My Darkness and the Infinite Power of my Light......Finding ME!

I turned 36 today, I'm warm and clammy, my body aches, my head pounds, congested beyond belief, stuck in bed. I scroll through the 89 happy birthday post that I had received by 12:20 pm, June 26, 2016. I'm touched by the amount of people that I barely see or communicate with that took the time to send me happy birthday wishes. As I'm lying in bed watching my favorite YouTube channel "MadameNoire", I stumble upon a wedding video of Gabrielle and Dwyane Wade's wedding, I'm impressed by it all and it got me to thinking. The way they looked at each other was uplifting, I want someone to look at me that way. So I thought about it for a few seconds and wondered how does that happen and then I thought about a prior moment in the video when Gabrielle looked at herself in the mirror with her wedding gown on and there was a look of love and admiration for herself and it took me to those Mary J Blige "Be Happy" lyrics "How can I love somebody else if I can't love myself enough to know when it's time to let go", during the wedding video Kevin Hart made a speech about being happy, I said to myself it's all connected finding happiness, loving yourself and loving others but how do we get there? The video ended and I went back to my favorite YouTube channel.

About an hour later as Facebook notifications flooded my timeline with birthday wishes, I came across the post Erica put up about #AllSummerSixteen and the blog. I knew exactly what I needed to write about, exactly what my goal would be, to fall in love with myself, to let go, to be able to look at ME in a mirror and feel a genuine love and admiration for the reflection, I want to see me and not what I think others see in me.  

I've experienced so much emotional trauma in my life that I don't know when or if I've ever been completely in love with myself, so I don't know if I've ever really been in love, except my first love SB (Late Teens), I think we really loved each other for who we were at the time and but we were still kids, with my other "first" MB (Late Teens-Early 20's), I think we grew to love each other as friends well after our relationship ended, NR (Late 20's-Early 30's) he showed me the most love I've known, emotionally and physically, he was the nicest to me when we were together and he was the first man to make me feel like a woman but when it was over it was over, LW (My 30's) never loved me because he didn't know how but he made me see who I really was and how I really felt about myself, he was a reflection of who and how I was down deep and dark inside, he brought out the best and worst in me and it's because of him that I now know I need to find every reason to fall in love with ME! I have to let go of who or what I was and admire the woman, friend, confidant, educator, business owner and human being that I've become.

Brene Brown says "Love is not something we give or get; it is something that we nurture and grow, a connection that can only be cultivated between two people when it exists within each one of them – we can only love others as much as we love ourselves.

Shame, blame, disrespect, betrayal, and the withholding of affection damage the roots from which love grows. Love can only survive these injuries if they are acknowledged, healed and rare.

Owning our story can be hard but not nearly as difficult as spending our lives running from it. Embracing our vulnerabilities is risky but not nearly as dangerous as giving up on love and belonging and joy—the experiences that make us the most vulnerable. Only when we are brave enough to explore the darkness will we discover the infinite power of our light."

Join me as I tackle accountability, vulnerability, letting go, falling in love with ME, exploring my darkness and the infinite power of my light

As I'm wrapping up this post I received this from a dear friend that brought tears to my eyes.

"HAPPY BIRTHDAY JAZ!!! You are such a wonderful friend and you bring so much positivity to our circle. I wish you so many blessed moments and and endless happiness!! Love you!!"

Here's to being loved and being happy!!

#iWrite #TruthOnly #EvenWhenItHurts #ITISEntertainment #AllSummerSixteen

Weight Problems or Weight Solutions

Hello World, my name is Jessica Sinkler and I am turning 30 on July 1st. 

Yasss, turn up for the BIG 30. I am happy and excited to be 30. I want my 30’s to be better than my 20’s. All through my 20’s I kept saying this is my year to get my fitness/ health together. I would start a diet and within a week I would give up. I would always say to myself, “Okay, since it's Wednesday and I messed up already lets refresh Monday.” Monday would come around and I would say well the month has already started let me start again next month. Next month would come around I would make excuses after excuses. Want to hear my excuses? Here they go:

1)      I do not have energy today

2)      I get off today at 5pm so once I get off I am going to work out, but I am sleepy so I am going to wake up early in the morning.

3)      Its 6am, heck naw, I deserve sleep I work hard,

4)      A fresh month, yes let’s get it Jess…….. 1 week later ohh I don’t see progress (yes, I am one of those lol) let’s try again next week.

5)      Ohh, I am started to see progress 1 chip don’t hurt……. 2 bags later well I already messed up my diet let’s start again next month.

I’m sure you get the point of my madness. Now that I walked you through a little of madness let me tell you how I got there. I was always a little chunky growing up. I remember my Aunt Cathy would joke around and say I have a, “pot belly” I think that was the saying. It didn’t bother me as a kid until one day in 9^th grade,  I was standing in an area with my friends and I saw a group of guys looking at me pointing and laughing. In my mind they aren’t laughing at me, but they were laughing at something.

I was friends with some of them, so I was sure they weren’t laughing at me. I got closer to see what was up. 

I heard one boy, “Yes she is the fat one in the group."
Another boy, “Don’t forget ugly."

 My heart started to race because they noticed I caught on and instead of saying sorry they said, "Let's make her feel like dog poop (shit)."

*mom if you are reading this I know I told you I want to stop cursing but forgive me*

Wow, I never in my life have been called that to my face. Elementary and middle school was fine for me. I felt so low.  All I could go is cry and cry and cry. My friends kept telling me to ignore it. but how can you ignore that? To make a long story short about my high school years I dealt with that every day of high school.

I tried to put on a poker face and let me tell you Jessica doesn’t have any type of poker face at all. While at school dealing with that I was also dealing with it at home, with my father’s mother, (okay I am going to call her grandma). I stayed at my Grandmother's house because my mom didn’t want me to go to school in the area we lived in. I could have stayed at home with my mom, but I wanted to be closer to my friends. My grandmother would remind me about my weight, almost everyday, and compare me to her adopted daughter. My own flesh in blood was talking crap about me. 

“You sure you want to eat?"
 “You are so stupid."
“You are on a diet,"
 "Well, your aunts are fat and your dad is fat so good luck.”

 Those are some of the things I dealt with instead of telling my parents. I would always cry and talk about my weight to my mom and older sister. They would do everything in their power to make me feel better, but I felt powerless and if I was honest with them I am sure all of this would have gone away. I am not telling you this to feel sorry for me but I want to give a history, as to why my excuses started to be created. Recently, I told my dad everything that happened and I realized I was scared to tell him since that’s his mom. 

I did a lot of diets to lose weight. I would lose some pounds, but it wouldn’t stick. One reason they didn’t stick was because I never did real research about changing my eating habits and two I wouldn’t exercise. I finally admitted it lol. *I am sure my friends and trainer are happy that I've stopped lying to myself.*

……….. If you did any of the following diets please raise your hands...

1)      Special K diet (You eat two bowls of Special K cereal and 1 real meal, in between you have snacks). I am not a cereal person. You are supposed to do this for two weeks and lose 6 pounds. I made it to 5 days and said no thank you.

2)      I did “Weight Watchers.” I was 17 or 18 at the time one of the members kind of discouraged me by saying, “You are young I am sure you can’t relate to us."

3)      My favorite not really, “The Grapefruit diet."  I lasted for about 4 hours, lmao. Maybe that one shouldn’t count lol. Plus grapefruits yuck!!!!!

In addition to the diets, I would buy fruits and vegetables in bulk and of course they would go bad. At the age of twenty-nine, yes 29, I am happy to say I finally learned to buy fruit and veggies, only for the week lol. 

Every time I tried to lose weight I would hear those voices in my head saying, "You CAN'T."

I am ready to tell those voices to SHUT UP!!!

Here are my goals:

I am going to release 60 pounds from my body. Right now, I weigh 201 pounds and I want to be at least 140 (I remember when I thought 140 was fat).  I’m 5’2.  I am going to give the 4 reasons why I am going to release 60 pounds:

1)      To feel good about myself

2)      More energy, I am too young to have low energy

3)      Beautiful skin that glows

4)      Start putting my health first (better self-care)

5)      Bonus to finally wear a bikini and feel comfortable

The way I am going to do that is by studying the effects of food (reading, watching documentaries, etc.) I am also to work out (I have a personal trainer already Donnie you are the best). The days I am not working out with my trainer I will be working out with friends and family. Plus, I am going to be doing yoga again. I love yoga it gives you a chance to shape your body into what you want. I have accountability partners. I am going to cook and make healthier choices. As of June 1 2016, I removed meat from my diet (chicken, pork, and beef). I am still eating fish. Today has been 22 days since and I feel great, I’m doing this for 90 days. 

I removed meat from my diet to see how I feel plus how my health shapes. I'll get into that, in my next post. I will be brown bagging for lunch instead of buying out all the time. My budget will be happy, lol. I am going to ask my community for help and take feedback. The days when I feel like giving up I am going to write out why I am doing this. I want to show Jessica (myself) you are worthy of completing your goals and worthy of a healthier life style.  I want my nieces and younger cousins to know that you can do anything.  

I want to show younger girls you can love your body if you are fat, skinny, in the middle but in the process still make healthier choices. I want to be the woman I know that’s in me. I am going to make Jessica proud and finally complete this goal. Even after my goal is complete, I am going to still make better choices. This is the summer of miracles.

Sit back and let’s get IN-FORMATION together.

My Happy Self

“The way we talk to our children becomes their inner voice.” – Peggy O’Mara

“Look in the mirror. Look! Don’t you see how fat and sloppy you look?”

“I don’t know why you have any friends.”

 “Why are you so happy? Calm down!”

“Why are you so sad? You’re so dramatic.”

“No one is trying to hurt your feelings, Nikieta. Stop being so sensitive.”

“………..”  (extend for 3 months)

                My inner voice is the voice of self-doubt and self-degradation. While my father and I dreamed dreams for my life of success, leadership, artistic freedom, and joy, my mother was hard at work to overshadow those dreams with premonitions of loneliness, rejection, failure (my own fault, of course), and regret.

My mother: This is the woman I so badly wanted to love me. This is the woman who was supposed to care for me unconditionally. My mother, who was supposed to provide me with my identity and how to live life as a woman in this world and cheer for me as I ran the race of life, jumping over many hurdles and falling over others.  

My mother.

              It was my mother’s voice that won the war for the homeland of my heart, and as she took residence within me, she took it upon herself to create a civil war. I was her favored child when it was time for the adults to compare their offspring. She could spout off my achievements and even embarrassingly embellished them. 

1. Student body president

2. Black belt

3. Look at her amazing legs. 

4. AP and Honors classes

5. Going to Hampton University

6. Such a good cook

7. A talented writer

8. Won awards for public speaking

9. Boys love to look at her

10. Sings in the school chorus

When the guests went home (My mother scarcely let anyone into our home.) Whenever we left the public eye, my mother would angle the rear view mirror ever so precisely to allow her eyes to pinpoint me as she would ridicule me the whole ride home. She would debrief me on how I laughed too much or not enough. I shared a detail too personal about our lives (like how we buy our groceries from Wal-Mart). Or maybe I ate too much bread, and she needed to remind me that I was on my way to being, "as big as a house". If none of those were the case, then it was definitely the time to reiterate how boring I am in social situations and how I fit the mold for becoming a librarian. 

Then, there was the silence. Maybe we would ride home with no talking. If that was the case, I was not allowed to break the silence. Breaking the silence would result in a painful stare, a short and severe response, or the beginning of a long lecture...none of which were pleasant. 

As you can imagine, the frequent and quick script changes for how my mother would address and describe me caused quite a bit of confusion. 

Then there is the face I would put on for the outsiders. My peers and mentors have always known me as quick-minded, well-spoken, capable, and over achieving. For me, though, all the achievements were only to prove I'm not a waste of space. I'm not incompetent, and I am worthy of acknowledgement. 

I've always known that I am talented. I've always known I am capable of something special. I've always known I can do whatever I put my mind to doing, but I've always doubted anyone would care to see it. 

My mother has always had a strong personality, and my family just realized last year that her personality has a name: Narcissistic Personality Disorder. I've lived under her torment for 26 years, and I'm just recently figuring out how to get untangled from her grasp. 

• As I graduated college, my inner voice whispered, “You’re going to fail and be a waste of money and time”.
• As I landed my dream career, my inner voice grumbled, “You will never advance and always struggle financially. You’re untrainable.”
• As I married the man of my dreams, my inner voice questioned my ability to love him and be loveable. “Is THIS how you treat the love of your life? He will be unhappy and wish he’d never married you.”

No matter how hard I fight to live a life full of joy, surrounding myself with uplifting people and loving mentors, my inner voice cheers jeers from the sidelines.

As my subconscious tries to trip me up and keep me chained to my 10 year old self, ever fearful of my mother’s disapproval, I have to remind myself I am no longer a child. I am no longer in my mother’s house. I am no longer under her reign.

I’m an adult, and my life is amazing.

This Summer, I'm evolving into my happy self. Every word of that goal is important. 

MY- I will not be anyone but God's and my husband's....and that is because I am giving myself to them. I will not be some image of what my mother (or anyone else) wants to portray me as. 

HAPPY- I was diagnosed in 2014 with a severe anxiety disorder, depression, and ADHD. Now that I know, I have tools to manage them, and I'm learning more every day about how to use them. I'm the program director of an AMAZING preschool in Norfolk, VA, and I am set to be the Executive Director in 2 years. I was married in 2014, and my husband and I communicate. We love each other deeply, and we fight fair (mostly...we're learning). We are new home owners! My 3 year old niece and my aunt are coming to visit us at different points during the Summer. I am in the best physical shape of my adult life. I still find ways to feel sad and to play the old recording of my inner voice....but #allsummersixteen will be devoted to being happy. I have much to be happy about, and there is no room for my old inner voice. 

Self- Who is myself? I've always been my mother's. What do I like? If I'm not fearful of someone thinking I'm boring or someone analyzing what I ordered off of the menu or picking apart my wardrobe, what does Nikieta like? What do I want to look like? Where do I want to go? I'm almost 27 years old, and I don't know what I like. This isn't in the "I'm discovering myself because I'm young" way. This is the, "I've had to like what my mom likes or she wouldn't like me any more" way. 

Not only that, I’m letting go of grief. I’ve been grieving for about 1.5 years now over the mother I wish I had. I’ve been reliving every silent treatment, every harsh word and public shaming. I’ve wept on Mother’s Days over the mother that was incapable of loving me with a mother’s love, and I’ve mourned what I missed out on…I never really had a mom. So, I’m stopping the grief. I’m not losing anything. I’m gaining freedom. I’m gaining ownership of my life, and this Summer I’m gaining and owning an evolution.

I have to.

I'm going to evolve into my happy self, and this blog will help me do that.

Writing makes me happy, but commitment makes me scared because my inner voice tells me I'm a flake, and I won't be good at following through.

 Even now, writing this blog, I keep thinking, "I will be everyone's least favorite contributor. Why am I even doing this? This is a joke. Are your thoughts even coherent? No one cares about your journey. You're actually not even that interesting or that good of a writer." 

This summer, I'm taking chances unapologetically, and I will stop living under my mother's looming shadow. 

I am my own person.  (My own grown person)

I matter. 

I will be happy. 

I will be my happy self.

Kendrick Lamar Knows Best...

SuperAuntie Isn't So Super, After All.

Three little girls. Two little boys. They have a few things that correlate. They are cousins, born to 2nd generation Jamaican parents. The main correlation, they call me SuperAuntie. I wear my cape for them at all times. Even through the 18-hour work days, sickness, missed birthday parties, etc. They continue to believe I'm great. Thank God for the innocence of a child. I don't know what I would do if they knew the truth.


I stopped dealing with my anxiety.
I stopped dealing with my depression.
I stopped showing up to my therapy appointments,
I stopped take my medication.
I stopped believing good things can happen to me. 


Their parents have no idea. My siblings, we aren't close. My parents, love them, but this isn't something that can be "prayed away." Mostly my fault, because I'm skilled in building a wall greater than the one in China. Letting people in is an anomaly. Anyone who gets through the wall ends up being destroyed. By a warrior who, in reality, is weaker than a torn ACL. My friends, they have some idea, but I don't bother telling them more than I need to. Who needs a black Debbie Downer? Why am I this way?

Maybe because my "dad" preferred to stay with his wife after cheating on her with my mother. 
Maybe because I don't attend family functions knowing my attacker will be there sitting with everyone laughing, with them not knowing he ruined a 12 yr-old's life for three years.
Maybe it was my alcoholism.
Maybe it's the reoccurring dream of  me driving into my neighborhood lake and no one around to save me.

Yes, this is heavy, but it's also my reality. My early 20s were a scene from Sing About Me...the death in question...my soul. Void of any feeling of remorse for anything I'd done.

I ruined relationships. 
I ruined opportunities.
I burned every bridge possible.
I ruined good people.
I, in turn, continued to ruin myself.

I was broken.

"I should've kept the baby. But then who would protect her from the evil of the world? Who would ensure she would never be raped and abused like her mother was?"

A part of me still is.

Sitting in a room, Indian style on the floor, just you and the bottle. A set of keys. A phone with a note. The fifth is finished. The pill capsule is empty. Are you getting in the car? Is this the final ride? Is this how you end it all? The final selfish act, do you go through with it?

When Riv came to me with this idea to write about our journey, I instantly said yes. It's time. It's time to tell. It's time to reflect. It's time to recollect. It's time to rebuild. It's time to rejoice.

Breakthrough.

 Someone is going to read this; because pieces of it will be her story too. It will resonate with her, and she will realize she isn't alone.

I pray whoever this reaches to, you CAN make it. You WILL make it. Because God never left, even in the darkest hour.


It's going to get better because I say so.

Come away with me, follow my struggles and help me celebrate in my triumphs.

We gon' be alright.


Peace,

The Ethnography of a Disaster

There is weariness that weighs heavy on your shoulders. It shows up everywhere, clouding the brightest areas of your life. You carry it to work and unpack it at the end of the day. It doesn't fit anywhere comfortably. It makes its presence known and isn’t easily tended to. You’re tempted to ignore it but left to its own devices it becomes another monster entirely: a kind of tired that even sleep can’t cure.

It creeps into the quiet corners of your life. You don’t even notice it at first. It's a sly life mate. It knows all of your sweet spots, tucks you in at night, wakes you gently in the morning. It’s polite—never interrupts and cleans up after itself. It becomes something you can trust. Fitting perfectly into the places you forget to dust off or shake out, in the hidden places you never bother to look. And it almost feels like the veil is lifting. You can almost see the sun on the other side. Until you can't.

I’m just tired.

I slept.

And woke up the next day.

Not the plan.

Not enough pills.

Only days earlier I was kicking and screaming, thrown over the shoulder and beating the back of a man I didn’t know, who had probably saved the life of the man who had raped me. He took me outside and waited to put me on the university bus back to my dorm.

I don’t know how to live anymore.

My friend, who had been at the party with me, tried her best to calm me. She reminded me of the things I’d already overcome and the things I had yet to do. She recalled my success in the face of a justice system that was more concerned with the future of a man who admitted to his violence, a school that cared only about their reputation, and a world that blamed me for my own violation.

You gotta pull it together.

There are as many responses to pain as there are people who endure it. For me, my work became my coping mechanism and it's gotten me pretty far. I'm a full spectrum doula, a sexuality educator and trauma consultant, and I own and operate a self-care/intimacy boutique. I've worked with amazing people and done some pretty amazing things. And, in the process, built up one hell of a guise. If you keep busy enough, most people don't notice the mess that is your own life. If you're helpful enough, most folks won't bother to check in on you. And the facade remains. Until it doesn't.

My summer began with one goal: secure fifteen new education and consulting contracts before the end of September. I sat with a friend, we developed a plan to reach our goals and to hold each other accountable. And I broke down. I had kept myself so busy helping other people heal their trauma that I hadn't even properly processed mine. My impulse was to pile on another project. Maybe it was time to start that intimacy podcast or revisit that doula opportunity at Rikers.

Maybe it's time to slow down.

"The work" will always be there. There will always be another training to give and more students to teach and survivors to support. What's more, there will always be days that the tiredness sets in. And that's when the real work begins. It's a struggle and that may always be the case. There may always be a part of me whose initial reaction is to overcompensate with work. I'm striving for a healthy balance and this summer will set the foundation. I'm going to get my contracts, I'm going to launch my brand, and I'm going to take care of myself in the process.

Evolution is deliberate. Irreversible. It’s only goal, beyond your survival, is to ensure that you thrive. To get you to your highest self.

And I will get there.

Eventually.

How Can Falling In Love With Someone Be The Goal?

How can falling in love with someone be a goal? I’ve always been taught that goals are supposed to logical. But, love and logic don’t go together. My brain and my heart are always at odds.

The logical way of reaching a goal is to make sure it is SMART. Specific. Measurable. Attainable. Realistic. Timely.

Being specific was the easy part. I had a list of the things I want in my ideal man, down to his shoe size. He’d be intelligent, ambitious, and kind. And chocolate. He’d have a job, a legal way to support himself. I wouldn’t mind if he graduated from an HBCU, like me. I could get more specific…but maybe that was a part of the problem.

And measurable? How do you measure love? How could you measure something you’ve never had? Is love recognizable by the number of gifts and sweet words? Or, date nights and social media shout outs. Maybe it was kind actions and kisses.

Attainability is another obstacle. Love isn’t something you can buy from the store and wear like a new shirt. It isn’t something you can force upon yourself or another individual. And I don’t even know what that someone is. I should not have to change things about myself.

I deserve love. I know that to be true. That’s a reality.

When will my time come? That’s the question I ask myself each time another friend gets engaged, or married, and booed up. Obviously rushing to just say, “I did it, I’m in a relationship,” isn’t smart at all. So how could I make this a timely goal?

Deciding to fall in love meant first figuring out how to do it.  I want to trust my feelings. I want to turn off the logic and follow my heart.  So, I’m dedicating my #SummerSixteen to finding a love like I’ve never had before. To love and be loved. To hold hands and flirt. To date and smile. To be courted.

Step one, turn off that brain.

Everyone Is Sick of My Great Potential. Including Me.

I’m not too thrilled with me so chances are, I’ll never be happy with you. 

I don’t want to do all the work it will take to get what I want.   

Flirting is fun, dating is tolerable, relationships are a burden.   

I’m a good starter but a terrible finisher.

I wrote those words five years ago, and it's sad that it still rings true today. Eighty percent of the time I'm not happy with myself, with my choices, with my life, and I let it drag me down into a spiral of self-pity, depression, sloth, and regret.

There is a body I want. There are books I need to write. There is [maybe] a man out in The Universe that is supposed to be with me. There is a legacy I want to leave.

But everyday I get up and my brain says, "No, maybe tomorrow. Today we're going to stay in this rut and be sad." And I can't figure out at what point in my life I was taught to hate myself. Where is the disconnect between me and all those other people who stick to a workout schedule and write for two hours a day and manage to maintain positive romantic relationships? Where was I when they were passing out the guidebook to my potential?

So now I'm here, in what I call starting over, yet again. I say that because when my grandmother died in 1999, I swore her life would not have been lived in vain, that I would be a great success in her honor, for all the sacrifices she had to make for us. I quit my job, finished my undergraduate degree program, and probably made a million lists that would serve to get me on track.

And then quickly went back to my bullshit life.

In 2005 I ended my marriage and again, decided THIS IS MY MOMENT. I took writing gigs and did my version of networking and lost some weight and stood on my own and twirled in the streets throwing my proverbial hat in the air.

And again, quickly found myself back in my bullshit life.

Since then I've made some small strides- got fit (then unfit, booo!), wrote some stuff that got published, made a name for myself among indie writers in NYC, and I let this comfort zone engulf me. I didn't push myself to go to the next level of health or career or relationships, just cruised along.

And then my dad (and Prince, and a friend from school) died and I was back. In. My. Bullshit. Life.

I stayed in the grieving place and gave no shits about anything that would positively serve my goals or me. For two whole months, at the end of a whole year of living in limbo, watching my dad succumb to cancer, I tried to let myself die. On the flights to-and-from his funeral I wrote a whole book on how I was turning my back on life, because what was the point of anything if the only person who raised me up on a loving pedestal of perfection was gone? What was the point of this life?

I still don't know the answer. I still stand too close to the subway platform edge some days. Occasionally I want to shred every draft of every word I've ever written, and dunk my computer in a tub of water. I still struggle with knowing when to push away from the table. And romance doesn't seem like a real thing to me. I honestly believe you're all lying when you say you're in love, because I don't understand the feeling or the concept.

But last week I went to the gym, on my own, three times, because, according to SCIENCE, the endorphins will improve my mood. And the mood...the MOOD is what's praying for death. The MOOD is what controls whether I have a salad or fast food for lunch. Or whether I move my novel forward or just watch all seven season of "Gilmore Girls" on Netflix YET AGAIN. Or whether I text that perfectly nice guy back or ghost him.

So I went to the gym. Three times. And I went again yesterday.

I will take this tiny victory and roll it into other tiny victories until...well, until the MOOD let's me understand love, and that I'm worthy of it, from me. I can only guess that everything else will fall into place from there.

I'm on a journey to be a great finisher, one who makes potentials a reality, who looks in the mirror and loves who she sees. For real this time.

And for better or worse, you're all coming along with me.

WonderWoman Has Generalized Anxiety Disorder

The golden "W" emblem adorns many things I own. It's often given to me, during special occasions. It's an incredible gesture to the folks that love me. It makes sense. I flood my social media with images of Frida Kahlo, Langston Hughes, Jean-Michel Basquiat, and Wonderwoman. It would only be appropriate to purchase me something that resembles my heroes.

Want to know what they all have in common?

They are all on some pedestal. Everyone that adores them, while they were alive and now, has a perception of who they were. Most of these perceptions do not account for flaws, they do not leave room for flexibility, for mistakes.

This is how I feel every time someone gifts myself a WonderWoman item or calls me by her name. Although I purchase the items for myself and sometimes refer to myself as her, in jest, I understand that I am flawed, that I have much to work on, that I am sometimes defeated.

Some of the folks who gift these items or adorn my wall in her likeness, find me indestructible. Although they are friends and family, they lack empathy for my situation.

"You'll get through this."
"You always come out on top."
"I know you, and you'll be fine."

This is usually done with a pat on the shoulder, and their back turned to me. They haven't fathomed that I might need an ear, someone to sit alongside me, understanding.

Because WonderWoman isn't allowed to be broken.
She isn't allowed to regress.
She isn't allowed to find herself entangled in her lasso of truth.
She isn't allowed to cry.
She isn't allowed to find herself heartbroken.
She isn't allowed to be intimidated.

& most of all...

She is not allowed to succumb to any labels of the "average" or he "mere human."

WonderWoman is not allowed to have Generalized Anxiety Disorder.

I'm not sure the exact day it started.
I remember the year.

It was freshman year of college. I was dating a guy from back home and in the middle of our Christmas break he was diagnosed with Multiple sclerosis. His condition declined rapidly. Every time my phone rang, I jumped for it. My breathing would change immediately, and I was preparing for the worst. Each time he called, he'd lost control of an important function, or a doctor's appointment hadn't gone exactly to plan. I took on all of his pain, although he pleaded with me not to. I ran home to NYC, from Virginia, whenever he was hospitalized. At nineteen years old, I was helping my boyfriend walk, shower, and get into bed. I was overwhelmed trying to keep up with my studies, social and performance life. I was having panic attacks all the time, and I noticed that my worry was way out of control. I'd never felt the amount of concern that seemed to flood my body.

I didn't recognize this as anxiety. I thought what was happening was a standard response to what was going on in my life. I knew it would go away when the stress was gone.

Here's the problem....it never left.

I had the feeling of an anchor on my chest, in the mornings. My mind would be flooded with analytical questions the moment I woke up. It would diminish as the day progressed, but it returned every evening as I went to sleep and rose with the sun.

I am twenty-eight, with a successful career, great friends, an amazing support system, and I still wake up every day with that feeling.

My overthinking sabotages relationships, makes me sometimes difficult to work with, and sometimes makes natural life functions tough.

Some mornings I wake up with all the energy in the world; other days I arise with the inability to move.

I am sometimes, destructible.
I am often, broken.

I went to therapy, after a horrendous breakup, in 2013. I spent six months sitting in a therapists' chair that pushed me to journal and unpack my thought process. After my tenure with her, I didn't feel any different. After all, if my writing was supposed to heal me...considering I was a writer...shouldn't I have been healed?

I left therapy and decided that I would write like crazy and focus on my career. My job became my coping mechanism. As long as I was immersed in my work, my anxiety seemed to go away.

Fridays were my dreaded days. After a long week of business meetings, co-workers, and rowdy students...I would have to come home to my quiet apartment. My anxiety would slowly creep in. Questions and negative thoughts seemed to write themselves on my yellow walls.

Why aren't you married yet? 
Ain't you almost thirty? 
Did you finish you task list? 
You didn't? You're a failure.
Did you try hard enough this week?
How'd that date go? 
Not so well, huh? 
Are you beautiful? 
Are you secure?
Does it radiate through your skin?
Can they see that you don't actually love yourself? 

My anxiety did not go. It was buried under all the items I used to inundate myself.

I had not yet rectified it.

& it took God to humble me.

Enter someone that I potentially could have had a great relationship with. He had his things together, so did I. He seemed like a real person, courted me, and was adamant about making me a focus in his life.

I was ready. Or was I?

My anxiety started to manifest in ways I thought I'd suppressed.

His absence would trigger questions. His actions were overanalyzed. His pulling away tugged at my security.

When in reality, my anxiety pushed him away. He recognized the pressure being put on him and he tried, as gracefully as possible, to stay with me despite.

I broke up with him. My anxiety reared its ugly head and accused him of several things, some were true and some were not. In reality, the items should've been a discussion instead of an uproar and severance.

Or perhaps it needed to be...

Because anxiety disorder never goes away. It never heals. It's always there, and it's up to the person experiencing it to manage it. It's not up to the therapist, your significant other, your friends. They can help guide you to the right avenues. They can assist with advice.

They cannot heal you.
Only you can heal you.

This summer, I'm going to start healing.

I woke up this morning and walked straight to a therapists' office. I got the advice I needed to take myself to the next step towards managing my anxiety.

I will no longer use my career as a coping mechanism. I will longer assume that the people who love me are supposed to know how to deal with my episodes.

I've got to fight for me.

I need to be an eventual evolution.

Follow me on this journey with women who will be talking about their hopes, fears, tribulations, dreams, and so much more. We will document what it is to be a phoenix, we will show you what it is to rise, we will evolve.

Signing off,