Not long ago, I go to sit down with Erin from 2 Elephants in the Room to discuss process. We talked about how I completely fell apart in 2015, the extra-marital assualt that catalyzed my young divorce, and how writing allowed me the massive permission I needed to heal and breathe. You can listen to the episode below.
This list is part black-women-who-get-it and part stark resource for searching black lady souls. Resources that help us calculate our grief and separation from White Christianity are very slim. I invite you to peruse the following books that have been very helpful for me in my process.
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there are so many ways to fail,
but I chose the one that let me
wander through the streets of Cape Town
with no rand in my hands,
and my lungs full of
blossomed petals,
detached from stem.
The street guard approached me sitting on the stair in front of the flat we were staying at in Cape Town. He said to me,
“Don’t cry, sister.”
I had hoped to stay hidden. It was midnight and I’d made another romantic mistake. This one was so public, expensive, and far from home; I wasn’t yet sure how to recover. So, I crossed my legs and let my sneaker dangle close to the ground. I crossed my arms and took a look at the older gentleman on the other side of the gate.
His concern was a comfort. He was the voice of God for the little girl inside of me that was asking why I’d travelled so far to learn more of the brokenness of men. He told me I was strong and worthy of love. He told me to give it some time and to trust myself to make the right decisions.
Almost a year later, I sit inside of bakery at midnight wondering if I’ll fail again. I wonder how I’ll know if I’ve made the right decision. That’s the thing about love and risk. There is always a possibility that something won’t work. Yet, there’s some beauty in taking a risk to find out. Perhaps that risk will lead to another ending, but it will have been a beautiful discovery; a process that I would have never known, had I not tried.
you may never be good enough
for some people. and that's okay,
but if you aren't good enough for you;
if you can't find joy
in the constellations falling
from your own lips;
or love the way your skin
holds onto of the mem'ries
that have carved a backbone inside you;
or embrace how your laughter
coats the insides of your own
throat;
if you can't be good enough for you
then you will become lost.
you will disappear
inside of
the hope
of a word,
or a smile,
a nod,
that may never come.
