Call To Action: Live With Unfolded Hands

Father to son:
"My dream is for you to live out your dreams. There's an old proverb that talks about when children are born, children come out with their fists closed because that's where they keep all their gifts. And as you grow, your hands learn to unfold, because you're learning to release your gifts to the world. And so, for the rest of your life, I wanna see you live with your hands unfolded." -Albert Sykes.

Painting by Larry Brown

Today I had the privilege of hearing this conversation Albert Sykes had with his son and instantly felt my tear ducts swell with what I like to call, "brilliance on tap." I wiped the overflow of brilliance from my cheeks and discreetly surveyed the room to which I saw others too wiping their excess free flowing liquid from their faces. This human core tug that many felt in the room had so many different layers to it, I'm certain. However, what connected each of us to Albert's conversation with his son is our innate ability to dream. And who isn't a sucker for a good proverb?

Well day has turned into night and I can't stop thinking about this proverb. 

The part of earth where I dwell has turned its back to the sun and I can't stop thinking Albert's dream for his son. 

I can't stop thinking about my dreams. 

I can't stop thinking about the men and women in that room today who felt the same wave of emotion I felt. 

I can't help but wonder what their dreams are? 

Admittedly, I was apprehensive about writing about this experience because dissecting a proverb feels real Black-Missionary-Baptist-Church-of-GOD-in-Christ-African-Methodist-Episcopal-Zion-Howard University-School-of-Divinity-esq to me and I ain't nobody's Bishop-Pastor-Reverend-Doctor-Evangelist-Deacon-Clergy-Priest ok? But every meaningful experience or body of work deserves to be dissected, discussed, and documented. I realize I can't stop thinking about this proverb because it is actually a call to action. One that I need to take heed to in my life. 

Like most babies I was born with closed fists. I've seen my alien-esq baby photo all clinched up with nowhere to go. I did gradually learn to open my hands. At the surface this proverb seems to tell no lies. By Elementary school I had my hand wide open asking for things mostly but I began sharing my gifts with my community. Even though I would have loved the luxury of hiding my gifts my Mother didn't allow it. She made sure I was sharing my gifts at any and every church or school function. I hated it. What the proverb doesn't include is what happens to you once your hands are open and your gifts are exposed. There's no mention of the strength one must have to withstand society's toxic bullshit especially towards the gifted. I didn't have the tools to deal with the toxicity I faced. So I began hiding behind the holographic form of my gifts. No depth. No growth. No connection. Just reused and recycled routines, the same prose, the same dance, the same song, the same monologue. I wasn't challenged. I didn't take risks. I wasn't using my gifts to evoke any sort change. I did enough to make those dreaming for me happy. I watched others live out their dreams and labeled my own as unattainable. I hid from society's judgement. I dwelled in discomfort. I used my gifts as the excuse to form my own negative self narrative, instead of using my gifts to heal me and the people who hurt me. I was now 30, I knew how to unfold my hands but was much more content on resealing the closed fist.

It is a great risk:

To act on your dreams. 

To find the beauty in fear and lean in on it. 

To not just orate the desire to level up but to actually believe that you can. 

It's even harder not to allow your self-inflicted timeline of dream fruition sentence you as a permanent failure.

The proverb states, "as you grow, your hands learn to unfold, because you're learning to release your gifts to the world." To release your gifts is to liberate them from confinement. To set them free. Whether the world accepts or not is not your cross to bear. Being free to create and share and realize your dreams is your life's purpose. 

My shift in thinking began two years ago when hiding my gifts became more painful than society's opinions. There are still days I want to reseal and hide but my purpose is greater than my self doubt.  I wholeheartedly receive this call to action as further motivation to actively pursue my dreams and share my gifts with the world.

I choose to live unconfined and liberated with unfolded hands.

On Therapy: What In the PsychotHELL?

For the first couple of months my therapist spent the time getting to know me. I told her about my family and friends, my job, my business, my life goals. I even learned about her some and felt like she was becoming apart of my friend circle. It also feels really good to sit across from someone who looks like me and can identify with some of my struggles. I didn't know that was so important to me until I began seeing her. We've done meditation together and I even had some great affirmation takeaways from our sessions that I've been using to get me through tough days.

At the end of I'd say, month 4, she told me that the following week she would like to begin psychotherapy and go "deeper." I agreed, but in my mind I was thinking, "sis, I done told you very personal things that I don't just be divulging all willy nilly to just anybody now" but I knew if I was going to make the most of my healing journey through therapy then I would have to do the necessary. In all actuality she was right. Things I chose to tell her were all very surface level. It was time to get down to the nitty gritty.

What did I sign myself up for?

The following week I came in and she had work sheets, the lights were dimmer than usual, and I may be trippin' but I swore I heard Tibetan Monk chants blowing through the humidifier. I was a scared. Don't ask me why but chile I wanted to back right on up out of there like Homer backed in the bushes.

via GIPHY

But I didn't.

I sat down.

We began.

After we were done I felt like...

Getout Sunken GIF from Getout GIFs

Completely drained.

Drained simply by unlocking that introverted volt of privacy and telling my truth. She ended the session reminding me that this would be hard, we will continue to go deeper, and she couldn't wait till next week.

As I drove home I thought...

DEEEEEPER?

Soulja Boy GIF from Soulja GIFs

"What the hell is she so happy about? Hard is an understatement. Can't wait till next week? Smiling and shit, what is wrong with this lady?"

The closest I've ever come to stating my inner thoughts is through writing. Its a safety net. It's where I find the calm you know? I'd rather write it out than talk it out any day and even then I control the narrative. Therapy forces you into discomfort by resonating your voice orally, which is an introvert's biggest nightmare. Un-silencing yourself.

I'm uncomfortable.
I'm unlocked.
I'm un-silenced.
I'm healing.

Surviving the Love of Patriarchy

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Art by: https://www.dacre8iveone.com/

For over a month now I have been working on a documentary focusing on the cycle of sexual assault and abuse that has taken residence in the Black community. Originally I wanted the piece to shed light on the impact this type of trauma has had on the Black family. I hoped to peel back the rug and clean up the years of silenced guilt and grime in order to begin healing. Admittedly, this started as most of my projects do very personal and I was uncomfortable by the thought of it. I even pitched it to another director hoping they would take it on but they too were apprehensive. I ended up going for it. It was my hope to start this process with my own family first, using their stories as the base case study. Upon pitching it to my family I received support from some while others, within their right, refused to participate or support it. 

One of my closest friends recognized this same cyclical pattern of sexual trauma in her family and immediately stepped up and shared her truth. She too received criticism from her loved ones but remained dedicated to hope of healing as well as all of the other women I have interviewed thus far.

So when I heard about Surviving R Kelly being released after what I read was years of production, network shopping, and threats and sabotage from Robert’s camp I was extremely interested to see it for a few different reasons. As a filmmaker, I wanted to gain insight on the finalized structure of the docuseries which I knew had a wealth of information. Having a deep interest in activism, I was eager to hear #MuteRKelly co-founder Oronike Odeleye’s insight on the launching of her movement. Oronike also agreed to be a part of my documentary as well. As a friend, I felt like watching further showed support to friends who too experienced traumatic interactions with R Kelly as young girls growing up in Chicago. What I had not anticipated however, was how I would be sucked into the contents of this documentary so much so that I found myself re-watching it in the wee hours of the morning when I should have been asleep for work and got lost in Google searches. There is so much information packed into this docuseries that if you aren’t focused on what is being said you will miss key parts of the storyline.

“I can’t watch it,” one of my friends confided as I sought to unpack the viewing aftermath and the disheartening social media commentary with her. “At least right now - my attacker said, R Kelly had the perfect song, and put it on the recorder and I was assaulted to it - if that says anything at all...” In fact my dear friend, it says it all. At the heart of those who defend Robert lies their “love of the music.” People are unable to separate the man from the music. They are unable to see how he painted the truth of his own predatory and abusive nature in the lyrics of his songs. They can’t wrap their minds around the very fact that every song or album or concert ticket they bought or streamed aided in his ability to pay off victims and their families. I don’t think people are able to fully digest the power mainstream media and entertainment has over the human psyche. Exploitation of Black women and girls in our society, whether in entertainment or everyday life, has the ability to ignite and justify predatory behaviors in others. I understand why we gravitate in very emotional ways to celebrities we “love.” It stems from the “they made it” school of thought because, to be frank, systematically it’s hardest for Black folks to “make it” and when we do it is generally cherished. I, myself, had a hard time separating Bill Cosby from Heathcliff Huxtable but just like the rest of us Bill Cosby and Robert Kelly are ordinary humans too.

They are not GOD.

They are not invincible.

They have faults.

They are not above the law.

They should be held accountable.

There are so many issues I have post viewing the six part docuseries from the responses justifying Robert’s behavior and re-victimizing the survivors to the sexual abuse being a damn near fortune 500 company operation, fully staffed, at the expense of Black women and girls. I think what’s most infuriating for me is how patriarchy knows no race. People don’t just “love” the music but they LOVE patriarchy. They crave it. So not only are Black women and girls surviving R Kelly we have to fight to survive patriarchy.  At the core of Black Lives Matter, Me Too, Mute R Kelly are Black women organizing and fighting for men and women and whenever the moment presents itself for it to be reciprocated the truth rears its ugly head time and time again. Black women and girls aren’t valued. Yet we are the ones who will stand up and fight for everyone else. Leading the charge politically and spiritually. There has never been any inconsistency in the support and rally of Black women for justice in our community but we are still deemed irrelevant.

It’s a waste of time to sulk in this realization and allow it stop the work and healing that needs to be done in our community. Robert has committed heinous acts. He should be jailed and in jail receive the treatment he needs to confront and heal his own trauma. As a community we must take a deeper look into the childhood sexual trauma of our Black boys. I commend Dream Hampton and her production team for forging through with this body of work. It’s time to heal ourselves, confront our traumas, call out our abusers by name, and have these tough conversations in our families. There’s not one ounce of white acceptance or reparations that’s going to heal our community. Only WE can heal our community!

Black women and girls:

WE BELIEVE YOU!

It’s never too late to tell your truth.

Take charge of your healing.

Fight for yourself.

Fight for one another.

You deserve to be respected.

You deserve to protected.

You are viable.

You are loved.

You are necessary.

You are necessary.

You are necessary.

Silenced By Perception and End Up Dead

Panting By: Beverly McIver

One evening my brother who is frequently, though unintentionally, the bearer of bad news came heavy footed in the house. He said, "Cindy..." I knew it was bad news because he has this specific way of saying my name when something is wrong. His voice echoes despair and whispers angst. The sound of his voice that night reminded me of the time that he bore the news that our father had died. 18 years later that echo has never subsided. I knew immediately what my brother would say next. 

My brother and I are both so very different. He is very forthcoming with his sentiments in many situations. I on the other hand try my hardest to bury sentiments that require the expansion of what I consider "extreme" emotion. As a result, my sentiments get backed up and I end up exploding emotionally at very odd times. Anxiety. Looking at how my mother handles emotion I believe we are very similar. But my mother has the gift of control, very Claire Huxtable-Beth Pearson-esq. I should insert "but I digress" here but l'm just going to keep it pushing.

I admire my brother for being able to be openly emotional but as he began to bring the news all I could think was please don't start crying. "What's going on?" I said in my typical anxious way having already anticipated that something bad had happened. "You know Mariah's cousin the one you met last Thanksgiving? The one with the 3 boys? She died today." My feet started hurting. Which is normal for me in moments of anxiety. The young woman was only 25 years old and leaves to mourn 3 adolescent boys. 3 adolescent Black boys! My brother wasn't sure the exact cause of death but her story is similar to many Black women who go in to the doctor with concerns about something and the maltreatment leaves them fighting for their lives.

I started writing this blog post to talk about this young woman. To tell her story. I wanted to share how beautiful her boys are whom I affectionately call "my chocolate babies." However, although you are reading this post today, I started writing it earlier last month and couldn't find the words to finish it. I couldn't just and allow this be another R.I.P. "everything gonna be aight" post. 

I can't find the peace in hoping. I don't find that peace in the hope. 

I don't trust that "everything will be aight." 

In fact it is NOT "aight!" 

There are too many fatal stories of Black women due to faux paus medical practices that have left me infuriated and frankly petrified. With every breath taken we, Black women, are fighting even harder to protect ourselves. Ourselves and everyone else. 

Bringing new life into the world. End up dead. 

Go into the doctor with upper respiratory concerns, end up dead. 

Arrested. End up dead. 

This is a crisis! But because we are Black and female we are silenced by perception and end up being a number added to a statistic or a boost for the pharmaceutical agenda. 


The fight is falling on deaf ears and hollow souls.

The term ally and equity all breed blanket statements disguised as empathy.

The harsh reality is that demise is seemingly inevitable.

I Am Only A Threat to Your Demons: Thank You Universal Standard!

On October 8th clothing company, Universal Standard, posted this photo to their IG account with the caption:

ALL OF US. AS WE ARE.  FOUNDATION. SIZES 00-40 COMING SOON.

I screamed! 

This photo of revolt model La'Shaunae standing confidently posing on top of the camera angle speaks for itself. Her melanin infused skin perfectly accentuates the blanc undergarments. She stares chin to shoulder, hand on hip, with her eyes glazed in purpose. Soul baring. Game annihilating. 

I screamed because I have NEVER seen my likeness modeling in mainstream media! EVER.

"Thank you Universal Standard!" I yelled so loudly at my phone that I accidentally summoned British Siri. Who responded, "No sweat." British Siri is so vain.

After staring at the ad for a bit I made the decision that I would buy something, anything, from Universal Standard. A company that takes the initiative to think of every consumer no matter race, size, age, gender, or religion deserves all the coins coming their way.

A few days later I was scrolling through Facebook and saw LaShaunae's Universal Standard ad on my timeline. This time it had been shared in a Natural Hair group I belong to. I wasn't surprised because this group rarely has posts about natural haircare anymore. I clicked on the image and saw that a member of the group posted it with the caption:

HERE WE GO GLORIFYING OBESITY AGAIN!

I screamed!

"What the #%$!?" I yelled so loudly at my phone that I accidentally summoned British Siri again. She responded, "I don't know how to respond to that." "I wasn't talking to you British Siri!"

This term "glorifying obesity" pisses me off! Society, much like British Siri, is so self absorbed that whenever you have to look difference in the face you attribute that difference to being wrong or abnormal. There are over 7 billion people on earth. Everyone doesn't look like you and they don't have to. Having a fat woman as a model in an ad disturbs the human psyche so much that people actually become offended by the audacity. When a skinny model is on the cover of every publication known to man no one says, "here we go glorifying bulimia again." Why? Because who are we to label this woman bulimic? And most importantly, a woman no matter her size, deserves has the right to exist in the world and see other women who look like her existing, loving, dreaming, striving, working, believing, and succeeding! Furthermore, the ad is promoting clothing for women sizes 00-40. The woman who reposted the ad with her moronic sentiments didn't even realize that the ad was inclusive (another one of society's buzz words) to her simple minded ass too.

See how sick people are?

No one "glorifies obesity" in this society. In fact many women no matter their weight are doing everything in their power to change their bodies. Giving a fat woman a word encouragement, hiring her to be a model in your shoot or act in your film is simply acknowledging that she is just as apart of this world as you are. I was even more flabbergasted that the negative and disrespectful comments were fueled by women experiencing their own set of discriminatory practices that women with black skin and natural hair most commonly face.

See how desperately people need healing?

We all need healing.

As a Black woman who has been labeled as "obese" and witnessing daily how much hate and disdain people have towards fat people is astonishing to me. I can't speak for all women who have been labeled obese before being labeled viable, but I will say this, whether you hate my fat body or love my fat body is your personal choice.

I am not asking for your permission to live my life.
I am not asking for your diagnosis or predictions of life expectancy.
I am not asking for your opinions or labels.
I am not asking for anything.
I am here.
I exist in the very same world you are in.
Every pound.
All of me.
So whenever you see me walking down the street, out to eat, shopping, in the gym, in ads, on screen, in the classroom or the boardroom my fatness doesn't diminish my humanity.
Stop trying to shrink me, hide me, break me, silence me.
I am only a threat to your demons.
Please get well soon.

October: Where Do I Start?

Painting by Hannah Whitman

October is off to an interesting start ain't she?

The elected good ole boys and girls just confirmed and swore in the second sexual predator (that we know of) to the highest court in the land. That "and girls" part of the statement adds even more infuriation into the mix.

Political party outweighs humanity year 242. 

And still we have to gather and rally to encourage folks to vote? After the incredulous 1 year and 261 days we've had under this current administration? No one should have to beg anyone who can vote to vote. PERIOD.

Though I love a good opinion piece, this disease of ataxia that continues to permeate the nation isn't my idea of my personal literary worth. Therefore I will conclude my brief rant with the age old adage, "you reap what you sow." Be ye prepared dear geriatric purebreds.



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October also brings a day off with free time to write on this rightfully warm Indigenous Peoples' Day. I know this could easily transition into another well-deserved rant but I will not succumb.

In the first week of October I've also had the opportunity to meet with my new therapist. Now, if you've been following my blog you know that I really liked my previous therapist. That's rare for me because even though I can write down my feelings generally well, talking about them with other people is always a struggle. I decided to transition to another therapist because I felt a shift in my goals for therapy and felt I needed a therapist who used different holistic approaches to their therapeutic practice. To make it plain and simple I'm changing and so are my needs. I have to admit it does feel like a break up.

Apprehensively, I sought out a new therapist which believe it or not isn't an easy feat. This particular therapist was referred to me by my insurance care coordinator and she is apart of the Therapy for Black Girls network. I felt like it was meant to be. Before the confidentiality speech she started our session by saying, "you have to excuse me, but I have adult acne..." I wanted to plug the dry lotion by Mario Badescu but the last thing I wanted to do was project my non esthetician product junkie habits on to her so I just smiled. Real human interaction is always great right? So often talking to a therapist can feel like talking to a robot.

Prior to our appointment she had me complete several intake forms to see if we'd be a good fit. Imagine if we did this in our romantic relationships too? During the visit she went back over the form and asked me to elaborate on each question. My one word/one sentence answers were no longer acceptable.

I was in the trenches.

The battleground of personal thoughts and life events.

Forced to regurgitate feelings and shit.

Cue the eye sweat amidst looking for the nearest exit.

She listened, looked, and occasionally took notes. Towards the end of the session she had organized my thoughts into categories and said, "here are 5 categories we are going to work on but we can only work on one at a time. Which one would you like to start with first?"

I couldn't answer.

I knew why I sought therapy.

I knew what I hoped to gain by seeking therapy.

I thought my start was having the courage to walk into her office.

I thought that if I made it to her office she'd handle the rest.

"You are in the driver's seat of your life, Cynthia. I'm just a passenger. You tell me where you want to go and I will go with you as you drive us there."

Where should I drive first?

Every Table Ain't Meant For Sitting

So ok it happened and I can't just not write about it.

Let me preface this by saying, my blog really doesn't deserve any mention of 45 or his antics but here we are. I write solely to unload the thoughts held captive by my brain and since I would prefer not to keep rehashing recent events in my mind, I'm gonna gone head and just state my peace and move on.

By now you've all heard about 45's most recent meeting with "inner city" pastors. Seated around the large refurbished Kittinger table were what some media outlets have helmed the "most influential religious leaders" in America. All of whom were Black and or Hispanic, male and female. 45 has met with random athletes, celebrities, and opportunists of color before so it wasn't shocking to me. The meeting agenda was said to be an opportunity for these men and women of GOD to discuss prison reform and reentry efforts with the current administration. The same topic of discussion Kim Kardashian was said to have with 45 in May. 

I watched the 30 minute White House streaming of the meeting and while I could easily go in on Ohio pastor Darrell Scott's personal annunciation that 45 is "the most pro-black president that we've had in our lifetime" while simultaneously defaming Obama's name and advertising hair dye for aging men I won't. My typing fingers have not the energy to entertain his delusions of grandeur. 

I couldn't however let the day go by without discussing the pastor sitting to the right of 45. Pastor John Gray of Relentless Church in Greenville, South Carolina. Gray strategically placed next to 45 because of all the pastors in the room he is the most socially notable. He's known to have made some very interesting commentary about the relationship between men and women that frequently have gone viral. His most recent relationship discussion he had "a seat the table" of the Sister Circle talk show. He also was seen on this season's episode of Basketball Wives as Tami Roman's spiritual advisor and he was also apart of the cast of The Preachers talk show on FOX, which I enjoyed. Pastor Gray seems to have incorporated mainstream media to push forth his mission in ministry. 

Since America is currently living in a long disheartening reality show taping its not odd that the top billing cast member, 45, wanted Gray sitting right next to him during the live streaming of this meeting. 45 even asked Gray to open with prayer which he did eloquently as most Black pastors do. IMDb credit worthy I'm sure in 45's eyes. During the portion of the meeting that viewers were privy to Gray thanked 45 for the opportunity to have "a seat at the table."

After the meeting Gray had "a seat at the table" with Don Lemon who asked what we all are thinking. WHY? Gray, strongly told Lemon, "I believe the Lord sent me." Gray also said upon agreeing to attend the meeting he told whomever that he did not want to be photographed. During the conversation with Lemon, Gray again mentions "a seat at the table" as a place where you have the opportunity to discuss pertinent issues.

I can not challenge what GOD tells anyone to do. The conversation Pastor Gray had with GOD is a personal one. I strongly believe that GOD will indeed send us places we never thought we'd ever go. However, the lesson in this for me is that every table ain't meant for you to sit at especially when the table itself is the most sensible entity in the room. In fact as evident in the Bible sometimes GOD commands us to stand not sit. 

Pastor Gray its time for take two of your conversation with GOD. 

Be blessed.