Sunday, July 17, 2016

Dear God...

I am writing to you today, not because of any one personal need that I have as an individual, but because I have witnessed your unfailing love and total commitment to my life for many years now. Your faithfulness to me cannot be rivaled by anyone else on earth. For that I want to say thank you.

God, I am writing this letter about the state of my country America. I will admit that I am not a patriot as some would be. I am not consumed with the colors of the flag nor am I enamored by the tales of how this country was established because hidden history has been revealed and revived and lives to tell its story. The truth is my ancestors, both Native Americans and Africans, are the story. Because of this, I find it hard to pretend that we are not standing on the remains of those who were here first. We have built highways and shopping malls over the trail of tears. We have turned plantations into quaint inns and banquet halls. We mock the murdered by distracting tourists with t-shirts and coffee mugs. But this is not the America that so concerns me on a daily basis.

I am writing to you about Christian America. The select set of citizens who wear crosses and gather on Sundays to worship. The people who claim to know you intimately and take communion to remember your suffering for us all. I am concerned God, truly concerned by the double standards, the mixed messages, the lack of love for fellow man, the anger and racial tension that abides deep within those who claim to be your people.

It seems as though your teachings have been replaced by the need for political power and the lust that comes as a result of a long standing adulterous affair with weapons and war.

Murder has become acceptable and division a way of life. There are now sympathizers of Cain and a calculated response to his rights for killing Abel, only with modern day scenarios.

Holy Scripture is used for waging war against anyone who doesn’t look or act “American” and some Christians wish silently for an ethnic cleansing by openly supporting those who will attempt to carry this out.

Dear God, I have two well-mannered educated sons who have a bright future. But even if their manners weren't so polished and their education not complete, they still deserve to live.

I have a daughter who is the promising jewel of our family with great hopes and the ability to change her generation. But even if she didn’t always act promising and refused to carry the mantle for her generation, she still deserves to live.

I have raised my children well God, all with your help and guidance. I have raised them to be Christians and now I’m not so sure what American Christianity means or what it stands for. I feel as though we have bought into a construct that has nothing to do with you because it is being used in direct opposition to who you are. I feel betrayed. Not by America, our relationship started with betrayal but by Christian America who pretended at first that we love the same God and then deserted me for political power and a false sense of freedom, only to side with the murderers of the innocent speaking on behalf of Cain instead of mourning Abel…

Gracious Father, please intervene, heal our hearts and our minds. Deliver us from evil and heal our land by way of a mass repentance. It’s the only way back to you Lord.

Love Always,

Your Daughter & Descendant of Eve…

Wednesday, July 6, 2016

When someone says "I believe in you"

Recently I sent a letter out to a group of friends in order to receive support for a program that I’ve developed called EMPOWER ME TO READ AND WRITE! This was a difficult task for me because it involved a request for help with funding my project. Asking for funding help is not my strong suit. Asking for anything is rather difficult for me period. Still, I felt led to send this letter, so I did it afraid.  Here’s what happened…

Words of affirmation reached my heart:

“I believe in you.”
“I’m proud of you.”
“I support you.”
“You’re doing wonderful work!”

Those words were sent along with financial support. I cannot tell you how amazing it feels to be validated this way. I wasn't expecting such a response. Perhaps I’m a bit jaded because life has been tougher than usual lately and when we are faced with persistent challenges during hard seasons, our perspective for good ever coming our way becomes clouded with doubt. That doubt manifests itself as a huge roadblock which seems impossible to get around particularly if it’s never met with a frightening leap of faith.

Maybe we are most afraid of taking risks because it leaves us completely vulnerable to being rejected or ignored. Maybe it feels safer never knowing if someone is in your corner if you don’t ask for their help. Whatever the case, I’m starting to believe that the perfect antidote for such fear is pushing past all the apprehension and asking for what you need, butterflies and all.

Lately, I live with a lot of butterflies in my stomach because everything that I’ve known to be the norm for me is turning upside down and I have no choice but to learn this new path that is being paved for me. My program is living proof. I work with children to ignite a sense of love and passion for literacy and when I step into a classroom, I never know if my ideas and methods will work but somehow, by the end of class, I have managed to get their attention and actually get the students engaged. But the butterflies stay because there is always a next time and a next class.

What propels me to keep going is the fact that I love what I do and who I do it for.
But what gives me wings…are the words of affirmation spoken by friends.

“I believe in you”

Tuesday, May 24, 2016

The heart of a swimmer in the frame of a Mosquito…

I can recall my earliest memory of jumping in over my head literally, when I was five years old. My family and I were visiting with friends who had a pool in their backyard. It was above ground and the older kids were entrusted with the younger ones to keep us safe.

My oldest sister Monica, eight years above me, had the job of carrying me around on her back so that I could take part in the water fun. After tolerating me for a while, there may have been some misbehaving on my part, she sat me on the side of the pool and told me to stay put while they played without me. I sat on the edge of the pool watching the independence of the older kids and envying their every move for all of five seconds, which felt like an eternity. Just when I could not take being benched any longer, I jumped in on my own and began to sink to the bottom while flailing. At first, the gang had no idea that I even entered the water. I was so small that I couldn't even muster an alarming splash to warn anyone. My nickname was Mosquito, so that should explain my size and inability to create a proper ruckus when my jump occurred. It wasn't until I grabbed my sister’s leg on my trip to the bottom of the pool, did they even notice me missing. She quickly grabbed me up and brought me to surface. I scared the crap out of everyone. After gasping for air, being told on and whisked away from all the fun, I decided that jumping in unannounced didn’t exactly get me what I wanted. I wanted to join in on the games but all I got was scared, a nose full of water, in big trouble and locked in my mom’s maternal worry grip for a while instead.

This is where I should tell you that I never jumped again…

Fast forward about 10 years, when a couple of my sisters and I decided to drive out to the suburbs to go swimming in the heat of the summer at a community pool. We arrived, paid our money and entered the pool ground. After being flooded with stares, we were obviously not part of the neighborhood, we sat down and tried to muster up the courage to actually swim with these strangers. I should mention that we were not good swimmers, in fact we were still learning. These children seemed to have had lessons and access to a pool all of their lives. We just loved the water.

My mother got me started with the notion that I could actually stay alive in a pool when she began to teach me how to kick and push away from the edge while we were on vacation in Florida staying at a Days Inn. It was the 70’s and black children were not exactly making Olympic swimming history then but we were unaware that this was even a problem since my mother seemed so confident that we would be able to swim. We did get called the “n” word while in the process of learning that day and one of my sisters got pretty pissed and shouted “YOU get out of the pool then!”  We kept right on splashing and trying. That may have been the beginning of my fearless pursuit of being treated with respect as well as becoming a swimmer.

After sitting there on the side of the suburban pool in the scorching heat for a while, I noticed that most of the kids were constantly lining up for the high diving board. They seemed so excited to climb the tall ladder and jump off with their various forms, making really good attempts to point their arms properly and glide into the deep just so. After a few seconds they would resurface and swim to the edge of the pool to line up again. I became fixated on how easily they handled this feat. My fixation turned to curiosity and before I knew it, I was in line to climb the ladder to jump off of my very first diving board (the high dive that was probably used for competition) along with all the other kids. I ignored their stares. Some kids were actually being nice allowing me to go ahead of them. I took each step with such outward confidence that even I was beginning to believe that I would make it through my dare-devil attempt gracefully. My heart sounded like the clock just before the TNT explodes in the Warner Bros. cartoons, but it was too late. I was already at the top and it was my turn. I had no earthly idea what I was doing and yet, true to Bonita form, I was doing it anyway. I walked to the edge of the diving board, curled my body forward, mimicking what I had seen, pointed my arms above my head and essentially fell into the water at a harrowing speed. I pierced the water and began heading straight toward the bottom of 12 feet nonstop before I realized that I did at least know how to point my arms and torso upward and surface to the top. Once above water, I began making my way to the side of the pool with absolutely no form and crawled out onto the pavement feeling incredibly lucky to be alive. I refused to make eye contact with anyone and ignored my sister’s remark of me being completely crazy when I sat back down.

 It was my first and only diving experience. And when I told the story later…I nailed it.

I’m sitting here laughing at that memory and the complete irony that inside of me today is still that leaping kid, eager to find out if I can do what I’ve never been able to do before, on a dare only to myself. I still don’t want to miss out on the fun. I still don’t want to sit on the side lines and wait. I still don’t understand why them and not me?

In my adult life I DO NOT recommend jumping into deep water without knowing how to swim in the literal sense. However, I do recommend it as it pertains to life’s goals. Sometimes, you just have to try what you don’t know and figure it out in the process. Sometimes, if you wait too long for everything to feel just right, you miss out. Sometimes, it’s more about having heart than experience. And yes, sometimes there will be people who will call you ugly names in the process of your own self daring efforts in order to intimidate you. Just look them straight in the eye and let them know that your journey is just as valuable as theirs’ and you’re not going anywhere!

No wonder the ‘Nike’ brand uses their “Just Do It” slogan so well. The ads create a synergistic oxymornic mix of contemplative impulsivity within, resulting in an outward leaping forward to challenge yourself.  JUST DO IT! GO FOR IT! IT’S YOURS IF YOU WANT IT!!

I’m a much improved swimmer these days and I practice in the summer season often. But I still do it my way, preferring swimming underwater to the traditional above water breast stroke. I love being completely submerged, eyes wide open and challenging myself to make it to the end of a lap without coming up for air until I finish. My form can use a bit of work and I see better swimmers with faster speed than I have all the time, but I refuse to stop and compare their journey to mine.

Being in the water is my way of challenging myself to be better at something that I have come to love so much. I was never supposed to make it past the first impulsive jump but I did.

In my writing, teaching, performing and living in general, I just want to make my own signature splash in this world and come up smiling big, feeling satisfied and inspiring others before the sun sets, the Lifeguard’s whistle blows and it’s time for me to get out of the pool for good.

Maybe, none of us are ever meant to sit on the edge and watch everyone else splash and have a good time. Maybe, inside of all of us, is a great big daring heart beating behind what feels like a tiny mosquito frame. I have two words for you if that’s you:

Just leap…

Friday, April 1, 2016

Love's a Beach...

It’s been months since I’ve blogged. The other day I wrote my first poem of the year (I believe) and it’s March. I’ve let my creative side slip into a small coma while trying to figure out the meaning of my life in this season and why I am the way I am. Ironically, I need writing to sort through those things. I need writing to breathe deeply into the lungs of my inner soul and then exhale into the atmosphere with punctuation and symbolisms. I need metaphors like a cat needs a ball of yarn to keep her active and playful. And yet, I laid it down to sort through my heart. Interesting.

My youngest son and I just returned from the beach for a four day getaway to stay in a private cottage. It belongs to friends and it is beautiful in every way. It’s homey and crisp, well decorated and relaxing. The island feels like home when I visit and I have secretly moved into the neighborhood in my dreams.

 Once on the beach, Tim (my son) started running. This is my child that is glued to something electronic every day and who has to be reminded to go outside and ride his bike at least once a day. This is my introvert child number two, so by now I know what it looks like. But this day, he took off like a gazelle, all six feet of him, running toward the ocean and then back to me. He looked amazing. He had perfect form and he looked like he should be in the Olympics, at least for beach running. He did this a few times and then, after running toward me said: “I like to practice my running on the beach.” I smiled and said: “Looks good T, you look real good running.”

My child, who is on the Autistic spectrum didn’t squabble about how often this can or cannot happen, since we don’t live near the ocean. He simply shifted into this free beach runner spirit and took off. My mom guilt began to wonder if I was harboring the next Usain Bolt in the suburbs of North Carolina instead of moving him to the beach to let him run free. My slight panic coupled with a quick prayer: “God if this kid needs to move to the beach to become the next Usain Bolt, please let it happen…”

As time went on Tim asked: “Think maybe I can take my shirt off now?” He was ready to shed his civilian land wear for the bare chested beach bod, be it ever so thin. “Umm, I’d give it a bit to warm up.” Cautious mom, ever cautious mom. I sat there in a beach chair in my bathing suit and cover up zipped until the sun assured me that it was going to do its job that day. After two days of rain, I needed more assurance than a half hour appearance. Tim said okay and went about splashing in the ocean, trying to build a mote, creating sand art, running etc… I thought to myself, you know you did something right when your kids love the ocean. I read and watched him for a while and learned a lot about living on your free side from my son that day.

I realized that life, love and relationship can often be a wonderful experience, no an amazing experience, when you allow yourself the pleasure of taking off with wild abandon and enjoying the scenery and breathing the air in big deep swallows. I learned that just because you live in the suburbs far away from the ocean, doesn’t mean that you can’t allow yourself the privilege to run free from time to time. I learned that the journey to freedom may be a 4.5 hour car ride and having your GPS take you off the main road to save time, but it’s worth it. I also learned that you need a willing participant, if you so choose not to journey this life alone, to allow you to be you and take your shirt off to run on the beach.

My mom nature would ask Tim: “Why are you carrying dirt into the ocean?” To which he would reply: “It’s not dirt, it’s sand” and keep walking with handfuls that he would drop into the water. I thought it was odd, he didn’t care.

At some point, it was warm enough to shed his t-shirt and me my cover up. This made him feel freer, me too actually. I had given permission to enjoy the elements without limit and he was happy. I was too. I sat there now allowing myself to be covered in exquisite warmth and my mood shifted from cautious mom, to relaxing mom.

This made me think of relationships of a non-maternal nature:

When you’re in relationship with someone who just wants to enjoy the full experience, no matter how cautious you are, no matter how many rules you have and how dangerous vulnerability feels, allowing them the freedom to be their full authentic selves in front of you, without limitation is a gift. It’s a gift that you benefit from as well because you will relax and receive an enormous amount of love and affection given by someone who is willing to share.

If someone loves you, wants to spend time with you and likes your warmth and embrace, continually fending them off to keep yourself safe only deprives you of one of the greatest experiences you can be having.

If you are afraid of love, relationship, commitment, fear of getting hurt etc… you’re afraid of life.

Life is messy and wonderful and necessary. Let the one who loves you run free with the sun on their shoulders towards you. Allow them in, not to extract from your life but to add to it the joy of being cared for. They were sent to you for a reason and you are a gift to them as well, you make them feel like they just set foot on the sandy shores of life and now they can take off and be free. You allow them the beauty of giving to you from the heart without question.

Allowing a true lover to love you is like letting an artist paint without limitation or a writer to write all the time with endless vocabulary.

It brings new life to weary souls who just want to fulfill their God given purpose to love unconditionally.

Isn't that worth taking a chance?

My dad told me once when I was young, that I wore my heart on my sleeve too much. My response today would be: “But isn't it beautiful to look at? It’s so full of love Dad…”

Thursday, December 31, 2015

Failing Forward on Purpose...

Small confession:  I don’t particularly care for New Year’s celebrations.

First off, if I’m going to stay up until midnight (not a night owl here) I need it to be a quiet and easy transition into the New Year.  It’s just my personal preference that brings a kind of realistic expectation of things to come from one calendar year to another. No resolutions for me thank you, just a grateful understanding that God is still consistently the same as always.

 In God there is no space or time.  God created time. Time does not bind the Creator. Because of this, I have no new expectation from God because God does not change. I do however expect a new revelation of God and what He wants for me.

 So what are all of these decrees, declarations and resolutions about?

I would imagine that these are desires to see new things take place in our lives that have not happened before. What I’ve come to understand is that the “new thing” comes only when I am open to changing within, not with the changing of the year.

When I resolve to understand that my past mistakes are necessary for my future success, then I am making a ‘resolution’ to move forward in wisdom and understanding.  This thinking eliminates for me, the need to expect an outward newness to appear out of nowhere, because I understand that change only occurs from a desire to change.  There is no magic involved.

When it comes to the concept that I must leave all bad things from the previous year in order to enjoy a new year, I disagree. I need to remember the lessons from my mistakes in order to avoid making them again. I need to remember my failures the way that a small child needs to remember that fire is hot to keep from getting burned. I can however, forgive myself for making such mistakes so that I don’t attach a permanent label of failure to my life.

When you think of it, short term failure is not all that bad. Ask any inventor or athlete. Ask anyone who has ever had a dream that began with small efforts that failed until they achieved success.

 Failure can be a launching pad if we allow it to be.

My failures have always, always been relational. I’ve gained wisdom in so many other areas in my life but when it comes to relationships…well, I just kind of stumble through them haphazardly trying to get them right. Each year I make a tiny bit of progress hoping for more. Each year I end up with a list of things that I need to remember not to do again. I’m becoming an expert at ‘failing forward’ in this area. 

Instead of decreeing that I’ll have great relationships in 2016 however, I’d rather quietly ask for wisdom on how to navigate through the difficulties of understanding and relating to the people that are in my life on a deeper level.  You see, the wisdom has always been available I just needed to ask for it, again no magic here.

Whatever area you need growth in for the coming year, asking for wisdom is the key.  James 1:5 is one of my favorite scriptures to date: “If any of you lacks wisdom let him ask God who gives to all liberally and without reproach, and it will be given to him. NKJ

If you choose to celebrate the new year with a crowd, blowing streamers and dancing the night away or at a church service or a quiet party of one, enjoy and remember that what you expect to change this coming year, can only come when we make the effort to ask for wisdom and guidance, whether it’s at 11:59 pm tonight or next Tuesday at noon, there is no deadline.

 And again…no magic.

Happy New Year

Friday, November 13, 2015

The gift of being "Okay"...

Last week, I attended an informational workshop on Youth Mental Health.  The sessions were informative to say the least and eye opening in so many ways. One of the biggest takeaways for me was what people with bipolar disorder and schizophrenia go through on a daily basis and what it’s like to hear constant voices in your head telling you that you should harm yourself or others.

One man’s account via video was so intense that I wanted to leave the room at some point and cry. His name is Keith and he had been suffering from bipolar disorder for years when the voices in his head finally convinced him that he should throw himself off of the Golden Gate Bridge. At one point he recalled that while he was on the bus on the way to the bridge, he decided that if one person asked him if he was okay, one person, he would tell them his whole life story and what he was planning to do. He didn’t want to die but he felt immensely outnumbered by the voices in his head.

Not one person asked him if he was okay that day. The voices won and Keith threw himself over the side of the bridge, shattered the bones in his legs all the way up to his torso because of the impact from meeting the water…and did not die. He did not die. In fact, a sea lion brushed up against his legs as he was rising to the surface of the water. After being rescued, Keith now had to figure out how to live. It would take much therapy, medication and counseling but he’s alive to tell his story today.

This man now lives to tell others about what it’s like to have bipolar disorder and how to live with it. The bonus, he met his wife (who was visiting a friend) while he was in the psych ward. They are a dynamic couple that travel and speak on the subject together.

At one point during the workshop we had to break up into groups and act out what it’s like to have voices talking to you constantly. Three of us were carrying on a conversation while one person “the whisperer” had to whisper negative words in one person’s ear. Words like: “don’t trust her, she’s lying, they’re trying to get you…” I opted out of being the whisperer or its victim both times that we did the exercise. Although it was a powerful demonstration, I couldn't take part in those particular roles personally. 

Here’s why

I know what it’s like to hear negative voices in my ears. And if you’re telling the truth, so do you. I believe we all do. It’s common to have to fight off lies and accusations and put downs on a more constant basis than we care to admit. It doesn’t necessarily mean that we are all bipolar. It simply means that we are dealing with the manifestation of negative seeds sown into us at one point or another.  It’s so common that we have self-help books, seminars and life coaches to help us overcome such negative voices. While it is true that the majority of people have not experienced suicidal or homicidal voices (and if you are reading this and you have, there is much help for you) most of us have heard negative put downs and self- deprecating noise throughout our life.

In my own experience, I have fought off three words for as long as I can remember: “You are unlovable.” That’s it, plain and simple. I know where it came from, I know when it started but I didn’t know how to overcome it on my own. So on my best day, I was not okay. With family or friends surrounding me, I was not okay. Having a significant other in my life did not change the mantra, it only intensified it and made me try harder to be what I felt I truly could not be, lovable.

The change

The month of October was an intensified cleansing of the heart mind and soul for me. It was painful and devastating. I started losing weight, more than usual (not a bad side effect) but my sleep was sporadic.

Why? Because my relationship with God as my father had finally come to the place where he wanted to take me back to the beginning of where those negative seed-words were planted. He wanted to dig through the soil of my soul and uproot them but it would cause enormous distress at times. I knew this had to be done if I ever wanted to be fully emotionally healthy and also, if I ever wanted to be a light in someone else’s darkness.

So there we went, God and I, to the basement of my soul, digging beneath the cracked foundation in the dirt of my early beginnings. We would make this journey several times during that month and each time something different would be dug up and revealed. I would cry, shake, wake up in the middle of the night calling out to Him and each time, His peaceful presence would be there reassuring me that all would be well. God was silencing the voices of shame, rejection and accusation at a very crucial time in my life, the time when I truly want to be lovable.

The other side

Today, approximately 30 days later and about 1,000 pounds lighter on the inside, being “okay” never felt so good. The sense of peace, freedom, joy and curiosity about my future that I’m experiencing is unprecedented in my life. I have never been here before. It’s a good place, a warm and natural place and I am forever grateful for the pain that it took to get here.

Sometimes I’m by myself but I’m okay. Sometimes I’m tired and have too much to do in one day but I’m okay. I don’t feel like life is going to break me or steal from me anymore. I don’t sense that my walk with God has to resemble me in a wheel chair while He’s pushing me. I’m okay with the ups and downs that come my way. If I need to cry or grieve a loss, I can do so knowing that while weeping does endure for a night, joy will come in the morning. I don’t have to pretend to be fine anymore, I am fine and when I’m not…fine is not far off.

 I know that it’s only been a short time but I can finally handle life on life’s terms and that is something that I have never been able to do. The sense of heaviness from feeling alone in the world has lifted. I feel God’s presence on a deeper more intimate level. I am not invincible, I’m simply accompanied by God’s strength and peace in a more tangible way.

 I’m still sensitive, tender hearted and full of compassion for the suffering that we witness in the world but I know that the suffering won’t always overcome me. I’m okay with my directive to intercede and exhort. The prophetic is not a debilitating cloak but a mantle that I honor in humility. I don’t know the details of my future word for word but I’m okay with knowing that God has planned my life without the aid of my micro-management.

Most of all, the thing that I’ve longed to feel for a long time is AMAZINGLY evident to me now…  
I am lovable and worthy of honest, giving and fulfilling love. Nothing else will do. 
If that doesn’t cause my soul to do cartwheels, nothing else will…

Thank you Abba

One of the most important things that you can do when suffering from depression or signs of mental health issues is to reach out. Life can be traumatic but you do not have to suffer alone in silence. If you can see yourself in Keith’s story of bipolar schizophrenia, reach out. Ask for help from the closest person to you and don’t stop until you get what you need. Fight to live because you are needed in this world. You may be the answer to someone else’s problem one day. But first take steps to take care of you.

If you can relate to my personal story of feeling unlovable and rejected throughout your life, know this: You are divinely loved by a living God who calls your name and reaches for you daily. Answer Him, it will change your life. Tell people that you trust that you need love, prayer and support. Watch the miraculous happen in the midst of a common struggle.

 Feel free to contact me through this blog if you need to. I’m here.
Peace be with you…

Monday, September 28, 2015

Accepting that I am simply ‘Too Much’

If you’ve ever found yourself sitting in a movie theater sobbing while the credits are rolling and trying to picture the story line beyond the carefully chosen ending, or reading the same paragraph in your favorite fiction novel over and over again because it spoke to your soul, or found yourself using the phrase “spoke to my soul”, than it is likely that you may be a too much person like me.

We too much people feel deeply about things that may never affect us and are usually bottomed out emotionally by things that actually do touch our lives.

We love like it’s nobody’s business and we run like the wind when the threat of pain seems evident.

We enjoy deep rich ground breaking laughter and relish a good heaving cry, sometimes simultaneously.

Too much people write sappy love letters with no prospect of ever getting one in return and we don’t care. Okay, we care but we don’t let it stop us.

When we cook and feed our loved ones we look at the expressions on their faces at the dinner table (especially Holidays) to make sure that every bite is pure pleasure.

We can never hear or say “I love you” too much. In fact, we know that we will never get our fill of those words and cease the expectation from others.

We don’t just like sunsets, we have to write about them, photograph them, sing about them all while basking in them.

Too much people aren't just creative, we’re incomplete without creativity.

And by the way, we simply don’t fit in to the normal world. We can’t be normal and that’s where it all gets a bit messy…

I discovered that I was a too much person when I was a little girl. I cried too loud and too much. I laughed too loud and too much. I felt too deeply and too much and it depressed me immensely because I knew that I would always have a problem interacting in the normal world.

I started writing poetry when I was about 11 years old. I needed an escape from reality that painted pictures that I could only dream of. My romantic side came straight out of every movie that I saw and I rehearsed my happy endings daily in my mind. I was feeding my too much nature at rapid speed and it kept me cocooned in my own world and away from my dreaded reality as much as possible.

I grew up in a city where being tough and knowing how to show it meant everything. I tried to fake my way through bullies and fights by acting tough but the real me was always crying profusely inside. Mean spirited-ness hurt me deeply. I didn’t fit in my city because I didn’t have what it took to fight my way through it.

I knew when I was young that if I was ever going to survive and protect my heart and meet the most sensitive Knight in shining armor that ever lived, I would have to move far, far away, like Paris or Monterey. So I moved to Delaware in the 80’s. Today, I currently live in North Carolina…close enough.

I gave up my fairy tales in my twenties and went along with the normalcy of life for as long as possible. Every so often my too much-ness would eek out in the form of a poem, a dance or a good cry but I knew that it couldn’t navigate my course under such normal circumstances. Deep abiding love eluded me and only showed up in my dreams and I gave myself a pass on the happy ending instead, I settled for a good night’s sleep as a young mom.

I’ll spare you the rest of the gory details of being too much and trying to fit in at church, work, my children’s schools, the suburbs and so on. If you are a too much person, you know how that worked out.

Fast forward to now. It’s a year before my fiftieth birthday, my children are nearly grown, I’m divorced and the scary menopause dragon’s hot fiery breath doesn’t even scare me anymore. “Bring it on!” I yell with a clenched fist. “I can handle it!” It is now time to allow the real me, the too much me to live before it’s too late.

With more funerals than weddings under my belt, I’ve decided not to waste my time being someone that I am absolutely not. I’ve decided that God likes me…a lot. I’ve decided to be that mom that tells her kids she loves them all the time, even when they wish she wouldn't. I blog about my life in order to make my connection with the rest of the world stronger. My prayer life consists of one endless conversation with God on a daily basis. I cook with love. Cry often and laugh deeply when life calls for it.

The hardest thing is taking part in the pain and suffering of others, even when I don’t know them personally. Waking up feeling someone else’s grief is quite taxing, yet it goes along with the territory.

I avoid large crowds even when I’m in them by focusing on my destination and not faces because I can read faces and sometimes what I read is not so pleasant. My bedroom is my sanctuary where books and music have free reign. My closet is literally my prayer closet and has seen its share of travail. I don’t just love the ocean, I need it to feel alive and to write. I have a travel bucket list as long as my arm. And I still dream of happy endings but I’ve decided to make those happy endings a daily occurrence whenever possible.

I have no idea what the future holds for me as far as Knights in Armor are concerned, so I let the little girl in me dream big dreams before drifting off to sleep at night. After all, she needs the validation of knowing that being a too much little girl can lead to being an awesome too much woman…

Too all of my too much friends, don’t ever conform to the tendency of normal. Your tears are needed, your heart is needed, your lovingly prepared meals are needed and your overbearing too much love is needed in this world. You are not broken, so please stop all attempts to fix you and just continue being the too much you that you are, for all our sakes.

With more love than you can imagine,

Your Bare Foot Poet Friend