To The FAT Bridesmaid

For awhile now I’ve been talking about being a bridesmaid in one of my closest friends, Ashley’s wedding. I even hash tagged  #Fatbridesmaid on a few posts leading up to her special day. I’ve never been a bridesmaid before so when Ashley "proposed" to me along with a few other ladies I wept like Jesus. It was truly an honor. With pretty much anything I commit to, I was really serious about following through with my responsibilities as a bridesmaid. "You too serious," my Mommy told me one day. It was important to me to gift back the love, friendship, and support Ashley has given me throughout the 18 years of knowing her. It also humbled me into a state of reflection of how I feel about and treat myself. Being a Black woman in the world brings so many challenges. Add being FAT to the Black woman’s load and those challenges triple. So, I spent much of my time internally worrying about those challenges. Yes, sometimes my anxiety knows no boundaries.Weddings are inherently aesthetically beautiful. If you don’t know anything else about my friend Ashley, I need you to over stand that if aesthetic had a picture next to it in the dictionary, her high fashion magazine spread would take its rightful place next to it. 

But how would I find a place in this aesthetic? 

Of course my insecurities about my weight surfaced. I questioned myself everyday. And everyday I countered it telling myself we (Gemini) can’t live the rest of our lives sunken in self doubt. We’ve got to live! So I dragged my self doubting ass to every bridesmaid meeting, meetup, preparation. When the bridesmaid dress was chosen I worried about bridal/evening wear running the race from China and not fitting me and I’d be embarrassed. The bridesmaid's robes too. But I ran the Black FAT woman race with diligence and speed. I called a plus size bridal boutique, Curvaceous Couture,  poured my dilemma into the lap of the woman on the phone who said, "you are already winning baby, everybody isn't as forward thinking with the big girl struggle and end up panicking day of." She pointed me in the direction of Maria at Anytime Alterations. Maria handled me and that dress with care. I Jesus wept again at my final fitting. The dress fit and I didn't have to wear a bra! For the bridesmaids robes I bought silk undergarments and demanded my inner self to push through no matter what. For the rehearsal dinner my dress was too big! Like what? When does that ever happen? The shit was falling off of me. And listen, I've been in quarantine not letting up on the snacks so I know I didn't lose that much weight. UGH!

The day of the wedding I walked internally panicking but externally proud down the aisle. Back was killing me and mask smothering me but for 20 minutes I stood by a woman who has stood with and up for me when I needed her.

I was proud.

The groom, Kareem, pulled me to the side, put his arm around me and said, "Cindi, you are one of the most genuine people I have ever met." 

When he let go...

You guessed it...

I went to the bathroom and Jesus wept!

Knowing that who I want to be in this world is understood by those I encounter matters to me so much.

In the midst of it all I walk away from this experience having made bonds with lots of the other women in Ashley’s life. I was named honorary line sister of Delta Chi Spring ‘05. 🤣 Bonds formed in love and not trauma tend to last forever and I’m so happy I met such an amazing group of women.

Ashley’s wedding was indeed the event of the year. Everyone knows 2020 wasn’t "hittin' on nuffin'" but the Hendricks Love Story has proven it can withstand anything even a pandemic.

Thank you my Ashy for allowing me to be a part of your special day and seeing the aesthetic in me when I didn’t quite see it myself.

I love you forever Mrs. Hendricks.

To the FAT Bridesmaid my only advice is not to cave to the limits you place on yourself. You can do it all.

Fall is Here - Ain't No Tellin' What She's Got up Her Long Sleeves.

I am not a fan of Fall. You can keep the strange chill in the air, tree defecation by way of foliage everywhere, and Karen and her pumpkin spice.I do love Fall for its impeccable fashion sense, photographical nights, apple picking, fire pits, nature’s art, and kiddos in their Halloween costumes. 

Oh, and I did like the pumpkin cookies Ms. Newton used to make at my childhood church.

Fall interrupts the freedom of Summer. Pedicured toes sinking in warm sand as the ocean whispers rejuvenation. Maxi dresses and window seat views to anywhere but here. Watermelon cocktails, goosebumps in central air, and passionate sun kisses on melanin hydrated skin. Not to mention the pandemic stole Summer’s whole essence and Fall vaingloriously slid in with the rebound. 

My Daddy died in the Fall of October. He was the true definition of chill. Too chill. Chiller than Fall and not in a strange way. Just relaxed. Centered. I used to watch the reflection of the TV flicker on my Daddy's face. His Blackness was strong, unmovable. I think he knew that but was never one to gloat. He was stubborn and proud. Don’t piss him off though because that chill could transform in to a sweet sounding verbal annihilation in a millisecond. I’m honestly, a carbon copy of the man. Fall stole him too. Gave him back to the Most High. I honestly don’t blame her though he was the man to be around. I’d steal him back in a heartbeat.

Fall is death. 

The slow burn of change. 

Fall is music no beat.

Festivals no heat. 

Trick or treat.

Fall is spooky.

Fall is fury. 

Fall is side eye talks around turkey dinners. 

Fall is mouth shut - internal simmers. 

Winter’s closest friend. 

Summer’s untimely end.

Fall is panic driven election season. 

Fear of a race war.

Keep your ear to the ground.

Keep your prayers in warrior mode.

Fall is here. Ain't no tellin' what she's got up her long sleeves.

#WeAreDoneDying: It's Different This Time

Art by: Markus Tyree

Usually it takes me awhile to process occurrences that happen in society. I can confidently say that I understand the human condition especially from an empathetic lens. I, however, struggle with being empathetic when the human condition manifests itself into deplorable human acts. At the top of the list of deplorable human acts that I can not process or empathize with is racism. I have gone so far as to do extensive research on what happens in the brain of a racist. I often wonder what causes them to act in such heinous ways? I have not been successful in my research.

I am also one of the many people who watched the videos of police officers murdering unarmed Black and brown men and women. Some of the videos I watched over a dozen times. I watched seeking understanding and hoping for some sort of guidance that would prevent me and my brother from being killed by the police. I never gained the understanding or guidance sought. Not an ounce.

What I did see was:

Trayvon Martin (killed by a "night watchmen") trying to get home from the store. Followed. Scuffled for his life. Shot.
Micheal Brown on his knees with his hands up in the air. Shot.
Philando Castile reaching for his license. Shot. His girlfriend and her child in the car.
Alton Sterling linebacker ransacked. Fell to ground. Police on top of him. Lying on his back. Shot.
Ahmaud Arbery out for a run. Followed. Guns drawn. Scuffled for his life. Shot.
Walter Scott running in fear away from a drawn gun. Shot.
Tamir Rice playing with a petal gun alone in the park. Sitting alone in park. Police arrive. Shot.
Jermey McDole sitting in his wheel chair. Shot.
Freddie Gray handcuffed. Dragged. Thrown into a police van. No seatbelt. Coma. Died.
Eric Garner communicating, "I CAN'T BREATHE," while officers kept him in a chokehold. Stopped breathing. Died.
George Floyd communicating, "I CAN'T BREATHE," while officers kept him pinned to the ground. One officer had his knee on his neck for over 8 minutes. Stopped breathing. Died.

These videos haunt me everyday.

As a Black woman, I can't help but also be haunted by the murders of fellow Black women just like me. Aiyana Stanley-Jones, Tanisha Anderson, Atatiana Jefferson, Charleena Lyles, Breonna Taylor and so many others whose names are buried with their bodies. Black women rally around our Black men without hesitancy but our names seem to often be an after thought, if thought of at all.

I, along with my community, are traumatized and tired. So the current state of unrest is not a surprise. Protests, boycotts, riots, marches, looting, speeches, letters, and GoFund Me pages happened after all of the deaths that made it to mainstream media. "But this time feels different," I've heard many say.

Here's what I believe is the reason why this time feels different:

2020 arrived with the hope of perfect vision that would lead us through the new year. I saw many people proclaiming this was going to be their year, nothing was going to stop them, and vision boarding the hell out of any self doubt. The answer to our prayers of newfound success and opportunities were met with COVID-19 and worldwide stay at home orders. This prompted disappointment and a condemning of 2020 and her motives. Quarantine, in my opinion, was meant to be a gift of a reset. For once the world had a moment to take a break from it's sick, sad, self that had worsened throughout each decade. There was now time to realign with our individual humanity. Get back in touch with our core values. Find new ways to reach our goals.

But even in quarantine white privilege and supremacy continued to rear its ugly head. The Black community was not afforded the same luxury to solely rest, love up on our families, and fully take advantage of this reset quarantine offered like the white community. We watched with anxiety the coronavirus death toll numbers rise disproportionately in our community. We were met with live footage on social media from Ohio federal prison inmate, Aaron Campbell, who begged for help saying, "they literally leaving us in here to die," and zoomed in on his bunkmate wheezing for air allegedly suffering from coronavirus. We then became virtual witnesses to the murder of Ahmaud Arbery as he was gunned down in broad daylight. Mind you, this murder happened months before it reached mass media. We had to stomach hearing that essential worker, Breonna Taylor, was murdered by police while asleep in her home. Police were executing a search warrant on the wrong house. We watched Amy Cooper call the police on Christian Cooper after he asked her to leash her dog. It didn't stop there, we again became virtual witnesses to the murder of George Floyd who cried for his mother while officers had him pinned to the ground. One of the officers had his knee on George's neck for 8 minutes and 46 seconds as he pleaded for his life.

All of these deplorable human acts were coupled with many in the Black community losing their jobs due to quarantine, Black owned businesses struggling to stay open, and Black parents trying to homeschool their children in and inequitable education system. The Black community was exhausted yet tolerating when we entered quarantine. We are exhausted and infuriated now. The Black community can no longer bear the weight of a racist world on our shoulders.

This time it is different. The world was at a stand still and the world is forced to see us. 2020 - perfect vision. This is a world wide exhaustion and fury has incited a revolution in cities across the US and overseas in Paris and the UK.

Time is up for murdering us, oppressing us, discriminating against us, denying us our basic human rights, appropriating us, belittling us, mocking us, victimizing us, demeaning us, falsely accusing us, chastising us, blocking us, punishing us, treating us as lesser than, benefiting from us, lynching us, emulating us, and demonizing us.

BLACK LIVES MATTER.

No more addendum's. No more caveats. No more accommodations. No more explanations.

Black men's lives matter.
Black women's lives matter.
Black boy's lives matter.
Black girl's lives matter.
Black LGBTQIA+ lives matter.
Black disabled lives matter.
Black mentally ill lives matter.
Black poor lives matter.
Black middle class lives matter.
Black rich lives matter.
Black incarcerated lives matter.
Black at home lives matter.
Black outside lives matter.
Black liberals' lives matter.
Black conservatives' lives matter.
Black creatives' lives matter.
Black scholars' lives matter.
Black entrepreneurs' lives matter.
Black seen lives matter.
Black unseen lives matter.

EVERY BLACK LIFE MATTERS ACROSS THE WORLD.

White privilege will no longer get to dictate the quality or expiration date of Black lives.

White people,
your silence will be exposed. We are done tolerating white supremacy's infliction of genocide at the expense of Black bodies.

2020 gifted us with the time and vision so, "we got time today!"

#WeAreDone Dying

2020 - The Gift of Isolation

Right before 2020 gifted us with isolation via COVID-19, I had a chance to escape to Paradise Island. 

Paradise Island, nestled offshore of New Providence and connected by a bridge to Nassau, Bahamas. The Atlantic Ocean cradles Paradise Beach in her bosom washing burdens of reality away with the tide. White sand of plenty coupled with bright smiles and kindhearted gestures. They say Paradise is for lovers, I would agree. Paradise for me, is also a place for wounded warriors seeking solace. 

You see, Paradise too has had to weather the storm. 

2019 Hurricane Dorian had his eye set on Paradise. Why wouldn't he right? She's gorgeous, charismatic, and her essence is unmatched. Dorian hovered over her for a day. Then attacked her for 2 days.  Dorian tore Paradise to pieces, destroyed what she had built, damaged her livelihood, and even killed members of her community. The world watched, whispered, donated, and gave their op-Eds. I think y'alls President even "Nasty Girl" Twitter fingered her. No one knew if she’d ever recover. She would never be the same.

That was September 2019. February 2020 she was back breathing life into lovers and healing into the wounded. She herself proved to be a wounded yet healed warrior. And yes, she would never be the same but what she birthed out of her wounds was far greater. I was there February 2020 wounded and seeking escape from the burdens of reality. I was exhausted mostly. But I also had been facing the Hurricane Dorians of life by way of human indecency.  I was in Paradise seeking solace and I found it. In the stillness the island brings I could hear God's voice clearly.  

Today, I along with the rest of the country and people across the world have been forced for months now to sit still and listen to God's voice. This time I don’t have the luxuries of Paradise Island but occasionally a breeze will saunter through the living room window giving me deja vu. We all now are left to find solace in our own reality. I realize we all are warriors healing wounds. Some seen and many unseen. Many have been Hurricane Dorian and inflicted these wounds. 

We can't go back to the way things were. 

Why would you want to?

What we lost during this time deserves the best of what we will birth moving forward.

The healing, the answers, the guidance, the next step is in the stillness of the isolation. 

Be still. 

Stay home.

Pray.

Meditate.

Listen. 

Listen.

Listen.

The answer is far greater than what's outside.