What started off as a call about my anxiety turned into this thing I couldn’t walk away from.
I scheduled a therapy appointment because my anxiety was beginning to keep me up at night. It wasn't the normal anxiety of being a parent, or an actor in an unstable industry, or from watching The Bear, no it was the ol, "Is America headed for another civil war and am I going to start seeing signs that say "whites only" kind of thing."
Anxiety isn't new to me by any means. I’ve developed tools over the years to help me live with it so I'm able to function like a normal stressed out human being. However, sometimes it creeps to a level where I need a little "help from my friends," or someone I pay to be friendly, that is.
Initially I felt relieved after my video chat with my therapist... let's call her Leslie, (because it's her actual name). She presented me with an idea that made me feel intelligent, talented, like my voice mattered. Why couldn't I record a video and share my opinions, perspective and experiences around what's happening in America? What a great way to put to use all my filming equipment when i'm in between auditions. Then Trask weighed in and I came to my senses, and thank God. Afterall, why was I paying Leslie for clarity and support when I could listen to someone tell me what a piece of shit I was at any given moment? Wait, I think I just answered that question.
Trask wasn’t wrong, he just went about it the wrong way. Trask is my “gremlin” by the way. You know, that voice in your head that tries to keep you from doing anything it finds risky by making you feel like a worthless, purposeless, and all around just less of a valued person. Anyway, Trask didn’t love the idea of me doing a vlog. When I checked in with my gut, it didn’t like the notion either. I thought I was just scared of failing and rejection, but that couldn’t be it because I’m always scared of failing and rejection. I sat on it for a few days, and by “sat on it,” I mean I obsessed over it. I questioned myself. Was I the kind of person that paid for therapy and didn’t follow my therapist’s advice? Didn’t I like getting A’s in school? Who was I, if not on a constant quest for the right answer? Why are we here? Does the multi-verse actually exist? As you can see by the last couple of questions, I veered off the rails but I did find a solution. I found a poem. It wasn’t the angsty rage of a teenager kind, more like the existential cries of twenties youth. The poem was mine by the way.
Absolutely not! No! Sorry. I shouldn’t have said “no” before you even asked the question. Go ahead, ask the question. No. You can’t read the poem. I’m barely all in on this blogging thing. We haven’t known each other long enough to level up to sharing bad poetry with each other. Besides, it’s not about the poem. It’s about what I rediscovered when I read it….my voice. She was opinionated, proud, intelligent, creative, so sure, and I missed her terribly. When I remembered what it felt like writing it, my gut tingled and Trask got quiet.
The truth is, I’m no stranger to blogging. There was a time in my life where it made sense and it got me through a very, very dark moment in time. Then I laid it to rest and moved on.
I could choose to ignore this pull I have to write to you, and in doing so choose to ignore a beautiful call to grow and discover something that could get me one step closer to my dreams or whatever I am called here to do.
This seems like a good time to let you know who you’re dealing with and what kind of mess you’re getting into. I am a person who always answers the call. I don’t mean a religious call (that’s not my thing). I mean the call as a human being to embrace life with purpose. The stories, reflections, anecdotes, heartbreaks, and triumphs I’m going to share with you will be colored by who I have been gifted to be: A woman, a mother, a black woman, a black mother (if you don’t understand why those things are different and need there own commas, this may not be the blog for you), a POC, a widow, a wife, a child, a sister, a friend, and who I have chosen to be: an artist (I can feel some artists side-eying me right now as being a creative is often look at as something that happens “to” you. I do believe artists are gifted and given a choice to own it. Since a lot of people ignore it, I chose to put it in this category), liberal, activist, enlightened thinker, good person (I hope), and a writer.
Oh, and I also face my fears. So I think I will share that poem with you after all. I have nothing to hide. Here you will always get the whole picture, the joy and the pain, both have created the beautiful mess that is my life.
**Everything I write comes from my personal insights and has all the drippings of my opinions, biases, and what-nots. Rather than come for me with facts or judgements to contradict my said opinions, biases and what-nots, I’d rather you find a different blog that makes you happy. If you find these posts therapeutic or helpful in anyway that means we connected and it’s all I can ask for, however I’m not a therapist nor a coach. I’m just a writer floating words out there hoping they find the person they are intended for.