Dear Fam,
I'm on the verge of the unknown, facing the darkest night of my soul. Seven months pregnant, breaking up with the father again; and facing a gypsy future. So, being on the brink of what is unknown, and the most terrifying valley of my life to date, I want to share my story, a piece of my soul print with you. Maybe it's my insurance that if more people know about me, then the universe has to protect us, or maybe it's just my ego needing to validate myself, and to affirm that I haven't always been lost, I once had direction and potential.
I grew up in a middle class neighborhood, predominately Caucasian. My folks focused a lot on educating me at home, and as a result I did well academically. I challenged the teachers on history issues (having read George M. James), I visited the United Nations and gave a small speech on Apartheid at 15, and a year later I was a teacher's assistant for piano. My future looked bright and I had no doubts about my being successful. Some say I was an overachiever, but for me I was doing what the Creator had allowed me to do, all the things that brought me joy, and those were the safe places.
Studying my books was safer than showing up to school not knowing the answers or having to listen to some ignoramus call me N*gger at lunch. Studying during lunch time became safer than venturing into the playground where all sorts of havoc awaited me.
Studying became safer than listening to my parents argue or worse, ignore each other.
Achievements brought me a sense of acceptance from my parents who to some degree are each perfectionists.
And achievements more than anything, meant that I was somebody.
Around the age of 13, I had a full fledged ulcer from dealing with stress. Stress factors from within the home, where everything had to appear okay, and peace was kept at all costs. Stress from school where a battlefield brewed daily around my color, and stress from attempting to please others, to reach perfection and to handle information that a child my age was not intended to process. Which of the particular factors actually sent me to drink poison on that cold winter evening just before Christmas I cannot say for sure. I just knew there was no way out from the pain others were going to bring me, and accuse me of bringing them. My father told me that I had shamed him with my actions. That was the first time I think I had ever felt lost.
Shortly thereafter, I was introduced to the writings of Dr. Ben and Ivan Van Sertima, books on the history of Kemet and origins of humanity. It has taken many years before I was able to grasp the depth of the knowledge I had been given. To say I understood it all at 12 or 13 would be preposterous. However, the essence of the writings, the Spirit within them inspired me, and gave me the fuel I needed to cross many raging ravines of institutionalized racism. I believe my father gave them to me, because he believed I had to ability to Know Thyself and he wanted very much for me to succeed.
My father is in all aspects a successful person. He grew up the eldest of 11 children from a small town in South America. An overachiever himself, he was first in everything: track and field, soccer, academia, etc.... his life is really very amazing and deserves to be recorded. My father left his native land of "Many Waters" to study in England. He was going to be a lawyer. But fate had other plans, and he took sick, losing a kidney and almost his life . Spending over a year in convalescence, my father changed course from his academic pursuit and came to Canada. He arrived here to work as a Private Eye for a law firm in Ontario, but eventually came west to the city I was born in, Calgary, Alberta. This city has always been redneck and cowboy central, but the Jews liked my Pops and helped to put him in good positions.
He is now retired and living well.
Mom, is Italian by bloodlines, but raised by a French Catholic family.
My mother was quite the beauty in her day, and her sense of beauty is still evident today, especially in her home which she attends to daily. Mom, is the reason why I was able to read and write before I went to school. My mom is very sharp, I wouldn't be overdoing it to say that scholastically she could have been brillant. But her destiny was shaped by domineering Catholic parents who wanted their daughter to be what they wanted, rather than what she was able to carve for herself. She rebelled, never went to college and got three jobs working admin in the Oil industry of Calgary.
I take after both of my parents in degree.
The difference between us is that I have taken risks where they would not, and I have also made desperate attempts to retrieve my authentic self from the years of self-denial and the need to please. I also have unique experiences as a Black female that neither one of them will understand. FFWD to last year.
I was renting a gorgeous apartment in a small town 1 hour west of the city. Instead of going to school to finish my degree in Criminology and Women's Studies, I chose to pursue music, painting and my own business! I was used to putting my energies into many different areas, but this time it was different, I hadn't formed a solid structure by which to measure my growth and I suffered from self-doubt, missed steps and not listening to my gut! In addition, the stock market took a big chunk of my investments and flushed them down the toilet sooner than I could blink, my businesses suffered from my feeling like a failure. But then the opportunity came to work at a bank as a client representative. I was terrified that they would fire me during the three month probation period because I was pregnant. I turned the job down, and moved into the city to be with the father.
The city became a nightmare fast. Housing prices are 1.5X more than the town I was in, mobility and transit are difficult and the lifestyle sucks in comparison to living in nature. I spent the last 6 months living with my folks which was not good. My depression resurfaced having to face ghosts from the past, and it was too much for them to handle. I am not on medication, never have been and the doctor's won't give me any. I guess that's good, that I'm not clinically labelled as bi-polar, or dangerous to others. But it's not good for me, because I can be dangerous to myself when I'm down.
My moods didn't make me the ideal house guest, and my folks insisted I move in with Baby Daddy as soon as he secured a location. In my gut I felt it was going to put me in checkmate and I was right. His behavior since I returned to the city was less than encouraging. I believe that people can choose to grow and love is a wonderful motivator, but in this case that hasn't really happened.
But, in I moved to this house he was renting from a friend of a friend. We talked about our costs and he insisted he needed to get a second job to handle all our bills. I suggested that we take it easy, he stay working the one job and we balance things better.
Well within on week, the landlord makes an appearance to tell me that we have to move because he's going to rent it to some girl he had as a previous tenant. He made all sorts of lame excuses and the bottom line is that he cannot legally do it. Baby Dad though doesn't stand up to him, nope he negotiates with the scum sucker to rent his other home which I had seen before and vetoed. The next location costs even more and is a dump! But Baby Daddy is going to get room mates. Now, please keep in mind that for what he's going to pay in rent, there are places available that are better maintained and offer a more private experience. I had also suggested to him that I ought to look at relocating to another town where the cost of living was more affordable. Well, before we could plan a darn thing or work anything out, he walks in and tells me we have to have our stuff out on Saturday. I work Friday nights until 2 a.m and Saturday afternoon, but hey I guess so long as it works for one of us.
Baby Daddy is moving in on Saturday with some girl for a room mate. Riiiggghttt... and then has the audacity to ask me for my opinion on it! Like who cares, you already made the decision and if you don't know by now what's up then boogie on. One of the Destee members has a comment that the men we sleep with is a reflection of my character... I agree which is why I have to leave the situation.
I have abandoned any hope of remaining friends with him.
In fact I told him straight that he'll see me in court before I venture to play nice around custody and visitation. My truth today is that it's not enough to be Black together, that just isn't a common bond. You have to share a sense of common history and background in order to make a relationship work. His eyes glaze over when I try to capture his interest with Black authors and scholars. He is not interested in any of it, and I believe it shows in the way he treats me.
The sacrifice made to retrieve some of our men from their mental enslavement isn't worth the price of our own lives, or the lives of our babies.
The bottom line is that I haven't much time to figure out how to get out of this mess. I've always been able to rely on someone, somewhere and now there's nobody but me and the little one to come. My family would advise me to suck it up and move in with the father, but my heart, my Spirit and my mind tell me this crusade is OVER. To stay another moment longer will be detrimental to me in ways I can only begin to fathom. Physical cruelty is devasting I know because I've experienced it, but mental cruelty is worse, it leaves no bruises and no proof that it happened, so it's an invisible form of pain.
I feel like a fool, mentally repeating affirmations, keeping my head up, and believing in the miracles of answered prayers from out of the blue. I feel like a fool for believing that creating a Black family would solve some sort of political equation. I feel like a fool for believing I could improve someone, and make my own fairytale romance. I feel like a fool for believing that his growing up without a father and having issues with his own mother would be something we could work through. I feel like a fool for not listening to my parents when they told me to look after myself first, I feel like a fool for allowing myself to place my self worth in the hands of others and I feel like a fool for believing when there just wasn't nothing to believe in.
I know there's no God in the sky listening to my problems, but I pray anyways, to ancestors, the the divine substance, the Source whatever. I do it because I had results before and it's all I have left right now.
My baby boy is due in August and I pray for the fortitude to hear divine guidance, the hear the voice within me that can put me back on track. I pray that I will be the one to raise my son, without daycare, baby sitters and strangers. I pray to become the person I ought to have been. I pray forgiveness from my child for not planning things better and I pray one day to write the sequel to this Soul Print as a victory.
That's all folks, thanks for reading and stay Blessed!
I'm on the verge of the unknown, facing the darkest night of my soul. Seven months pregnant, breaking up with the father again; and facing a gypsy future. So, being on the brink of what is unknown, and the most terrifying valley of my life to date, I want to share my story, a piece of my soul print with you. Maybe it's my insurance that if more people know about me, then the universe has to protect us, or maybe it's just my ego needing to validate myself, and to affirm that I haven't always been lost, I once had direction and potential.
I grew up in a middle class neighborhood, predominately Caucasian. My folks focused a lot on educating me at home, and as a result I did well academically. I challenged the teachers on history issues (having read George M. James), I visited the United Nations and gave a small speech on Apartheid at 15, and a year later I was a teacher's assistant for piano. My future looked bright and I had no doubts about my being successful. Some say I was an overachiever, but for me I was doing what the Creator had allowed me to do, all the things that brought me joy, and those were the safe places.
Studying my books was safer than showing up to school not knowing the answers or having to listen to some ignoramus call me N*gger at lunch. Studying during lunch time became safer than venturing into the playground where all sorts of havoc awaited me.
Studying became safer than listening to my parents argue or worse, ignore each other.
Achievements brought me a sense of acceptance from my parents who to some degree are each perfectionists.
And achievements more than anything, meant that I was somebody.
Around the age of 13, I had a full fledged ulcer from dealing with stress. Stress factors from within the home, where everything had to appear okay, and peace was kept at all costs. Stress from school where a battlefield brewed daily around my color, and stress from attempting to please others, to reach perfection and to handle information that a child my age was not intended to process. Which of the particular factors actually sent me to drink poison on that cold winter evening just before Christmas I cannot say for sure. I just knew there was no way out from the pain others were going to bring me, and accuse me of bringing them. My father told me that I had shamed him with my actions. That was the first time I think I had ever felt lost.
Shortly thereafter, I was introduced to the writings of Dr. Ben and Ivan Van Sertima, books on the history of Kemet and origins of humanity. It has taken many years before I was able to grasp the depth of the knowledge I had been given. To say I understood it all at 12 or 13 would be preposterous. However, the essence of the writings, the Spirit within them inspired me, and gave me the fuel I needed to cross many raging ravines of institutionalized racism. I believe my father gave them to me, because he believed I had to ability to Know Thyself and he wanted very much for me to succeed.
My father is in all aspects a successful person. He grew up the eldest of 11 children from a small town in South America. An overachiever himself, he was first in everything: track and field, soccer, academia, etc.... his life is really very amazing and deserves to be recorded. My father left his native land of "Many Waters" to study in England. He was going to be a lawyer. But fate had other plans, and he took sick, losing a kidney and almost his life . Spending over a year in convalescence, my father changed course from his academic pursuit and came to Canada. He arrived here to work as a Private Eye for a law firm in Ontario, but eventually came west to the city I was born in, Calgary, Alberta. This city has always been redneck and cowboy central, but the Jews liked my Pops and helped to put him in good positions.
He is now retired and living well.
Mom, is Italian by bloodlines, but raised by a French Catholic family.
My mother was quite the beauty in her day, and her sense of beauty is still evident today, especially in her home which she attends to daily. Mom, is the reason why I was able to read and write before I went to school. My mom is very sharp, I wouldn't be overdoing it to say that scholastically she could have been brillant. But her destiny was shaped by domineering Catholic parents who wanted their daughter to be what they wanted, rather than what she was able to carve for herself. She rebelled, never went to college and got three jobs working admin in the Oil industry of Calgary.
I take after both of my parents in degree.
The difference between us is that I have taken risks where they would not, and I have also made desperate attempts to retrieve my authentic self from the years of self-denial and the need to please. I also have unique experiences as a Black female that neither one of them will understand. FFWD to last year.
I was renting a gorgeous apartment in a small town 1 hour west of the city. Instead of going to school to finish my degree in Criminology and Women's Studies, I chose to pursue music, painting and my own business! I was used to putting my energies into many different areas, but this time it was different, I hadn't formed a solid structure by which to measure my growth and I suffered from self-doubt, missed steps and not listening to my gut! In addition, the stock market took a big chunk of my investments and flushed them down the toilet sooner than I could blink, my businesses suffered from my feeling like a failure. But then the opportunity came to work at a bank as a client representative. I was terrified that they would fire me during the three month probation period because I was pregnant. I turned the job down, and moved into the city to be with the father.
The city became a nightmare fast. Housing prices are 1.5X more than the town I was in, mobility and transit are difficult and the lifestyle sucks in comparison to living in nature. I spent the last 6 months living with my folks which was not good. My depression resurfaced having to face ghosts from the past, and it was too much for them to handle. I am not on medication, never have been and the doctor's won't give me any. I guess that's good, that I'm not clinically labelled as bi-polar, or dangerous to others. But it's not good for me, because I can be dangerous to myself when I'm down.
My moods didn't make me the ideal house guest, and my folks insisted I move in with Baby Daddy as soon as he secured a location. In my gut I felt it was going to put me in checkmate and I was right. His behavior since I returned to the city was less than encouraging. I believe that people can choose to grow and love is a wonderful motivator, but in this case that hasn't really happened.
But, in I moved to this house he was renting from a friend of a friend. We talked about our costs and he insisted he needed to get a second job to handle all our bills. I suggested that we take it easy, he stay working the one job and we balance things better.
Well within on week, the landlord makes an appearance to tell me that we have to move because he's going to rent it to some girl he had as a previous tenant. He made all sorts of lame excuses and the bottom line is that he cannot legally do it. Baby Dad though doesn't stand up to him, nope he negotiates with the scum sucker to rent his other home which I had seen before and vetoed. The next location costs even more and is a dump! But Baby Daddy is going to get room mates. Now, please keep in mind that for what he's going to pay in rent, there are places available that are better maintained and offer a more private experience. I had also suggested to him that I ought to look at relocating to another town where the cost of living was more affordable. Well, before we could plan a darn thing or work anything out, he walks in and tells me we have to have our stuff out on Saturday. I work Friday nights until 2 a.m and Saturday afternoon, but hey I guess so long as it works for one of us.
Baby Daddy is moving in on Saturday with some girl for a room mate. Riiiggghttt... and then has the audacity to ask me for my opinion on it! Like who cares, you already made the decision and if you don't know by now what's up then boogie on. One of the Destee members has a comment that the men we sleep with is a reflection of my character... I agree which is why I have to leave the situation.
I have abandoned any hope of remaining friends with him.
In fact I told him straight that he'll see me in court before I venture to play nice around custody and visitation. My truth today is that it's not enough to be Black together, that just isn't a common bond. You have to share a sense of common history and background in order to make a relationship work. His eyes glaze over when I try to capture his interest with Black authors and scholars. He is not interested in any of it, and I believe it shows in the way he treats me.
The sacrifice made to retrieve some of our men from their mental enslavement isn't worth the price of our own lives, or the lives of our babies.
The bottom line is that I haven't much time to figure out how to get out of this mess. I've always been able to rely on someone, somewhere and now there's nobody but me and the little one to come. My family would advise me to suck it up and move in with the father, but my heart, my Spirit and my mind tell me this crusade is OVER. To stay another moment longer will be detrimental to me in ways I can only begin to fathom. Physical cruelty is devasting I know because I've experienced it, but mental cruelty is worse, it leaves no bruises and no proof that it happened, so it's an invisible form of pain.
I feel like a fool, mentally repeating affirmations, keeping my head up, and believing in the miracles of answered prayers from out of the blue. I feel like a fool for believing that creating a Black family would solve some sort of political equation. I feel like a fool for believing I could improve someone, and make my own fairytale romance. I feel like a fool for believing that his growing up without a father and having issues with his own mother would be something we could work through. I feel like a fool for not listening to my parents when they told me to look after myself first, I feel like a fool for allowing myself to place my self worth in the hands of others and I feel like a fool for believing when there just wasn't nothing to believe in.
I know there's no God in the sky listening to my problems, but I pray anyways, to ancestors, the the divine substance, the Source whatever. I do it because I had results before and it's all I have left right now.
My baby boy is due in August and I pray for the fortitude to hear divine guidance, the hear the voice within me that can put me back on track. I pray that I will be the one to raise my son, without daycare, baby sitters and strangers. I pray to become the person I ought to have been. I pray forgiveness from my child for not planning things better and I pray one day to write the sequel to this Soul Print as a victory.
That's all folks, thanks for reading and stay Blessed!
