As with most holidays lately, I spent this Mother’s Day coaxing my emotions.  I woke up feeling peaceful and happy.  The Little One, Bralynn Jamila, woke me up with her mild yet eager voice saying, “Happy Mother’s Day, Mommy!”  She handed me a card which her dad took great pleasure in watching me cry through.  But that moment of peace didn’t last.  As soon as I was alone again, I immediately began to miss my mother.  This was the second Mother’s Day without her.  I was lonely for her and sad.  So I decided to visit her grave site.

I nearly talked myself out of it a couple of times.  Then I realized that I had not gone on Mother’s Day the year before (successfully convinced myself that it wasn’t necessary).  The flowers I purchased, rode around with me in my truck for an entire year.  It was those flowers that made me decide to go visit her.

As Bralynn slept in the back seat, my husband and I ventured to the site.  I was uncomfortable.  You see, I have a hard time grasping that I’m actually visiting my mother there because she is NOT there.  She’s always with me.  I know that!  I feel her energy holding me, supporting me.  But for some strange reason, I felt the need to go see the cement stone that marks the place where we laid her to rest.   I’d left the one year old flower in the truck and needed to go back to the site before we left.  I asked Brad if he mind if I went alone. 

As I took steps to the grave site, I could feel the universe moving in some way.  I knew that I was being lifted from one emotion to the next.  It wasn’t an assumption.  It was a physical movement.  By the time I got to Mama’s tomb stone for the second time that day, I fell to my knees beside it. 

“Oh Mama!”  I could utter no other words.  I began to pray and before I realized what I was even saying, I heard myself saying, “Thank You God!” 

In this life, very little is certain.  We have no idea where we are going or why we are going there.  We have very little insight into our purpose, for the most part.  We just live.  But there is one thing that is certain without any doubt.  We all have one mother.  There is one woman who gives us life.  No matter what the relationship turns into with your mother, you only have one and there is never any question about that.

Since my mother’s transition, I have found it difficult to hear from women who don’t cherish their mothers.  Now, I’m not judging.  I realize that no one is perfect.  I know that there are women who bare children who shouldn’t.   I know there are women who aren’t “good” mothers.  I have met women who are not very good at making the right decisions for their children.  That’s ok.  We are human.  But not having my mother around has taught me that the relationship between a mother and her child is very precious.  It should not be taken for granted.  We get do-overs in many areas of life.  You will never get a do-over with your mother.  You can’t replace her with someone else.  The one who carried you is the one you get.

I wasn't the best daughter.  In fact, I gave my poor, sweet mother all the hell I could muster in high school.  I’m sure that it was only her prayers and faith in God that kept me alive; not to mention graduate.  I tried to run as far away from her as I could after my father passed away.  Funny that now, as a mother, I understand her strategy better than I did then.  Back then, I thought she didn’t love me because it seemed that she didn’t notice that I was breaking curfew, drinking, partying, fighting, getting involved with a gang.  I wondered what kind of mother doesn’t pay attention to her child being wild and fast in the streets.

I went through a streak of terrible choices.  I was in detention more than the detention teacher.  I was so close to expulsion that it’s embarrassing.  But then one day, I knew I’d pushed her as far as she was willing to go.  I came home and told her that I was suspended, again.  This was probably the third time in one year – my senior year.  Before now, when I came home with news such as this, she just kind dropped her head and quietly left the room.   This time though, while I expected her reaction to be the same, she flipped.

“I don’t know what to do with you”, she cried.  “You know if your daddy was here, you would not be acting like this, Funmi.”  “What am I suppose to do?”  She then uttered the words that changed the course of my life.  “If you that grown and you cannot follow my rules, you can get the hell outta my house.”

WOW!  I’m the baby.  I’ve heard her say that to my brothers before.  But I’d never heard her say that to my two older sisters.  I thought she hated me.  I managed to finish high school.  I enrolled in college.  By 16, I was out of the house and I never returned to live under my mother’s rules.  I was grown in my opinion.  But now I realize that I was still a baby.  In fact, at 39, I am still a baby.

Sometimes mothers have to make hard decisions.  It’s not the easiest thing to do when you have to let your child go fully aware that life's going to beat the crap out of them.  Mother's know when their child is ready for life and when they aren't.  It’s a great struggle. I wasn't ready for life, but life was ready for me.  So, I did what many daughters do.  I ran out into the world and did a lot of messing up.  Fortunately, my mother was able to see me make a turnaround before her earthly life ended.  It took a long time but I managed to get myself together.

I realized, as I stood next to Mama's grave, that while I miss my mother’s presence, I am very thankful for the lessons she taught me; the tough love she gave to me.  She allowed me to make my own mistakes - and they were plenty.  She allowed me to create my own path whether she agreed with my choices or not.  I’m sure if she could, she would have stopped me from moving in with my boyfriend at 17 – who later turned out to be abusive.  I’m sure, if she could, she would have stopped me from dropping out of college.  I’m sure if she could have, she would have stopped me from quitting a very good job in Atlanta to move back to Mississippi.  But she couldn’t.  Rather, she wouldn’t.  She knew she was raising a girl to one day be a woman.  The tough choices are a part of life.  I thank The Creator for a mother with enough love for me to let go and let me find my own way.  Even through the cuts and bruises, I survived and I grew strong. 

This Mother's Day helped me realize just how thankful I am for my mother.  Not just the regular way that kids say "thanks, mama".  I'm thankful for Mary E. Spencer being born and for bringing me into this world.  I am thankful specifically for MY mother.  She was a very special woman with immeasurable stregnth.  I know this because I tried her and she never broke.  She stood tall after death stole her son and her husband.  She stood tall when she had to teach herself how to run a household; learn a skill/trade; learn how to be a father and mother to an unruly child.  She was/is my idea of what a mother should be.  I was fortunate enough to get well into my 30’s before I had to learn to live without her.  But, because of her choices, I am here and I am able to see my daughter as my mother saw me.  I am thankful for that opportunity.  I am thankful for the love and the bond that we share, still.  She is remains with me and I hope she never leaves.  But, I know that if I can’t feel her, I can go to the grave site and visit where I last saw her.  If for no other reason, but to say – thank you!

Keeping an eye and spirit open for universal signs of life, has become like taking deep breaths for me.  I've learned to accept that nothing is by chance and all things are designed to create the path we follow.  But, even after recognizing this, it still took me a while to notice that even a by-chance encounter; or, a message left on a wall; or, even a commercial can all mean something to the right person, willing to receive it at the right time. 

I was met with the brisk breeze of fresh air pushing against my skin.  I lay on the couch trying to take a nap as I often do whenever I receive a random couple of hours free of The Little One.  The back door was open which meant that my husband had made it home and he was out back feeding the dogs.  Something whispered to me as I tried to ignore the urge to get up, “Go see.”  I got up and went to the back door, but my husband wasn’t there.  Neither was our golden retriever/lab, Sheeba.  She often takes off for a run around the block if she gets a chance.  He always runs after her even when I insist that he doesn’t have to, she’ll return once she’s gotten her fill of exercise. 

I felt an unwelcomed emotion.  I was sad.  Something hit me as if to say, what if he doesn’t come back (my husband).  Then I looked over at Shaka, Sheeba’s baby boy, and it seemed as if he may have been wondering the same thing about his mother and play mate.  I ventured to the puppy and gave him a little moment of reassurance and then I ran in the house to call my husband.  I was worried.  By the time I got back to the couch, he was returning.  He was very upset with Sheeba, needless to say.

I brushed off the anxiety and charged it to my constant battle with insecurities.

A few days later, I became ill – a really weird sickness.  I was exhausted, nauseous, light-headed.  I had no fever but I could not move my body without being winded and feeling strain in my joints.  I couldn’t work and I didn’t ever think it was going to end.  He was there.  He took care of me.  He held my hand and looked into my eyes as if he was fearful of how stressed out I was.  He worried that I was worried.  In that moment, I felt the same anxiety that I felt days before when he ran off after Sheeba. 

What if he wasn’t here? 

The third point of clarity came and it wasn’t as delightful as holding my hand or rushing back into the house.  This time it was an argument.  I’d said something crazy that only emotionally driven, women-with-baggage can even fathom to present in a normal conversation.  He said things that let me know that he was upset with whatever I said (thankfully, I’ve purged myself and can no longer remember what I said).  He asked me the exact question, I’d been downplaying in my own spirit.  “What if I wasn’t here?” (Yes, that part I do remember.)

I retreated to a place where I would no longer be interrupted by these little signs.  I didn’t want to know what was next.  I would just rather not.  I knew it was there.  I knew if I wanted to tune into it, I could.  I chose not to.  I did that for a while.   But, one day I couldn’t anymore.  I received three different messages from three different people all in one day and the message was the same every time.  “You are afraid to let go because you are afraid of being left.”

That was it.  I had to go in deep.  I had to evaluate myself and understand what was happening.  I knew this one wouldn’t be easy because it had already caused me physical pain trying to avoid it. 

Here’s what I learned:

A daughter’s most meaningful relationship during her formative years is with her father.  My father left me at an age when I should have been learning how to expect men to treat me.  He left me - not knowing how to recognize love from a man.  So, not only did I end up in an abusive relationship, but I also conditioned myself to never trust a man.  I believed that in order to protect myself, I must always have a wall of protection around my heart so that when (not if) that man ever left, I’d be ok.  I could make it without him.  Unfortunately, this isn’t a good mindset to have when you’re married.

No matter how we try to mask the small tokens life gives us to ease our path, they are there.  We tend to recognize the huge things like job promotions, new relationships, etc… But we don’t open up our spirit enough to feel the small things.  For me, it takes more energy trying to avoid the inevitable signs than it does to just accept them.  I’m going to do my part as a living being to contribute to this universal experience we call life.  I could have missed this opportunity to develop; to recognize myself.  One thing I know is that if you miss it, it’ll only come back again until you get it. 

The signs may not always be welcomed or easy, but they will always be.  All we have to do is want to see them.

UPDATE 04/24/2013: So I wrote this a few weeks ago but I forgot to post it here.  Remembering that I recognize that nothing is by chance, when I ran upon it this morning I knew there was a reason I didn't post it.  As well as a reason why I was directed to it.  Shortly after I wrote this, Sheeba and Shaka were both taken from our house.  I've sort of been a little happy because I feel like maybe whoever took them has more room for them and are possibly more "dog people" than we are.  But, on the other hand, Sheeba was to me a representation of the struggle it took for Brad and I to get back to each other.  She was an engagement gift.  You see, all my life I wanted a golden retriever or a yellow lab.  She was both.  When we ran across a post on FB about these puppies, I sort of mentioned it to Brad and he surprised me with her.  She was just a baby when I got her.  There was a bond there that I'd never experienced.  Anyway, needless to say, although I truly miss her, I realize that she left me.  I was abandoned again by something I loved.  But, I am still here.  My husband who I love so dearly is still here.  My children are still here.  So, it's not about what leaves, it's about what's left.

The hardest test isn’t actually doing the work that attaches itself to your passion.   The hard work is sticking to it once you’ve chosen the desired path.  When I first decided that I would commit myself to what I believe I was born to do, I received several words of wisdom from people of all different backgrounds.  I was told to surround myself with like-minded people who believe in what I believe in.  The problem with that, as I have experienced, is that you never REALLY know what people believe in; you can only go by what they say to you.  I was also told to stick to my vision at all costs.

When I was told to stick to my vision, I assumed that was one of those things people say just to be nice.  You know, something just to seem like they are paying attention to what you’re allowing to seep out of your soul at the moment.  Turns out, that piece of advice was actually more useful and relevant than any other words I received.  Funny because it came from someone who seemed to have it all together and whom I believed would have a clear vision right from the start.  You just never know what a person has gone through to get to where they are.

Starting a business or simply opening yourself up to stepping out of your comfort zone isn’t an easy task.  It took me years to even hear my inner voice saying, “You can do this”.  It took even longer, after hearing it clearly, for me to actually believe that I could do it.  I am not really sure that I ever truly believed I could.  I just eventually got to the point that I felt I had nothing to lose so I may as well give it a shot.  However, since then, I have thought about giving in at least a thousand times.  I had to ask myself why I am still trying to bring people together and bring women to a point where they recognize their power.  I have to ask if we, women, care to know our power.  How important is the task at hand?  I mean, just because my life’s struggle has proven to me that there is no real existence until we recognize ourselves and love all the good and the bad, doesn’t mean this will resonate with others, does it?

Well, I don’t know the answer to that question yet.  In fact, I’m not real sure that it’s up to me to determine the answer.  What I do see clearly is that everyone cannot be convinced; some will seem to be convinced who really aren’t; then, others will embrace the message and their lives will improve as a result.  For me, I simply can’t concentrate to the first of the three or the second.  I can only lend myself to those who see, and believe that there is a message in my voice and there is a truth in my tears.  The rest will take a bigger influence than what my mere mortal heart can lend.

So, whether I succeed at this or that, I will keep steady on this journey. 

Whether I lose friends or gain foes, I will press onward.

If I win or lose, I will do the work.

This is my pledge to the world.  I’m not sure it matters to anyone, but me.  But even if it doesn’t, I’m enough.  So, I will go toward improvement and I will take as many with me as I can. 

“I freed over a thousand slaves and I would have freed more, if they knew they were slaves.” – Harriet Tubman

Okay so, I went to the Crossroads Film Festival this weekend and caught the Murder Block, I think that’s what they called it.  I was there to see JLee Productions and Crescent Creation’s short film, The Murderer, but there were two short narratives that played before it.  One was called “S is for Sally” and the other “The Companion”.

Ever watched a movie having no idea what to expect and then get bolted into a emotional whirlwind?  Yeah, me too.  I stay away from movies that are so enthralling that I can’t shake them.  If you know me at all, you know that I am very emotional and very empathetic.  Therefore, it’s hard for me to shake certain things so I usually know what I can handle and what I can’t.  I don’t do scary movies – at all.  I don’t do documentaries about racism too much.  I mean, I will watch those but only when I have done a significant amount of preparation.  It took me at least a year to watch The Help and I still was angry for about six months behind it.  I mean, really angry – like all I saw was red. I don't even doo the really mushy lovey-dovey movies well.  Although I do like them, I can generally only watch once or very far apart.  For example, I absolutely love The Notebook, but I can only watch it like every other year or so.  It's one of my favorite movies but I get so involved in it that it becomes a part of MY reality for much longer than I can comfortably welcome.  Even if it's just an hour after watching, for me, that's too much.

As I sat in the theater waiting to see my husband as Detective Carmichael in The Murderer, I was stunned by “S is for Sally”.  It was a good movie, it actually blew me away.  But nothing could have prepared me for the sway of emotions I'd encounter in "The Companion” by Drika Sheron.  Let me first say that I watched the movie Saturday.  I stayed up all night Sunday because I couldn’t find peace about it.  I kept thinking about the man in the movie and I had to try to put all the pieces together.  Today, I am still finding it hard to separate myself from it.  And yes, I’ve cried.

It’s the story of a man who lost his family – wife and daughter – in a car accident.  He became mentally detached from reality.  He kidnapped a young girl and kept her for 12 years.  He saw this young girl as his wife at times and then as his daughter at other times.  He even raped the girl (the wife).  He beat her from underneath the bed in the first scene.  So, from the door, right from the start, I was emotionally vested in the movie.  I recall looking over at my husband and saying, "Babe, I don't think I can watch this movie."  It was just that jarring and heavy.  He looked at me and his eyes were sort of like "awwww" and "Stop it" all together.  I was intrigued and couldn't wait to see what happened next - every second of the movie.

I wondered what Drika would have done with the narrative if it were a feature film.  When the question was asked, how she came about the idea for the film she said that she had a dream one night and it lead to this story.  She also spoke about mental challenges that go untreated in our community.  I got the sense that she was really connected to that. 

All I know for sure is that what she created touched me.  It has been tugging at my emotions ever since the opening line.  I actually decided to write this as a way to relieve myself of it.  It was sad and hurtful.  But it was intelligent and well developed.  Funny how in a small time frame of 15 minutes someone can put something on your mind or heart that sticks with you for days at a time.

Well, Ms. Drika Sheron, you have a new fan, my dear.  I might have to be prepared the next time I watch one of your films, but I most certainly look forward to seeing more from you!

I often sit back and think about what type of reaction my actions cause.  I care about the message I relay to people.  Not because it’s so important to me that people like me; or, that I have respect from my peers.  It matters to me because I feel like the work I do is a part of a master plan designed by the Creator of my life.  Therefore, if I am not diligent in getting the message that he wants delivered across, then I feel like I’ve not succeeded in reaching my goal – whatever it is at that time.

One thing I learned from watching my father maneuver thru his path is that no matter how hard you try or where your heart lies, someone will have a problem with what you do or plan to do.  Even if you were handing out free money to anyone who came to retrieve it, someone would complain that it wasn’t enough or that you gave too much.  Someone would call you up and say, “Why you didn’t tell me, you gave out money?”  “Oh, you giving out money to folk you don’t even know.  Why not give it to this person, or that person?”; or, “Why you didn’t do it Tuesday instead of Friday?”; or “Why not downtown instead of in Fondren?”  You will not win, I promise you.

That’s why I have made two very conscience decisions.

The first is that, I will stay true to my vision.  When you allow people to influence your vision, it becomes jaded and confusing.  You’ve already given your vibe to the universe when you acknowledged and accepted the vision.  Therefore, to go back, and cloud it with other people’s opinions and their chatter about what should be and what shouldn’t be, will only lend to universal confusion and self-doubt.  Some people thrive on knowing that they shook you up.  They may have no other motive at all except to make you change your direction.  They may not find any joy or pleasure in any other thing, except seeing to it that you don’t have an easy road to travel.  My guess is that this is normal behavior for those who either have not determined their path or they find happiness in the sadness of other people.  At any rate, they have no more power with me. 

I’m gone with the wind, boo.

Second, I have decided that people generally want to be helped.  But, there are people out there who have no idea that they need help.  They see themselves in a place that doesn’t actually exist.  It’s a made up place where their position is completely fictional and they don’t know it.  The world they live in is created for them, by them.  The problem with that is that, once they step outside that world of theirs, the reality is tainted.  They can’t recognize it.  They are still expecting everyone to fall into the world where they reside.  So when that doesn’t happen they begin to pull against the natural order of life and make the world be what they want it to be.  I can only help people who know that they are not perfect; who accept constructive criticism.  Look, if you are not in a good place in your life, when someone comes to you with a message that is intended to improve your existence, to you it will sound like hate and rhetorical chatter.  It will go completely over your head and soak into your heart as negativity when it was not intended that way.  A negative ear cannot decipher the harsh truth for what it is without feeling attacked.  So, I’m twirling all over the folk who refuse assistance and who spit on the wisdom I’ve come to own.  I didn’t ask for this life, these trials; the hardships that I’ve gone through.  But I did ask The Creator to use me so that I can help someone else avoid the chaos that once claimed me.    

It took a lot of years and trying times to get to the point that I’m at today.  I am an open book about the domestic violence, the horrible decisions, etc…  I don’t hid anything because I am NOT ashamed of it.  I was chosen to go through so that another woman doesn’t have to endure it.  I can’t make someone want to move pass their current mindset to a better one.  That’s something a person has to want of themselves.  It’s not my job and I won’t accept it as such. 

I’ve made mistakes on my path and I know exactly what they are because I am open to criticism.  I can critique myself, but I also have people around me who I know want me to win.  I can be vulnerable and listen to people tell me what my mistakes were (as they see them).  I can evaluate myself and grade my efforts.  I know that this life is a lesson and I want to continue to learn and grow.  If that means that I have to fall down a lot in order to walk up right from time to time, so be it.  I know that I’m not perfect and I also know that most folk who think they are perfect are far from it.  The difference in me today and yesterday, I will no longer attach myself to another person’s pain or denial.  That belongs to that individual, not me.  I’ve cried my last tear over not being able to help someone who doesn’t want it.  To that end,   I won’t smile in the face of evil when I know it’s there.  Today, I can boldly look deep into the eyes of darkness and continue to shine.  

“Have you ever been hurt and the place tries to heal a bit, and you just pull the scar off of it over and over again.”  Our mother-sister, Rosa Parks, hit the nail on the head when she uttered these words.  How many of us can relate to this?  How many times during your life’s journey have you faced the same exact obstacle repeatedly?  How many times have you healed and instead of moving forward, you stay in the same place, or even worse – go backward?  How many times has the universe set a course for your development and you simply ignored it for whatever reason?

You’ve heard me say before that I am a weeper and I don’t mind crying, right?  Well, that was before my mother transitioned and I realized that I had to face this world without her.  I feel like I have literally cried every day for two years straight – and counting.  Now I have to wonder, even knowing that depression during grief is a normal reaction, what am I not doing to get past this?  Why does it continue to hurt so much?  I use to be in a good place with shedding a tear here or there, but now, I know that these tears are coming from a place that I have no control over – like at all. 

I’ve been in the grocery store and walked into a woman with gray hair and dark toned skin and had to high tail it out of the store to cry.

I’ve been sitting at my computer screen at work and suddenly catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror, tucked away beside my dymo label and tears are beginning to form in my eyes.  Suddenly I’m gone and when I return, sitting in the same spot, I find myself franticly wiping away streams of tears from my face.

I’ve truly done my share of crying.  I’ve been offered anti-depressants.  I refused.  I believe if it’s in the order of the universe for me to go through this, then I shall go through it.  Yes, I am well aware that it will lead to tear soaked pillows.  I may have to continue pulling over on the side of the road to boohoo.  I may be facing an unknown amount of time that I have to yield myself to the spiritual order of living.  Well, if that’s what I have to do, then I shall. 

I’ve decided that instead of being angry that my tears arrive without an invitation, I will welcome them.  I will make room for them to come and I will bask in their presence asking what I can do this time to make their visit a swift one.  What can I do to help you give me the gift you barged in to bestow upon me?  How can I assist in your purpose here? 

Maybe if I work with my tears, my emotions, instead of dancing on the surface of the lack of energy I feel after they come and the hurt that company them, I’ll just relax.  I’ll just close my eyes and pray that whatever their reason for coming this time is, it will be revealed to me so that they don’t have to come back – so soon.  And, if they do come back, maybe the next time they’ll be coming back for something else.  I might be able to grow through each crying spell if I work with my spirit, my emotions, my tears, my pain.  Surely it’s of me, for me, so why would it be working against me. 

Tears come to bring release that we cannot find in our own natural mind, I think.  Especially when dealing with the loss of a loved one, a dear sweet loved one like a mother.  Tears come to offer a little bit of ease to that burning hole in our soul that doesn’t know how to heal itself - that hole that continues to throb and ache day in and day out.  Tears come to bring some peace and some relief to that pain.  But if we don’t work with the tears, they take over.  They come to do a job and they mean to stay until they accomplish it.  I believe if I work with my tears, give them room to do what they need to do for me, I might be able to get through this.

I just opened myself up for a memory I hadn’t thought about in a very long time.  Besides the sorrow I feel, I am actually tickled pink to have remembered it.

When my mother attended cosmetology school right after Daddy died and we moved back to Jackson from New York, she entered a hair show.  My oldest sister modeled for mama!  She was the perfect choice.  She is absolutely beautiful.  Her smile is vibrant and alluring.  As I’m writing this realize that she has my mother’s smile.

Mama won the hair show one year and placed second (I think) another year.  The year that I remember most was the second one when she won first place.  I was young and I can’t remember the theme of the hair show.  I do, however, remember Mama being nervous and that making me uncomfortable. 

She took a plain black dress slip and decorated it sporadically with autumn leaves.  I remember thinking this wasn’t enough.  There were others there with these really elaborate creations.  But I encouraged my mother and remember feeling extremely proud of her.  Participation in the hair show was not a must.  She did it because she wanted to.  The Mama I’d known up to that point was a sideliner to my father’s show.  She’d never displayed any desire to gain any attention for anything all my life – up to that point.  I felt weird.  Mostly, I was afraid of what would happen if she didn’t win.  Would she be hurt?  How would I deal with my mother having hurt feelings?  I wasn’t use to that concept at all.

While she won that hair show, I walked away a total winner as well.

I believe that up to that point, I didn’t know who my mother was – aside from being my mother and my daddy’s wife.  I didn’t know her personally.  I didn’t know her hopes and dreams.  I knew she supported my father’s dreams, but I didn’t know if she even had any that belonged to her.  I had heard about how she had such a beautiful voice and loved singing.  I’d even heard tales about how athletic she was.  But the only thing I’d seen her be really good at was being my mother.  She sang a bit around the house, but nothing that would make me think she had any interest in singing for real.

I learned that day that dreams are often easily transferred.  If we don’t protect our dreams and clearly define them as our own, they tend to get frustrated with us and transfer to others who are more demanding and in control of their dreams.  I believe that’s what happened with my mother.  My father’s energy and passion for his dreams outweighed hers.  Instead of fighting for her dreams, she allowed them to embrace my dad and she became a witness to his story, instead of a main character in hers.  The good thing about that is that it turned out that she’d be offered a second chance to go after her dreams later in life.  Her sacrifice was meant to be as she only gave up a decade or so to allow my dad to swim around in his purpose. 

It took an amazing amount of belief in my father to do that.  But, it also took an extreme amount of virtue for my mother to be that self-less. 

I’ve battled with that same struggle because I’m nowhere near as self-less as my mother had been.  I didn’t make a conscious decision to give up on my dream so that I can witness my husband’s purpose.  I just fell head first into this manufactured relief that now I don’t have to pursue my dreams.  If I just support my husband, any amount of failure will be his, not mine.  So, I’m all in.  Let’s do it.  The problem with that mentality, though, is that I wasn’t born to be a witness to his story.  I have a purpose.  I’ve known that most of my life.  I have just tried to ignore it due to fear of rejection and failure. 

The day that this memory showed up in my consciousness, I immediately recognized myself in the story.  The same fear and uncertainty I felt when my mother presented her model at the hair show has kept me company all my life.  It has actually dictated most of my professional decisions.  I’ve been safe.  I’ve been stuck in fear of success as well as failure.  But the look in my mother’s eyes when they called her name as the winner still pierces my soul.  When she won the hair show I accepted my first glimpse into a woman taking back her dream, her story.  While it took me a couple of years to process that – like twenty - I have gotten it.

There are no guarantees in life.  There is nothing one can decide to do that is automatically going to equal success.  As a matter of fact, success can only be measured by that particular individual, so the fear doesn’t have a solid foundation to begin with.  I have nothing to fear, but fear.  I refuse to be a hostage to fear any longer.  It’s a horrible existence to live through another person’s purpose while ignoring your own.  We all have our own purpose on this earth.  While some people never know what their purpose is, I’d challenge any one reading this to figure out what your purpose is.  If you know what it is, waste not another moment talking yourself out of living in that purpose.  It belongs to you and it is necessary for some reason. You’ll never know the reason if you never step into it.  We’re only here, on this earth, for a short time; make it worth your while.  Make your purpose count. 

My mother did that at the hair show.  It wasn’t about her creating a masterpiece and stealing the show.  It was a lesson, for your youngest daughter (who happened to not get it until much later).  That night she taught me that you are never too old to win.  It’s never too late to try.  Dreams never die; they may transfer, but they belong to you and will be there when you are ready to receive them.  I am ready to receive and achieve my dreams.  Thanks, Mama!