I've been running nonstop for years. I've been chasing this ideal version of myself. Trying to reach perfection that doesn't exist. Maybe it's the Virgo in me.
There are many reasons why we as women, especially black women (being a double minority), find ourselves working twice as hard to get half as much. It's what many of us have been conditioned to believe is necessary. Maybe it's because we feel like we need to prove our value. Because if we aren't the best, if we aren't constantly growing, if we aren't outdoing our last accomplishment, are we worthly of love? Are we worthy of respect? Are we worthy of admiration? Are we worthy of dignity? Are we worthy of honor?
Iyanla Vanzant, when fixing a group of boss lady's lives, said, "Black women can be a lot of things, but they can't be weak." In our society, it feels like we have not been afforded the luxury of soft femininity as the women of other ethnicities have. We aren't allowed to feel drained or tired or weak. In a Tyler Perry movie there was a side character who said, "Black women may not always do what they want to do, but they ALWAYS do what they gotta do." Implying that we as black women don't get to put ourselves first. We do what we have to do for others. We are the glue that holds this country, our communities, and our families together. But who holds us together when we inevitably fall apart?
Black women, according to several online articles (which I have not fact checked) are the most educated group in the United States holding the highest level of degrees? Why? Because we have the most to prove.
There was a meme circulating that said something like, "there is no award for the most worked woman. Cancel burn out culture." When I read it, I considered that maybe I was pushing myself too hard. Still, no matter how hard I tried, I could never stop running.
I wanted to be the best wife. Sexy and submissive and strong and loving, organized and nurturing . I thought somehow I'd be the best mother. Singing songs and building memories. You know the kind who manages a career, but still has the time to love her children intentionally, making them feel seen, secure, safe and soothed. The kind of woman who makes meals from scratch and listens to her best friends problems giving excellent biblical advice, looking well put together on the outside, and building her personal brand across multiiple social media platforms. She drives her mom to chemo and waits with her (back when my mother was in chemo she is in remission now) and makes separate meals for her vegetarian sister just because.
I was planning events, being a motivational speaker, author of a book series, and the founder of a nonprofit. Then recently I had decided I had the bandwidth to restart my dad's art career. Without anyone asking me to, I built him a website (website )and social media business page (social media business page) and managed his business email. Even hosted three of his art exhibits the same weekend of my daughers birthday party.
Speaking of birthdays I wanted everyone to be fully celebrated despite the pandemic. I tried to make up for the lack of other guests by over-decorating and over-planning myself to death. Once one birthday passed another soon followed....and I was on a hamster wheel that never stopped. I was constantly troubleshooting and putting out fires and being everything to everyone...except myself.
My health was never a priority. I was so busy wifing, and moming, and daughtering, and sistering, and friending, and mentoring, and speaking and writing and planning events. There was no time for checking blood sugar, taking medication, eating healthy, or exercising. How could I make time for me when there was virtual learning with spelling tests, and math tests, and groceries to order, and put away, and meals to cook and serve. Also, a nursing baby.
When I'd get bad news or find out something tragic happened...I added it to my heap of stress and kept running. I never took the time to grieve; to feel; to be in the moment. I. Just. Kept. On. Running.
I can't remember when or why I started running. I never wanted to be that type of person. Chasing the big beautiful house and the dream career. I had always been the opposite. I always said that I only wanted to live comfortably and anything above that was unnecessary and for pride; to be able to show off and make others feel less than. I never chased money. It was never important to me. So what was I chasing? Why couldn't I stop running?
May 3, 2021 the running stopped. I had been sick for weeks, but sickness hadn't made me slow down much. I kept running.
My youngest daughter, Addison, turned 1 on April 21, 2021. I was vibrant and well. We all were. I had elaborately decorated our livingroom and took photos...because of course I'm not only the mom, and the party planner, I'm also the photographer.
We had a beautiful party; just us and my parents. The next day I was scheduled to get the first dose of the Covid vaccine. University of Chicago had called me randomly to offer it to me. Though I was skeptical and untrusting of the vaccine, I assumed the universe was pushing me to get it since they had contacted me without my seeking it out.
I even made a post on facebook asking people's experience with the vaccine and its side effects. My sister took me to go get it April 22, 2021. Instead of resting that night, I stayed up watching a Marketing Webinar and updated my website and started preparing the presentation for a speaking engagement that was quickly approaching.
Because during the day Charles works. So I spend my days keeping the baby quiet during his meetings and being assistant teacher for my 7 and 8 year olds during virtual learning. I'm also the the cafeteria lady, the janitor and social worker....so the only time I have to work on my career is when the girls have gone to bed and Charles is watching his shows at night. So, before I knew it, it was after 2 am. Then the baby woke up to nurse some time after I had laid down.
The next morning I felt sick. Mostly coldlike symptoms, but I was exhausted. It was different kind of tired. It was just my luck to be one of very few people who had symptoms from the first vaccine. So I pressed on in my life of details: finishing up the presentation, managing virtual learning, nursing, cleaning, cooking.
I took more vitamins, drunk more tea, and made vegetable juice with all the veggies in my refrigerator. That should do it. I had no time to be sick. My husbands birthday was the April 25th. I wanted to make it special. I was still trying to decorate, when I realized, I was winded from very little movement. I was very sick. My husband decided that I was too sick to cook the elaborate brunch accomodating everyone's dietary preferences that we had planned for his family and he uninvited everyone.
I was still the key note speaker for a school district's Young Authors Celebration on Apirl 28th. I had to deliver a virtual presentation about my writing process and my relationship with words. Because I had to run on, I drank some Happy Lung tea with lots of lemon and honey, and pressed my way through to speak to over a hundred young authors and their parents.
When I was done with the presentation, I laid on the couch. The kids ran around, and laughed and played and made a mess. I just couldn't get up.
There was just one more birthday, but I'd gotten sicker. My middle daughter, Alyssa. She's the one who begins planning her next birthday the day after her birthday. She wanted a taco spa party. I had already purchased the taco pinata and the decorations. I had stock piled facials, and all sorts of spa products for she and her sister's spa day. As the day approached I got sicker and sicker. Body aches, chills, and the cough kept getting progressively worse.
I asked my mom if I could have Alyssa's 7th birthday party in their yard on May 1st. The weather would be perfect and it would just be us and a pinata.
It wasn't just us. My dad invited the whole family; uncles, aunties, and cousins who we hadn't been quarantined with. There were even kids which I had specifically told him I didn't want during the pandemic. (This was the very reason my kids were still virtually learning instead of going to school with their peers). I kept my mask on, and sat 6 feet away from everyone on a blanket.
That night I had an insatiable thirst. It felt like my mouth was no longer making saliva. It felt like my throat would have closed up if I didnt have water close by. I must have drank 10 bottles of water that night.
The next day I couldn't breathe. I called my doctor. She said it sounded like either Covid or Pneumonia. She suggested I go to the emergency room. I had planned to drive myself, but when I got to the elevator door, I collapsed before I could get inside.
The ambulance came and got me. They immediately gave me oxygen.
I was hospitalized for shortness of breath due to Covid19.
The moment I was diaagnosed my mind went back to Alyssa's birthday party. I started thinking about having to contact each guest, especially the ones who I hadn't invited and didn't have as close of a relationship with. My mind immediately worried about what they would think and how they would react not to me being sick, but to me having a party while sick.
One of my aunts, the one who I didn't invite but, brought all the children, chastized me via text as if I could have known that I had Covid. As if I would have persisted to have the party had I known.
Many thoughts went through my mind. Stress. What would I do about Chrysalis that Saturday? Someone else would need to take over. How would Charles manage virtual learning and working from home? What about baby Addison, how could he sooth her without mommy milk? How would she adjust? What would they eat without me there to cook? What if I die here alone? What if one of these breaths is my last? Would Charles know how to plan my funeral? Why hadn't I talked to the girls more about death? Were they prepared to lose me? How would they remember me?
I waited in triage for 10 hours because the hospital had no available beds.
I finally had to stop and be still. And catch my breath.
Literally. I stuggled to breathe even with the oxygen underneath my mask.
Everything that I was carrying suddenly had to be put down.
The strangest thing happened. The world didn't crumble into tiny crumbs. In fact, it kept spinning on its axis without me holding it all together. In the hospital bed, where no one could visit and doctors and nurses came in as little as possible because...Covid, I realized that I had been running nonstop for 8 years.
At first, I was afraid. The transporter who moved me to my room told me that 9 people had died that day in that hospital from Covid 19. I wondered if I'd be #10. As I laid their alone I had to accept that there was nothing I could do about the situation. This was one thing that I could not control. Virtual learning, meals, cleaning, the baby, Chrysalis, everything would have to go on without me.
I cried. I prayed. I slept.
Then, all of a sudden, I felt a sense of unexplainable peace wash over me.
This was my first time alone. This was the first real uninterrupted rest I had gotten since I met Charles (my husband).
My running hadn't been his fault. He had never asked me to do or be these things. There was something in me that believed I needed to be everything to everyone. I had always been.
Growing up in the church, I often heard about the Proverbs 31 woman. This woman who had all these amazing qualities that we as women should aspire to become. (in case you are unfamiliar, here's that scripture. If you are familiar you can skip this part.)
0 An excellent wife who can find?
She is far more precious than jewels.
11 The heart of her husband trusts in her,
and he will have no lack of gain.
12 She does him good, and not harm,
all the days of her life.
13 She seeks wool and flax,
and works with willing hands.
14 She is like the ships of the merchant;
she brings her food from afar.
15 She rises while it is yet night
and provides food for her household
and portions for her maidens.
16 She considers a field and buys it;
with the fruit of her hands she plants a vineyard.
17 She dresses herself[e] with strength
and makes her arms strong.
18 She perceives that her merchandise is profitable.
Her lamp does not go out at night.
19 She puts her hands to the distaff,
and her hands hold the spindle.
20 She opens her hand to the poor
and reaches out her hands to the needy.
21 She is not afraid of snow for her household,
for all her household are clothed in scarlet.[f]
22 She makes bed coverings for herself;
her clothing is fine linen and purple.
23 Her husband is known in the gates
when he sits among the elders of the land.
24 She makes linen garments and sells them;
she delivers sashes to the merchant.
25 Strength and dignity are her clothing,
and she laughs at the time to come.
26 She opens her mouth with wisdom,
and the teaching of kindness is on her tongue.
27 She looks well to the ways of her household
and does not eat the bread of idleness.
28 Her children rise up and call her blessed;
her husband also, and he praises her:
29 “Many women have done excellently,
but you surpass them all.”
30 Charm is deceitful, and beauty is vain,
but a woman who fears the Lord is to be praised.
31 Give her of the fruit of her hands,
and let her works praise her in the gates.
Literally, who could find her? Who can be her? Had religion played a part in my feeling a need to be perfect? I had been raised from birth to be a prayer warrier, and a virtuous woman, and humble, and modest, and tip toeing through this life trying not to step on the damnation of hell landmine.
When I was a little girl, there were times I woke up from a nap and my family was missing. We would all nap in my parents bed. When I was the last to wake and I didn't see my family, my mind immediately assumed the rapture had happened. Jesus had come back for His children, and there must of been something I had done that caused me to be left behind. I honestly believed that everyone had gone "up a-yonder" except for me.
I lived my life that way until college. I was constantly doing what I knew was right because God was always watching. Even if my parents didn't/couldn't see me misbehave, there was no place I could hide from God. So, that must be where my quest for perfection began. As a little Christian girl unaware of the grace and forgiveness of God Because I had been taught only of His punishment and wrath.
My therapist had given me homework just a few weeks prior to my being sick. She had noted that I was continuing to take on more obligations (because I love a new project) though I was already overwhelmed. What was I trying to prove? and to whom? "What exactly are you chasing?" was the question she asked me to think about for homework.
Affirmation? Validation? Success (what even is success)? Perfection?
I was raised is a loving home by people who were both the black sheeps of their family. They gave me love, but they spent their time trying teach me to be better than they were; to reach heights they had only dreamed of. It was important to them that I didn't make the same mistakes they made.
My mother very badly wanted me to be the kind of wife that she wasn't. Even when I was a little girl my mother was telling about being submissive and humble and molding me into this ideal woman she pictured in her mind. I have so much respect for my mother. She is spiritual and hears from God, but I would never have been able to live up to the image of me that she expected.
Even now, I asked my sister what she thought I was chasing. My sister suggested that I am still chasing my mom's approval. She said that I'm all like, "Look mom I cured world hunger!" and mom would still be like, "but your dishes aren't clean and you didn't comb the baby's hair." Literally, no matter I do, I will still be criticized by my mother.
In her defense, she feels as if she is racing against time to teach us all everything we need to know before she has to leave this Earth. Her lessons and reminders feel like criticism.
My mother is proud of me, but she finds fault in my parenting, and my wifing and in most things I do. Much of what I have done was to prove her wrong.
She told me not to marry Charles because I hadn't known him long enough (see the love story blog post). We eloped almost 10 years ago and we are still together-happily. She told me not to go to graduate school while I had a new baby and was pregnant with another one. I graduated with honors. She told me not to devote so much time and energy into the Chrysalis Program because my first job was to parent and minister to own girls and my husband. I've been successfully running Chrysalis for 5 years and my current speaking career came into fruition because of it. Finally, no one thought that I could single-handedly pull off putting together a whole conference. No one. But the Power Her Conference was wildly successful. People are still talking about years later awaiting the pandemic to end so we can have the next one.
Do you know what happened after I reached each of those goals proving my mother or who ever wrong? I still felt empty. The adrenaline from the event or goal was a rush in the moment, but it was extremely short lived. Afterward, I wanted more. I would just find another goal to chase. A new project to start. A new event to plan. What was this all for?
My therapist sent me this quote via text:
"When you fall in love with the process rather than the product, you don't have to wait to give yourself permission to be happy. You can be satisfied at anytime your system is running."
Being hospitalized allowed me to dwell on this quote. It meant that I could take my running shoes off. The process (my every day life) was just as imporant as (if not even more important than) the goal/s. It means that the each step of the process and the details it contains are valuable and it was my responsibility to stop and recognize it.
So for 5 days, I gave myself permission to rest. Not just because the shortness of breath; or because of Covid; not just because there weren't other options. I gave myself permission to rest daily for the rest of my life. I wanted off the hamster wheel.
Now, I understood that:
-My value wasn't based of my accomplishments or my performance through life.
-I don't have to work twice as hard to get half as much because if they won't give me a seat at the table because I'm imperfect I'll build a table, at my own pace, in my own time, according to my own priorities and values.
-God's love for me was never based on my works. Nothing can separate me from His love. And if that's true, then why should I be bothered by how anyone else sees me?
-I deserve it. All the love and grace that I extend to others, I deserve to receive from myself.
-I am not holding all this together. Being away for 5 days made me realize that my family, could function without me. Therefore when I returned home, I rested.
Each day, as I get stronger and more capable, I still remind myself to rest. I get up and make breakfast and straighten up before the kids wake up. Then I rest. I stopped hovering over their virtually learning and allowed them to take responsibility for their education.
My husband has certainly stepped up to the plate and began doing more. Once I wasn't there to do and be everything, he realized we share ALL the responsibility in this family. He was willing to do his part...and some of mine.
Most importantly, I learned to manage my health. There was a mental block against it before. In those 5 days I realized that managing diabetes wasn't as big of a deal as I had made it into. Since, I've logged my blood sugar before and after each meal and took the prescribed insulin. (You've have to know me to understand gravity of this. )
There was something inside me that wanted me to die; to run myself into an early grave. Run past the obviousness that type 2 diabetes is not an uncontrollable disease. Run without taking the time to recharge. That thing that was inside me was dismantled in those 5 days. For that, I am grateful. No more chasing. Manifesting and resting is my new way of life.
Women, especially black women, must get the message that they are enough. They don't have to burn themselves out to prove their worth.
We as black women must realize that we deserve to be fragile and soft. We deserve the luxury of still being valuable even if we fall apart. We deserve to feel safe, secure, soothed and seen even in our imperfections. We deserve rest. We deserve to take our attention off of everyone else and turn it inward. We deserve healing, therapy, kindness, love, and patience. We deserve to put down everything and sleep until our bodies tell us to wake. We deserve to unapologetically do what is best for ourselves, even if it is at the expense of others. We deserve to take off our capes, and our running shoes and just be.
An excerpt from the Netflix documentary: "In Our Mother's Gardens"