Entering the Next Chapter

So many of you know me, but don't know that I have battled with loneliness since I was a small child. This might be confusing to many who read this because I am extremely extroverted. I am the person who can walk into a crowded room of strangers and less than an hour later know many of them personally. I have tried to protect myself from the dark grasps of loneliness with walls of social encounters. I place these walls up from those I socialize with to keep them from seeing how I fear they will not be able to accept. Even in a crowded room of friends I feel completely alone.  Ever since I was a child I had this thought that nagged at me. The thought would tear me down and diminish my worth and make it impossible to be vulnerable. The thought whispers to my heart, "No body wants you around, they are just acting nice because they are kind but you are just a tag-along." In that moment I am brought back to being the little sister who follows her big brothers and their fri

Let me start by saying this is not meant to offend anyone. Yet, I am sure it will offend someone.  Two weeks ago my nine year old daughter was talking to me about the things happening in our hometown. She tries to hide her feelings and shuts down sometimes, so I saw this as an opportunity to help her communicate her feelings and to help her process everything she is seeing and hearing. She feels stuck. She is a biracial girl living in the middle of Ferguson, MO and she feels stuck. We have tried our hardest to protect her from media overload and to not overwhelm her with facts and yet she is still seeing and hearing things that scare her. While we were talking Abbie suddenly got quiet and looked away. She began to weep to herself. I asked her what was wrong. She looked at me and sheepishly said, "Mom, I am afraid of black people." When the words came out of her mouth, I could see the guilt written across her face. She was scared, angry, filled with guilt for the feelings of

I wrote this poem based on what my daughter was experiencing being a biracial child in Ferguson, MO. She feels stuck. We are trying to form open communication to help her with her feelings. All of this is written off of what she has told me when we were talking, so while the format is mine the feelings are all hers.  STUCK All I see is black and white, literally and figuratively, And I forget to see all those in between. What does that make me? Stuck I see blacks angry at the whites for mistreatment, And whites unable to understand the pain. What does that make me? Stuck I have been exposed to so much hate, And have to pretend to be brave for my sisters. What does that make me? Stuck I was only a little girl with big dreams, Now I don’t know who I am supposed to be. What does that make me? Stuck I feel like a black girl in a white community, And like a white girl in a black community. What does that make me? Stuck Ferguson is the city I love, and a place that I fear.

I thank God that my oldest daughter has found peace in writing and drawing, just like her mama. Recently I had posted a picture she had drawn and now she has brought me a letter she wrote to those causing destruction. I told her I would share with you all.  This is the picture Abbie drew the other day...  This is her letter... I am sad People are trying to kill my Papa. I say do you want to be killed? NO. Then why would you do it. but God said shall not kill in the 10 commandments. I have a question. What are you teaching your kids? You're teaching them when you are mad you can be bad. I like this one but some people like this one  . Don't you want happiness?  -Abbie I spoke with Abbie and encouraged her to continue sharing her feelings. We also spoke about not allowing the frustration and anger to build into hate and bitterness. 

Food is my drug of choice. I use it to numb all the pain and frustration that I feel.  Over the last week I have felt this heaviness weighing on me. It can be best described as feeling BLAH . It is like a damp cold blanket resting upon my body. I don't feel sad but I am just not happy and joyful. I remind myself of how faithful God has always been and how He is my strength through this but a moment later I call upon my other little "g" god, food. This other god brings me no hope, no relief or strength. It only brings be temporary numbing from the situation until my mouth is no longer full and my stomach is in pain. When I am turning to it I find excuses such as, "At least these chips are much healthier for me" or "I've had a long day, I deserve/need it." Yesterday I spent twenty minutes in Target staring at the candy section struggling to pick my poison. Choosing which one would best cover the tension. When I got home I shamefully hid the candy b

One of the stages of grief is anger. It can be anger that is aimed towards the circumstance or can be aimed at someone/something else. For me it is often followed by guilt.  So last night was filled with excitement but not the good kind. I got so angry at my baby that I ended up just breaking down into tears.  My daughter Charlotte, who is almost eight months, is still yet to sleep through the night. She wakes every two hours to eat. I allow her only because she is very underweight and can use all the time eating she can get. She has been much more attached to me the last few weeks ever since she was in the hospital. A lot of crazy emotional stuff has happened and I know that she feels the tension even if she doesn't comprehend it. With everything that has happened I was surprised how well I have been able to keep myself composed.  My surgery to have my gallbladder removed a week an a half ago has left my side extremely sore, especially near the incisions. The other night we

I have always found writing very therapeutic especially in times that I can not completely process my feelings and thoughts. I decided that I would write my way through the five stages of grief.  As a general background on grief, there are said to be five stages of grief. DABDA.. Denial... Anger... Bargaining... Depression... and Acceptance. I believe that everyone goes through all the stages when mourning but the length of time a person spends in each one varies greatly from person to person. For example some people might only spend a few seconds in denial while another can spend a day or week. All of the stages are our bodies way of processing and protecting us.  Today I lost someone... well I didn't really lose them because I know right where he is. He is in heaven. He is a man of many names. Some call him Carvin, some call him Pastor Don, some call him father, grandpa, husband, and I called him P. Don. I met him when I was in a very broken place. I was recently separated fr

Have you ever tried on someone else's glasses? I remember so many times when my curiosity was peaked and I would ask a friend if I could try on their new glasses. As I would pull their onto my face, my eyes would begin to strain and would blur. I would keep them on as long as I could and then I would remember my mom's warnings. She would say that wearing someone else's glasses could damage my eyes, yet I would still be curious and not take much heed to her words.  Why do children feel this curiosity about something so basic as glasses? Part of me wonders if it has to do with wondering how others view the world. It is one very clear example as to how we each have a different perspective of our surroundings. Even today I still wonder what it would be like to try on some one's glasses.  I have read that wearing someone else's glasses would not damage yours eyes but might cause temporary eye strain and a headache. But unlike physical glasses and lenses I believe

I remember the days that my daughter would return from school with little notes to all of the parents. The reminder was that we should be spending at least 15 minutes a night reading to our child. While many mothers saw this as a kind honorable reminder I saw it as a personal attack for a few reasons. The first reason was that I already knew the importance of reading to my child. I see the signs, hear the PSAs, and am even reminded by doctors and teachers. This was not a new concept to me. The second reason was because the note made it seem like they were saying, "it's only fifteen minutes of your day, isn't your child worth it?" It wasn't only  fifteen minutes a day, to me it was FIFTEEN MINUTES a day. The final reason was because the picture of a mother happily and lovingly looking over her child's shoulder as he sat quietly and peacefully in her lap was in no way my reality. So today I thought I would put a new spin on things and tell you why I hate to