Some advice for real life

SomeHmm I thought by now I would have a little insect, that resembled me somewhat or at least had a few of my traits to pass on some of those “when I was your age, young lady…” remarks to. However, I planned and God laughed.

Still, I live in joyful hope.

In the meantime, however, at the ripe old age of 3faux I think it is time I pass on document some of the most profound advice I’ve received from some important women in my life over the years. Here’s to sharing the um…love:

Do you know what a penis is? Stay far from it. ~ Aunty Carlie, my mother’s sister

This my dear friends pretty much sums up my version of “the talk”. Yup. Talking about sex was taboo in my house so my Aunt gave me this pearl around the time I started secondary school. I was about 11 years old. And yes, I knew what a penis was.

I had a little brother and my mother, ever the time manager bathed us all together until we were old enough to notice differences and start asking questions. However, why I should stay far from a penis…was a mystery at 11. For the record tho…I did follow her advice until the ripe old age of 24. Auntie would be proud. Talk about business in the road. HA!

Why are you pursing A-levels? You’re pretty, you’re smart, you should find a rich old man, marry him and then you can do all the things you are working so hard for now…but with money and your terms. ~ Mrs Ali-Mohammed, my 6th Form Teacher

This was the gem I received just around the time I got my first report in 6th Form and was completely crushed because this my first ever “bad” report. I was an A student all through secondary school, so first term 6th Form was a major eye opener. My teacher, seeing my pain, thought she should save me from further heartache.

All I will say after years of studying and failures, big wins and life unfolding in the most unexpected way is: I should have listened.

Always leave room for disappointment. ~ Gloria Superville, my mother

My mother used to say this to the sibs and I whenever something we really wanted/thought would happen didn’t. You work hard at something, you give it your best shot, you plan, you plot and something will still go wrong. This was her way of saying be prepared for anything. To let go of the outcome!

Planned to go to the beach and rain fell? “Always leave room for disappointment.”

Didn’t get the grade you expected. “Always leave room for disappointment.”

Still childless, with not even a puppy as a dependent? “Always leave room for disappointment.”

This was what she said to us the last time I saw my dad as well. It was Christmas time ’89, and my father who was already gone and was now a “visiting-father” came to see us about two weeks before Christmas Day. He left with the promise to return to take us toy shopping on Christmas Eve.

That was all we could talk about for those two glorious weeks of anticipation. My mother knew though. She kept telling us to leave room for disappointment. We didn’t. He never came. And my issues about men not showing up for me, were cemented.

Of all the things my mother ever said to me, I think this one pretty much sums up most of the men I’ve known. Except for my brother. He is the best men I know.

I suppose it’s no coincidence I chose this quote for this post and I’m sure when I’m on Oprah’s couch someday*fingers crossed it will happen sooner rather than later*…we’ll talk about this.

Sooooo now that I’ve veered off into some heavy territory, and we’re all sufficiently uncomfortable, I will end this post.

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Please feel free to share some of your own “pearls of wisdom” below!

The Struggle is real

The thing about blogging is that once you hit publish…your words are out there. Yes, you can always hit delete but the truth is you, what you’ve done is unleash a part of yourself on the world, that was not seen before. No matter how many posts you delete…you cannot take that back.

I had a conversation with a close friend last night about this blog. First things first…I didn’t know that he was reading it. Secondly, the minute he said he was reading my blog, I felt that little flutter of panic rising inside me.

He was reading my blog!!!

All my insecurities started having a party in my tummy. I was exposed. I know I write for someone to read…but it still scares the crap out of me when I realize that oh hell…someone is reading!

Interestingly, he said reading my blog and knowing me…he sees the careful mask I have created. He is right. There are parts of my story that I’ve started writing and I get so scared of what I’m revealing about myself I never finish. During my mother’s battle with Ovarian Cancer, I kept a journal and while I hope one day to turn that into some kind of resource for care-givers…I just cannot bring myself to read it to the end yet. Far less to begin the process of writing it.

I try my best to keep things real in this space…because it is mine…but this space scares me too. I know that allowing myself to be really seen, to be witnessed by you, to share all my pain…while it will eventually allow for healing…I will be walking through fire to get there.

A Cherokee elder sitting with his grandchildren told them, “In every life there is a terrible fight – a fight between two wolves. One is evil: he is fear, anger, envy, jealousy, regret, greed, arrogance, self-pity, guilt, resentment and deceit. The other is good; joy, serenity, love, hope, kindness, humility, confidence, generosity, truth, compassion and faith.’ A child asked, “Grandfather, which wolf will win?” The elder looked him in the eye and replied, “The one you feed.”

That Cherokee story is one of my favourites because I have been feeding both wolves. Deep inside anger and resentment and sadness wars with joy and hope and compassion.

But the wolves in my heart have joined the gremlin on my back. Yes, I’m a regular menagerie of phantoms…don’t get me started on the dragon in my head. At the risk of aging myself…do you remember the movie Gremlins? Do you also remember the most important rule in Gizmo’s care was to never, ever feed him after mid-night? My gremlin…she – yes it’s a she – relishes the mid-night snack of insomniac thoughts that plague my mind, shooting down my ideas, sabotaging my plans, mirroring my deepest fears in impossible scenarios, playing them over and over in my sleep-deprived mind. The wolves and the gremlin work in tandem I realize.

We all have them, but some of you know these wolves by a different name. Some of you name them…some of them already have names. But, whatever form the beast takes, that is the one we use to hurt ourselves and those closest to us.

The good news is that we choose who wins the war. The words, “the one you feed” are quite deep. We choose which wolf to feed. We choose to give the gremlin chicken after mid-night. We can choose not to feed them. Don’t feed the animals…simple right? Not without God’s help.

We pray: Give us this day our daily bread. And while some of us take this to mean literal bread…it does give a whole new meaning to feeding the wolves. Which wolf are you feeding? And how?

In my case, with my masks firmly in place feeding time gets trickier. How do I feed the good wolf with all the things it enjoys? How do I sate its mammoth appetite for all things wholesome? I feed it everyday. Some days I feed it a lot, some days a little.

Today I share with you my struggle.