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I think it’s time I delve a bit deeper into some of my past traumas. I believe up until now, I’ve only shared surface level experiences with you. Life for me right now, could be scary and unnerving for most. I’ve taken on the journey of entrepreneurship and self healing while learning to maneuver in the midst of a pandemic. I quit my job and am solely depending on my hustle to provide for my family. It would be easy for me to go out and get a job but, the laws of Chess do not permit a free choice, you have to move whether you like it or not (Emanuel Lasker). I have a plan for my life. A plan that will establish my families namesake and provide generational healing and wealth. I can rejoice in being temporarily uncomfortable because my faith allows me to find comfort in what’s to come from all of this.
In my earlier years, I attended a Baptist Church in Long Beach, CA. It was mandated by my Granny we attend Church every Sunday and Wednesday. But, I never did mind going to Church. I was always fascinated by the culture of it all. The beautiful dresses, the big hats, the different fragrances and high heels worn by no other than the First Lady. I had watched the women of the Church carry themselves with such stature. They exuded so much radiance and confidence. Their smiles shaped in pretty red hearts that released soft spoken words and strong healing melodies that would capture and cultivate the essence within the Church. Although, the Pastor of the Church was a well respected man, it was the women of the Church who inspired me the most to want to know and love God.
At a very young age, I remember having extreme confidence in myself. I was my Mom’s only girl and she treated me like her very own doll. I don’t recall my Mom attending Church with us during this time. But, she did make sure I was pageant ready on Sundays. I always had a fresh press n’ curl with two ponytails in the front and the back down with bows that matched my big poofy dresses. I would wear white silk gloves and rock a cute little satin purse. My socks would be folded over to show my lace lining that also matched my dress with some shiney mary janes. Granny was adamant about our appearance and so was my Mom. It was a must we were always presentable. I was trained at an early age to be a Princess and Granny made sure to lead by example.
When Granny would pick us up for Church, we could hear the Church music as soon as she turned the corner. We had to be ready to go immediately. Granny wore several hats within the Church and being late was never an option. She had the congregation on lock. She was well respected within the Church. Not only was she in the choir and a greetier, She also was one of the leaders over the Church’s Motherboard. If you don’t know what that is, it’s a group of elderly women that did not need your Momma’s permission, to pinch you under your arm, for talking during Church. If your Granny was on the Motherboard, you had the same expectation to behave accordingly as if you were the Pastor’s kids themselves. I looked up to my Granny. I wanted to be like her. How she carried herself, how she showed love to her family and others but most of all how she loved God.
I’ve always thrived in Church. I liked it there and as far back as I can remember, it’s the last place I was still had my innocence. I never feared anything. I was free to express myself through dance and song. I loved attending bible study and having a positive place to go. I knew everyone’s name and they knew me. I was in the Youth Choir. I volunteered at every event and was active within the Youth Church. Church was a part of my life and was really all knew. We continued to attend Church with Granny until shortly after my parents separated. There’s a blur between this time. But, when I try think back I imagine my Mom trying to grieve a 20+ year relationship to man she wanted but did not receive. The reality was finally sinking in and she wanted to be healed from that pain. Like most humans, we seek for comfort. I believe she found temporary comfort in my Step Dad.
I want to be clear, I never had the opportunity to speak to my Mother about my feelings as an adult nor as a child. Growing up, we didn’t talk about much of anything and if I’m being completely honest, I didn’t feel I had problems. Problems were for adults. The only time I can remember my Mom asking my how I felt about something was when she started dating my Step Dad. I remember the day so vividly. Mostly, because it was not too long after my Father had left the house. I felt so awkward with the entire situation and I was still very much confused as to what was transpiring in my home. In order to properly tell this story, I have to go back. It’s time I revisit the beginning to further explain how the innocence I had once carried was swiped away in a blink of an eye; and how I continued to carry the trauma for over 20 plus years. My trauma is not just about my Mother. It started there and continued to spread by the impact of other hurt individuals. The next few post will begin to explore the many relationships that I believe contributed to my self doubt, insecurities, fears and pain. I titled this series of post, “Jesus Loves Me” because without having a foundation of faith instilled in me, I honestly don’t think I would be here today. To be continued…