In my young adult years, I had a hard time being seen for who I was.
I was always identified by where I grew up, whose sister I was or who I hung out with. Although I loved those aspects of myself, I was more.
As years went on, I had to make choices for my happiness. Choices often opposite of what I thought was expected of me. That meant becoming vulnerable to change and criticism.
That shift came with a yearning to experience more of what life had to offer. I began to look outside the walls put in place by others and myself to live a life God wanted me to live.
I began to capture these experiences in my writing. This became a way for me to purge, process and heal.
This blog is that journey and it continues. A journey full of love, tears, pride and lots of laughs.
Thanks for joining me.
Independence
In my 20s and 30s, I tried to be self-reliant. I found jobs, sought higher education, saved for and purchased my first car, moved into my first apartment in my 20s, and advanced my hospitality career. If I needed help, I could count on one hand, the family, or friends I asked. I rarely asked my parents because I wanted them to see me as independent.
The Joy of The Culture
When the show ended, I had two words to describe it: Black Joy. Joy is an emotion that transcends any external circumstances and situation. Black Joy is connected to grit, strength, and perseverance left behind by our ancestors who survived the worst experiences - slavery, Jim Crow, lynching, redlining, etc. - and bravely rose above it all to shine brightly despite efforts to dim their light. While Black Joy is the beautiful fruit produced from horrific circumstances, it is also an act of resistance.
