It’s Valentine’s Day 2023. I spent more time than usual contemplating how to start my day. What would be most meaningful? There was a prayer of gratitude, texts to friends and family, a social media post for Snapdragon Journal to remind those who aren’t feeling loved that we love them, a post in honor of my mom who will be 80 in a couple of days. And there were text messages between me and my lover. (I love that term – more on that later.)
 
As I thought about him and this day that gets so much "love",  I received the answer to my earlier question: I would spend the morning with a cup of coffee while I write before “going to work.” It's been awhile since I've blogged and today felt like a good day to add a post.
 
For decades, I have been studying love. I’ve read more relationship books than you can imagine. Not so much "how to get a man" books but the ones like Enchanted Love. I remember even before all the reading I would go to Hallmark at the corner of campus and buy Valentine's Day cards even though I didn't have a Valentine! (I still have the one in the photo -- from 1990s. It cost $1.65.)

If you’re someone I've met up with more than three times, I’ve probably engaged you in a conversation about love. Though little of my poetry is about romance, it is one of the areas of life I'm most curious. Not so much about dating tips and fairytales, but on how love develops. How is it sustained? What makes love love? You know, all the questions you have to live.
 
Fast forward to now, when I've come to know first hand that romantic relationships can be a way for God to speak to us and to love us back into our wholeness. I used to think that a man was to make me whole. If I’m loved romantically then I am valued. I mean, that’s what society shows and teaches us, right? We aren’t complete without a partner, right? That's a lie and I’m SO glad that I realized this earlier on and went most of my adult life solo, so that I could learn to love myself deeply and completely – learning I am 100% valuable without being in a partnership.
 
My singleness and “doing the work” for my own healing and self-love were how I knew what type of relationship I wanted and needed. I had to define for myself what a healthy relationship looked like. And then I had to become the woman I admired to be able to enter and maintain that type of relationship. I don't always get this right. And I didn't do it to attract someone, but that seems to be how the Universe works.

Here I am, gifted to experience the beauty and depth of self-love mirrored in a conscious relationship. My lover wonderfully holds up a mirror for me to see my beauty and my pain. My therapist says, when I’m struggling with something that also to me seems simple, “that’s the wounding.” It’s a sign for me to go back and heal whatever may be lingering that’s causing me pain today. My lover shows that to me but not out of malice. It's really a way that God uses him to show me my shadow self and how to love it. And I do the same for him. This is partnership -- the part that isn't seen on social media posts or assumed but what signifies to us the gift that exceeds our expectations. 

​Love is growing me up. 

Thank God I attracted this beautifully complex man who loves deeper than anyone I have met. He challenges me, he remains present in the midst of conflict, he is so incredible emotionally strong and gentle, he is forgiving, he looks at me through the eyes of love. Nope, he’s not perfect and our relationship has its ups and downs but this relationship is perfect for me. That’s why I call him my “lover.” He loves as fully as he can and that love surrounds me so much that I then see him and me with new eyes each day. And when we have bad days, it’s the love that keeps us coming back to have the clarifying conversations.
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I can see why it's now that he has come into my life in this way and not earlier. I needed to be at a place of maturity and self-love to be able to receive the lessons at the highest level. I don't always get this right either! Sometimes my feelings get hurt or I make an assumption, but let me tell you, 10-20 years ago, I would be a lot worse at being loving, no matter what my ego would have me to believe. LOL. And, because I am full of my own being, I know better how to hold him when he needs to be held. It's a mutual seeing and being. 

Last year, my word was "ease" (see my last blog post). There's something magical about being at ease and trusting that the journey will provide you with everything you need and more. No one knows tomorrow and though I like to plan certain things, I'm completely okay with God writing my story, plot twists and all. 

My lover just texted me a song. It's De La Soul's "Eye Know." He did this because he loves the group and as a tribute to David 'Trugoy The Dove' Jolicoeur, a founding member of the group, and because he is love. This is  my kind of Valentine's Day because it's everyday love. 
 

I know, we're not even halfway through December and I'm already thinking of "my word" for 2022. A friend of mine always comes up with a word she wants to embody or focus on or bring in for the New Year. As much as I love words, finding one for an entire year has always been something I've found challenging to do and stick with.

But, as I enter what I believe to be a pivotal year for me (I will write more on this throughout 2022), the word that's been surfacing lately is "ease." Not easy but ease. 

Here's the deal: we live in a society that prides itself on "the hustle," "the grind," "making things happen." Growing up, I was taught to value hard work and persistence. This isn't a bad thing, but I wasn't taught as much how to balance my needs and desires with the external push and drive that everyone seems to admire. As an adult, I carried the "you have to work harder" mentality into every aspect of my life. Whether professional or personal, I've placed more attention on effort than the actual feelings that come with that effort or outcome. 

Work, work, work. Hard, hard, hard. Fast, fast, fast. If I'm honest, that has had its place and I've benefited from the grind and my sacrifices. But there comes a point in life where you stop running and pushing and trying so hard. You realize, and maybe under unfortunate circumstances, that you don't really win, not with what matters most to you.

I've had many wake up calls to do life differently than what appears in mainstream. I walk the thin line of consumerism (I do enjoy nice things and experiences) and freedom. It can get complicated, confusing and exhausting. But when I think of "ease," my body softens and smiles. It feels like a desert being loved by rainfall. It nourishes me at every level.

My truth, and maybe yours too, is different from that unconscious voice driving our habits. Every part of me is craving ease. Not hustle, not rushing, not stress, but ease. I am not naive to think that life is easy and without challenges, heartbreak, or difficulty. But I am wise enough now to check in with myself to ask, "Is this (fill in the blank) bringing me ease?" Does the thought of it (fill in the blank) bring ease or stress? And then make choices accordingly. 

This is where I have arrived at life, and honestly, I'm so thankful. This in no way means I won't step up the plate, or work long hours (I'm sure I will but hopefully not as much), or deal with stress. Life happens regardless. I can't change that. But, "Does this bring me ease?" seems to be an important question to start asking. 

It takes courage to ask yourself hard questions (squill) and to not lie but honor yourself. It's the journey to holding yourself accountable for the choices you make and the life you are living and creating. So much of life is outside of our control but there are pieces of our lives that are inside of our control -- how we see and think about all the pieces, how we nurture and grow, how we allow ourselves to unfold like nature allows itself -- that make all the difference!

I don't know how this will actual look, but I imagine that

• I will be more aware of what brings me stress and ease -- and make different choices
• I will say "no" more often to the things that don't bring me ease instead of saying "yes" out of a sense of obligation and suffering through it
• I will have to learn and practice not feeling responsible for someone else's feelings
• I will experience more peace, deeper breathes, better sleep 
• there will be less busyness and more fulfillment 

Maybe the easy part is finding a word and the more difficult part is carrying it through 365 days. My hope is that I will do so with ease. We will see, but I'm already finding that I am asking myself, when I'm having to make a difficult decision, which option brings me the most ease. I'm starting early :-). 

There's still time for you to choose your word for 2022. What will it be?



 

I was listening to women's empowerment coach, Connie Chapman, talk about how we wear masks to hide aspects of ourselves. That's not a new topic for me. Most of my adult life I've been checking in with myself to see if I'm being true to me. It shows up in leaving full-time corporate work to start two of my own businesses, in being a poet and artist which allow me to examine and express my truth, in my religions practices, in what I say "yes" and "no" to, in the boundaries I set, in my day-to-day choices,

Yet, there was a different level of truth I uncovered when I began to seriously think about the masks I wear and create a list of them! I'm quick to hide what I consider to be my emotional messiness, my neediness, my vulnerability, my roller coaster, my moods, my selfishness, my anxiety, my fears, my sensitivity, my uncertainty, my anger, my demands and expectations (which often are cover-ups of my insecurities). I want people to see me only as put together, grounded, wise, giving, generous, zen, emotionally mature. I pride myself on how I want people to see me. I reject the parts of me that I think are "too much" and "extra." 

What I'm learning (light bulb moment!) is that if I'm to live my life authentically, I have to accept the less than perfect parts of me too -- the parts that I am embarrassed about because somehow I took on the belief that they are unloveable. I have to hold space for all of me and recognize that to love is to not judge. No one is perfect and I'm only harming myself when there are parts of my personality that I deem "less than."

When I think about self-love and acceptance, I'm finding it means taking responsibility for my messiness but also loving myself because of it. The parts that we deny are what's needing our love and embrace the most. 

I have friends who see the cracks in my mask. They've seen me cry from having my heart hurt. They've seen me be less than gracious with others when I've had a tough day. I even have one friend who has seen all my broken pieces (God, bless him). He handles it well, mostly, but the truth is, he shouldn't have to. Not without me showing him my well of beauty, which exists just as well. 

Being authentic means being true to yourself and living in alignment. It doesn't mean throwing your baggage and fears onto others expecting them to heal you. It means saying, "This is who I am -- all of me," and loving yourself...enough. 

I think in our society and culture, it's challenging to be exactly who you are. Maybe this is especially so for women and even more so for Black women. I'm not sure. But I know for me, so much of the lessons I am now having to unlearn -- like, always be polite and make space for others, make sure you're always at your best (which is more than everyone else's best), give more than you take, etc -- came as a result of our culture and a woman's role. 

How can we -- you and me -- show up as we are, knowing that who we are authentically is whole and brilliant? How can we release the fears that hold us from being fully present to ourselves as ourselves? How can we live in alignment with our inner being with the sense of security that the right people will come into our lives at the right time? How can we have a sense of ease and depth that we are enough and we welcome all of who we are -- even the messy, wild, un-neat parts of us? How can we love her in a way that honors our whole being?

As much self-work I have done over the years, I'm still learning and healing. And I'm learning to be patient with myself. This isn't about being perfect and maybe it's not even about "being better." Maybe it's about being more real, more alive, more in love, more available, more honest, more authentic, more free. Yeah, I think that's it. 

So, as I leave, I would like to invite you to do what I did with Connie to create deeper awareness:

1. Create a list of the masks you wear. What are the parts of your personality you don't allow others to see? 
2. Consider how you respond to what it is you're hiding. Are you afraid of rejection (and thereby rejecting yourself)? Are you feeling shameful? Are you acting out old patterns and lessons?
3. How might you begin to integrate all of you and practice sharing your whole self with others? Hint: start with yourself,

Let me know how it goes! And remember, we are constantly becoming and evolving. This is about what we're learning on the journey and not arriving at any prescribed destination. 

Sending light and love, 
Jacinta

It was the last Sunday in February that my Dad preached his last sermon. And every last Sunday in February since, I think about how we had no idea as he led the pastoral prayer and later took his text, that it would be the last time he would mount the pulpit. It would be the last time we would hear his words and guidance as a pastor. 

We lived in Detroit at the time and it was a winery weathered Sunday. That week, he traveled to Ohio for a conference, retuning that Saturday, March 2. 

And that's when he had a massive heart attack. I was with him. It was the last time I saw my Dad alive, vibrant.

Hours later, in a private waiting room, the doctor told me, as if it was a script, "He didn't make it." That moment would change my life forever. 

If you know my story, or at least this part of it, you know that his passing and my grief process birthed The Word Project. You know that I believe it was poetry that served as my altar during a time where I felt surrounded by impenetrable darkness. You know it was the writing -- the poetic mechanics -- that made room for me to find my breath again. 

For more than 20 years, I've been in that space, helping others grapple with their pain, trauma, sadness. I believe making space for those feelings and emotions are vital for us getting to the other side. But grief, is a process without an end date or timeline. It comes and goes. It's messy and fluid. It surprises you. It's not in a box, neat and perfect. 

Still, pain, grief, sadness can be transformed. Healing isn't just making room for the worse. It's making room for the worse so you can work through it for there to be room for the best. There is a Part B to the work.  

The healing process is something you go through. Yes, in your own time and with your own rules, but you can't stay where you start and call that healing You can't remain on the same level of your pain and say you've made it through. 

I've learned that the best this year. You see, I've been blessed to have someone to journey with these last several months. He didn't sign up for that job of helping me heal but it's what happens when you're in an intimate relationship (by "intimate relationship" I mean being vulnerable). 

Though we didn't stay together our time was for a purpose. He helped pulled up some of my shadows that I didn't know existed. They have been laid out, stretched on a table, for me to inventory. Now, these shadows didn't all have to do with me suddenly losing my Dad, who was also my best friend, when I was 23. But I see how I skipped lessons in my 20s and 30s that now need my studious and loving attention. 

And what I've learned in this journey is that healing does not include wallowing or being coddled (though we often want to be there because it's easier). It means putting on your big girl panties and continuing to do the work. It means practicing radical self-love, forgiveness and acceptance. It means making peace with your past and realizing the present is perfect. It means, yes, giving space to the pain, but not staying there. 

I see this with those I work with through poetry workshops -- how people want to defend their pain, be defined by it. They become comfortable in their grief. They wear it like a tethered sweater, passed down from generation to generation. 

How do we balance this -- making space for pain while being open to light? How do we not rush through what we're feeling so we can honor each step of the healing process? This is our work, I think -- to figure it out, To practice. To observe. To put one foot in front of the other. And to do with with less and less judgement and more and more compassion. 

We don't heal in a vacuum (thank God) though our healing is our responsibility alone. Every relationship, every moment is a part of our healing. Our life is designed for healing. Our journey is to wholeness, if we choose it. That doesn't mean it will be smooth and that we won't meet people who will "trigger" us, but that, too, is a part of our healing. 

I'm thankful, at this juncture of my journey, how I am learning more about healing. I am learning, too, even more, what it means to be still and allow God to do the work we can't do alone. What it means to not stay in your pain and act from a place of pain.

I'm thankful for the gift of poetry that illumines the places, too, that are dormant, and that allow us creative ways to be transformed and to open our minds and hearts to the life we deserve. 

I'm thankful, as I type this on this last Sunday in February, that my heart is making its way, as gracefully as it knows how, to Part B. And for the love and light my Dad still shines on me, and the many other beautiful souls who travel along-side me, propping me up when things get a little daunting. 

This healing journey isn't an easy one but it's one worth trusting.  
 

When the doctor's office called to say my surgery was scheduled for December 18 (2019), I didn't give that date a second thought. December 18, 1960, is when my Dad preached his trial sermon, and when my brother was called into the ministry, my Dad chose that date for him to preach his trial sermon (1988). So I felt December 18 was a date I, too, should say yes to. 

And on the one year anniversary of my (first and hopefully only) major surgery -- one that afterwards the doctor told my family was more severe than they thought, one that caused trauma to my body -- I cannot help but to think of the miracle this year has been, even with a pandemic. 

During my quiet time this morning, looking back over the year, I could clearly see that this has been my "year of recovery." And I was prompted to share some of what lessons I took to heart this year...
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• Listen to your body. Our bodies are pretty perfect and wise, and they are constantly talking to us. A pain here, discomfort there are messages to rest, slow down, change our diet, leave a person or a job alone. We are taught in this culture to rush pass anything that might slow us down. Work, work, work. Produce, produce, produce. I've always been a proponent of self-care but when I realized I missed major signs my body was giving me that something wasn't right, I vowed to listen closer to it, and the journey into deeper awareness has been a gift!
• Manage your expectations. I'm blessed to have a good network of friends, yet, I only told a couple of handfuls about the surgery. Still, if I'm honest, I will say that I had to learn to manage my expectations of those close to me. There were those who showed up physically (which I needed more than imagined) and others I maybe got a text from a few weeks later. The truth is everyone who says and perhaps means in the moment, "I've got you," really don't, and maybe don't know how to "have you." The flip side is I have a deepen appreciation for what it means to be present with someone and to truly have someone there when you need. (Thank you...) There is no substitute. 
• Know when to say no and respect other's "no." Another way of saying this is to have healthy boundaries. We don't know what burdens someone is carrying. On the outside we can look like life is fantastic and we can be suffering internally. I remember the night of my book signing (Sept. 19). I was on a cloud and beyond joyful, and at the same time, I was in pain. I covered it and the fact that I knew I was going to have surgery in a few months (it wasn't the time or place to focus on that). Be kind and be careful of the assumptions you make about someone's life. Not everything is sunshine and roses. And, if you're the one in the storm, know that you don't have to tell everyone everything. Manage your boundaries in a way that is respectful of you and others.
• Love fearlessly! I thought I was a lover before my surgery (lol), but somehow my heart widen afterwards. When you are put to sleep and cut open and hospitalized, you see life differently. You stop playing games and you stop playing life. You want more. You expect more. You give more. You have more room to receive. My love switch got turned all the way on for myself and others. The doctors didn't tell me this might be a result of the surgery or a side effect to healing so let me warn you should you have to go through something similar :-). ​
• We only have one life. This is it. It's not going to be perfect or always easy. I have more disappointments and heartaches than I care to count, but it's MY life to fully live, to take the chances, to try even if I fail, to live out loud, unapologetically. No matter our age, we are still "young enough:" if we have breath, to do things differently. To live wide authentically open. There's no going back!
• Notice what you don't say. I realized there's a lot that I don't share about how I'm feeling. We don't talk about our sorrows and pains. Maybe it's because we think it's a sign of weakness or we don't want to burden someone with what sounds like complaints. But when we don't have a safe place to share, we begin to ignore that which is begging to be expressed. I'm not suggesting everyday we "complain" but I do think there is value is finding ways (like praying, meditating, and writing) to deepen our awareness of what we are feeling -- physically and emotionally. 
• Pray without ceasing. I'm thankful I learned at an early age the power of prayer and faith. I will be honest though, the morning of Dec. 18, while in the waiting room and then in the pre-op room, I was scared to death. I had never been that frightened. My prayer was to come through the surgery successfully (alive and healthier). But all the "what if"s played in my mind, too. Thankfully, my Mom, brother, prayer partner, and friends were sending prayers, too. There were moments I needed them to carry me spiritually. But my prayers didn't start or end that day. They are frequent, sometimes hourly. 
• Be gentle with yourself. The greatest gift we can give to ourselves is our forgiveness. It is necessary to be kind to ourselves when we fall, when we are bruised, just as we are when we are on top of the world. Having to go slow, literally, because my body wouldn't and couldn't do what it did prior to surgery, taught me to be gentle with myself. And that slowness and witnessing my body heal naturally after the surgery taught me how to fall in love with all parts of myself in a way I didn't know before. There's nothing greater than experiencing God's love in and through our bodies. Sometimes that love shows up in our self-compassion, and other times it shows up as grace. Inhale it. Let it wash over you. Know there's nothing you can do to separate yourself from this unending Love, so bask in it, my dear. 

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I am thankful for a year of rest and reflection. I am thankful for my growth that continues to show itself. I am thankful for the angels God sends to be by my side. I am thankful for the miracle of life and the healing journey. I am thankful for the past and even more thankful for what is ahead!