And here I am

The last newsletter I published was nearly a year ago. My boys were nine months old and I finally admitted to myself that I did not have the capacity to keep up with Fundamental Hunger. I was trying to write while the boys napped, or scribble down ideas on the train on my way to a yoga class after bedtime. My fingers were desperately typing, because I opposed the idea that I was only staying at home with my kids. Things were internally hostile. I knew that American society belittled the stay at home parent role, but I did not foresee how much I would reinforce that narrative towards myself. When moments get tense, I turn to my tried and true belief that nothing is finite. I am frenzied and agitated when I think where I am is a life sentence. When I remember that this time home with my children is my current season, I stopped forcing creativity with the confidence that one day I would return. And here I am.

Last November, my boys turned one. We all recovered from the vicious norovirus just in time to celebrate in a Brooklyn bar that we rented out for two hours. We felt blessed to be able to honor a milestone that once felt lightyears away. Leading up to the day, I was flooded with emotions, memories, and experiences that I forgot I lived through. My children turned one, and I too, was one year into becoming a mother. Several weeks later I threw myself a small one year postpartum party with some girlfriends. It’s easy to get used to making yourself an afterthought. I committed to having this small party because I finally felt like I had the capacity to pour into my world again. For months I could see it, and I fantasized about what I could do if I had more mental space, or the ability to meet my needs in a more robust way. I wish every birthing person could have a moment to commemorate the drastic way in which their mind, body, and spirit has changed forever.

Once I hit the one year mark, I began to come alive again. I started making one on one plans with friends. I made new connections with fellow Black mothers. I hosted a vision board party. I got a new found level of trust that allowed us to hire a nanny to support us fifteen hours a week. Lastly, after over a year of reluctance, I ended my coaching services. Emotionally supporting people in the midst of early motherhood was beginning to consume me. The reason I delayed this decision was because I didn’t want to face the reality of not having a professional title. If you have followed me for a while, this personal crisis is not surprising to you. Have you ever held onto an expired identity because it felt like the only one you had? This certainly wouldn't be my first time.

Thankfully, after a catch up call with my friend Jas, of Erah Society, I got the final push I needed to take action. I scheduled my final clients, cancelled my website’s scheduling software, and felt a wave of relief. I absolved myself from the feeling of disgrace. The story that I must prove my professional success in order to remain valuable, was no longer keeping me warm at night. My self-imposed requirement that I have to have an answer for what is next, subsided when I welcomed it as a hiatus. With Tommy’s encouragement, I decided I would take the first few months with the support of our nanny to simply be with myself. To simply go stare at a tree, as I’ve told many people. I am thankful this is an option for me. It still feels liberating. My boys are now 18 months old, and I am grateful that they are watching their mama give to herself a bit more lavishly.

In case you forgot, it is never too late to surprise yourself. You might be more prepared for a transition than you give yourself credit for.

Journal prompts:

1. When was the last time you felt relief? How did it come about?

2. What self imposed rules are you currently following?

3. Who do you currently turn to when you need to feel supported?