully my sister talked me off that ledge and suggested I call my doctor, which I did. My doctor suggested I take my BP again, to which I adamantly objected. And it was in that instant that I recognized the severity of my perseverating thoughts, and the fact that the moment that I found myself in was in fact, NOT NEW AT ALL, but something that had been building a web in my mind for MONTHS and months and months before that day. 

I talked my doctor through the last several weeks leading up to the incident, including a moment while driving where I experienced shaking, nausea, and tunnel vision on my way to give a big presentation. And together we were able to identify what I was experiencing was in fact extreme and persistent panic disorder, relative to trauma. Which was consoling for all of three seconds. But then I had to register the traumas, historic, racial, situational, relational, and unaddressed trauma. 

Anyway, she suggested I be evaluated at the hospital, to rule out any actual physiological health issues and also to take a look at the possibility of psychological disturbance, which again I vehemently opposed. All that kept going through my head was “What in god’s name would happen if I ended up in the psych ward?!” Which meant, as per my usual fashion, I was going to battle it out, on my own, by any means necessary. I made it through the 19 hours and finally, somehow found myself falling into sleep at, or around 2:30 a.m. 

I still remember my dreams so vividly from that night. I was in search of food, and every single time I filled my plate..at a cookout, at a buffet, in my own kitchen the dreamscape would change and my plate would be gone or empty, and I would be left with this ravenous hunger,

longing to feel full, fulfilled, searching for the next plate. When I woke the next day….well after 1pm, all I could think was “I don’t ever want to experience that again!” But also, “what in the actual hell can I do about it, and where in the actual f did this even come from?! 

It took three days for me to get a script for anxiety medication, and so I hunkered down, holed up, and isolated myself as best I could. I didn’t want to tell anyone (well not many people) what I was going through…perhaps for fear of being a burden, or for fear of looking weak, or most probably for fear of not being able to put words to the terrifyingly intense vibrations that were coursing through my soul, my veins, my heart. The landscape of my life was changing right before my eyes, like all four seasons in one second, I was no longer the anchor. What I remember about that time through the fog of days, is every time I tried to do something, answer an email, respond to a text, make something to eat, my heart would begin pounding, my soul would leave my body, and my heart and mind would sink deeper and deeper into despair. Some part of me felt like, “push through, you’ve got this, it is only a season, you’re 100% okay.

About a week later, well exactly ten days later I found myself late for work…group supervision at that. The one day/time commitment where I tell all my staff “be here, be on time, be engaged.” And yet, I was an hour late. I cried all day that day….again. I cried a lot between the spring of 2020 and that moment in time. And I can tell you my tears were ten-fold in those months between July and September 2022, and yet every other tear almost paled in comparison to the burning pain of the tears I felt seeping from my eyelids in that one week.

I also distinctly remember breaking my phone, as I swept it off of the kitchen island and thinking…for goodness sakes where is my mind. Little known fact, I’ve always had a phone without a cover…because I (had previously) believed myself to be this incredibly mindful person to the extent that never would I just drop, throw, or break a phone. I remember crying about that as well. Just one more example of my slow descent into madness. But all to say, with countless other examples, every part of my being, and the very universe itself was crying out to me….JUST STOP, JUST BE OK WITH NOT BEING OK, YOU CAN’T JUST KEEP GOING.” 

For a person who has never suffered a simple panic attack, never struggled much with anxiety, never felt so out of control of my own existence, to say that I was beside myself is a severe understatement. I spent the next several months trying to define the pain that I was experiencing. Trying to make sense of how completely unraveled I had become. It was a slow and intentional journey. I remember being in a training in April (2023) and one of the things that I asked the trainer was, “is there a way to know when you’re coming to the end of the journey” and the trainer, said, “sis, there is not definitive answer, but I can tell you this, YOU ARE NOT BROKEN.” And that affirmation essentially propelled my healing journey. More tears, but different tears, tears of affirmation, tears of commitment to moving through this moment in time.

I had already been seeing a counselor for nearly a year when this event occurred. I had also done some energy work. I had been trying desperately to manage the impact of negative habits; eating too much, drinking too much, isolating too much…etc. It was almost as if I let every single protective factor in my life become a maladaptation, and oddities were fast becoming commonplace. But at this moment I bodied up, full swing. I accepted that I was not going to be able to do this alone. I admitted to myself that in order to get to, I was gonna have to go through. I felt the waves of the rip current, took a deep breath, and began to swim with the madness, and not against it. 

I started to truly find my way out of the fog in or around about June of this year. I started to feel anchored again, and not like my life was some strange tugboat hopelessly lost at sea. I started to make sense of the grief that I kept trying to tell myself wasn’t real. I started to find the tether to my soul’s foundation. I started to see the light of the lighthouse, and reel myself back into self-awareness., self-actualization, self-agency. I started to celebrate the “not broken” me. I started to breathe. I started to live again. I started to laugh again. I started to reclaim my right to be a goddamn warrior queen….I started to love again, every.single.part of me again unabashedly and unashamedly.

I know my road to full “recovery” is long and I’m ok with that because I truly believe we should be growing from the moment we are born until the day that we take our last breath. I’m here for that, I’m here for me, I’m here to show (myself) that even at your lowest moments, that one damn irrevocable minute, you don’t have to take your last breath, you don’t have to go quietly into the dark night. For this evening I just want to say happy anniversary to me…you did that sis, and you’ve got so much more to do. ❤ 

On Becoming 10: Unbecoming

This moment feels lighter that many of the last years have felt. I have and will continue to pay my debts to society. I will continue to heal the harms I’ve caused as far as those who’ve been harmed will allow me. I have settled with the fact that my life is littered with darkness, but not to the extent it outweighs the light. Today, as I write these words I realize I will NEVER be able to repair every harm I’ve ever been responsible for. But as I continue to do my best, and live my best life, I will hold the dark and light in balance. And I will not let either, or anyone hold me hostage anymore.

I will honor that I am a human, and not a superhero…or villain. I will continue to be the change I hope in a world full of darkness.

And to anyone for whom that is not enough. For anyone who continues to expend their energy demeaning my name I say to you:

“You may write me down in history
With your bitter, twisted lies,
You may tread me in the very dirt
But still, like dust, I’ll rise.”

                ~Angelou

I’m so tired of “becoming” now I’m “unbecoming.

Come for me if you will, but please know

I.WILL.ALWAYS.RISE.

On Becoming 9: The Black List

Let me now really get to the meat and potatoes of my story on becoming. It all their horrible dark glory, here are the transgressions in my life that have held me hostage for far too long. I share them because I want to own them. I share them because they have no power over me. I share them in the hopes that someone else will see that they too have the right to be free from the darkness. I share this because I want you to know, that I don’t think any less of myself. I share this because I’m done being silent.

Harm to others- I have absolutely been responsible for harming others with my actions. Some things are larger and more harmful than others. I do believe in large part, my most egregious harms occurred at a time in my life where I was just an absolute ball of disaster. But others have happened since. Things I wish I could take back, or at least say sorry for. I would love nothing more than to apologize to allow others a space for healing.

Financial negligence- At the time of my bankruptcy I had more than 180 K in debt. While some of this accounts for student loan debt, which does not discharge in bankruptcy. It’s insane to look back on it now (I actually pulled my bankruptcy documentation). I wish I could pay every single debt back, but you see that is why bankruptcy exist. So folks like me, who’ve fallen prey to predatory lending, and strings of massive unfortunate events who find themselves in a place where the financial swell is more than they can bear, have a way out.

It would appear some believe that to be a scam. So be it. Apples and oranges, you know.  I have worked really, really hard in my later yrs to make the best of what was such a horrendous time in my life. As often as possible I try to make smarter financial choices. And I certainly take the time to make sure my children will do better as well.

Employment-I have been fired from three jobs in my adult life. All under…less than prime circumstances. All were devastating. I want to believe that folks get fired from jobs. It happens. It’s unfortunate, but it happens. But I take responsibility for the actions that led to these events.

Promiscuity and socially questionable sexuality– I mean I do have two children born out of wedlock. So not hard to hold the truth of that. I also live a non-monogamous, poly-intimate lifestyle, by choice. Come on people, it’s more acceptable than it seems. And honestly, I don’t really see these as transgressions. My children are my joy and I have raised them to be better, than there mama ever was. And relationships are hard and messy and don’t leave enough space for being about the business of owning my daylight. I’m just speaking the truth on these myself to prevent someone doing it later with ill-intent.

Substance/alcohol use– I’ve been there. I often tell people that my children and finding a new and real purpose in my life are the only reasons that I never became an addict. I’m sooo honor that gift.

Scammer- Yea this one I don’t claim. Clearly, as the person who is stalking me has shown, you can pull any record on me from public records. I tried to find the number as I was preparing to write this, but I think in my 24 yrs of adult life, I’ve received approximately 8 warrants in debt. All the times that I can remember I have shown up to either make payment, allow garnishment to run it’s course, or asked for reprieve, as is my right as a debtor. As of today I owe two debts for which a warrant in debt could one day be issued. It is my guess that neither of these organizations would be responsible for such abhorrent malice. I mean maybe, but it’s highly unlikely, but I guess anything is possible. I’ll leave that to my stalker to navigate.

For now and always. I will accept that I am going to fail. I will fall down. But I will also live, and love, and laugh, and rise. I will heal. And I will grow into the light.

cont’d…Rising Into the Light

On Becoming 8: The Debt of Darkness

While I have felt more free I have never stop hiding. Hiding keeps me safe. Hiding means no matter the level of success, if I get knocked down it won’t hurt so bad. Hiding is humility. But I have hidden for so very long behind my good deeds. Hoping that one day the good would outweigh the bad. In a way that I guess I hoped the world would just accept that I am a good person and I wouldn’t have to keep fighting so hard to “PROVE” my worth. And sure enough, as I’ve spent the last several weeks trying to find the courage to tell my story, darkness came knocking. On Friday June 6^th, 2020 I received a message that a former creditor had received a letter about me. The letter reads:

Sabrina Burress who has scammed many people is now working full time at (my actual job0 and she can easily be garnished there. Contact the company directly to confirm and go to the general district court to enforce judgement. In the past she has quit jobs to avoid garnishment, but this job she has held since last year. Unless she quits the job, you will get your money. Don’t let her get away with this as she has told others that she has.

The letter goes on to share my home address, as well as the contact information for my current employer. It appears that the person who received this letter also received information related to the debt that was owed to them. (I’m not sharing that information as part of my story, upon their request) The debt in this case would have been discharged in my bankruptcy. As such there is no legal claim to that debt owed.

This was so incredibly devastating this was to me. That one, someone would go to this level of insidiousness to defile my name. And two, if you know where I have worked for a year, that’s just tremendous to me that you have held this plan for ill intent for at least this long. Though given a bit of investigation on my part it would appear this grudge may well be more than 7 yrs old, stemming from another creditor whose debt was discharged in bankruptcy. That is a long time to loathe. It’s scary really, but honestly as I said in the begin of this story, I never stop waiting for the darkness to come knocking.

So here we are, 8 mini stories, and 24 adult years later. The debt is due, and I’m tired of hiding, and waiting, and feeling less that who I am.

I want to free myself because “darkness doesn’t drive out darkness, only light can do that.

cont’d…The Black List

On Becoming 7: A New Day Dawning

So, also in 2012 I started the process of bankruptcy. On my own. With no lawyer. Largely because I couldn’t afford one. The only thing I did incorrectly was not file my homestead deed in the specified time frame. I ended up losing my tax return that yr because of it. But I will never forget the trustee assigned to my case asking me, several times, “really, all on your own?!”

Yep, on my own because that’s how I do.

I moved back to Staunton, to be closer to work and the small sanctuary of friends that showed up for me. I finished my degrees (two and three) and started doing the work that would forever transform my thinking on healing, and repair, strength, and recovery. For the first time in my adult life I could really feel the way that restoration can work. When you stop holding the baggage of other people’s perceptions of you. When you stop trying to live up to someone else’s standards.

When you can believe that you are enough.

It was during this time that I started to make a path forward for my own restoration and healing. Because I could see the ways that it really worked. I started to for the first time in a long time trust myself, believe in myself, honor that overarching theme that my mistakes do not define me. But this time to really, really honor it. And not just play lip service to it, because that makes hiding in the dark easier. I began to truly come into the light.

For the first time in my adult life.

In 2018 I finished a fourth degree. I was actually a chosen speaker for my university’s 100th commencement ceremonies. This was such a crowning moment for me. I looked across a crowd of more than 1000 students and their families. And I said, well what ever graduating speaker says, right? You can be anything you want to be.https://www.facebook.com/EasternMennonite/videos/10156609944104274/?v=10156609944104274 (here it is 42.2 minutes in)

I also saw my oldest son graduate high school annnnd get accepted to one of the Nation’s leading (4th) Art programs for college. My youngest just successfully navigated a year of private school and was in line for a scholarship for Black Excellence if he were to return next yr.

These days, last three years we’ve been opening the shades and living in the light of the sun in a new kind of way.  In the last three years I’ve had a different feeling. I have felt a little less broke. I have not felt so beholden to my shadows, my history, my darkness. In this bold new place,  I also decided to partner with a dear friend to start and organization that would allow us to connect more people with mental health needs in our community. It has personal roots. It’s my last baby. And if my story shows nothing, i hope it exemplifies the ways that I show up for my babies.

We have great hopes that our model of service provision and supervision and support of professionals in development will encourage others to reach out to learn this model for their own communities.

And yet, while all of this has marked a profoundly great moment in my life, it has also become one of the toughest moments of sitting with my darkness. These days it’s not because I lack trust in myself. It’s because I lack trust in others. When you have darkness, you never know when someone will take it upon themselves to make it known. It’s so incredibly overwhelming. Ask anyone I’ve worked with in the community setting over the last two years. I imagine and of them would affirm my tendency to just go uncelebrated.

When you move in silence people you’re less likely to be noticed.

If you’re not noticed darkness doesn’t come knocking at your door asking you to pay your dues.

cont’d…The Debt of Darkness

On Becoming 6: Cries in the Night

My kids never saw a thing because I made sure; just like my mom did. That they just kept living as happily as I could support them to do so. We never missed a book fair, field trip, sports season, school portraits… none of it. When I talk with them about it now, both of them will say they don’t even remember. Ha. Even no, there are days when I actually have to remind them we really aren’t even what would be considered “middle class” kids.

I share the stories with them though because I don’t want it to be forgotten. I don’t want them to make these same mistakes. I don’t want them to EVER have the misconception that life comes easy. Or that any part of this living Black in America, is actually meant for us to be the victor. Anyway, back to the darkness. I didn’t ask my mom for as much help as perhaps I should have, or I think she would have given me. I recognize that my sheltering of my kids, and not asking my mother was wholly rooted in my own pride. But it was also me realizing I’d made the bed. I had to lay in it too. Whatever prevented me from reaching out, it all only made this situation that much worse. I promise you from 2007-2012 (at the very least) I cried myself to sleep every single night.

After a particularly grueling night of tears, actually body bent in half, on my knees, face planted firmly in my carpet, so no one could hear my screams, I decided this was not the end for me.  I got up and decided the world was not going to crash down on me.  During this time I was working on obtaining my second and third degrees (dual enrollment).  I know the initial thinking was if I can just get this little bit extra education under my belt I can find a path back to the light moment in which we were living so happily. But I was also working two jobs, and had two children, both in talented and gifted programs at school, identified as model students, both stellar athletes. And so on this day of reckoning I was reminded that even as the world was crashing around me. I had found the means to not only survive but thrive. And honestly, I was doing so largely of my own accord. I was reminded that even with all my transgression to that point in my life, I was still one heck of a human being.

I recognized that not one single one of my mistakes had to define me. And that it was my choice not to let the night consume me.

cont’d…A New Day Dawning

On Becoming 5: Darkness Comes Crashing In

This financial peril only worsened with the death of my father in 2007. Yep, only really one “good year” of living in the glow of success. When my father passed, I was essentially spun into the financial nightmare that had been his last days. I had no idea how to bury someone, and certainly didn’t have the financial means to do it. To this day, as a result of how poorly I handled that situation I am torn to pieces. My father’s grave still does not have a headstone.

Please let that sink in. My father lies daily in an unmarked grave.

It has for me. And that is a pain that does not go away.  And then our lives were irrevocably shifted  when I lost my job as an executive assistance. That was the final financial blow  that completely derailed almost seven yrs of our best life. And one solid year of living in “luxury.” I started working for my landlord, really so we could stay in our home. But also to offset the rent that had always been more than I could really afford. I was trying really, really…really hard to keep up “the best life” image for my two sons.

I’m still trying to make sense of this decent in darkness.

You know, like to you ever have this feeling that when you are doing the best you can. And things may be bad, but the universe sees you and it can’t possibly get any worse?!  

Well, I think it was in 2012 that I found myself locked in a battle with social services. I was accused of food stamp fraud because I had not correctly reported my income. That was a scary moment for many reasons, one because as the investigator made no qualms about telling me, that was a major crime. And that it could ruin my already eroding life. And two because without it, I had no idea how I was going to be able to feed my kids. I tried desperately to plead my case. How when I lost my job I wasn’t getting the among of food stamps that I should have been. Also because I had not reported. And…well it was futile. I will never forget the moment that the investigator looked into my crying, desperate, crushed, pleading eyes and said “wouldn’t it be a shame if you ended up with a charge on your record and could no longer work with children. That seems to be very important to you.” The coldness in that statement and that moment will never, ever, ever leave me. It is a stark reminder of a system of oppression that was not ever meant to see me succeed. I paid the money they said that I owed. I was never charged with fraud.

But that darkness never leaves my soul. Without food stamps, the financial nightmare just grew darker. I also found myself looking straight into the face of eviction.

Can’t say I didn’t see it coming.

I was spiraling out of control.

cont’d…Cries in the Night

On Becoming 4: In the Light of Dawn

From the ages of 21-25 I worked to shift the narrative and the train wreck that had been my adult life up to that time. I was working a good job, going to school to get my first degree, and raising two sons. I can remember the number of times that I would come home to my house filled with hand-me-down items, many of which I still own. One kid by the hand and the other in my arms. I felt so so proud to have finally “made it.”  I love the picture of me getting my first degree with my oldest son smiling up at me and my youngest baby boy wearing my cap…on my hip. I actually have that picture as a paper weight that follows me to every office space I ever inhabit. In the time that would followed I moved with ease through success. From teaching day care, to office management, to executive assistant (which is basically a well-paid, over-glorified secretary) of a large pharmaceutical company.  I “graduated” too from the self-sufficiency program and “turned in,” so to speak, my Section 8 voucher in the summer of 2006.  

It was us against the world.

And it felt amazing.

We even started renting the “posh” IMHO town home on the lovely tree streets of Waynesboro. In retrospect that home had ALWAYS been outside of my price range. But I was living my best life! And perhaps not making the most financially sound decisions. But I really wanted my kids to have all of the best that I could offer. I know that in part that, it was because I felt like I owed them that much. But also because I knew all too well what it meant to live without. I will always remember the ways my mom struggled to make sure we didn’t always have to live “that way.”

From the very first day we moved into that home we struggled though. Even making good money I often didn’t have what was needed to put food on the table. I knew EVERY SINGLE food bank in my surrounding area. I knew how to cook a full meal with the bare minimum. I knew how to make a gallon of milk last. In addition to the local food banks. I went to the grocery store when I could. I would actually carry a calculator and add things while I was putting them in the cart. I have now gotten really good at estimating the total cost of purchases, without a calculator in hand. I have even taught my kids to do it. And in their younger years we made it a game.

Why? On two separate occasions, that I can remember, I had put too much in my cart. The first time,with all the eyes watching, and with the full weight of mortified embarrassment, I chose the items that were less necessary. The second time, I said “I’m going to go to my car and see if I can find what I need in my wallet” (that was actually in my hand). I left and never came back. I can’t tell you how hard it hit that my oldest was so confused by us having left the groceries in the store. He just kept asking. And and asking. And asking.

I was REALLY thankful he had a baseball game that night to shift his brain away. We had ballpark hot dogs and ice cream sandwich. I’m tearful as I recount that memory now.

Hiding the magnitude of darkness is a sad affair.

cont’d…Darkness Comes Crashing In

On Becoming 3: Choosing Light Over Dark

So, having only told her the pertinent parts of my story, she agreed to take me to the Health Department. The doctor asked me so many questions. I kept thinking “oh man, this is great.” Mainly because even in the cloudy headed haze I was in, I could clearly make out these question were pointed…He already had a particular diagnosis in mind. Then he goes “do you think you might be pregnant?” I will NEVER forget how resounding was the laugh that came out of me. Ask my mama, I’m pretty sure she heard it from the waiting room. He said, “I’d like to go ahead and have you take the test just in case.” So, I pee on a stick, he plops it in a glass, the water turns purple…instantly. He looks at me, I must have had the most hopeful look on my face, and he asked if I was excited. Excited? To look at a cup of purple water? Not especially. It would seem he could sense my confusion and said, “well when the water (it may have actually been the stick in the water, regardless) turns purple that means you’re pregnant…*pause* awkward pleading stares ensue…”we can wait until the timer goes..” I interrupted him “I’d like to wait.” As we waited, what was likely not more than 30 seconds I could feel the world crumbling around me. Make no mistake, I was not sad to be pregnant at all. I was, in that instant reminded about how utterly in chaos my life was. I was in NO PLACE to bring a child into this world. I was embarrassed to have let my mom down. I should have just gone into the Air Force. I was afraid for the little human growing inside me. What if he came out deformed as a result of the way that I was living my life.

There was a lot of unknowns, but one thing was certain. That was the day that my life shifted in a much needed upward trajectory. That was the day that I found a reason to live. That was the day that I chose light over darkness. The struggle to becoming a mom was intense. The person I believed to be my son’s father I had made a conscious decision not to tell. I didn’t want for him to be bound by the birth of the unexpected child, especially given the season of our relationship had past. But I had friends who felt counter. So he found out. And for about three months, he was there for me. Until he wasn’t, later when I asked him to sign his rights away, we had a paternity test done. And as it turns out, he was in fact not my son’s father. There was a bit of relief in knowing we could both put that part of our journey behind us. But, obviously there was embarrassment that I would have to say I don’t actually know. My son would be 15yrs old before we had that conversation. But we had it because I needed own it. And more importantly because I needed my son to know the lack of clarity of his origins does not make him any less of a human being!

One of the other things that I remember distinctly about this period in my life was my mom telling me I needed to get on government assistance. I was beyond myself. I actually cried when she took (ha.forced) me back to the Health Department to apply for WIC, followed by a trip to DSS to get food stamps, ending at the Housing Authority to apply for Section 8 housing. I.cried.the.whole.enite.day. I knew what people said about people, Black people, that got government assistance. I didn’t want the system to think it owned me. I didn’t want someone else feeling like they had space to talk negatively about me as a Welfare queen. As it turns out, that looking down was not at all out of context. It shows up all over the place.  

But I did what I needed to do.

cont’d…In the Light of Dawn

On Becoming 2: The Darkest Night

A lot happens from birth to adulthood. Much of which, for many of us, defines who we become as adults. I am one of those people who certainly has tendencies as an adult that stem from childhood, but that’s not where for me the real story of becoming begins.

So pushing forward, 1996 the year I turned 17. I was nothing short of ready to get out and explore the world. I felt like a desperately caged animal for all the wrong reasons….as many teenagers do. First, I had plans to go into the Air Force. Actually passed the ASVAB with an “exceptionally high score”  per my recruiter. Who also told me “once you sign those papers tomorrow the government owns you.” In retrospect I have always believed that he thought he was making a joke. But the next morning  I was “sick.” I remained “sick” for the next four weeks, until I finally got the courage to tell him, and my mom that I had changed my mind. I didn’t want to be owned by anyone. (Remember that because it’s a recurrent theme) Instead I moved out and decided I’d take in the sites of life outside the four walls, and protection of my mother’s clarity in life. It was a disaster.

From the ages of 17-20 I partied all of the time. Experimenting with drugs was my favor thing to do. I moved from house to house, at times, I’m fairly certain I would have been considered an “unsheltered” (homeless) adult. I weighed about 100 lbs. My average weight per height and body shape is 150. I did keep fairly steady employment, but anything that prevented me from being a wild child I quickly moved away from. I had absolutely no direction, no insight, no forethought…or at times even after thought. I was just living dangerously in the oblivion.

I have at least two dear friends during that time that suffered harm at the hands of my carelessness. At my age now I don’t ever find it hard to ask someone to forgive me. We make mistakes, that’s just human. But these are two that I have never actually spoken to in person and would never ask their forgiveness. Because I can see the ways that it might be hard to give, and a huge part of my heart feels like I don’t even deserve it.

There were others. I know this. It was a pretty dark time in my life. When I was 20 I went to the doctor, I had been sick. My body was constantly in pain.  I didn’t tell my mom that I had been using drugs…probably because I figured she wouldn’t go with me to the appointment. She’s always been a stern, if you’re screwing your life up don’t come knocking at my door to fix it” type mama.

cont’d…Choosing Light Over Dark