Mama in Colour

Why I am a Failed ‘Influencer’ (And Why That is a Good Thing)

Filed Under: Life //

I am sure the title of this blog is somehow shocking to people or I will have people taking issue with me calling myself a 'failure' at something, but just hear me out here. This is a story that actually has a really good outcome so just keep reading and you will see. Failure sometimes just means it takes you to what your purpose actually is.

December 2018 is when I started my journey with monetizing social media as a job. I purchased my domain for my blog, started trying to curate my Instagram feed a little (my Instagram had been my personal account, and I just switched it over). I was someone that had started and stopped so many blogs and Instagram accounts, and since I had stopped working at my full time job when I was pregnant with my youngest child, I figured now I would actually have the time to see if I could make fetch happen. I won't even lie, it wasn't easy. There is both so much information about being an influencer, yet so few people are willing to actually have conversations with you about it or answer any questions. There are so many times I saw people that I admired in the industry and were successful, and when I reached out to them with basic questions (not asking for contacts, for details, for 'trade secrets', for any of that) and I was met with rudeness or links to programs I would have to pay for that I couldn't afford. This isn't me saying that people shouldn't be paid for their expertise, but when your question is a simple "Hey, love your content! What program do to use to edit your photos?", and it is met with "I don't share that, sorry, but buy my $500 course to find out", it starts to feel like you are trying to get into a club and being told you aren't wearing the dress code, but no one will tell you what the dress code actually is. I could write a whole post about my feelings on this, because I know there is a lot of polarizing thoughts and opinions on information sharing within the influencer world, but that is another subject for another time.

Slowly but surely, I started to see 'success', or what is defined as success as an influencer. I started working with more brands. I joined rewardStyle (and affiliate linking program to get commission on folks purchases of items you recommend) because that felt like the thing to do if you were posting about fashion even a little bit. I got to the magical 10K number that so many influencers stress because it is dangled as a bait for more jobs, better paying jobs, jobs with larger companies. So much of what I was applying for wanted the 10K, wanted the swipe up. I got to a point of where I felt like once I got to 10K, that would be when I would be legit and real and I would somehow stop feeling the stress of trying to 'make it'.

Spoiler alert; I was really wrong about that.

I'm going to be completely transparent; once I got past 10K, it was easier to get jobs. I was working with more and more brands. Despite the fact that this was my job now, I was still trying to be as thoughtful with the projects that I took on, but like a lot of jobs, sometimes we end up doing things that just don't feel like we are being ourselves because we need to get paid. I enjoyed the products that I was promoting, but after a certain point I grew weary of just talking about vacuum cleaners and sneakers and trying endless skincare products feeling like I must have looked fake as hell because who really tries skincare like that all the damn time and seriously loves it all and uses it all...all the time? I noticed that my posts about more serious things I wanted to talk about didn't get much traction. Everyone wanted influencers to be 'real', but no one was down to engage with posts about race, body neutrality, or politics. It confused me and left me feeling aimless and like I was building a brand and business on only part of who I really was. I kept throwing in the posts I really wanted to share that didn't have to do with making a dime, though. I had to or else I would have felt completely lost. To say nothing of the fact that I didn't blog much at all because I barely felt like I had time for it, which hurt because writing is truly my first love.

And then the pandemic happened.

And then George Floyd was murdered.

And my whole world turned upside down and something inside of me just broke.

I started sharing what was on my heart completely. I started talking openly about the complexities of being a Black influencer, and the fact that so many of us are paid less (some people DO talk and trust me; it's real), are offered less lucrative jobs, are offered less money for more work. About my frustrations with police brutality. About experiencing financial hardships, about having a car repossessed, about us being down a whole income because of the pandemic. I just let it all flow out of me.

I realized that for me, I was approaching all of this wrong. At the heart of it all, I wanted to use whatever influence I had for change, for healing, for marginalized people to feel less alone in a world that often neglects them, and for non-marginalized people to wake up to that. And I do love fashion, I love sharing about items that I enjoy, I love promoting products that I actually like and feel value in.

But I love being an advocate more.

This has made my social media an interesting place. I am very picky about the brands I work with, and will only do so if I find true value in them and I feel like other people will. I only will do so with the caveat that I will not be pushy and I am not a salesperson. I still have my rewardStyle account, but I don't link to it much, and always heavily disclose that it is an affiliate link when I do. I talk a lot about my own personal growth, coming into my own as a recently out non-binary individual. I talk about being queer and married to a cis het man. I talk about raising a gay and gender fluid teenager. I talk about pretty outfits. I talk about my recovery from my eating disorder and being body neutral. I talk about being a tireless advocate and defender of Black people and challenging racism both on and off social media. I unabashedly talk about politics, ableism, homophobia, transphobia. I also really love to chat about good food.

All in all, some of that has for sure alienated people. I have been unfollowed by many, have had people tell me they liked my 'old' content better, when I was less transparent, when I didn't talk about things that they don't agree with, don't like, don't understand. I for sure have been offered less and less paid gigs, which make no mistake, as picky as I am about, I still will take if I feel good about it.

At the same time, though, I have gotten so many wonderful messages from people who appreciate what I am putting out into the world, and support me fully as who I am. I loathe the term that Instagram is a 'highlight reel', because it truly is YOUR highlight reel, and it can be as real or as fake was you want it to be. At the end of the day, my content is for the supporters and the haters. For the supporters to take what they need to from it, and for the haters to maybe stick around and learn something, or ultimately keep it moving. I don't expect to be for everyone, and that too is okay.

So yes, in the traditional sense I am a failed influencer. I realized I just wasn't good at playing the game, about curating my feed and ultimately my life, stressing the numbers and the algorithm, feeling the pressure to be a salesperson. This isn't me saying anything is wrong with those things, either; I have friends that are successful and wonderful influencers who bring a lot of value to that space, and it is truly their calling. It simply isn't mine.

Does this mean that *I* am a failure, though? Not a chance.

2021: Persevere

Filed Under: Life //

I have never really been a resolution person. For me, it just feels like it sets me up for disappointment if I don't meet a bunch of arbitrary expectations of what I am supposed to have done in the course of a year. There are so many other factors that can go into accomplishing different things and if the universe just doesn't have it in the cards, then no matter how bad you want it to happen, it just won't.

Last year I decided to try doing a word of the year. It felt like it would be easy enough; it would set the tone of the year and be something to infuse into so many different aspects of my life, but it wouldn't be specific goals.

I chose the word 'Joy'.

Considering what a year 2020 turned out to be, it ended up being a great word to have in my life. There were so many times when all of the wild things were happening last year that I really reframed a lot of how I look at joy, and how it is possible to have it in your life when the world around you seems to be crumbling. I found that it didn't have to be some sort of toxic positivity troupe. It could be something as simple as the fact that I got out of bed that day. That I was able to enjoy a hot cup of coffee. That I got a hug from my husband at just the right time. That my kids did something particularly funny. I was able to find joy in small moments without worrying about if they were big enough, grand enough.

I thought long and hard about what I wanted my word to be for 2021 and it didn't really come to me until the last couple days of the year. I ultimately decided on 'Persevere'. I am cautiously hopeful that we will start rising from some of the chaos of 2020, and I want to be able to keep moving and growing. I want to persevere though the moments when I feel like I can't, and I want to persevere through the moments where I feel like I am winning the fight.

No matter what tangible things I accomplish this year, that is my only real goal.

To just keep going.

How Grief and Anger Co-Exist

Filed Under: Life //

Tomorrow is August 17th.

Eight years ago tomorrow, my aunt who raised me in the place of my parents (my father has never been in my life and my mother, her sister, died when I was nine; they are another story for another time) died. She was 67. I was 30.

Her illness was abrupt and sudden; I had to call an ambulance to our home (my oldest son and I were living with her after my divorce) on the 15th, and she died the morning of the 17th of stage 4 uterine cancer that we didn't even know she had.

I have written about those 48 hours other times in my life in more detail and this blog isn't about those painful days, days that honestly will still haunt me at times when I least expect it. When I am suddenly taken back to having to make the decision to cut care, when there was nothing else to do because the disease and the pain was too great. To when I watched her blood pressure go down to 70/30, and when I held her hand as she slipped from this life into the next.

This actually isn't about any of that.

This is about how angry I am.

I find that one of the things that people don't talk about is how anger and grief dance so closely together. I have been through death before; like I said, my mother died when I was only nine. My grandmother and two of my uncles also died when I was a child. I have friends who have died, I have miscarried several times. None of that, though, prepared me for the anger I feel over my aunts death. The searing rage that I still feel eight years later, that lives side by side with the sadness and the pain.

I'm angry that she had been talking about having pain for a long time, and I begged her to go to the doctor but she wouldn't go.

I'm angry that she lived with that pain for so long and we had no clue what it was.

I'm angry that once she finally agreed to let me take her to the emergency room, just ten days before she died, that the care she got was shameful, and she was horribly fat shamed, age shamed, and taken for a hypochondriac.

I'm angry that I have a husband and two children that she never got to meet, and I have a beautiful teenager that she only saw for six years, that still had pain in his voice when he speaks of her because he was so close to her.

I'm angry that enough years have passed since her death that I do not and cannot romanticize our relationship anymore and there will never be any opportunity to repair some of the cracks and complications and things that were broken.

I'm angry that I'm not even 40, and I have no mother figure in my life to lean on.

I'm angry that she is GONE.

It feels like when someone dies we aren't supposed to talk about those emotions, that somehow it is tainting the memory of someone or it is something that we shouldn't feel. We are often made to think that speaking about the more negative side of death means you aren't coping well or you are just not "doing it right". That your faith isn't strong enough, that you heart isn't strong enough.

Death is not one-dimensional. There are so many emotions that happen, especially when it is sudden. I know in the last eight years I have felt so many different emotions, but my anger has always been the one that frightened me. I think for a long time I was afraid to really talk about my anger about it, but this year I feel it spilling over, to the point of where I either had to let it come forth or I would choke on it.

That is why I decided to write this, to pour those feelings out and not let them consume me. Because anger is natural, it's human, and going to happen; it's only an issue when you let it eat you alive.

This is my note to anyone out there who is experiencing anger with their grief; know that you aren't alone. Know that it is okay. Know that you have to let your feelings come as they flow. They are valid. They are real.

And so on the anniversary of her death tomorrow, I will be thinking about all of those things that make me angry, but I also will be thinking about my love for her, the love that she had for me, and how much she is missed.

An Ode On Father’s Day

Filed Under: Life, Parenting //

I was a single mother for over three years when I met Sean. In the time since my divorce I had dated, and even one or two of those relationships had been serious, but above any relationship I would have with someone was the relationship that I had with my child. Any time I would feel like things were getting serious with someone, I just would have this nagging feeling that I didn’t know how they would really fit into the life Nate and I had cultivated together. I didn’t introduce Nate to just anyone and even of those couple that met him, only one met him as someone I was dating. I was always very upfront about how my child would come first and if someone didn’t like that, they could bounce. Also if they DID meet my child and I didn’t feel good about the vibes, then I wouldn’t be able to continue moving forward. 

Sean was the only person who not only didn’t seem offended by that but seemed to deeply respect me for it. The more that we talked, I found out that he grew up with a stepfather that he had a very contentious relationship with, and he vowed to himself if he was ever in a similar situation that he would do things differently. He took that situation just as seriously as I did and while there were many things that softened my heart to him, that was the main thing that really made me go all in. 

Sean met Nate when Nate was six years old. I still remember that meeting so distinctly. They played Legos together and something told me that this relationship, with this particular human, would be good for not just me but for Nate too. My aunt who raised me had just recently passed away, and she and Nate were so close. Nate was having a hard time with her death and Sean’s gentle way with him had him smiling and laughing in a way that he hadn’t in weeks. 

Sean always did it just right; he was kind and friendly to Nate and genuinely interested in him, but he didn’t press or push in a way that was phony or off-putting. We were in a long-distance relationship with Sean living in Austin and Nate and I in Charlotte for the first nearly two years we dated. Whenever he would come visit, seeing both of them light up when they were together was a beautiful thing. Sean would take the time to write Nate letters and send them to him, letters that Nate still had to this day because he treasures them. When the time that Sean knew he wanted to ask me to marry him because we had discussed that being our next step, he made sure to call Nate and talk to him about it and make sure it was good with him. Nate was over the moon and it was more than good with him. 

Nate is now turning fourteen in a little over a month. Sean has been in his life for over half of it and he says he doesn’t really remember a life without him in it. Their bond has only grown stronger and closer as Nate has gotten older. I know a lot of the self-assurance and confidence that Nate has in himself as a person is due to the love and guidance and caring that he has experienced from Sean over the years. Nate has said that Sean is the standard for the kind of person, the kind of man, that he wants to become. 

Before I gave birth to Ezra and Micah and we were having fertility issues and I miscarried several times, people would make tactless comments about Sean ‘becoming’ a father and he would always adamantly tell people he was already a father and he would be regardless if we had any more children or not. 

We were given the gift of having two more sweet, wild, beautiful children, and it has been one of my greatest joys to watch Sean parent from the beginning of a child’s life. The same patience and light that he always has poured into Nate is now also poured into Ezra and Micah. He is simply someone who was born for fatherhood in every way; when it’s hard, when it’s funny, when it’s sad, when it’s joy. 

The universe knew what it was doing when it allowed my heart to see all of the possibilities when I saw a tiny shy six year old and a sweet and patient man play with Legos. My life was never the same after that in the most exquisite way. There isn’t a day that I am not grateful for the human Sean is, but the thing that I am the most proud of him for is the father that he is. 

Don’t Touch My Hair

Filed Under: Life //

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My husband Sean & I, June 2020

If I had to say one feature of both Sean's and mine that gets commented on the most, it would be our hair. He generally has his worn in a 'fro of various lengths and while I wear my natural hair straight (frankly for no other reason besides I like the versatility of being able to go back and forth; I have not chemically straightened my hair since 2009, though), I love how it grows out of my head.

With every positive comment, though, there are always the ones that are harmful and are rooted in racism, white supremacy, and Eurocentric ideals of what hair is 'supposed; to look like. I feel as though a lot of people don't really stop to think about how when you are black, every day things like just how you choose to wear your hair somehow are fair game for people to comment on as if it is somehow their right at best, and completely discriminate against you at worst.

The title of this blog is inspired from a song that Sean wrote for his musical project, The Cocker Spaniels, called "Touch My Hair". Listening to the song with lyrics like "You can't touch my hair - not with those dirty hands! Maybe if you asked first, then I might understand, but even if you did, I'd probably say no, 'cause I'm not an exhibit, and this is just a 'fro." give you a clear idea into the experience that Sean has had in regard to his hair. I have witnessed so many people, complete strangers, reach up to touch his hair, as if that is somehow their right, as if somehow he isn't a real person with body autonomy, as if he is a cute animal that someone wants to pet. My husband is a lanky 6'1", so folks have to reach pretty high up to be able to do this.

His experience in the workforce has been fraught with hurtful and rude comments; such as when he applied for a job at a newspaper in Texas out of college. He was told that his resume was the best and he asked the best questions of any of the applicants, but his appearance and especially his hair, gave off the vibe that he was someone who had not "figured out his life yet". Or when we were both working at the same non-profit, and a young man who Sean worked with asked him about "that thing" on his head; it is also worth pointing out that this individual (a white passing POC) spoke other racist things, both subtle and blatant. When Sean spoke up about it to his supervisor, his concerns were dismissed and this person was instead promoted to a supervisor position.

Those are just two examples, but they are simply two of many.

As for myself, I have experienced years of microaggressions in regard to wearing my hair in its natural state. People feel the need to give me opinions I never asked for in regard to how they prefer I wear my hair, comparing it to wild animals, and of course touching my hair without my permission.

There there is one instance that always sticks out in my mind the most. Before I transitioned into full time blogging and being home with my kids, I worked for over ten years for that same non-profit that Sean also worked for. I worked my way up the ladder, and had many different hats during my time there. At one point I was in charge of all of the business operations for one of our branches. I spent a great deal of my time in my office since I was handling a lot of cash and checks. Different directors would be in and out of my office for things.

One morning, one of the senior directors came into my office to discuss a few things. I was sitting at my desk and she was standing next to me. Once we finished speaking, I fully expected her to leave.

Instead she got close to me, standing over me. She then grabbed a handful of my hair, which was down and curly, and said "Oh wow, my sister has nappy hair like this!".

She said it cheerfully, loudly, as if we were friends and having a conversation. As if she had the right to get in my personal space, when she was in a place of physical dominance as I was sitting down. As if this was something that should have been completely out of the ordinary.

She dropped the handful of my hair almost as fast as she picked it up, and then just walked out of my office.

For context, she was a white woman.

For further context, her white sister does not have 'nappy' hair.

At the time when this happened, in 2013, I truly felt completely demoralized and harmed. I knew it was wrong, I knew it felt wrong, I knew I really should say something to someone, anyone about it.

But I didn't. I couldn't.

I'd been down this road at my job with other racial microaggressions; I would be gaslit, I would be told she didn't mean anything by it, that it wasn't 'racially' motivated, be told over and over again that it really just wasn't that serious.

That instance haunted me the remainder of my time I worked there. Even after she left, after I moved onto a different position in a different building. Every time I would wear my hair natural and someone would exclaim loudly about how 'exotic' and 'wild' my hair was. As if I am an animal in a jungle and not a human being just trying to breathe and do my job.

The reason I am sharing these stories is because it IS that serious. Because it is incredibly important for people to know that it isn't 'just hair' when you are black. When we can't simply just wear our hair as it grows out of our head without being touched, poked, prodded, questioned, jeered at, not hired, judged, ridiculed. There are still people being discriminated against in the work place in regard to natural black hairstyles. It is not and never has been okay.

Racism isn't just people running around in white sheets and burning crosses in lawns, screaming the N word at people. It is also people feeling as though they have a right to make insensitive comments about your appearance, to touch you, to not respect you enough to just leave you alone. White supremacy isn't linear; there are many ways to give into racist ideals and this is one of them.

That is why I am speaking on this, starting this dialogue. There are so many things that come with living black in the United States, both beautiful and brutal. If you want to believe our lives matter? You need to hear about all aspects of those lives.

Sean and I will still rise, will still wear our hair as we choose. We have three beautiful curly haired children who we want to have pride in their crowns, and we will make sure that happens, no matter who tries to make it not so.

Nate The Great

Filed Under: Life, Parenting //

My oldest son Nate is one of the great loves of my life. He and I have been through so much together; his father and I divorcing when he was three, the sudden death of my aunt who raised me (who we lived with) when he was six, and a lot of the time it being just the two of us. There are so many happy memories too, like Sean joining our tiny family and then the birth of his brothers, whom he adores.

There is one moment that truly stands out as a pivotal moment in our relationship that took place almost a year ago on June 30, 2019.

Earlier in the day, it was when Lil Nas X came out. It was the last day of Pride and everyone was talking about it. I remember that evening casually mentioning it to Nate because like Sean and I, he is a big fan, so it was something to discuss. He seemed to think that it was really cool, but we didn't really discuss it much further.

at 11:59 PM that night, after I thought Nate was long asleep, I got a text from him.

I will not share the exact details of the text, but it was a text telling me that he is gay and he was telling me via text because he felt nervous. We are an extremely LGBTQ affirming and supporting household, so you can feel the magnitude and weight he must have been feeling to feel nervous about telling us about it. Think about all of the kids out there grappling with their sexuality who know they don't have a supportive family, and just imagine how they would feel.

My heart started beating faster and I remember just saying Sean's name several times and handing him my phone. We both looked at each other with wide eyes, and I said that I knew I needed to go upstairs to talk to him. Sean was so rattled that for a second he honestly forgot Nate was even at home. When I say he was rattled, it wasn't out of upset or fear, we just hadn't seen this coming right now.

I went upstairs, and I think Nate knew that I would be coming up. Immediately I gave him a hug and told him thank you for trusting me, with trusting us, with such a big part of his story. That we loved him, we support him, and we are here for him. I didn't say much because I didn't want to overwhelm him, so I left him with another hug and I went downstairs.

As soon as I got downstairs, I started sobbing. Not because I was sad. Not because I was mourning some sort of heterosexual ideal I had for my child. I was sobbing because my twelve year old was the bravest person I knew, because my twelve year old was nervous but ultimately knew that he lived in a home that would love him and affirm him. Because my twelve year old would be able to feel a sort of love and freedom for who he is that isn't always afforded to LGBTQ teens.

So now here we are a year later. I can honestly say that watching Nate blossom and see his confidence soar has been one of the most beautiful things of my life. In hindsight, I didn't realize how the weight of holding that to himself truly was weighing on him. Ever since that night, since that text, I can see a light and a joy in my child that wasn't there. As a mother, that is all I could possibly want.

It feels important to share this story now, to share that I am a black mother of not only a black teenage boy, but a black gay teenage boy. I spoke with him about sharing this, and he gave his permission because I would not dream of sharing a word of this without his permission. As we are starting this month of Pride and one that has been so heart-breaking in so many ways, I want to share this story because I know there very well are other black mothers out there who are raising these exceptional black gay kids, who have so much fear in their hearts over the world accepting them.

I want to show an example of a black mother of a black gay teen who is affirming their child, who is loving their child, who is accepting their child. I know the future will be hard and I know there will be obstacles and there were be people who don't understand. We will not only be fighting white supremacy but also homophobia as well.

I don't have all the answers, but what I do know is that my Nate is many things; he is smart, he is witty, he is kind, he is loving, he is amazing. He is also black and he is also gay. All of those things make the puzzle that he is and regardless of the future, we have his back and we are in his corner. His beautiful spirit is unmatched and I couldn't be more proud of him.

We need to hear these stories, these stories of black families celebrating and embracing their LGBTQ children. Their lives are worthy, their lives matter, their lives are important.

 

So Now What: Where Do I Go From Here?

Filed Under: Life //

The last week has fundamentally changed me in ways that I am just coming to terms with and that I know I am still going to be unpacking and trying to understand for a long time to come.

If you know me in my personal life, I am someone who has always been very vocal and open about social justice and battling racism. For me, it’s something that is a non-issue as a cis black woman living in the United States, especially having black children. It isn’t something I thought greatly about because it was just how I lived my life.

I have been an ‘influencer’ on Instagram and creating content for a year and a half now. I always have been super open about myself and who I am. I never tried to hide my blackness, my views, or any of that. It simply wasn’t something that was the main focus of what I was putting out there, though. I talked a lot about motherhood, and fashion, and life in general in between doing paid collaborations with brands that I respect but I didn’t talk a lot about how it all related to me being black. I wasn’t afraid of somehow alienating my audience or anything like that, it simply wasn’t the place that it was an outlet for me. If we are Facebook friends or friends offline, I know you all are very well acquainted with that side of me.

The death of George Floyd broke a dam inside of me, though. There was a well of grief and despair and it felt like it was going to drown me. I started seeing a lot of things from my influencer peers that felt hurtful, dismissive, and downright racist in regard to everything that was going on in the country. I cannot pretend that there already isn’t an unspoken divide between white/NBPOC and black influencers on social media. I know a lot of people will say they feel surprised by that, but if you’re black and carving out a career from this, you feel it from feeling like you’re the token black person of the crowd to when you actually start talking to your white peers about money and you realize you’re making less than them for the same collaborations. The inequity in salaries even reaches this realm of work, trust me.

With all of that said, I started to feel angry. And I realized that I wanted to use that anger to speak out. To talk about the pain and fear of living black in this country, my fears for my husband and my children, my fears of police brutality, the ways in which people have done and said harmful things, regardless if they intended to or not. I opened up myself in ways that I haven’t ever done in a public way, sharing my pain and my thoughts and my life as raw as I possibly could. There was no prettying it up, no ‘highlight reel’ of squares with just one story. There was both the good and the bad running tandem together, just as it is in my offline life.

The words kept coming and so did the people to read them, to bear witness to them. And the people actually saw the value in my words and my labor and started paying me for them. Deep in my heart I knew that the time and the emotional bandwidth I was using to put my life out there in such a way was worthy of monetary value but I honestly didn’t imagine that people would. But they did and continue to do so.

As of right now, I have two highlights on my Instagram page that are dedicated to the work I am doing. I am flooded with several hundred new followers, more shares than I can count, messages, with support (so far no one being awful but I’m smart enough to know that will happen at some point), and with questions that I do my best to answer but also tell people that they have the tools to find them, they don’t need me to tell them. That’s really the biggest takeaway I want people to have; it is ones individual responsibility to find the resources and information to become actively anti-racist.

And now I have asked myself; so what now?

I know for me my platform is forever changed. I will still be doing collaborations with brands that I feel are a good fit for me (because Mama needs to make money, y’all). I still love fashion and when I feel good about sharing that, I’ll share again. I love sharing things about my kids and my husband and my home. That’s all part of the package.

But I feel like my purpose has fundamentally changed. I feel like this work I am doing now, this is what I need to be doing and where my heart belongs. This is my way of protesting, this is my way of showing that my black life matters; by showing people a FULL black life and what it’s like to be fighting for change and speaking up and out, all while being a mom and a wife and a friend. I can’t go back now because this is what I am being called to do in the deepest depths of my spirit.

I know a lot of white and NBPOC influencers have been asking themselves if it is okay to talk about other things, to accept collaborations, all of that. My take on it is this and I can only speak for myself; this is more than about what your Instagram feed and stories are. This is more than a day, a week, a moment. I want people to change their minds and their hearts and start dismantling their minds and live out anti-racism in their lives. I am pretty aware that eventually folks will post other things; I care more what is going on in your day to day life. People, especially people who are new to this sort of thing, becoming full time activists out of nowhere is a dangerous slope and frankly would feel disingenuous. Especially for the people who didn’t say a thing about it before now. Y’all aren’t equipped to do all that.

Life is going to continue. The thing is now that I hope more people than ever understand that within that, the lives of black people need to continue as well and that we have the right to do so. People need to take the energy they have right now and put it into their families, their children, their community, and themselves, to dismantle white supremacy and systematic violence at the hands of police.

As for me, I’m answering the call of what I know I need to do. And I hope you all will be along for the ride.

What It Means to be a Black Mama

Filed Under: Life, Parenting //

It is the day before my middle child Ezra's birthday. He will be three years old.

I spent part of my evening sobbing in a Target parking lot while I ran out to get batteries.

I wasn't crying because my child is growing up and I want to keep him little. I wasn't crying because I was thinking back to his birth, to how hard we fought to get him here after miscarriages and unexplained secondary infertility. I wasn't even crying because I was feeling the exhaustion of trying to make sure he has a special birthday in the midst of the COVID-19 pandemic.

Out of our three kids, Ezra is for sure the most extroverted, the most brash, the most loud, the most extra. While his brothers are quieter and more reserved, he has no boundaries and he is convinced everyone is his friend ready to watch him perform and entertain them.

He is the child that we worry about the most.

Naturally Sean and I worry about all of our children but we know his wild spirit is something that can't and won't be tamed and as he gets older he is going to become even more of a hurricane with his personality. He is destined to be a star in some way.

I was crying because I am heart-broken at thinking that all of that light could be easily snuffed out simply because one day he won't merely be a cute extroverted kid. He will grow up to be a black adult, the melanin in his skin darkening as he ages like his older brothers did, and all of the joy and pain that comes from being black. The joy and the pain that always go hand in hand because they always co-exist.

I was thinking about how once Ezra and Nate and Micah are adults, and naturally they will have their own lives and will be living their lives still connected but likely separate from us. How I will live in fear of a phone call saying they didn't make it through an encounter with the police. How I have nightmares at night seeing the faces and bodies of my beautiful sweet children grown up, being held down at the neck by a cops knee, being shot with a cops gun, as they cry out for me as George Floyd cried out for his mother. How I wake up sweat drenched and near tears, only to see the small bodies of my toddlers curled up next to me, safe another day, knowing my teenager has his lanky body snuggled up in his bed, safe another day. I sigh with relief that there is another day, one more day, just one more day, where they are safe and with me.

I was crying thinking about how I should just be celebrating but I was sitting in my car feeling like my heart was breaking with fear and anger and pain.

I cried it out. I got myself together. I went in Target, got the batteries, and went home to my smiling, happy kids and my wonderful husband who were glad to see me. I let their joy envelop me like the gift that it was.

This is what it means to be a black mama, of black children. It is constantly having the fear nipping at your heels while you try to chase the joy.

Not a Wine Mom: Being Sober By Choice

Filed Under: Life //

It often feels like there are two different camps of folks; either you are a 'wine mom' who loves kicking back with a glass or two or you are someone with addiction issues (which let me stop and say this; addicts need love and compassion, not judgement) who completely has to avoid alcohol for vital reasons.

I honestly feel like I come across few people like me; folks who used to drink, never had  a drinking problem, but just made the choice one day to stop. We don't often hear those stories being told as loudly, so I have been wanting to share mine because I know there are plenty of us out there.

The choice I made to not drink anymore was really sort of a whim and the first thoughts of it were an even bigger one; I never had been a super heavy drinker but like a lot of people, I enjoyed a few glasses of wine or a couple of beers on occasion. I had my share of silly and incredibly drunken moments when I was in my early 20's but thankfully I got through it without any major fallout. I was between pregnancies with Ezra and Micah (who take note are only 14 1/2 months apart) and I remember getting a six pack of rose cider and trying to get myself excited about having a couple. It just felt like it made sense; of COURSE I was excited to have alcohol again! I had just been pregnant, and now I could drink again! That is exciting!

...Or was it really? To be truthful, I felt a lot more pressure from the outside world of being able to be like "What a relief, I can drink again!" than I felt genuine excitement about it. I drank those couple ciders and I ended up feeling physically terrible. My head pounded like I had been on a bender or something and it was awful. I chalked it up to not having drank in a long time, but didn't think too much of it. Cue a few months later and I found out that I was pregnant with Micah again, I wasn't drinking again. The thought admittedly didn't cross my mind, I was too busy with the whirlwind of having two babies so close together completely by surprise.

Then we get to New Years Eve 2018; I was not pregnant and ready to rock. We got some wine because yet again...of COURSE you celebrate the New Year with a little bit of wine! And again, I had a small amount (one glass) and ended up feeling really sick afterwards. And yet again, I just didn't think much of it since it had been a while since I drank.

So I tried again a couple of nights later.

And I had the same result; felt incredibly sick.

That is when I truly asked myself why I felt like I had to keep trying to do something that didn't make me feel good. Why did I have to keep doing something because it was what I was 'supposed' to do? It doesn't matter that I used to drink, it doesn't matter how it used to make me feel. What mattered was that it didn't make me feel good NOW. It wasn't something that I felt that I wanted to keep trying to do, even if I got to a point where it didn't make me feel sick.

So since January 2019, I officially have considered myself a non-drinker.

I won't lie, I didn't talk much about it at first. It wasn't because I felt like I wanted to hide it, it just was something I didn't feel like I really needed to make a big statement about. I told Sean and my closest friends, and really just kept it at that.

Then the world started creeping in, though. I would be involved in conversations that would have to do with alcohol. I would see all of the images online, the memes, all of the chatter surrounding wine moms, and being a wine mom, and having all your friends be wine moms too. I started telling people with conviction that I didn't drink, not thinking that I would really have to explain myself or that it would be a big deal.

Y'all, was I wrong about that one.

The most common question I get when I talk about being sober is if I am an alcoholic. It isn't something that I feel ashamed or embarrassed about answering, but I find it very odd how many people assume that you cannot simply choose to not drink without having a problem with addiction. People seem incredulous that there isn't a 'reason'. That it isn't addiction, that it isn't religion, that there isn't a reason simply beyond I just don't want to. It really makes me think about the grip and overwhelming normalization alcohol has in our world.

The reaction that honestly bothers me the most is when I'm in social circles in my life and people tell me that they don't know how I do it with two toddlers so close in age without drinking at night. That sounds so unreal right? I wish I could say that it was, but it isn't. I'm really honest about the fact that life with two little ones that are close in age is HARD. There is no doubt about that and I would never try to gloss over it. I don't like the assumption that to get through it, I should need to drink, though. When alcohol becomes a coping mechanism, that isn't just relaxing; that's being on your way to a drinking problem.

I write all of this because I really want to stress to other moms (and dads and parents of all genders) that you don't have to feel pressured to drink if you don't want to. You don't have to have a reason and you don't owe anyone answers about it. There are so many things in our society that have a way of getting in our heads and thinking there is only one right or wrong way to do something. You are in charge of your story and your destiny. You are able to add chapters, change the narrative, create a whole new ending. That power is up to YOU.

And if you are someone who is on the same path as me or are looking to start it, please don't hesitate to contact me if you need a like-minded ear. I might not want to chop it up over a glass of wine, but I am always down to connect over a cold can of (non-diet) Coke.

Toxic Positivity During a Pandemic

Filed Under: Life //

It is March 27, 2020 as I write this. As is very apparent to everyone, there is a global pandemic with COVID-19 and its center. I am someone who resides in the United States and in just a couple of short weeks, things have rapidly changed. There are mandatory 'stay at home' orders in many states (including my own, North Carolina), school districts have been closed, there are shortages on things like toilet paper and hand sanitizer. So many things have been happening that a lot of people didn't fathom could happen.

Naturally, there is a lot of panic and fear surrounding everything. So many common place things that people took for granted, such as making a run to Target or getting coffee with a friend, have been compromised. We have all been asked to make sacrifices so we are able to flatten the curve.

With that said, of course everyone has a different idea of how to cope with all of this. Everyone has a different level of concern and way it is affecting them, and certainly keeping a positive attitude is something that can be really important when you are going through something that is uncomfortable or difficult.

What about when that positivity becomes toxic and harmful, though?

There comes a point when strictly focusing on 'positive vibes' really is ignoring the serious nature of what is going on. I have seen a great many people talk about how how this situation is such a "blessing in disguise" and a "good thing" because it is giving everyone a chance to slow down and spend more time with their families.

It is one thing to try and stay positive in a hard situation, but to call a pandemic a good thing is a knife in the heart to the people who are truly being affected by all of this in tangible harmful ways.

People are dying. People are losing their jobs. People are losing their loved ones. People are putting themselves at risk in jobs they never thought would ask that of them. People are in danger of losing their homes. People are in danger of not being able to pay their bills.

I know for me personally this is something that is affecting my family in various and potentially catastrophic ways. My husband is immunocompromised, with both asthma and high blood pressure. We are constantly worried that he will get sick. Also his tour booking business, which helped keep us afloat, has grinded to a halt for obvious reasons. Without that income, we are starting to wonder how we will be able to pay our rent come April 1. There has been no announcement in regard to any sort of rent freeze in my area and our rental company has made it clear rent is due when it's due, pandemic or not.

I don't say that to garner sympathy or pity, but I say it because that is my reality and it is the reality for MANY people I know. Our situation is not unique. Many friends of mine are living through the same sorts of horrors and even worse.

So imagine how it feels when you are aching with anxiety and worry and you go on Instagram or Facebook to see people talking about how has been such a 'great thing' for them and that how it is really what they needed to slow down their lives and spend more time with their family and realize what is important.

It feels like a slap in the face every single time. It HURTS.

I'm not saying that you can't have any joy in your life right now. I'm not saying that everything has to constantly be dark and serious and morose. Goodness knows I am doing the best I can to be positive and focused, and finding some joy where ever I can as much as I can. This is a call to action for people to think about your words and actions and how they can leave a mark.

You can be positive without it becoming toxic.

You can be positive without it negating the very real and lived experiences of others.

You can be a light without putting other people in the dark.