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E. Nichole

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01.02.2018

a letter to my daughter on her first birthday

letter 2 of 19.

to the little girl who has the power to transform energy when she rests her head on your chest; the one that kicks and screams when she can’t get her way—a hunger to go all out for her wants; my daughter who probably holds the record of Most Sesame Street Episodes Watched by a 1-Year-Old, on her the anniversary of her arrival: 

i told your father and your Godmothers that one of two things would occur during the first week of 2017; you would make your entrance into this world earlier than expected, or it would snow on the day of your baby shower.

you arrived 14 days early, the only one that broke the home that held you for 37 weeks and 6 days. there was a blizzard the day of your celebration, and at five days old, you were the guest of honor. i should have known from then that you were to be an unexpected kind of child, encompassing an element of surprise that would take everyone aback.

a letter to my daughter on her first birthday

just like your brothers, you were born in four hours in the same hospital they were birthed at, but unlike their deliveries, i spoke to you at every interval during your transition. i knew what to do this time around and trusted that the synchronization of our mother-daughter spirits would show itself during labor. when you carry a long-term prayer inside, there’s a peace you possess that makes labor feel effortless.

“your baby should be here a little before midnight, mommy.”

that would be in six hours. it’s already 6pm.

no, she’ll be here in the next hour.

it’s a confident kind of clapback that had the staff stare at me in the same way your father and i look at you when you do something confirming for us that your spirit roamed the Earth at one point in time.

confusion.

there’s no way this woman knows exactly when she’s going to have this baby.

anticipation.

wouldn’t it be incredible if she was right?

awe.

that a woman knew her baby strongly enough that she defied science and operated on the time of her body. 

so when i knew you were coming, i stayed silent until i needed feminine support around me. we’re a lot alike in that aspect–that need to demonstrate to others that we can do it all on our own. but girl, let me tell you, you will know about how divine and magical and necessary support from women is at some point in your life. you have (great) aunts for laughter, grandmothers for wisdom, and Godmommies for guidance. you have help. you have helped.

do you know that you sat with me in therapy?

i sat on the bathroom floor a few nights when i couldn’t pump enough, when i didn’t feel i was enough, and cried louder than you. but i needed more to be more for you, so bathroom isolation became joint collaborative sessions in a room with a therapist. you became startled hearing my cries, but i felt comfortable enough letting you see me like that.

07.04.2017
07.09.2017

because superheroes need saving, too. because my mother hid her pain thinking it would be consume me. but letting you see me at my most vulnerable wouldn’t be your story. Kairie, allowing you to see and hear that side would enlighten you to how strength is birthed and how it becomes you. if ever you were to see me as strong, know it’s been because you saw me in a small room trying to repurpose my trauma. trying to water my wounds with tears that would fall on you to help me bloom. security looks like you holding my finger with your own two during that initial session to signify that you got me.

so from beginning to end, it’s been me and you. every battle you fought as you squirmed your way out, was accompanied by a prayer to get through to you; to reach you and let you know that your mother was here. always would be. because you would, subsequently, be there for me.

i didn’t know then what i know now.

10.31.2017

and less than the hour, there you were. the first of my children that i held with vernix clothing you, impatient in wanting to feel the legs that kicked, stroke the arms that stretched, rub the back that rolled against the womb that held you first. i’ve never felt more powerful than i did then–more energized than exhausted with my bare breasts exposed. i didn’t want to cover up. because in that silencing space of blood and bodily fluid; in the quiet of the room without the snapping of photos to collect these memories that take residence in my head; i wanted you to know how beautiful it is was to give birth to you. there would be no embarrassment about the hairs that grow wildly on my skin; no dishonor in the rolls of my flesh; no shame in the sag of the same breasts that would feed you exclusively for six months straight. it’s funny that you kick off your shoes, snatch off your socks, stretch yourself out of your clothes in a way that mimics that moment. those four hours of bringing you to Earth, and the time thereafter. (i’m gon’ get to you stretching out clothes you ain’t pay for in the years ahead. wait on it.)

we all reenact that moment of being brought into this world as a gentle reminder to our psyches that the spaces we occupy and are most comfortable in, are for only a time. that everything is temporary, and that we were born to live without limitations and exist outside of confinement.

 

you just want to be free, baby girl. 

so free is what you are with your Daddy. i’m watching you now, brushing his hair. maybe he’s pretending, but the stroke of the bristles is putting him to sleep. maybe he’s fighting back tears because he’s always telling you how much he loves you with a shaky voice that breaks my heart sometimes. maybe his eyes are closed because he’s reminiscing on the day of your birth, as i often do. your Daddy looked at you as if this were all new for him, but held you a little bit closer than he did just a few doors down, nine years ago. he didn’t have that frightening look on his face, uncertain of how to hold a newborn, unsure of how to raise another human being when he was still learning how to love himself. no, on January 2nd–one year ago, today–he held on to you with such strength and security and softness that felt like heaven to me years ago. isn’t he comfy?

01.02.2017
01.02.2017

and since then, his arms have since become your safe haven, always reaching up for him to throw you in the air. to feel what it is to fly. to have your heart drop on the flight down and to be caught. to take the chances of falling over and over.

this is love, Kai.

highs and heart racing, fears of dropping and desires to do it all over again. the thrill of elevating, and the excitement in coming down, only to be held again. repeat, repeat, repeat. you’re learning the process of love through your Daddy.

he kisses you ‘later’ in the morning and you call for him for eight blocks before you realize that he’s gone.

Dada. Daddy. Daaa-da. Daaaddy!

but just for the day. because when night falls, you catch the depth of his voice inching closer through the house. and you scoot towards the edge of the bed, anticipating his face to yank his beard and crack up in laughter with your head tossed back. waiting to rub your face against the scruff of his check. you are teaching your Daddy new ways to love because you are love.

07.01.2017

01.03.2017

03.18.2017

love. you remind me so much of your brothers. equally. you hold a gentleness that is undoubtedly your oldest sibling. Kaevon is probably the only one to get the “girly” side of you. home alone, when my water broke, he was the first person i called, nervously. he delegated responsibilities and packed bags that i pushed off, thinking you would hold out a little longer. running through the apartment with newborn onesies that would be too big and breathing heavy as not to cry as a seven-year-old witnessing youtube videos become reality, he remained strong for me and for you.

that strength now translates to the times he grabs you close to him. to walk with you. to hug you. to dance and spin to whatever song is echoing in the space we live in. you lie your head on the cusp of his neck and clap your hands, excitedly, trying to catch the melody.

“this is for you, Kairie Marleigh!”

and you sway your little body to the rhythm of sounds reminiscent of the women who came before you in the caribbean. you’re at your best here. the essence of who you are shines with the help of your brother and dance.

07.22.2017

but when the cuddling is too much for you, you push him away and i get to see who you are with your older brother. with Kamryn, you’re far from soft. in fact, you initiate these wrestling matches that always result in a loud

don’t play with her roughly!

and he’ll always tell me that you started it, but you’re having fun. occasionally, i’ll hear a grunt or a whimper, but you always laugh. because he lets you take control over the narrative and i think you know this. you feel empowered in these moments.

he waves his white flag–a t-shirt lying around–and informs you that you won. you clap for yourself. we all gather around you and fill the house with a long yaaaaay!

do you know how inspiring that is, nena? i want you to understand how important it is to cheer for yourself because life has so many moments similar to those bouts with Kam that’ll toss you every which way. and your Daddy may not be there to catch you then, but you’ll be okay. because he survived the unimaginable and is still here. because your mother documents experiences to showcase resilience. you’re going to fight in every aspect throughout your journey, but in the end, clap for yourself because it’s in your blood to persevere.

“we won’t have to worry about her being afraid of anything when she gets older.”

04.16.2017

from Kamryn’s mouth, to God’s ears. 

from Samantha’s mouth, to God’s ears, here you are.

01.26.2017
03.08.2017
11.25.2017

04.08.2017

06.14.2017

07.04.2017

your mother’s desires and rage–whew, you have an attitude. your father’s temperament and light. your oldest brother’s compassion and sensitivity. your older brother’s genius and introverted nature. the sneakiness of both of them. your grandmothers’ personality. your grandfather’s observant silence. the face of your great-grandmothers. you are everything that we once were. you are everything we are in this present moment.

happy first year around the sun, monster. with tears, i still can’t take my eyes off of you.

xo

Mom (girl, why you still can’t say Momma?)

Filed Under: A Letter to My Daughter

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the miniature version of the blog.

“the instant of birth is exquisite. pain and joy “the instant of birth is exquisite. pain and joy are one at this moment. ever after, the dim recollection is so sweet that we speak to our children with a gratitude they never understand.”⁣
⁣
Kai’s 4th solar return.
did you know your sun, moon, and ascendant signs a did you know your sun, moon, and ascendant signs are that of your paternal grandmother, your maternal grandmother, your paternal grandfather? a wonderful amalgamation of the elements. this is no coincidence. four weeks before your 4th, someone would ask to see your photo + would say exactly what your daddy has mentioned since your birth: that you resemble both of your living great-grandmothers. your eyes spill the secret that you’ve been here before, living lives prior to this one. your face prominent and full tell me that you will have much to say in this lifetime. because you are of them, you will hold what you know in the cornerstones of your cheeks. let it sit there, knowing those who speak, do not know, and those who know, do not speak. your wisdom + how you teach will show up in other ways. ⁣⁣
⁣⁣
in the softness you possess + in the edginess of beings born this season. you are dual and yet, one. ⁣⁣
⁣⁣
in the smallness of your life + in reiterations from readers, i believe that the energies of our ancestors—both living and transitioned—never expire, only evolve. you are living proof that we are here to wake up from the illusion of separateness. you were always the reminder that we are already home. that heaven exists right here on earth. that the stars from above, in conjunction with the love of our parents, make us; that the people before us live within us.⁣⁣
⁣⁣
today, we celebrate your arrival from higher spaces to this one. the continuation of legacies + a love where there are no limits. thank you for choosing me. for simply being a projection of my own level of evolution. for the undefined, infinite joy born on an early evening of january 2, 2017 + beyond.⁣⁣
⁣⁣
𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐲 𝐛𝐢𝐫𝐭𝐡𝐝𝐚𝐲, 𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐞𝐤𝐬.
it’s hard to break down the depths of a connecti it’s hard to break down the depths of a connection like this. after a while, how do you put almost two and half decades of friendship into words? i’ve long expressed both the joy + struggle of rocking out with someone for this long. we’ve seen it all. and still in each battle, breakup, or new beginning, it is always you who’s there with me and vice versa. my gratitude goes beyond today to your mother i grew up afraid of. she was something like mine in many ways + we bonded over the strictness that is Black women raising daughters who did sneaky things in the name of finding freedom. in that, we knew that we were single souls in separate bodies. but today, it is these same women we thank for their ways when raising Kae, Kam, and Kai. what a beautiful thing to live some life + to know now what we didn’t know then. 

and there lives gratitude to your father. who drove us to school in the mornings and let us belt out or rap song lyrics in an eerie teenage pitch; harlem shake + be dramatic in his car to the place you probably hated most and i place i found safe. we split off in this way, our differences put to light, and yet, our friendship remained in tact. we got through because of one another.

shout out to your parents for your having you. for raising a Queen. for letting me be the sister you never had. for being the first person i call and never changing your intro: “what happened now?” for never changing your ending: “let me know what you need,” or “tell me if i have to drive down.” thank you for being a friend. my best friend. the perfect fusion of every golden girl there was. happy 33rd birthday, baby sis. don’t let me pull up today + you’re already wine-wasted, please and thank you.

xx,
e.
“if you and your father were closer, do you thin “if you and your father were closer, do you think his death would have caused you to spiral?”⁣
⁣
“yeah, absolutely.”⁣
⁣
how odd is it to want a deeper connection with someone, but also experience gratitude that it didn’t work out that way? i would revisit this conversation and takeaway in the months ahead up to the present time.⁣
⁣
in the days that followed, we grew—together and apart. at the end of spring, we realized it was time for us to become one with the seasons and go to counseling together in an attempt to revive the wilted parts of our relationship. i was living in the memory of what it was to be betrayed, the side effects of worst case scenarios lingering around in speech and sex. he always felt i was never truly over it. the body keeps the score. and in truth, as amplified in virtual sessions with a therapist, i wasn’t. i still held on to the memories of what led to our daughter’s birth and summer ‘18. the problem began with him, but i held on to it. this is how i avoid death—i extend expiration dates and hoard memories to keep them alive. i held on to his words, jotted down as reminders, bullet points, and saved audio notes for memoir writing:⁣
⁣
“how can you give up on something that’s always there?”⁣
“i got so comfortable in his existence. that’s why i lost him.”⁣
⁣
he spoke about other people, not knowing he was speaking of me.⁣
⁣
triggered and guilty, i went back to individual therapy…⁣
⁣
…ironically, on the next day, it would be the last time we’d speak. there was no blow up or argument—just a increase in our empathic abilities and an awareness that we weren’t aligned. for years, i’d hear him relay his granny’s words to our children, “who don’t hear, will feel,” and we heard everything we needed to about our connection through energy. sometimes, the hard work is already done on our behalf if we just lean into and accept the vibrations of a moment. i was learning to differentiate between the sound of intuition guiding me and trauma misleading me.”
⁣
‘sweet 16.’ new, on the blog + in the bio.
the first + only post for the year on 33 and 2020.
tw: death.⁣
⁣
(photo beautifully shot by: mann limburg)
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.⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣
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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.” ⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣
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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.⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣
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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. ⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣
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⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣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.”⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣
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+ 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.⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣
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the nurse who pulled her seat up to have this conversation, cut the silence of the ER to say, ⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣
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“𝐦𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐡𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡, 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐠𝐨𝐭 𝐝𝐚𝐦𝐧, 𝐁𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐦𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐢𝐭 𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐧 𝐢 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐢𝐦𝐚𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐝.”
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