I realize that I'm late with comments about this movie.  I made the conscious decision not to pay to view it so I had to wait until it came on cable.  I'm glad that I followed my first mind because I have been literally seeing signs that WE are still viewed as "the help" in today's world.  Whether you work in corporate or private industry, the signs are still there to show that black women are looked at as mere tokens to make the lives of white people (especially white women) better.

Here are the parts of the movie that stuck and sting every time I think about it:

1.  I take serious issue with the part in the movie when Adeline and Minnie were shopping in the grocery store and there was a white lady coming down the aisle in front of Adeline.  She stopped and expected Adeline to move out of her way so that she could continue her tread without moving to the side.  She acted as though she had more right to that space than Adeline did.  The reason why this sickens me is because the perception is that as a white woman, it's a privilege for a black woman to even be in that store so she (the help) should move so that the white woman can get by. 

Shortly after watching this movie, my director (who I akin to Hillie) was walking down the hall in my direction.  She was walking toward me, looking at me (or so I thought) and almost walked into me because I REFUSED to move.  I had coffee in my hand and I had braced myself for a head on collision with her because she clearly wasn't going to move.  She didn't bump me but she brushed up against me because she didn't realize until it was too late that I wasn't moving to give up the hallway to her.  She apologized but my newly re-angered spirit did not accept her apology or even recognize it.  I just kept walking.  (See, I knew this would awaken this spirit in me, that's why I chose not to pay to see the movie.)

2. I was literally mad as hell when Skeeter's mother closed the door in Constantine’s face.  This elder lady who deserves respect just for being above grown as long as she was, had raised this woman's child; combed her hair; taught her life lessons, etc.  But when faced with a decision between right and wrong; black and white, her "boss" chose to kick her out of her home because she was entertaining racist women who would have shunned her for allowing a black person to enter her house through the front door.  To me, Skeeter's mother and those like her, as a much a problem as the woman who stood in HER house and DEMANDED that the black women be treated as second class humans. 

Ironically, this incident happened to me (at work - on the same hall as the aforementioned incident).  I saw the white woman coming toward the door to close it in my face, but my soul would not let me walk away from it.  I stood there, steadfast, thinking, "this bitch is about to close this door in my face."  When she did, I said to myself, "I am the help!"  I have worked her for 10 years.  I have climbed as far as they are willing to ALLOW me to.  I am management.  Yet, I am STILL THE HELP.  I am still beneath them, in their eyes.

3.  Lastly, the end of the movie didn't sit well with me.  WHY is it that Skeeter gets to set off to the pie in the sky and start a new life while Minnie and Adeline (and the others) have to stay and face the consequences of HER idea?  While I think its par for the course for the struggle of black women and that we are built to survive it, it was still meant to leave the impression that white folk will come out on top and black women will continue to be inferior and destined to struggle.  This entire movie was supposed to shine light on the black woman's struggle (although through a white woman's eyes) and at the end of the day, our main representative (Adeline) gets the shaft.  She is fired.  The white women STILL have the upper hand and she didn't even have a ride home.  She had to take off walking and listening to the little white baby in background crying for her.

I am from Jackson, MS - the city that this movie was about.  I live this movie every day.  While I don't clean houses or raise white folk children, I am still oppressed by the same guard that oppressed the maids in this movie.  Don't y'all think we are not viewed as THE HELP still.  We are.  If you think we are not, then I beg you to open your eyes.  We are still fighting this battle.  It may be different depending on geography but I guarantee you that it still breathes. 

So, what do we do about that? 

Let me start this off by saying, I dare anyone to challenge me on my ability to recognize good music.  Now the levels by which I am inclined musically vary depending on the genre of music.  For example, when it comes to R&B, I am well rounded in what’s good – the vocal ability, good beats, range, control, tone, pitch, natural talent, and those who just make it above being able to hold a note.  With hip hop, I tend to sway a bit to what I like.  For example, I am not necessarily drawn to beats unless it’s one of those undeniable ones.  Generally, I am more attached to lyricism.  So, if you are not, you might be able to stand your ground in an argument with me about what’s good and what isn’t.

I’m always appreciative of people who hustle too regardless of their natural born talent.  So I have a natural attachment to people who grind hard and I tend to like them more than those who think they have so much talent that the grind is unimportant. 

I am also a people person.  I like approachable artists who appreciate the people they make music for.  Not so much the ones who feel like the people who listen to them should be thankful that they are putting out music.  Those people, regardless of how good their product is, will never be on a Queen’s Top Pick List.  EVER!  I will not!  I cannot!  So if you think you good and you don’t make this list, ask yourself why!

Jacktown is FILLED with musical talent.  For the first installment of Queen’s Top Picks, I will stick to what I know best – R&B and Hip Hop.  I’ll venture to other genres eventually, but not today.

Here are my favz and why:

R&B Male – MACAFEE – I know some might say that Mac has been around too long to be on this list, but I beg to differ.  He is indeed a vet in the game and that is why he’s here.  He’s like the Jacktown  R.Kelly.  Not in terms of lyrics but vocal tone and control.  He’s bad.  He’s mastered it.  And his gift is natural.  I’d bet he’s been singing and running since he was able to talk.  I have seen Mac write a song in five minutes that would make you want to hear it on the radio.  In fact he did just that for our wedding reception.  That, my people, is genius!  If you don’t know who he is, you should.

R&B Male #2 – Kerry Thomas – So, this guy is new to the list.  I like him because he has a very soothing, pleasant voice that makes you want to either cry or make babies.  I love that.  Besides that he gave me a personal serenade for my birthday (Thanks Hubs!).  He’s genuinely a nice guy.  From what I can tell he is always willing to work with others and he is holding Jacktown down fully.  I respect that. 

R&B Female – AKAMI GRAHAM – I know yall know how the Queen feels about this woman.  I’ve written blurbs about her in the JFP for several years as winner of this category (and others) in the Best of Jackson Awards.  But let me tell you why I love her.  So, picture it, Dreamz Jackson, she’s on stage singing (with no shoes on – of course) and I hear her crack right in the middle of a run.  THIS GIRL, repeats the run, includes the crack and continues to the song.  Who the hell does that?  From that moment on, I was a goner.  I realized that her vocal ability was masterful.  She is beautiful and she’s the sweetest little thing ever.  Here’s a note:  She hates singing Sweet Thang, but she loves her fans so much that she does it every time they request it.  If you love her back, request something by Jill Scott.  She loves singing Jill.  Anyway, Akami rocks!

R&B Female #2 – Cheryl aka Songbird – Here’s Jacktown’s Jennifer Hudson people.  The power she has in her voice is splendid.  She takes you on a ride with her through each song.  If she’s happy, you’ll be happy.  If she’s sad, so will you be.  I like that.  To me, that is an indication that she sings from her soul.  Her voice is just a vessel of her soul reaching out to us.  It’s beautiful.  So, here’s when I knew I loved her.  When Whitney Houston died she recorded a video of herself singing “I will always love you.”  As if I had not cried enough.  When I heard and watched it, my soul ached for the pain that she was clearly in having lost someone who influenced her musically.  I could feel her pain (and mine).  If you haven’t seen it, you should.  Songbird is a beast with it. 

Hip Hop Male – 5^th Child – I really don’t have to do this do I?  I mean, if you are from Jackson and you haven’t heard of this fella, I really beg you……… get to wherever he is and get some music from him.  Lyrically, in my opinion, there are only about two people IN Jackson who can match him.  In an effort to continue living in a happy marriage, I will not name those people.  I will say that, I got a cd from his brother after I heard him for the first time.  The brother wanted me to purchase the cd.  I told him that I should get a cd for free (not that I wasn’t prepared to purchase it) – I was joking.  He was grinding (see what I mean, grind and have yo peoples grind too).  Anyway it was Piano’s in the Dark.  I was listening to it in my truck and I felt like I’d known this guy all my life.  His lyrics were crystal clear.  Nothing I had to fight to understand.  I understood every word.  I appreciate that.  When I got to the song “My Hometown”, it was over.  That song should be playing in every car in Jackson every Friday night on your way to the club.  It’s our anthem.  If you haven’t heard it, you need to.  He has new music now, but that song JAMZ….CRISPLY!  All that, plus he is really a nice guy, he’s an educator and he has a nice smile. 

Hip Hop Male #2 – Skipp Coon – Vet in the game!   I couldn’t do this without mentioning this man!  Let me just say that the first conversation I had with Skipp did not have me up in arms about him!  LOL.  I had heard about him before I actually heard him.  I even I had his cd in my truck long before I ever listened to it because the first time I talked to him, I wasn’t particularly won over by him.  However, I saw him at a Dreamz concert and he took the stage and literally in about two minutes I thought, “WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOW!!!”  He had come to the stage and checked like every other rapper before him because they were calling women bitches and hoes and talking about getting money and all that jazz.  These guys were standing in front of him on stage and he didn’t bite his tongue.  I was like “HELLZ YEAH”.  So needless to say, I went to the car that night, dug until I found the cd and it was automatically in regular rotation from that point.  He’s a teacher, an educator musically.  You can’t listen to his music and not be smarter once you’re done.  So, if you want to hear about titties and asses, this guy isn’t the one for you.  But if you are into REAL RAPPING….Skipp Coon’s ya man.

Aight………….enough for today………………  I’ll be back with the HIP HOP Female favz!  Holla!

I remember so many times I’d pick up the phone to call my mother and I’d hear, “Funmi, Funmi”.  She was dialing me at the same time.  I’d say “Mama, that you?”  And she’d quickly reply, “Hey baby! What’s up?”  There were often times when just her asking me what’s up would lead to hours of conversation.  I generally spoke to her every day.  My mother called each one of her children every day – well, at least the three girls.  If we missed a day because our lives got in the way, she forgave us and never mentioned it again.  Her heart was so pure; the purest I’ve ever known.

During one of our conversations years ago, she told me that she never worried about me.  She knew I had what it took to be okay.  I often wondered what exactly she meant by that.  I think I sort of wanted/needed her to worry about me.  But when I finally asked her why she didn’t worry and how she knew I’d be ok, she told me that I was a thinker and that I was able to express myself.  She said that people who don’t speak up for themselves usually lead lives of regret.  She knew that I would always speak up for what I believe in, those I love and specifically for myself.  She even told me that she thought I was strong.  I agreed with most of what she said, but I’ve struggled with convincing myself of my strength.  Not that I haven’t been on the successful side of some of the worst battles life has to offer, but I often come out broken and damaged.  I guess that doesn’t mean one isn’t strong.  Strength is what brings us through, right?

My mother always reassured me of my strengths and didn’t mind sharing with me what my weaknesses were.  She taught all of us to complement each other, praise each other.  She also taught us to correct each other when needed.  I remember, my oldest sister, Darlene told me one day that I had a “nasty attitude”.  I don’t recall saying anything back to her but I do recall being hurt by her comment.  You see, Darlene is the sweet one.  She’s the one most like my mother and if she says something bad about you, you know two things.  1.  It’s true. 2. She hates to have to say it.  I asked her, not long ago, if she remembered telling me that and she said she didn’t.  I, contrarily, will never forget.

I’ve been tested in the last few years regarding standing up for myself and having a “nasty attitude”.  I had to fuse together what my mother said to me with what my sister said to me and make that into a positive existence.  The nasty attitude came from being hurt and damaged; unenthused and feeling defeated.  I’ve never had a problem standing up for myself (except when it came to men).  I just didn’t know how to do that without being a jerk-off.  It has been so bad that at times no one heard me.  They heard my tone and decided not to listen to me.  I tried to sway myself into believing that it was everybody else.  I mean, how can I be expected to sugar coat everything just to protect someone else’s feelings?  That’s their issue, not mine.  I tried to make that my reality.  But as with all things, my reality soon came into question.

One of the last conversations I had with my mother was about my husband.  Mama, by the way, is THE only person I ever talked to about my husband.  I figured she understood the type of man he was.  For heaven’s sake she was married to one herself as she proclaimed to everyone on our wedding day.  She said that Brad reminded her of my father.  Of course he does, right?  During the conversation, I begged her to explain to me how to get Brad to see my point of view on whatever it was that we were arguing about.  I was frustrated and I felt ignored – like he wasn’t listening to me and didn’t value my opinion.  She said to me, “Either you are crying the entire time you’re talking to him or you’re cursing him out while you’re talking.  Which one is it?”  Well I got teary eyed because I knew this woman who always gave me praise was about to tell me that I’d done something wrong and I didn’t want to hear it.

She said, “Funmi, no matter what you say to that man, you must maintain a level of respect.  You have to make sure that you don’t compromise his manhood.  If you want him to listen don’t be too soft and don’t you be too hard.  Just talk to him.  He loves you and he wants to hear what you have to say.  It’s all in the delivery.”

You might wonder how I can remember verbatim those words from my mother’s mouth.  Well, I wrote it down and before I went to bed last night, she led me to it.  I started praying heavily about some concerns I’ve had lately about our family.  I instantly felt bad because I knew this would be one of those conversations that I’d have with her – usually.  Plus, it was Mother’s Day and I was just feeling heavy hearted.  I started talking myself out of talking to Brad about these concerns all together because I just didn’t know how to broach the subject.  (Hard to imagine, right?)  Well, my husband is the only person in the WORLD that makes me want to prep for conversations.   If you know him (at all) this will not be a huge surprise.

After I prayed I heard my mother say “I’m proud of you.” I was going to record that in my journal when I happened upon the page where I had written the aforementioned comment.  I have no question it was her.  I needed her and she was there, just like she had always been.  She made me feel at ease; gave me a nice kick in the arse and then she sealed it with a kiss, like only my mother could do.

I asked my husband to lunch today.  We talked.  It went well and I never had to raise my voice, curse him out or cry (much).  My mother, yet again saved the day.  There is nothing that can stop a mother’s love; not even death. 

Now, that’s a Mother’s Day gift!

WHEW!

I just celebrated my 38^th birthday and I am still trying to climb down from the Living High I’ve been on for the entire first week of May.  I always make a big deal of my birthday and I am sure some people wonder why.  It’s simple!  Life, for me, has had ups and downs – not unlike the rest of you, I’m sure.  But I have chosen to celebrate the good with the bad. 

In the last year (the 37th) I have made every possible effort to kick down the doors to the next level of my journey.  Like the Road Runner cartoon, I have been the Coyote – repeatedly running into brick walls and painted pictures of tunnels.  Only to find that there is nothing there.  Well, saying “nothing” would be taking away from the experience all together.  So let’s just say that I haven’t found a clear and precise reason for consistently bumping my head on the wall.

IF this isn’t a metaphor for life, I’m not sure what is. 

That’s how life operates.  It gives you doors (opportunities) and sometimes those doors aren’t the doors for you.  Sometimes they are there simply to make an obstacle.  Sometimes they are there to see if you’ve learned from the last time you banged your head against the door.  Sometimes, I think, we should just kind of knock on the door to see if will open for us, instead of forcing our way through.  Well for an entire year, I ignored all that I’ve learned up to this point in Door Opening Management.  I refused to be patient and listen.

It has brought me much frustration and aggravation to put it mildly.  But just as with any year, coming up on my birthday, things began to become clear.

I realized that I was actually in control of the doors popping up.  They only showed up when I started to pray heavily about not having opportunities.  Well, I wasn’t real sure what opportunity I was looking for.  One thing about the universe is that it deals in actualities and truth.  It will only give you what you give to it.  So, I was placing a spirit of confusion and frustration into the universe expecting it to somehow take my discontent and transform it to an opportunity of some sort.  When actually what I was doing was welcoming more of the same.

So, not only was I willing these doors into my life, but I didn’t know what to do with the doors once they popped up.  Being ready, in my mind, I just kicked them down.  That didn’t really accomplish much because I wasn’t secure in being on the other side of the door.  So once I kicked it down, I was met with darkness and fear set in.  Then, I’d bag up out the door or I’d stand there with the door  open just in case I needed to make a break for it and hall ass back inside -taking me right back to the point of entrance.  You see the never ending cycle here?

Well, God told me to just stop and be still.  I wasn’t listening to Him.  I was praying.  He was answering.  But I wasn’t hearing him.  Sort of like all the fussing I do at my husband for being on his phone when I’m trying to talk to him.  He’s listening to me but he’s not focused on what I’m saying and not really in tune with the emotion I’m experiencing.  That was me.  I was listening to God, but He may as well not have been speaking because I wasn’t in a place to hear Him.  So when all else fails, he says, “Just be still, my child.”  So, I did.

I separated myself from the fear.

I was determined to be faithful to his word.

I stopped.

I listened.

I did nothing.

Not long after that (I mean really not long, like yesterday), I noticed that doors began to open and I had nothing to do with them being there.  As a matter of fact two doors opened within the same hour.  What I’ve learned is to not jump into opening the door too soon.  As a good friend of mine reminded me, never move until the breakthrough happens.  So, I am still being patient.  I am waiting with a faithful heart that just as these doors have opened for me, when I need to move, God will make it clear.  He will show me which door to go through.  Until that time, I shall remain prayerful and patient.

Dear Son,

By age 21, I had already decided that I wanted you.  I had even tried to get you here and failed a couple of times.  But I kept trying, mostly because I thought that by having you, your father would get his stuff together and love me more.  Even though, I didn’t truly understand that I was not thinking with the best mind to bring you into the world, on a very hot August day in 1995, you burst through my body and announced that now I had something new to love and that you would love me back forever.

At that moment, we started a connection that no time or distance could ever break. 

Our days were filled with teachable moments.  I was young and I had no idea what I was doing.  But you were very patient.  You smiled all the time, giving me the extra confidence I needed to embrace my new life as a mother.  You were the sweetest baby and you began to sing before you could even talk – this surprised no one by the way.

As I started getting older, I realized that being a baby myself I wasn’t doing as good a job with raising you as I wanted.  I wanted to try to get myself together emotionally and financially and I didn’t think I could do that and take care of you.  I now know that God just simply doesn’t give us any more than we can handle.  While I think sending you to live with your daddy was good on one count, on another, it’s a choice I made that I’d gladly take back if I had the chance to.  We missed so much of each other during those years.  But, in a strange way, we continued to grow closer and closer.

Now, the Lord has saw fit for you to be with me again.  My family, after years of being incomplete, is whole for the first time.  A part of my soul that has been dormant, unenthused, and torn is now mended and ready to face the world.  You did that.  You’ve always been a source of inspiration for me and I know that you always will be.

I'm aware that I give you tough lessons and that I'm a stern parent.  I know that makes no sense to you now at 16, but  I make no apologies for that.  Life is hard.  My position is that in order for you to be a MAN (not just a grown boy) you must be able to face life’s hardships.  You’ll face many disappointments because that’s just life.  But as a Black Man, you’re life will be twice as hard as any non-black man.  Trust me on this.  You’re efforts will have to be 1000 times the effort of a white man in order for it to be worthwhile to anyone or even recognized.  You'll have to be smarter, more determined, more focused, and have thicker skin that any man of another race (including other minorities).  That's just a fact.  You'll have people argue the validity of that, but either they aren't black or they haven't experienced life as a black man in the south!

You must know that the world is an open book for you to explore.  Never limit yourself to one thing or the other.  You can do everything, all things and then some.  You are born to succeed and you have been gifted with skills that offer you choices that many people may not have.  You do.  Use them!  Always be humble and accept people for who they are not who they say they are.  Treat them accordingly.  I'ts okay to fail as long as you learn from your mistakes and do your best not to repeat them.  If you fall down, just make sure you get right back up!

When considering a partner, be with someone who cherishes and respects you and you must offer the same.  Be equally yoked.  Don't be with a person you can't hold a conversation with as that gets old real fast.  NEVER PUT YOUR HANDS ON A WOMAN!  EVER!  If you ever hit a woman, push a woman or beat on a woman and she is not threatening your life, remember that you have a mother and a baby sister.  How would you feel if someone did that to one of us?  If it ever comes to that, walk away, run away and never go back!  I will never condone you mistreating a woman, KNOW THIS!  It is unacceptable and only cowards behave in that manner.

As far as I am concerned, my child, you will be a man in a year – 18 years old.  That means real life will come knocking on your door and living in my house, I WILL OPEN IT!  I’m going to let life in whether you think you are ready or not!  I will always have my hand outstretched to you and I will never turn my back on you; neither will I cripple you or give you a false perception of reality.  I never have and I never will.

Remember, to love with all your heart, keep the Most High higher than anything else and enjoy the ride.  We only get one, my child, and I want you to take it by the back seat of the pants and run it down until you can’t run anymore.

This is my wish for you.  I can never be more proud of you than I am today, but I look forward to watching you grow and having more moments that make me proud.

With all my love,

MOMMY

I find it ironic that on today, Love Day 2012, I am so heavily burdened by sadness.  I know this sadness isn’t my own.  I am sad at the loss of the world’s most angelic vocal queen – Whitney Houston.  Sure it’s been a couple of days since her transition, but today as I embrace love, I can’t help be remember her smile, her torment, her songs, her pain.

In 1987, Whitney sang a song called “Where do broken hearts go?”  Years later it became the blue print to my life.  I was so in love with a man who simply didn’t know how to love me back.  I have no doubt that he loved me and was in love with me.  But his childhood and his pain couldn’t allow him to love fully.  I ache for him today.  I feel sorry for him and I pray that he has since learned how to love someone completely, particularly himself.

My heart was broken.  My spirit was destroyed.  I was a mere shell of who I was before him and who I was to become.  I realize now that this relationship set the pattern for a lot of damage that I’d live through for the next couple of years.  Well, hell, I still live through it.  I recuperated from the hurt and pain by building a thick wall around my heart; a wall that even I have trouble breaking down.  I taught myself many mechanisms for dealing with hurt and pain.  One was that NO ONE was trustworthy.  I became so damaged that I didn’t believe anyone was real.  No one really showed you who they really are and everyone at some point will disappoint me.  At some point, I’d be hurt, betrayed, mislead, lied to, by every person I met.  After giving your all to a person who then cheated repeatedly, lied repeatedly, and abused you repeatedly, this unfortunately becomes a reality.

Because I felt like this, I became very negative about people.  I looked for the negative in people whether they showed it to me or not.  I believed that if I gave them little room to “get over on me” that I would be better prepared for that inevitable time when I was mistreated.  So every person I met from the moment I first lost myself in this pain, I refused to give any other living soul the benefit of being worthy of my trust.

Well, unfortunately, while I didn’t get hurt very much expecting to be hurt, I’ve lost many friends.  I’ve written off many people who probably could have been special to my life. 

Whitney sang: “Where do broken hearts go? Can they find their way home?  Back to the open arms of a love that’s waiting there.  And, if somebody loves you, will they always love you.  I look in your eyes, and I know that you still care…….for me.”  I won’t claim to know where all broken hearts go.  But I know that my broken heart has found its way home.  I even know that this love was waiting for me.  I believe that the open arms I’ve thrown myself into will melt away the hurt, pain and anger that sit at the foundation of the wall around my heart.  I know it’ll take some time.  But I refuse to be this way any longer. 

I wish a Happy Valentine’s Day to each person who reads this.  I hope that it finds you happy in love or on your way to it.

To my husband, the man who has taken my broken heart and vowed to keep it close to his in an effort to make it whole again, thank you!  Whitney prepared me for your arrival and I’ve found my way home.  I love you!

I recently participated in a documentary titled “Black Love II” created by J. Lee of JLee Plays.  Once I accepted the invitation to be interviewed for the documentary, I started thinking about what Black Love really means – to me.  The first thought I had was the question of whether or not there is such a thing as “Black” love.  My spiritual being doesn’t agree that love can be categorized or labeled in this fashion.  But, I do understand what J. Lee is looking to evaluate, so I rolled with it.

My experience with love has been rocky – to say the least.  Believe me; I started this love thing really early.  My father passed two months before my 13^th birthday.  Today, I realize that the path I took to get to true love was paved for me by the vacancy imprinted in my soul when my Daddy transitioned.

It started with my across-the-street neighbor who happened to be my best friend’s brother.  I absolutely loved him.  He knew it.  He didn’t care.  When he felt like he needed some attention, he flirted with me.  Little did he know, each time he paid any attention to me, I fell harder and harder.  I never did become his girlfriend and I wanted that more than I wanted to breathe.

When I got to high school, I began to get a little bit of attention from guys.  I was, of course attracted to athletes and bad boys.  None of which ever truly reciprocated my feelings.  But, here’s where I began to use my body to get attention, thinking that would lead to love.  Of course, it did not.

I remember being “in love” with one particular guy who told me that we were in a relationship but the relationship didn’t ever become popular knowledge to my friends.  I mean, it was pretty much just between me and him and particularly after school when he’d call me over to his house to “appreciate me”.  So, come time for the prom, of course I assumed we’d go together.  He never asked me though.  When I finally asked him, he said he couldn’t afford to take me to prom.  So what did I do?  I had my brother buy him a tux and a corsage for me.  I bought a dress.  All he had to do was pick me up.

About an hour before he was to pick me up, I called him.  No answer.   I cried and cried because I knew deep down that I’d been stood up.  I was determined to get to that prom.  So I called a girlfriend who was going stag and asked her to pick me up.  When I got there, I saw him there.  He was in the tux my brother had bought for him with a girl wearing the corsage my brother had purchased as well.

He never apologized to me.  Since no one ever knew that we were even suppose to go together, I just pretended to have a good time and vowed to take that secret to the grave with me.  This was my first introduction to heartbreak.  It was also the beginning of my belief that men could not ever be honest and therefore could never be trusted.

There were a couple of guys who liked me in high school but most of my encounters in high school were with guys that didn’t like me; who didn’t want to be my boyfriend; and, who lied to me every chance they got because I was insecure and vulnerable.  I didn’t even believe them most of the time, but it felt good at the moment, so I acted like I was dumb enough to trust them.  I wasn’t.  I didn’t.  But, my need for acceptance and love proved to be more important than me taking a stand for myself.

Completely broken, I entered college at the tender age of 16. 

My first encounter with a man in college was with the creepiest creep ever!  It was sort of a continuation of my involvement with Prom Guy.  Still hurt and tainted, I entered the same type of involvement with a new guy.  Our relationship was nothing but sex, but of course that’s not what he told me – just me.

One day I approached him in a public part of the campus after he’d been ignoring me for an hour or so.  He was with his boys and immediately took issue with the fact that I approached him as if I had the right to do that.  He looked up at me with eyes that only Satan’s child could hold and I knew this would be ugly.  The guy called me every despicable name I had ever heard before.  He walked up to me as if I was nothing and yelled in my face with the same regard.  Basically, he told me and everyone else present that I was nothing and he didn’t give a shit about me.

I left the room that day hating him and hating me.  I remember thinking as I walked back to my dorm room that I would never, ever care about another man again as long as I lived.

HA!

Not long after that, a sweet, nice, churchy guy started sending word through anyone that would listen that he liked me and wanted to get to know me.  I wasn’t impressed with him at all – of course, he wasn’t a bad guy.  But he was an athlete.  I watched him play ball.  I was coming around but not quick enough.   So, one day, he stood below my dorm room window and sang to me.  BOOM!  I’m in love again.  Not because I really love this dude, but because he was really into me.  So, I told myself this time it would be different.

We started dating.  He immediately stopped dating the three women he was seeing (at one time) so that he could be exclusive with me.  Because he did that, he expected and directed me to stop talking to and participating in any friendship I had with any man.  I did. 

A couple of months passed.   I had pretty much lost all interest in school and going to class.  My entire life revolved around him.  We spent every waking moment together.  But it always felt so heavy to me.  Not having anything to compare this relationship to, I thought it was normal relationship heaviness. 

I went to a scrimmage game that he was playing in one night.  One of my former male friends was playing in that game.  I guess I smiled at him or said one too many words to him because it set my boyfriend into panic mode.  He asked me to go outside with him.  We walked away from the gym; he cursed at me and called me a couple of names.  Then, before I knew it, he’d knocked me to the ground and stomped on me.  I had gravel in my hair and rocks in my mouth.  The shock of the moment passed quickly because he picked me up and cried.  He immediately apologized.  We cried together and I felt sorry for him.  I knew then that he loved me and that I could forgive him.

I was with him for 11 years.  He cheated the entire time and he was physically abusive the entire time.  He alienated me from my friends and he convinced me that I was fat and worthless.  He made me feel like he was doing me a favor by being with me because no one else would want me.  I believed him since, up to that point no one ever did.

Eventually he broke up with me.  It’s funny because I never would have left him.  But I am thankful that God intervened and saved my life because he probably would have killed me.  He’d already wrecked my self esteem and diminished my perception of reality.  He also sealed the deal for me when it comes to love.  I was convinced coming out of that relationship that love DID NOT exists.  I never intended on being serious with a man again.  I was dead set against being married or monogamous.  I was prepared to be single and enjoy taking advantage of men in every possible way.  I even decided that if the right girl came around, I’d even try out being a lesbian.  Why not?  Love just did not live here anymore.

For a couple of years that worked.  I was happy partying and enjoying life.  I dated married men who only wanted to spend money on me.  They didn’t want anything else, not even sex.  That worked for me.  I was cool with that.  I was in somebody’s club every night of the week.  I was loose and carefree.  I hated the idea of love and I hated the idea of being committed to any man or anything – period.

Then, it happened. 

He walked into my life and the very first words he said to me were “Will you marry me?”  Full of game myself; I thought, wow, this sounds genuine for a one-liner.  Never-the-less, I walked away from him and didn’t think about him again - until the next week when I saw him again.   He was perfect.  He was dark and his teeth were gorgeous.  He was husky and taller than me.  I mean, really, this dude was the guy that I pictured when I was a little girl and I thought about what my husband would look like.  It’s almost as if God sent him to me and said, “Here my child….this is for you.  You’ve been through enough already.  It’s time for you to know love, to feel love and to give love.”

That man brought me back from that dark place.  Day by day he taught me how to love again and how to be loved.  I had refused to ever give my heart to any one again, but slowly he broke down those walls.  He took the time out to listen to my horror stories and he cared enough to want to understand why I had lost faith in love, life and men.  He accepted everything I had done, all my imperfections and he loved me anyway.  It wasn’t easy.  Most people don’t come back from the mentality I was comfortable in.  But with God’s favor and the gift of this man, I was able to see the bright light that I never saw before.  I was able to open up my heart to love again.

I would not change a single thing about the journey I’ve taken.  It hurt.  It completely destroyed the person I was, but the person I have become is all the better for it.  If I had never been abused and mistreated, I wouldn’t appreciate the awesomeness that true love brings.  I would never have known how much of a blessing it is to have a man that loves unconditionally.  I wouldn’t know how to compromise and support a man.  I wouldn’t know how to breathe easy just because my soul mate has my back and I don’t have to worry about the enemies of life.  I have a partner who is my best friend.  We laugh, we argue, we make up, we create, we exist together. 

I paid my dues to get to this point. 

Love is a process.  It’s not an action or an emotion.   It’s a journey.  It’s not a yellow brick road.  It doesn’t come just because you want it to.  It comes because you deserve it.  It comes because The Creator has favor on you and your life.  Until that time, it’s just a relationship or an experience.  It’s a powerful acceptance of self. It’s a part of life just as much as breathing, eating and sleeping.  Once love falls upon you, you will be different; your life will be different; your mindset will be different.  While my heart and soul believes that love is love, there is also something in me that recognizes that there is a particular realness to Black love.  It was a wild ride getting to a place where love can exist and thrive.  But I made it and I know that this love is a complete and good thing.  If you ask me how to recognize Black Love (or white love or mixed love), my only response can be: It’s just love and you’ll know it when it claims you. 

Now that a collective sigh of relief (for some) is beginning to subside, I can relax a bit and bask in the refreshing silence that accompanied the outpour of outrage behind Initiative 26.  This initiative served as a personal attack for me and my family.  Not only because I am a woman who will bend over backwards for my rights, but also because I am a woman who, for most of my life, has suffered from reproductive issues.  In the last four years, I have suffered through three ectopic pregnancies.  Ironically the last of them occurred the week leading up to the vote on whether to accept or reject the Mississippi Personhood Amendment.

Twenty months ago, my husband and I made a very intentional decision to end any possible chance of having more children.  After much consideration and soul searching, we decided to have a “tubal” to prevent the chance that we’d become pregnant.  Bralynn, our beautiful blessing and daughter, had finally gotten here after years of trying, countless procedures, and many disappointments.  We figured we’d accomplished the solid family unit we'd longed for individually and together.  We have a daughter heading to college next year, a son who’ll be going to the 12th grade next year and a teenager heading to high school.  We were willing to overlook our age and physical deficiencies in order to bring life to one more child that will connect all of our children. 

God finally saw us fit to have this baby and we were S-A-T-I-S-F-I-E-D.

I went the entire month of October wondering where my “monthly friend” was hiding.  I didn’t get too worked up about it because although a bit tired and feeling a little yucky from time to time, I found it easy to swat away any thoughts of being pregnant.  How could I be pregnant anyway?  I’d had my tubes tied not even two years ago.  Well….

After finally listening to my husband, I decided to go to the doctor.  Imagine the shock that covered me when she announced that I was  indeed pregnant – again.  It was fairly early on, but my history of ectopic pregnancies lead the doctor to believe that this pregnancy would likely be tubular as well. I prayed quickly and wondered "Why Lord, why?" I knew this pregnancy was not viable and was in constant horrendous pain that seemed to get worse by the day.  I was constantly reminded that there was a life trying to make it's way to the safety of my womb, but could not.  Some may not understand what that does to a woman, a mother, a daughter who has only given birth to two children but has been pregnant five times.  It’s hurtful and still to this day having to end this pregnancy without a real, physical baby has torn a whole in my heart.  The fact that I had made the decision not to have any more children and done the responsible thing by having my tubes tied (clipped and burned as my doctor emphasized), does not mask the fact that it happened.  As a spiritual person, if these cells had gotten to my uterus and a baby actually formed there, I would have happily accepted it as a gift from God.  My husband and I would have simply become new parents – again and that would have been ok.

Because of the pain and the hormonal episodes, I was unable to advocate as I would have like against Initiative 26.  But I did do the best I could to provide information by phone and online.  But mostly, I pulled way back from the real world and I just prayed.  I prayed for relief from feeling like I’d somehow been dealt a bad hand.  When you go through this type of thing, I think that’s a pretty normal reaction.  I’m learning that it doesn’t really go away.  We just have to learn to deal with it. 

Initiative 26, if passed, would have forced me to have surgery to prevent death or any other dangers that accompany a baby growing daily in my tubes.  Doctors would not have been able to treat the non-viable pregnancy with Methotrexate which is designed to stop the growth of rapidly dividing cells, such as embryonic, fetal, and early placenta cells.  The way this initiative read, if I was given the Methotrexate, the doctor would be committing murder and I suppose, I’d be guilty of homicide.  Trust me, this is not only outrageous, but it's stupid and totally irresponsible.

I have heard many speak about the initiative as if it was just “a thing”.  I have listened to arguments about saving the babies and life begins at conception.  I don’t really argue that fact.  However, what I do have a problem with is the idea that my life does not equal in value to that of a mass of cells that will never become a viable life.  There was no way these cells would ever result in a baby, but there are people in this country who would have my life be placed in danger because it exists, even though, I did not ask for it and frankly took major steps to prevent it.  

I’m a living witness that while going through this process the last thing a woman should have to deal with is not having the liberty to make her own decision or not being able to trust her doctor to take the best possible care with her life.  I could not even complete sentences that first couple of days because I was an emotional wreck.  Having to couple that mental anguish with the idea that I’d also have to fight for my life seems strikingly unfair to me.  Surely I matter more than that. 

Surely my life matters!

While I had my last injection of Methrotexate last Thursday, I stilll find myself in tears and praying for forgiveness as if I've done something wrong.  It doesn't take long for reality to sit in and I realize that I didn't do anything wrong.  But there's no way anyone could have told me that on that first day.  The thing about this entire situation is that it affects us all differently, but it does have an affect on your mind, soul and body.  I wouldn't have made the decision to have to end the pregnancy if it was God's will.  In my opinion that would be wrong.  But Initiative 26 didn't make provisions for people in my situation.  It grouped all women under one massive blanket with the intent to control all women.

We’ve bought ourselves some time for now, but I’m sure we’ll see this initiative again.  It’s my hope that we are prepared and as informed then as we were November 8.  It is really refreshing to know that there are many other Mississippians who stood in unison to stop this initiative from enslaving us and our bodies. 

Government has no place in our womb, not now – not ever!