Mrs. Morale

Over the past six months, I have been doing a shit ton of feeling as I set out to keep the promise that I made — no more playing it safe or small. It’s largely looked like talking myself off the ledge, phoning a friend (or therapist), speaking my truth to anyone in earshot, resting when exhausted, unpacking family dynamics, occupying space, sitting with my ugliest, most uncomfortable feelings and thoughts, and denying myself many familiar, indulgent patterns. You know, real glamorous, money where your mouth is, stuff. And I have to be honest, at the halfway marker of 2022, I am feeling really good about my progress. My next steps are clear and I’ve finally begun to wrap myself around the idea that real healing is unlearning all the things you are not.

For years I have self-identified as annoyed by nature. The smallest transgressions can get anyone blacklisted, cussed out, or cold shouldered. I used to attribute it to my lack of patience and an even smaller capacity for bullshit. The truth, though, is that I struggle to extend grace towards myself for my transgressions, so I find it impossible to empathize with yours. This journey has been eye-opening because it has become jarringly apparent how hard I am on myself because of the shortcomings of those who raised me. Their faults have become my own, crippling me from dreaming bigger and opening up to all that life could possibly offer. You never know how much you carry your father, who over-promised and under-delivered for you and himself, and your mother, who demonstrates her strength through silence, until you have to figure out why you can’t get out of your own way at 35 years old.

Today I say no more. Some days it manifests in the form of saying no thank you to someone’s son’s attention instead of intention. Or it is a serious matter (hi, DIVYNE35!). Other days it looks like demanding a raise at work. And still others it looks like choosing a 2-mile walk over McDonalds. It could mean binge watching a women’s basketball docuseries on Father’s Day instead of going to the cemetery as self-care. Or denying myself the designer handbag and bracelet I’ve been eyeballing to save for a down payment. But most days, it looks like putting one foot in front of the other and making a decision that my dreams and goals, and ultimately, my future self will thank me for.

While I have been grappling, and seemingly winning (if even quantifiable), within the juxtaposition between the person I am, the person I say I am, and the person I want to be, I’ve found the sweet spot is trying to remain present. This allows me to celebrate the progress, dig deeper, and ultimately keep it pushing. Slow progress is still progress, and this post almost brushed right by this simple, but hella complicated truth because your girl hasn’t slept in days. Yet, as my brilliant bestie (thank you, Gia!) pointed out, intersectionality convinces us that we have to be all things simultanesouly without creating space for each experience. No ma’am.

We can talk about the overturning of Roe v. Wade, the continual attack on our civil liberties by the cisgendered, heterosexual-presenting white man, and the resistance another day. Today we will take a moment to bask in all the work done and celebrate me.