The lessons I try and pass on to my kids are not to allow anyone else to change you. You go about your business as yourself. Don’t change for nobody.
I’ve been in a battle with myself.
I know my nature. I smile a lot. I lean into the joy of life because I’ve always said life is too short after being touched by death so young ( I now think life is long but that’s another conversation).
I’ve been in a battle with myself.
I’ve noticed I’m walking out now and not smiling. To myself or others. My face is fixed in a neutral stare, going about my business. I don’t not need/ want to look, speak or touch anyone else.
I’ve been in a battle with myself.
Is it my nature to smile and make contact with other (white) people because that’s who I am? Or do I do it to make them feel comfortable and not to think I’m a threat to their safety? Do I smile because I’m happy? Or do I smile to keep others happy?
I’ve been in a battle with myself.
Through speaking with a ( black female) friend recently things have become clearer and more resolute.
i ain’t smiling.
Not smiling, gazing or connection with (white) people while out walking/ coffee drinking/ shopping/whatever, is me, protecting my peace.
“On the afternoon of May 16, 2020, about a week before George Floyd was killed by the police, twenty-one-year-old Tye Anders was accused by the Midland, Texas, police of running a stop sign. He pulled over in front of his ninety-year-old grandmother’s house.”
Excerpt From We Refuse Kellie Carter Jackson
There’s Anders pleading for his life. There’s many policemen with guns drawn pointed at him and there’s bystanders filming it all. One woman who’s filming this is also pleading for the police to not shot Anders saying he’s scared. Hasn’t there been enough killing of unarmed black people, killed just because of the colour of their skin?
Still no guns are lowered and Anders is on the ground clearly empty handed but the situation is just escalating as the police continue to train their guns on his body.
Anders’ ninety-years-old grandmother steps out of her house praying. With cane in hand she walks towards her grandson even though guns are trained in her direction.
There was still panic still bystanders screaming for the police to put their guns up. Some do but still one cop is walking towards Anders with his gun raised. Trying to move and push her out of the way, his grandmother doesn’t believe that her grandson won’t still be shot so she falls onto her grandson, protecting his body with her own body. Not longer after this with the police and crowd pushing and pulsating around her , she loses consciousness.
Anders is arrested for fleeing the police. His grandmother is taken to hospital.
Reading this story this morning made me cry. Not because of the police brutality or the disregard for human life, black life. But because of what the grandmother in the story did. She’s ninety-years-old, frail and only has her prays and body, but used both in protection, in an act of love.
“Her collapse was not a coincidence. Protection is powerful, beautiful, and sacrificial because protection is love. But she should not have needed to put her body between the police and her grandson to protect him.”
Excerpt From We Refuse Kellie Carter Jackson.
Protection. She should not have needed to, but she did put her body between the police and grandson to protect him. This act of courage broke my heart this morning. Had me weeping. Maybe it was the last straw that pushed me over the edge into the breakdown. Maybe it was my imagination seeing this playing out.
Maybe I’m just sick and tired of living in a world where white violence is justified and black violence is really self-defence but is never judged that way.
I’ve always been a supporter of care work but even more so now. As care work, along with rest are forms of protection. Through the way I {BE} with myself and others, and the work that I do for self and others, I’m tending daily to the mental, emotional, and physical needs and health of black people, so we are better equipped to survive and thrive within a hostile, brutal, grinning world.
This is what I’m noticing when I move my body outside. Sharing the beauty in decay, something I used to shield myself from out of fear. But now I appreciate the natural cycle of things. From death there comes rebirth. A renaissance.
I haven’t done this in a while but I’m feeling it today. The mid-week slump, nevermind hump!
After a restful weekend, I used to rush into my Mondays and do all the things. Get everything in order for the week ahead. Full blazing glory that meant come Tuesday, I’d been down and out. Knackered.
It’s been awhile since this knackered feeling has hit me on a Wednesday. After a couple of days of emotional roller coasting and focusing on traumas and past hurts, moving my body to move the energy, today I’m staying put on the couch, alternating between coffee with hot buttered toast, and YouTube and reading. Eyes drooping and head nodding.
I really don’t give a fuck as this is the point of my hiatus, hibernation for the next 3 months, to rest and retreat and dream. If I’m feeling like doing fuck all then I’m doing fuck all. Nothing.
My worth is not measured in how much I achieve in a day, how many things I can cross off that never ending to-do list. My worth just is. I’m here. I’m enough.
So excuse me while I stretch out a bit deeper into the couch of many cushions and blankets and flick through the line up for an afternoon movie, a black and white one maybe. Old school. LUSH.
Today was the day my son graduated. Became a graduate of MA in Environmental Health from the University of Birmingham.
I could have shared an image of him graduating as I’m a very proud mama. But I’ve been rethinking about how much or how little I share with the world. And I will explore this more fully later this month. But some things are not mine to share or I do not want to share.
Some things I want to keep close to myself because they are special because the world does not need to know all that I am thinking or feeling or {being}.
Living Wild Studios 