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She Called Me A “Black Bit!&”

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Someone called me a “black b!tc% this week. And chile… it’s only Wednesday. Unbeknownst to me, her initial rant- text message was sent a week ago today—I didn’t notice it until yesterday. The person’s name wasn’t in my work cellphone contacts, so I responded, “And who is this?” And she responded with her whole chest—and full government name.  I wish it had ended there. But she added more unhinged comments that could have been indicative of a full blown psychotic episode. But this didn’t keep me from pondering  and combing through her comments—her choice of words and deplorable language.  Nor did it keep me from feeling the embarrassment of her choice of words about a “Black woman” from another “Black woman.” Words that are now being escalated to Reviewers that are not Black. Especially in a time when racial epithets, tropes and stereotypes are being rapidly spewed from “other” spaces—this is especially disheartening coming from “one to another.” Admittedly, I felt like I ...
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Something Changed

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I was reading something this morning about connections between people that returned my thoughts back to an experience I had about 3 weeks ago. I was leaving my community—heading out towards the highway to head north. It was an absolute impromptu trip—so my normal strategy of getting on the highway at specific times to avoid the worst traffic patterns were thwarted. And it began raining—so these weren’t optimal conditions for me to drive in. But as I headed down the road I saw a man walking (it’s raining hard now) and his brown grocery bag soaked—fell apart. All of his items fell to the ground—a couple things may have burst open—at the least were damaged.  And I heard myself saying aloud, “Okay God. Am I doing this?” And in the same breath —I responded, “Yep I am.” I am further delaying my attempt to beat already dreadful traffic compounded by the rain. So, I turned my car around—pulled over on the shoulder. Got out the car—popped the truck and removed a recyclable Wegmans bag—the y...
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October: Domestic Violence Month—I Am A Voice 💜🕊️

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  October is Domestic Violence Awareness Month . 💜🕊️🌹 Honoring those that have survived—those that are still suffering through—and those that did not make it through If given a choice—this would not have been my ideal choice for mission, purpose and advocacy—I would not have been a voice.  LINK: https://youtu.be/GLOjeIu93YM #SupportNonProfits #DomesticViolenceAwareness #Healing #Trauma #Wellness #GenerationalConsequences
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Truths, Lies & A Confession: The Picture That Unearthed HER

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I wrote my first book in 1996: I told the truth. I exposed secrets. I was indeed ostracized.  My lived experiences were declared “lies.”  Because there’s no way (at that age), I could remember what happened.  My truths were “returned to sender.”  ✉️  Victimize—villainize  the victim. Because unbeknownst to them—trauma memories are stored in the brain’s regions differently than regular memories. Nevertheless, I lived in a state of fight and flight for a significant portion of my adult life. Survival. I heard threats of “wanting to kill me.”  I had my car vandalized—tire cut (bottles thrown in my driveway), by a family member.  My neighbor watched from his window—admittedly confused because he knew the relative very well.  Sometimes people are committed to generational dysfunction. But there was the one or two that came to me in confidence—private to share their stories—experiences. They validated me. They told me to “keep writing.” And I...
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