I Am Not a Good Girl
When I was a kid, people always told me to "get out from underneath" my mom.
They said we were too close and that I needed to just walk up and talk to people I didn't know.
They said that that's what people do, that's what normal people do.
But it made my stomach crawl.
It made me angry that they wouldn't just leave me alone.
It also made me sad every time yet another adult looked at me strangely or told me I should be like other kids and shook their head in pity at the maladjusted woman I would inevitably HAVE to become.
I didn't grow up with a father in the picture. My parents divorced when I was 2.5-years-old and we moved from Detroit back to CT where my mom's family lived.
We moved in with my grandma and lived with her off-and-on until my mom took a job in CA and moved us across the country (right before I started high school... whooooole 'nother story there).
I grew up with two incredibly strong and determined women, with love in their hearts and challenge in their eyes.
They worked themselves to the bone to ensure their family had enough.
My grandma cleaned homes, worked retail, and was a cop. Multiple things at once.
My mom went to law school, got stalked while working for the DA's office, decided she didn't like working to defend bad guys, and went into corporate diversity.
My mom worked in NY and took the train in everyday. She didn't make it to many of my games or make it home to cook fresh meals everyday, which sometimes I got bratty about (for which I am eternally sorry).
I spent a lot of time at the police station after school, they were some of my favorite babysitters. I'd watch soap operas and report back to the female cops on duty about what Nicky and Victor were up to that day.
My godfather (my mom's cousin) was a deputy chief and I got to hang out with him whenever possible too. He was one of the best men I ever had the honor of knowing.
My grandma once put me in a jail cell so I could see what it felt like to be behind bars (combine my claustrophobia with my innate need for complete freedom, and let's just say it was some of the worst 5 minutes of my life and she didn't even lock the door behind her when she left).
I learned at a young age that hard work meant you were valuable.
And that you didn't get to choose work that excited you. You just took what you got, worked your ass off, and maybe someday you'd get to have some fun.
Not too much fun but some.
Do you remember that show "In Living Color"? And how they dressed up and pretended to be Jamaican and asked each other "How many jobs you got, man?"...
And if you said anything less than like 15, you weren't a real Jamaican?
Yeah. At one point I had 7 jobs.
My dad (best stepdad ever who joined our circus when I was 13) still jokes with me about how many jobs I often hold at one time (he wishes I'd be making incredible MONEY for working all those jobs and tries to understand the complexities of having a creative visionary artist for a daughter when he is a corporate dude with a background as VP and an HR Generalist... poor guy).
I've never really fit with most people.
I look back at childhood, the not-so-discreet head shakes from adults... the never ending cycle of working yourself to the bone only to have zero freedom to show for it... the idea that you have to enjoy engaging with randos if you want to be loved and understood... the notion that your value is dependent upon you following the crowd and settling into a life less lived...
There has always been a fire behind my eyes, sometimes quietly simmering, sometimes blazing to the sky.
I have always felt a stirring in my belly, a craving for something once remembered and long ago forgotten in the mindless shuffle of normality and going through the motions of being Human.
There has always been a whispering in the back of my mind, a purring at the base of my spine.
I could not identify it, but I knew I belonged to it and it to me.
I knew that one day I would uncover the Mystery.
That I would part the veil and See.
I was married once upon a time.
It didn't work out.
We grew, we loved, we hid, we sorrowed, we broke.
But we loved.
After the Ending, I started paying more attention to the whisper, the purring, the call.
I started seeking it out, excavating the darkness and the wounds to discover It.
Turns out It was a She.
And She was me. Not the mask. Not the forcing. Not the on-the-way-to-having-15-jobs-Jamaican-woman me. The Truth of me.
My Inner Wild Woman.
And she was ready for me to come home.
I denied her. I fought her. I sought her. I pleaded with her. I muted her. I reclaimed her. I said yes.
And I stepped into my own Untaming.
I Unraveled the tangled web of lies of what a woman must be and- even more specifically- what a modern day Black woman who is an Indigo Child/Messenger of the Divine/Light Worker must be.
To be free.
I said yes to becoming all of me.
To live and love and create and lead at my highest potential.
To start being the philanthropist I have always known I was here to be.
To raise the vibration of our planet with my love and my life.
To co-create iconic art and magic with The Divine and help lead other healers, creatives, Mystics, Mavericks, artists, and thought leaders home to the truth and beauty of their souls.
To shake off the shackles that surrounded my womanhood and unleash the intricate alchemy of my soul-shaking creativity.
To help other women do the same.
I have been called to the fire with God, art, and soul.
To create this offering for you.
To open the doors and part the veil for your freedom and pleasure.
For our Untaming.
For the world we want to see.
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Loving you madly and deeply.