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01.07.2017

A Letter to My Daughter

A letter to my daughter. For you, Baby K…

Childhood

On their first go ‘round or their fourth, a lot of parents ask for healthy babies and only that. Others can specifically name what it is they wish their child to be and give you 101 reasons why.

“I want a boy for starts so that he can be the leader of the pack of kids I plan on having later on.”

“I want a daughter so I can see myself in miniature form.”

For me, I wanted a girl first.

When I found out I was pregnant with your oldest brother, I called one of your grandmothers after an hour of hesitation to tell her the news. I was afraid. I was not a teenage mother. I was not living in her home. I was 21 with a great paying job and afraid of her; scared of what she would think of me, of what she would think of your father. The relationship between your grandmother and I was a rocky one, with me as a small child drifting off into daydreams transported by glass windows, wishing for security and praying for stability. I always felt her own sense of those very things were distorted and her journey to searching for happiness was clouded by a past that I often felt was rooted in my existence with her bringing me into this world at the same age.

The stories of our foremothers, both spoken and silenced, are transmitted through our DNA. Through this, we learn the power of either embracing or releasing. 

When the pregnancy test confirmed that I had life growing in me, I made promises to myself that I would pick apart the moments of my childhood where Anita’s “Sweet Love” spread throughout the apartment or that time I wanted to stay in 1995 when “Dear Mama” was Tupac’s tribute to Afeni and my anthem for Angela. But I also wanted to do away with the adolescent era that created the divide between she and I. Growing into her in many ways, I attempted to fight the inevitable. Afraid of what I was becoming as time passed. Afraid of, ultimately, who I was. 

Fear. You will have encounters with it often. Fear of not living up to expectations, of repeated mistakes that would live on through me and passed on to you. Fear consumed a lot of my life. Because of it, I knew 

I was not ready for you.

And I am thankful Kaevon, my joy, came first. The fearlessness you will find in me is not a self-taught skill. It was birthed from him. A gift developed unbeknownst to me while in a labor, delivering him into the world naturally. When doctors told me that my journey with you would be drastically different because of genetics and unidentified cells that could harm you at any stage in your journey, that intrepid nature birthed on the 10th of February in 2009 played the biggest role in what would be a spiritual excursion of bettering my health, mentally and physically. I hadn’t acquired that until then and I didn’t know I needed it before I needed you. 

So, I wanted a daughter second.

Womanhood

When I was pregnant with your older brother, I went to the emergency room one night where the doctor informed me that I was carrying a girl. During the prenatal visit that would follow in the subsequent days, your father and I were told that your brother was in fact, a boy. Your father rejoiced and I felt that the cosmos rejected my pleas to find solace in bringing me someone that could help me right familial dysfunction wrong.

I asked that same Universe–that same God that I hope you grow to know and believe to be real–that when I knew who I was, it would grant me an experience where my womb is blessed to know what it’s like to carry a thought turned spirit, transitioned into a human body, transformed into a little girl that would one day turn into a woman.

When I had Kamryn, I was 23, a mother of two, and I still did not know the intricacies that made up my being. I did not know my body although I welcomed the expanding of skin, fell in love with the movements of your brothers in my belly, and felt the magic of what it is to be a woman when my body served as a tunnel that would bring all three of you into this world in a mixed moment of pain and pleasure.

But I knew that I could not be a mother to a daughter when I had to look to your father for confirmation that I was still beautiful on days where clothes no longer hugged corners and curves of flesh.

I do not want that for you.

You will grow up in a world of insta-glamour and pseudo beauty where phone screens serve as mirrors and acknowledgement of worth comes from outside forces. If we raise you in the streets of New York City, you will hear young girls be called by perceptions of their bodies rather than their names amongst sirens, train rattling, “Ayo’s,” hip-hop and bachata.

The world is fogged with so much noise, but in the turbulence of it can someone find silence and self without being consumed by it.

Let internal sounds–intuition–remind you of who you are. That voice matters more than any other.

I was not ready for you.

However, I am eternally grateful that Kamryn, my heart, came next. The compassion you will find in me is rooted in a child-like spirit that I still possess–a quality your father loves, a rare gift in today’s world brought forth because of your brother’s presence.

I learned compassion when I judged other women for their personal choices with their own bodies and found myself standing in the shadows of their decisions not so long ago–a symbolic time for me as I fought to find internal peace while picking up shattered pieces of myself from floors and the hands of others.

I glued myself together with writing, publicly and privately.

I found comfort in discomfort.

Wounds were made whole and healthy through prayers in ugly places and dark pits. 

I healed without the bandages I’ll one day place over your scraped elbows and knees and without the hugs I’ll wrap over your body when your heart feels motionless. Often, you will know “pain is weakness leaving the body” to be true. Healing does not happen without the hurt or overnight. It’s timeless. Knowing this:

Don’t forget to pray, nena. For strength. For guidance. 

And while you will undergo your own versions of experiencing compassion and humility in its many forms, it is my wish that that story does not intersect with yours. I do not wish that for no woman; I do not wish it to be your own. But you will know what it’s like to undergo love and loss. 

That is life.

Motherhood

Going into 29, I was finally wrapping up a never ending chapter and finding closure when it came to my father, your grandpa. I still do not have all of the answers and I may never get responses to questions I’ve had since the age of seven, or questions you will ask me later on down the line. I do know, however, after taking a trip to Puerto Rico–the country where I became pregnant with you–that peace comes to the surface when:

forgiveness is found,

the understanding of a journey you have no control over no longer feels like a battle,

you look at the hardest moments of your walk through life to be the most significant,

you can weed out lessons in the mundane,

you can find answers in self-reflection.

This part of your story, this lesson threaded in your DNA, is inescapable. 

I now get that in my circumstance surrounding my father.

I will never know what it is like to be raised in a two-family home, but for most of my pregnancy, I have thanked the Higher Powers that be that you will. Papa and I are still learning what it is to be protectors and caregivers. I am continually learning about what it is to have a father in watching him with your brothers.

I want that for you.

I pray your first love is the man who cut the cord that tied us together for 37 weeks, but I hope you know, I will forever be there, connected to you through hand and heart for as long as I live. I do not wish for a mini-me, but a better me. 

Struggling with health, I yearned for your survival–in the womb and Earth side as a Black girl–as much as I do my own now.

During your formation, I prayed for fearlessness to vibrate through your body’s most vital organs. Your spirit and story needs it to thrive.

I shot up pleas to the Universe for your voice to be as loud as the construction of constellations and the roar I let out when your transitioned into new realms you could call home.

Be a better me. 

I hope that our ‘Mommy + Me’ nights are more than lacquer and laughter at girlie flicks, but conversations on revolutionaries of color, the complexity and magnificence of being an Afro-Latina, shattering cycles that limit our ways of thinking, critiquing literature centered around womanism while dissecting legendary sounds of art like Nina Simone’s I Put a Spell on You or L. Boogie’s The Miseducation…

Parenthood and what it looks like has evolved for me over the course of 29 years, but today, it has more meaning than ever before, just as the words in this letter will change for you over time.

When God gave me you, I knew then that I found the answer to the most difficult question we all encounter: “Who am I?”

And while my answer will not be yours, I hope you are the accumulation of wildflowers, personified, a Willow Smith-spirited, free flowing goddess wherever you step foot. If you are organically liberated in your soul like Kaevon, I hope you never allow anyone to make you feel confined or conflicted about the essence of who you are. If you are quirky by nature as Kamryn is, it is my wish that you do not feel restricted to fit the molds of what popularity looks like. Being yourself is more of an attainable aspiration than squirming your way into boxes that are neatly packaged and specifically designed for others. 

Be you. 

In the meantime:

I thank you for being the answer to whispers sent up to God at midnight as a child, the fruition of prayers that did not go unheard under stars, cigar smoke, raised wine glasses and revelations between Daddy and I at 2:00 A.M. on a balcony in PR. 

In late April of 2016, in a small town called Manatí, I knew I was ready for you.

I am finally ready for you. 

On the day of your conception, birth, and forever…

I love you, Kairie. You have changed my whole world.

xo

Mom

Filed Under: A Letter to My Daughter

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the miniature version of the blog.

in december of last year into january of this year in december of last year into january of this year, one of the closest people to me was admitted into the hospital for a serious medical condition that led to daily dialysis treatments for 3-4 hours on end. for a minute, for the first time, really, i questioned God, wondering if this was the answer to my request, “please bring me closer to you in the new year.” this wasn’t the way i had envisioned it would pan out, yet, it brought my family together, brought my children into my bedroom to find me kneeling at the foot of the bed, brought my brother back to life. today, i celebrate his 1st saturn return, his rebirth, and his entire existence. ⁣
⁣
to my little big bro on his 29th: i love you just as much as i did on the saturdays we watched bobby’s world + animaniacs together, when we argued over who was better in mortal kombat + crash bandicoot, and the day you saved me from myself back in ‘03. i know how to fight—in every sense of the word—because of you. watching you grow up. watching you on that bed. ⁣
⁣
thank you for pulling through.⁣
thank you for pulling through.⁣
thank you for pulling through.⁣
⁣
thank you for being my first best friend + holding the title since. happy birthday, kid. it’s good to see you on this side.
“are you a princess?”⁣ “she said ‘i’m “are you a princess?”⁣
“she said ‘i’m much more than a princess, but you don't have a name for it yet here on earth.’”⁣
⁣
halloween ‘20.
“𝑤𝑜𝑚𝑒𝑛 𝑐𝑢𝑡 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑖𝑟 ℎ𝑎𝑖𝑟 𝑤ℎ𝑒𝑛 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑦’𝑟𝑒 𝑔𝑜𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑡ℎ𝑟𝑜𝑢𝑔ℎ 𝑠𝑜𝑚𝑒𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑔.”

𝘆𝗲𝗮𝗵. 𝗺𝗮𝗿𝘀 𝗿𝘅.
moment of transparency: when i had my firstborn 11 moment of transparency: when i had my firstborn 11 years ago, i was 130 pounds, a size 7. fast forward to the present + three children later, i’m a little under 200 pounds, fluctuate between a size 10-12. the power of the snapback skipped right over me all three times. shifting between loestrin, depo-provera + the iud; struggling with removing sweets from my diet after being raised in a home that didn’t prioritize healthy eating; and elevated levels of stress throughout the years definitely doesn’t help with my weight loss journey. so as much as i appreciate + understand the wonders of what a woman’s body can do, do i still struggle with my image? absolutely.⁣
⁣
the moment of taking off a sundress came with a small bout of anxiety as i pulled the stripes that camouflaged the belly + back fat over my head. i adjusted my breasts, i pulled the bottom of my one-piece from the crevice of my butt that no longer sits up perkily. and maybe my face gave me away as it usually does, but he trekked over hot sand to grab the dress from the hands that gripped at it as if it were the edge of a cliff.⁣
⁣
“it’s not a towel. it’s okay.”⁣
⁣
as it folded itself up into a mess of a ball + fell on the towel beneath us, he grabbed a handful of a cheek. in a mix of sensual and playfully, he squeezed the jiggly parts where the lines intersect + the dimples started to form. he would lean over, drink in hand, and pinch flesh.⁣
⁣
“you’re drunk,” i would tell him, but was immediately reminded of the ways that we diminish our beauty, our value, ourselves when we use cover up language to lighten the mood or lessen the (emotional or mental) weight of a moment. or in this case, hide how we feel about compliments and our level of self-confidence. it took years for me to realize that sometimes refusing admiration was simply a reflection into how I saw myself…⁣
⁣
new, full article over at members.xonecole.com.
“humanity does not suffer from the disease of wr “humanity does not suffer from the disease of wrong beliefs but humanity suffers from the contagious nature of the lack of belief. if you have no magic with you it is not because magic does not exist but it is because you do not believe in it. even if the sun shines brightly upon your skin every day, if you do not believe in the sunlight, the sunlight for you does not exist.”⁣
—c. joybell c.⁣
⁣
𝐛𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤.⁣
𝐛𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐠.⁣
𝐛𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐠.
“my mother⁣ is pure radiance. ⁣ ⁣ she is t “my mother⁣
is pure radiance. ⁣
⁣
she is the sun⁣
i can touch⁣
+ kiss⁣
⁣
+ hold⁣
without ⁣
getting burnt.”⁣
—sanober khan
first came the vision. if you know me personally, first came the vision.

if you know me personally, you know i have a tendency to act off impulse + act on any and everything God sends me in a dream. an event centered around Blackness—the totality of my existence—and Latinx sororities—my avenue into uprooting my ethnic identity. 
but life’s changed. i haven’t (co)hosted in an event in five years or so. i’ve been clinically diagnosed with anxiety since. i’ve lived a quieter life. so i couldn’t manifest this. because it would mean revisiting the life i left behind. pushing through panic attacks. amplifying my voice. then i read my horoscope that same morning.
.
“when you make room to speak about what exists, you no longer have to spend time wondering about everything left unsaid. lean on your natural talent for courageous leadership as much as possible right now. invent new voices for yourself. you will have to do something you don't normally do or that you've never done before. your best bet is to roll up your sleeves and do it.”
.
you don’t sleep on double confirmations. you can’t diminish the gift that is manifestation.

so countless people came to mind + when i stopped doubting the gift that was this event, i hit send. women from so many sororities came through with an overwhelming response. “finally, we’re talking about this collaboratively and nationally.”
.
and here we are. i created this event—strategic about the name; who would moderate + that connection between The Divine Nine and Latinx orgs; the panelist selections—to (re)direct many in the right direction through education + always led by (the Black) experience.

Join me + @janelm of @aintilatina for an important discussion on cultural relevance and responsiveness within Latinx sororities, featuring:
• Ysanet Batista of @slu1987 and founder of @wokefoods
• Dr. Ariana Curtis of @omegaphibeta and curator of Latinx Studies at the @nmaahc
• Dalma Santana, President-elect of @chiupsilonsigma and Director of Special Events and Parent Relations at St. Peter’s Prep
• Jelisa Jay Robinson of @kdchi and Black American playwright

indebted to these women for being the pull up-types that rihanna spoke of. have a seat at the table with us on weds? #BlackLatinx
“𝐢 𝐚𝐦 𝐚 𝐟𝐥𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐫 𝐛𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐠𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝.”⁣⁣
— bethanee epifani j. bryant
in 2016, i shared some of the following on fb. rep in 2016, i shared some of the following on fb. reposting w. additional thoughts:⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣
⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣
in 2008, Rob + i had the chance to sue the pd for head trauma, causing his eyes to fill w. blood after being assaulted + arrested for asking a question at the precinct. the sight of his eyes was one of the most frightening things i’ve ever seen. we were told that our family would be targeted for suing law enforcement. there would be a chance we “would be dead before a trial even happened.⁣”⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣
⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣
everytime a case of police brutality hits the media, we ask: what would‘ve happened if we followed through. birth names would’ve been prefaced w. pound signs, including our unborn.⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣
⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣
but something has to give. it’s one thing when it affects your people; when it affects your household, it’s a whole ‘nother ball game. it’s very personal then.⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣
⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣
you go hard for Blackness differently.⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣
you pray for Black men harder.⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣ with intensity.⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣
you love Black men softly.⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣
⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣
bell hooks said, “black male ‘cool’ was defined by the ways in which they confronted hardships of life without allowing their spirits to be ravaged. they took the pain of it + used it alchemically to turn the pain into gold. 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘣𝘶𝘳𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘤𝘦𝘴𝘴 𝘳𝘦𝘲𝘶𝘪𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘩𝘪𝘨𝘩 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘵. it was defined by the ability to withstand the heat + remain centered…defined by black male willingness to confront reality…not by black male denial or by assuming a “poor me” victim identity, but by black males daring to self-define rather than be defined by others.”⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣
⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣
today, i thank God for his words from that day:⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣
⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣
⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣i’ll die for what’s right, but my girl shouldn’t be left without support. my son shouldn’t live without his father. 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐢’𝐥𝐥 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐮𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐚𝐤 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐛𝐞𝐜𝐚𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐞 𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐬 𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐞 𝐥𝐢𝐟𝐞, 𝐭𝐨𝐨.
a nurse asks me when do i start having conversatio a nurse asks me when do i start having conversations with my children about being Black + what would it entail.⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣
⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣
i tell her color was a conversation in my house when my sons were 4 + 5. that there really wasn’t a “too early” when it came to educating my kids on race. i wrote about interactions in school that made Kae aware of his lighter skin before his father + i even introduced color as a topic of discussion, bringing to light: “𝘪𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘥𝘰𝘯’𝘵 𝘵𝘦𝘢𝘤𝘩 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘬𝘪𝘥𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘺 𝘯𝘦𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸, 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘭𝘥 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘭.” ⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣
⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣
so when it was time, that premature in their lives, it was more so:⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣
⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣• y’all are going to look different than some of the kids in school.⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣ that shouldn’t stop y’all from being friends with them.⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣
• but when you’re older, how you look may have a direct relationship to how long you 𝐥𝐢𝐯𝐞 on this planet.⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣
⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣
explaining the unfortunate complexities of survival, freedom + fear, to children is fucking hard. you struggle with what’s too much. you give in doses, pray it’s enough. you are cognizant of the fact that race supersedes age—it’s known that america disregards the innocence + joy of youth when you’re Black. ⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣
⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣
⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣now that they’re 10 + 11, it’s weaving in lessons about schoolwork with race: “if the plan says do 5 exercises, do 10. ‘cause when you‘re older, you’re going to have to do 2x as much—if not more—anyway, to get to the destination. 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐢𝐦𝐮𝐦 𝐢𝐬𝐧’𝐭 𝐚𝐧 𝐨𝐩𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧.”⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣
⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣
+ it’s not an option for me to educate them later. i will not do the work they are struggling to do now with their children. with themselves.⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣
⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣
the nurse who pulled her seat up to have this conversation, cut the silence of the ER to say, ⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣
⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣
“𝐦𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐡𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡, 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐠𝐨𝐭 𝐝𝐚𝐦𝐧, 𝐁𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐦𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐢𝐭 𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐧 𝐢 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐢𝐦𝐚𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐝.”
“art is the child of nature in whom we trace the “art is the child of nature in whom we trace the features of the mothers face.”⁣
— henry wadsworth longfellow⁣
⁣
Mother’s Day ‘20
“but there’s a story behind everything. how a “but there’s a story behind everything. how a picture got on a wall. how a scar got on your face. sometimes the stories are simple, and sometimes they are hard and heartbreaking. but behind all your stories is always your mother’s story, because hers is where yours begin.”⁣⁣
⁣⁣
i am 𝐄𝐫𝐢𝐜𝐚,⁣⁣
mother of 𝐊𝐚𝐞𝐯𝐨𝐧, 𝐊𝐚𝐦𝐫𝐲𝐧, and 𝐊𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐞.⁣⁣
#daughterof Angela,⁣⁣
granddaughter of Bernice,⁣⁣
great-granddaughter of Olivia,⁣⁣
great-great granddaughter of Lelia.⁣⁣
⁣⁣
sending infinite love to all the mamas + their daughters especially today.⁣
⁣
Mother’s Day ‘20.
“𝐰𝐞’𝐫𝐞 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞.” ⁣⁣ “𝐰𝐞’𝐫𝐞 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞.” ⁣⁣
⁣⁣
i worried about high school + girls, thinking of girls like me in high school. foremothers didn’t express specific stages to be leery of, but the inauguration, generally speaking, begins at 12. the year i became. “you’ll see” was the blanket advice to signify a future dance with karma + if i were smart, i would enroll in patience from early to help subside the side effects of puberty + adolescence. we are now one + two years away. i’ve had ample time to learn with some wiggle room left.⁣⁣
⁣⁣
i have trouble with surprises, meaning i have difficulty accepting things out of my control. so he says it slowly, as if to ensure i can swallow what‘s being offered. he tells me that those years have arrived. earlier than anticipated, but timely if i were attentive. this is motherhood. ⁣⁣
⁣⁣
this is here. where the classroom is expansive + changes often; where i am less of the professor + more of the pupil. this year’s course: 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘴𝘦𝘦𝘥𝘴, 𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵? watching him teach, i know that he will crack like the bark beside him, split like the branches before him, rise like the trees above him. i want to interject, raise my hands without being called on + shout out the answers, but one of the greatest lessons i learned when i took this class was courage. i won’t be far behind, but i won’t follow him too deep into the woods, because “if we’re always following our children into the arena…they’ll never learn that they have the ability to dare greatly on their own.” you’ll see.⁣⁣
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#slumomsweek (day 3: wisdom wednesday)⁣
#30layers30days(day 6: courage to leave)
“what can i do with my happiness? how can i keep “what can i do with my happiness? how can i keep it, conceal it, bury it where i may never lose it? i want to kneel as it falls over me like rain, gather it up with lace + silk, and press it over myself again.”
— anaïs nin
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