Month: February 2022

Hey, hey, Lovelies! I humbly apologize, in advance, but this isn’t going to be a light-hearted blog today and might be kinda heavy and triggering for some but I need to share this so that others are aware and gain an understanding of the threat, damage, and dangers of verbal and emotional/mental abuse.

What has prompted this message is what I’ve been seeing in the news and on social media about a super famous couple dealing with a divorce. The things I’ve seen are truly disturbing, triggering, and unsettling for me and way too many others. Their names are not important, the actions are. This couple shares children, have been having problems, and the wife decided she can’t do this shit anymore but the husband is having a problem accepting the fact his marriage is over and his wife doesn’t want him anymore so, he has begun tormenting his soon-to-be ex-wife.

To some, the female’s reactions to the threats and antics have been called “divorce theatrics” or they’re “suggesting she stay for the sake of her children and honor the commitment to GOD, family, and community”. Let me ‘splain something to you right now, while marriage may be GOD’s ideal, HE never meant for you to live a life of misery, stop suggesting women stay in abusive situations for your religious ignorance. Also, if you care so much about the children, think about what it’s like for them witnessing his treatment of their mother and the extended damage it will cause them. These sentiments are being shared by those who’ve not experienced what she’s going thru and are usually male originated. Oh, don’t misunderstand, there are some females who are criticizing her as well and boosting her husband up by saying she’s just a scorned woman who doesn’t realize how lucky she is to have this man showing his love for her. No, she is an abused woman who is trying to save her sanity, life, and children’s mental well-being.

For those of us who have been in her shoes, we are terrified for her because we know what she’s going thru, how it can escalate, and what the outcome could be. We are scared for her because, although what the world is seeing may seem like a lot, we know it barely scratches the surface of how much worse it is behind closed doors. We understand how unrelenting a scorned lover in denial of the end of the relationship can be and how they’ll do whatever it takes to inflict pain on us at whatever costs. An abuser doesn’t care what damage it causes their seeds because they have their lover in their crosshairs, doing whatever it takes to make them feel the pain they’re enduring thru fear.

We know this taunting and tormenting doesn’t stop because we are no longer with them, it continues well beyond the end of the relationship and has us looking over our shoulder in fear of them just popping up and possibly doing harm to us. When you deal with mental abuse from your partner, you know them and your fear is maximized because you really aren’t sure what they’ll do to have you back with them. Yes, while it’s true they never hit you, that was because you were still there with them, now that you’ve left, there’s no telling what actions their jilted heart will cause them to take.  

I spoke with my mother today about this situation and it’s truly heartbreaking that we spent a good amount of time discussing this at length because we’ve both been there. The more heartbreaking statement is that my mother endured both the physical and mental abuse, I just endured the mental and, what makes it sad is that I say “just the mental”. Some time ago, I spoke up about what I had been thru and was, pretty much, gaslit by my offender and told I didn’t experience anything I spoke of and needed to, basically, shut up because I was making him look bad.

Foolishly, I began to question my own memory, wondering if I was creating these scenarios, was I making this up, was I being dramatic, like, was I really trippin’? HELL NO! The shit happened and happened for years! I will not shut up about what I went thru because there are other women out there going thru it right now and if I can reach just one and let her know it’s not her fault, that’s what matters to me. That’s the thing about abusers, they break and isolate you, have you believing they are the only ones who love and accept you which causes you to rely solely on them because everyone else is against you. The person you love and promised to love you will belittle, disrespect, and shame you while having the audacity to tell you the reason they say the things and treat you the way they do is because they are just trying to help you live up to the potential they see in you.

I have been having conversations with other women who have been in my shoes and I tear up because we shouldn’t have to deal with this shit and especially not at the hands of the person who promised to never hurt us and always be our protector. I know many of you say “That would never happen to me. I’d never let someone break me, I’m too strong and confident. I’d leave the first time my partner ever did xyz”.

Baby, let me tell you, it ain’t that easy nor is it that plain and simple. One thing people don’t get is that this shit doesn’t happen overnight, this is not an instantaneous situation, it is a methodically slow process you never see coming or even realize you’re in until it’s too late to easily break free. Over time, they will be in charge of the finances because, as you are told, they want to relieve you of the stress of managing the money but this means you don’t have your own coins to leave = control. Every aspect of my life was controlled and I let it happened because I felt he loved and wanted what was best for me. While this may have been true, love shouldn’t hurt the way it did, love doesn’t make you get on anti-depressants to the point you’re emotionally numb to appease your partner and their friends/family, love doesn’t let ANYone disrespect you, love doesn’t give you body image issues. LOVE DOESN’T HURT SO BAD YOU’RE CRYING IN A CLOSET OUT OF FEAR YOU’LL UPSET THEM FURTHER WITH YOUR TEARS!!

A person never has to lay a finger on you to abuse you, remember that! They use their words to break you down, make you feel as though you’re not worthy of better treatment because you are the problem, criticize and never compliment no matter what you do right or wrong, and once they know they’ve broken your spirit, they use their bullying tactics to further control you. You may be blessed to have that one confidant, the person you feel you can go to for sympathy and understanding but, since your partner is so charming and charismatic outside of your home, your person never believes what you tell them or how bad it truly is. When this happens, you feel even more alone and believe deep down that you are the problem because everyone else absolutely adores them. Let me say it again and louder for those in the back:

YOU ARE NOT THE PROBLEM, THERE’S NOTHING WRONG WITH YOU! Just like they love bombed and gaslit you, your loved ones are under their spell as well but you will find the strength to get from under it but, unfortunately and as you already know, it won’t be easy.

No matter how much it’s suggested or requested for me to shut up about this, I will not be silent about what I endured at the hands of someone who vowed to love and protect me because I am a survivor and my story deserves to be told and heard. I wish I had the magical answer to help every single person in this situation but I don’t, all I have is a listening ear, some words of advice, and a reassurance I am here for you because there weren’t many there for me and I felt utterly alone. I’m going to take that back, there would have been more there for me if I had only shared what I was going thru but I didn’t because I felt this was my marriage, all marriages had their issues, and I was the main cause of the problems in mine.

If you or someone you know is in a mentally or physically abusive situation, reach out to someone/be there for them, begin making plans to leave/open your home to them as a safe haven, be present in their every day life not just when they call in tears.

Be safe and great my loves!

Hi, my lovelies! I don’t know about you but, when I was growing up, we weren’t allowed to compliment or brag on ourselves as it was deemed as being arrogant or conceited. We were raised to be silently humble, regardless of how good we looked, we had to keep that shit to ourselves. A couple of years ago, a friend of mine tasked me with creating a list of 10 things I love about myself so I could begin my ‘self-love journey’ and I got stuck at #3 because all I could hear was my elders telling me not to be vain because it’s unattractive and, to this day, I’ve yet to complete that list.

When I saw this challenge to share my favorite part about myself, I decided that it’s time to humbly brag on myself because I’ve come a long way to overcome the damage done to my self-confidence and self esteem at the words of others to become the fandamntastic Queen I am today.

One of my most favorite parts of myself is my heart, not the one that’s beating and keeping me alive but the one that allows me to feel, love, and be loved. Don’t get me wrong, I’m happy the organ in my chest is healthy and continues to beat on a daily basis but I’m prouder of the heart that’s been shattered and ripped apart by those I’ve loved and trusted not to betray me. The trauma I have put my heart thru has, at times, been physically painful. Yes, I say that I put my heart thru trauma because it was my choice to stay with people who showed me who they were and I kept going back in hopes my love would be strong enough for them to realize the damage they were causing. I have spent many nights shedding tears that soaked my pillowcase, get up the next day as though nothing is wrong, and never given up hope on sharing my heart without worrying about it being returned broken.

My heart is big, pure, and beats strong despite being held together with Scotch ® tape. I have known people to get hurt and allow themselves to become bitter and set out on a mission to destroy other people because one person hurt them but my heart won’t allow me to do that. I am known to be the giver of many chances because, while my eyes may have seen them, my heart has ignored the mountains of red flags

to see the good in people even when they can’t see it within themselves and, no matter the amount of pain I may endure, I would have it no other way. I understand that hurt people hurt people and it’s not up to me to even a score of sorts because their actions aren’t my cross to bear and I forgive them so I can move on with my life without the weight of pain and resentment.

I am grateful for the package that Mommie, Daddy, and Jesus put together and my next favorite part of myself is my physique. While I may not be the baddest bitch out here, I am finally comfortable and feel damn good in my skin. I haven’t always been appreciative of my figure because I haven’t always had one and envied the girls in high school with the small waists, big butts and hips, and ample bosoms because I didn’t possess any of that, I was slim and long. For most of my life, I have dealt with body image issues because I would see other females who were a lot thicker than myself and feel inferior and as though I couldn’t compete for anyone’s attention. I am proud to say this is no longer an issue nor concern as I don’t need some random dude’s raggedy ass attention to make me feel good about myself, I do that on my own.

I am grateful that I can eat pretty much whatever I want, not kill myself in someone’s gym, and it doesn’t show on my 5’9” frame. I used to hate being what others deem as tall because I felt awkward as I towered over most of the males around me when I was in high school which caused the rift between me and heels, I didn’t want to add to the height I was already ashamed of. As I’ve matured, I have come to appreciate the blessing of height and proudly wear my 5” stilettos without being fazed by or concerned with the fact I can usually see clear across a crowded room as majority of the people in there are under 6’ tall. My physique may not be what used to be called a brickhouse with a donkey ass, abnormally tiny waist, and child smothering breasts but I embrace my natural grown woman curves as they fit and compliment my frame perfectly.

My next favorite part of myself is my face. When I was younger, my features were deemed to be too big for my age as I had big ‘funny colored’ eyes, fat cheeks, a big mouth, and, alas, the cleft chin. My ‘funny colored’ eyes aren’t strange or outrageous, they’re simply hazel and change from light to dark depending on my mood at the time. I inherited my eyes from my Daddy and used to do everything I could to make them stand out but the amount of makeup I would apply only distracted from them so, I no longer wear makeup unless I’m going out for the night, I just let them naturally shine bright on their own. Children, and most adults, can be extremely cruel when pointing out something different about you which usually isn’t a bad feature or even a flaw but they make you feel like shit for it anyway. Some people are so broken, they get mad at you for being whole.

I have come to appreciate and admire the dimple in my chin because it’s something I get from my Nana and I’m one of the very few in my family who is blessed with it. I love my ample lips and, prior to having to wear a mask in public, I made sure to pick the perfect shade of lip gloss or lipstick to emphasize and draw attention to my mouth and spotlight my relatively straight teeth. I am blessed to have been able to suck my thumb for 18 years and not need braces nor have an extreme overbite. Oddly enough, I’m also grateful for my Resting Bitch Face because it prevents people with intentions of doing nothing more than wasting my time of approaching me as I don’t have time, tolerance, or patience for bullshit and my face conveys that without me ever having to utter a word.

I love my brain! Yeah, I know that sounds odd, corny, geeky, and weird but I really do. I love the way it retains and thirsts for knowledge. I have been blessed to have people in my life who have encouraged me to use my brain and not my looks to make it in this world as looks fade but knowledge is forever. Trust me, I wasn’t that appreciative of my mother when I had to read the dictionary when I was younger but I am so grateful for that experience now as I am able to hold intelligent conversations using ‘big’ words correctly. I am somewhat of a word nerd and love doing crossword puzzles and learning new words, I light up like a child being shown a new toy. My brain also enables me to be quick witted which some consider being a smart ass and I am totally fine with it because I never lie, just point out the obvious and that can be a bit much for some to swallow at that moment.

Every favorite part and aspect of me is tied to my lineage, connected to someone I love, respect, admire, and adore. I now know resenting any part of myself is a slap in their face so, today, I stand tall and proud of the strong, beautiful Black Queen with a pure heart, captivating eyes and smile, intelligent mind, and somewhat of a smart mouth. I am falling more in love with myself each and every day as I gain appreciation of not looking like what I’ve been thru.

We’ve all been picked on and apart by someone who wasn’t happy with themselves and took it out on us which caused us to take it to heart and dim our shine because words really do hurt. Take a moment to look in the mirror and tell yourself how beautiful/handsome you are, compliment the features that make you who you are, wear that outfit that shows off your assets, do whatever it takes to embrace the fabulousness of you! Stop hating yourself for everything you’re not and start loving yourself for everything you are!

Hey, hey, Lovelies! How many times have you been minding your business and you see someone walk by looking absolutely fabulous and decide to let their fashion sense inspire a change in your own? Well, I’ve tried to step out of my box and add more colors and patterns but I am a confirmed two-color-Annie and feel uncomfortable in busy clothes. As I go thru my daily life, I understand you can find inspiration anywhere such as someone’s work ethic, their generosity, or just their laid-back nature. Today, I am going to share what it is about those in my life who inspire and give me the strength to keep going no matter how dark and dismal life may seem.

I come from a long line of extremely strong and proud women who inspire me in every facet of life and make me want to be and do better as, not just a woman but, a human being. Some of you may be aware but most probably aren’t that I have had a very strained relationship with my mother for decades. Yes, yes, I know, I only get one but I’m very strong willed and was determined to have things on my terms. Take a guess how that’s worked out for me.

I’m blessed to say that we’ve both taken the steps to work on and make our relationship better and healthy as we’re both getting older……..well, her more than I (still not claiming that 5-0 til April). My mother’s strength is truly unmeasurable because she has endured enormous amounts of pain, heartbreak, and strife over the course of her life but you’d never be able to tell it from looking at her. My mother endured physical abuse at the hands of my father and stayed with him in the hopes it wouldn’t happen again and the love they shared would make him stop.

To save her own life, my mother did the unthinkable and left without her reasons for staying: me and my sister. Since the issues were between the two of them, she felt leaving us in the only home we’d ever known because she knew he wouldn’t harm us and, he never did. I can’t imagine the pain she endured being separated from her babies but she did what she had to do to be around to watch us grow up. My mother put the shattered pieces of her life back together, found a place of her own, and regained custody of us while working her way up the career ladder until she became management in her company.

My mother has always been the epitome of a classy woman to me as she never had a hair out of place, carries herself with dignity, demands respect from all who encounter her, and stops at nothing to make sure my sister and I have everything we need, even if that means she goes without. For the longest time, I thought my sister and mother got along so well because they were so much alike but that’s not the full truth. You see, just as there are different versions of ourselves we share with different people, there are different versions of my mother and she is who she is with me because she knows that’s the Mommie I need to be who I am. Honestly? For so the longest time, I craved the carefree relationship she and my sister share but now realize the one we share is the one I need to be the best version of myself. I have always gotten the strict, strait-laced version of my mother which caused me to emulate her demeanor and behavior because it’s truly who I am at my core and only my mother recognized that as a mother knows and understands her children as no one else ever could. I am the mother of two beautiful daughters and say that I’m living my mother’s life as my marriage ended in divorce, causing me to be a single mother and struggling to maintain my sanity and feed my children. I can narrow down one way my mother inspires me because her entire being is the reason I strive to be the best version of myself I can offer the world as I want to always make her proud with my actions.

I speak all the time of how big of an asshole my sister is and, she truly is but, GOD forbid, anything happens to her and I will be no good. My sister has been the only constant thing in my life for its entirety. When our parents were going thru their shit, it was her who came to comfort me, pushing her own fears and feelings aside to make sure I was okay. Sure, she tortured me but she was only fulfilling her role as a big sister and, boy, did she ever take that role seriously!

My sister and I are as different as night and day, existing on total opposite ends of the spectrum and weren’t close growing up because, well, duh, she was my tormenter and I kind of hated her for a while. While it’s true we weren’t close, I would have dared anyone to make a move to harm or insult me because before they had a chance, she’d be in their face ready to beat the brakes off of them and she’s still that feisty and ready to fight for me. There is a 2.5-year age difference between the two of us but she took on the role of a 2^nd mother when our parents split up and we bounced between two houses and she continues mothering me to this day.

I am inspired by my sister’s strength as she chose to be a single mother even though she never even planned to have children and my nephew is such a handsome, well-rounded, respectful young man thanks to her guidance and upbringing of him. My sister and I don’t always agree on child-rearing practices and it took a minute for her to understand what worked for my nephew was not going to work on my girls but she eventually got it and showed me more respect as their mother. When I fell on extremely hard financial times, my sister didn’t bat an eye and took care of me and my girls, putting aside her dreams for home ownership to make sure our lights stayed on. I have spoken of the fear of her being taken from me via breast cancer but cancer is no match for the strength of my sister as she fought with everything she had to beat it while smiling and laughing thru the pain of chemo. I know my sister has gone thru hell but she’d never share the details as to not burden or worry me, she is my protector in every sense of the word. She has a sort of 6^th sense when it comes to me because whenever I’ve been going thru something, she drops whatever she’s doing and makes her way to be by my side, regardless of distance or time. This is not only true for me, she is there in the same capacity for my daughters, before I even have a chance to ask, she’s making plans to take off work to be there when I can’t.

I may talk a lot of shit about my sister but she is my person, the one I can stay on video chat with for hours and never run out of things to talk about, the first one I call when I have some tea, the one I go to for advice, and, essentially, my hero and best friend. When we lost our father, I never saw her shed a tear because her focus was on being strong for me so I could break because she knew it would be even harder on me if I saw her breaking as well. My sister is my external bravery, giving me the courage to do things I’d never do on my own but with her by my side, I can do anything.

While there are so many women in my lineage who inspire me, I wanted to take a moment to thank my Mommie and Sisser for inspiring, teaching, and guiding me to be the Queen I am today. Without their strength and examples of how to make it in this world, I couldn’t begin to fathom who, where, or how I would be. These marvelous women inspire me to be a proud, strong, respectful, and independent grown ass woman. I admire them for everything they and do because none of what they do is intentional or for kudos of any sort, it’s just who they naturally are and that’s the most beautiful thing about them.

I’m sure you have someone in your life who inspires you and I ask that you take a moment to let them know as I’m sure it will mean the world to them.

I love you Mommie and Feesher, thank you for being you and all you do for me and the girls.

Hey, hey Lovelies! I just got off a video chat with my oldest daughter and she asked why I was wearing makeup since I don’t leave the house. First of all, she didn’t have to come for me like that. Secondly, all I have on is my red lipstick in honor of Wear Red Day to bring attention to heart disease.

I find it amazing that my father’s favorite color was red and now I’m wearing it to honor and bring awareness to heart disease as, I learned later in life, he suffered from it. See, that’s what heroes do, they learn a diagnosis and keep it to themselves as to not worry anyone they love. Do you know how strong you have to be to suffer with pain and discomfort along with fear of it taking you out all by yourself?

When I was 10 years old, I experienced my first loss of a loved one, my Granny who passed from lung cancer. Now, being so young and living in the early 80s, I had no way of doing research to learn more about this disease or how to support because I also didn’t have a job. Yes, cancer touched my life at an early age but all I felt was the loss of my grandmother, the matriarch of our family. The suffering in silence that my father exhibited, he inherited from his mother as she was such a hard worker, she didn’t take the time to go to the doctor until breathing became too uncomfortable and inconvenient but, as you would guess, by then it was too late and she gained her wings 10 short days after being admitted.

I grew up having a soft spot in my heart for various causes which, inevitably, touched my life in some way and I’m not able to nail down just one singular cause. Yes, lung cancer is a front runner for me because I have lost my grandmother and father to this terrible disease. Since losing my father, I have had time to research lung cancer a little bit and found that while smoking is a leading cause of lung cancer at 80 – 90%, only 10 – 15% of smokers will contract it but it still claims 1.2 million lives per year. I have also learned that African Americans are 18% less likely to be diagnosed early, 23% less likely to receive surgical treatment, 9% more likely to not receive any treatment, and 21% less likely to survive five years compared to white Americans. These statistics are staggering and make my brain hurt which is why I’ve tried to be better about going to the gym more often as I lead an otherwise sedentary life. Slow down, when I say more often, I’m lucky if I go 3 times a month and that’s 3 times more than I usually go but I’ve gotta start somewhere!

I am also passionate about heart disease because my father dealt with that disease as well and his blood courses thru my veins which means it may possibly affect me. Unbeknownst to many, heart disease is the leading cause of death for women and is significantly higher in Black women than any other ethnicity. While my father may have had lung cancer, it was cardiac arrest which got him his wings, his heart just couldn’t take it anymore. The scariest part of heart disease is that it’s a silent killer, something you don’t know is there until it’s possibly too late and it’s even scarier for females as the symptoms don’t present themselves the same way in our bodies as they do in men.

Here is a list of symptoms for women: Neck, jaw, shoulder, upper back or upper belly (abdomen) discomfort; General weakness; Changes in skin color, such as grayish skin; Shortness of breath; Pain in one or both arms; Nausea or vomiting; Sweating; Lightheadedness or dizziness; Unusual fatigue; Heartburn (indigestion). If you’re experiencing any of these symptoms, please schedule an appointment to get your heart checked out, Queen. Oh, don’t think I’m forgetting about my Kings, y’all go get your tickers checked as well, we need you here for the long haul.

In November 2013, I became passionate about, yet, another cause as my sister was diagnosed with breast cancer. Yes, I have told many stories of how big of an asshole she is but that is my sister and I need her here with me more than words can explain. My sister apparently inherited the suffer in silence gene because she went thru her diagnosis, testing, and biopsies 100% alone, never sharing with me or our mother what was going on. I watched my sister endure chemo, lose her hair, and be in pain but, thru all of that, she still looked out for and took care of me and mine.

I felt like the least supportive sister in the world because I really didn’t want to shave my head in solidarity with her but knew I would muster the strength to do it but she insisted I not do it. Instead of me shaving my head, we came to a compromise of me getting her favorite haircut on me which I maintained every 2 weeks until her hair began to grow back. I had already lost my Daddy and begged, pleaded, and fussed at GOD not to take her because I wouldn’t survive the loss of my sister as I barely survived the loss of my father. I am happy to say HE heard my cries and pleas and she has been cancer free for 8.5 years.

As some of you are aware, I’m a self-proclaimed word nerd and do a daily crossword puzzle which brings me to my next causes of passion: Dementia and Alzheimer’s. I’m not sure what year my Grandaddy was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s but I know I stayed away because I couldn’t watch the most brilliant mind I’ve ever experienced turn to mush. My fear was unwarranted because GOD and the Universe had my back as he always called me by name and was lucid whenever I was in his presence. My Nana suffered from Dementia but it was such a slow progression that she was diagnosed and 10 years later, there was barely any semblance of memory loss. I had learned my lesson and mustered up the strength to spend time with her when her mind started to deteriorate but, again, GOD and the Universe looked out for me as she was lucid and calling me by name every single time I was with her. I am blessed to have been able to spend time with them prior to their diagnoses as I spent two weekends a month with them in my early 20s, I just enjoyed being around them so much I couldn’t and wouldn’t stay away. Both of these diseases are harder on those who love them than on those suffering from it because we experience their mental deterioration as they forget our names, birthdays, what day/year it is, and where they are at any given moment.

We all have a cause or few we are passionate and what sparks passion for you may be totally different or identical to what creates my spark. If your passion comes from the loss of a loved one, make sure you’re staying on top of your health by getting regular check-ups because most of our elders refused to go to the doctor because someone before them went to the doctor and never came home again.

There are too many medical advances in this day in age for any of us to perish at an early age. When you make that appointment, take a loved one with you, share this information so you are not alone. There is no need to be a pillar of strength, you’re allowed to lean on someone, trust me, they will appreciate it more than you realize that you thought enough of them to include them. I am speaking from experience here because I wish my father and sister had let me in more but not telling me everything was their way of protecting me.

There are a plethora of causes to be passionate about which need our support in some form or fashion. To support a cause, you don’t have to contribute financially, educating others on the risks and signs of diseases is still support. You can get involved with organizations and take patients to their appointments or deliver meals to those who are no longer able to leave their homes. One of the biggest ways you can support those suffering is to spend time with them as that means more than any dollar amount you could provide. Don’t forget to schedule those appointments and make sure you are a bill of health!

Hey, my Lovelies! I’m not sure if you can tell or not but I’ve been in somewhat of a nostalgic mood as of late. There are times I just look around my home and see pieces of memorabilia I have acquired from loved ones who are no longer with us and I smile because it takes me back to a time when they were here.

During a recent video chat with my sister, I saw her childhood stuffed animal by the name of Puppy Love. He is a stuffed dog who strongly resembles Snoopy ® as he is, or used to be, a white beagle with black floppy ears wearing a red t-shirt and, this poor Tink Tink has been thru absolute hell, come back, returned to hell, and then retired on her bed. Poor Puppy Love has but one eye, the black yarn which used to distinguish his nose is gone, his once white fluffy fur is now a compressed hue of grey I can’t really describe, his red t-shirt no longer has his name on it, and his large head struggles to stay erect after 47 years. When I look at her favorite toy sitting so lovingly next to her, I hate her for a moment because I don’t have a favorite toy anymore.

My sister and I have always been night and day when it comes to our personalities. I was the typical little girl who loved to play with her baby and Barbie ® dolls and have tea parties with my stuffed animals while my sister was hanging out with her friends doing GOD only knows what. I was so happy when my daughters were old enough to appreciate Barbie® because that meant I would be able to play with them again and this time they came in a wide range of different skin tones. When I was younger, the only choices were blonde-haired, blue-eyed Barbie or her best friend Christie who was very dark skinned with unusually large pale pink lips, horrid makeup, and short, kinky hair.

There wasn’t a doll that looked like me but my daughters were able to have dolls which looked like them in different skin tones, heights and body types, way to go Mattel!

I’m not sure if any of you remember the series “The Bionic Woman” with Lindsey Wagner as Jamie Sommers but I was absolutely in love with that show, she was awesome!

This show was so popular they created a doll in her image and my parents blessed me with this doll and I cherished her. She was so fabulous and had all the features that the actress on the show had: the bionic module buttons under a flap on her forearm, bionic modules in both legs, when you turned her head, there was a clicking sound to indicate her supersonic hearing and she was dressed in her iconic tracksuit! I mean, how fabulous does she sound? I loved playing with my Bionic Woman while also playing with my wide assortment of Barbies ® and, I’m not sure if my sister hated dolls or seeing me get joy from them made it clear every chance she got.

I would usually do my elementary school homework and then head downstairs to our playroom and play with my dolls but this one day was different as Jamie was nowhere to be found.

I was afraid to ask my mother where she was because we weren’t allowed to lose stuff as there was a place for everything and everything was to stay in its place. Asking my mother where my doll was would have resulted in a tongue-lashing lecture and probably punishment for not being more responsible with my toys.  I searched every nook and cranny of our home and still no Bionic Woman and wondered if she had a secret mission and would just come back home when she was done.

After two days and no sign of my favorite doll, I began to worry that I had been irresponsible and Mommy threw her away because she was lying on the floor somewhere she wasn’t supposed to be. I gathered my courage and asked my sister if she had seen her and, much to my surprise, she walked over to her dresser and pulled her out of a drawer! My little mind was swirling with confusion because I always thought my sister hated dolls but the confusion dissipated when she handed me just her torso! My sister had snatched off her head, arms, and legs and destroyed the bionic arm by ripping off the flap and peeling off her mechanical panel!!!

What demon spawn do I share a gene pool with?! To add insult to injury, this little shit was laughing hysterically and said, “How fast can she run now?!” and left me standing there in tears.

While it’s true I had other dolls, none were as special as my Bionic Woman, not even my Rodeo Ken ® doll who had flexible hips which my sister also destroyed by snapping the rubber bands which kept his legs in the ‘sockets’. I don’t know how many times or ways I need to reiterate how much of an asshole I grew up with.

If you still have a toy from your childhood, it’s obvious that it’s special as you’ve held onto it for all of these years. When we begin to grow up, we are encouraged to leave childish things behind as they’ve no place in our adult life and I don’t believe that to be true. There are items from our childhood which soothe our souls as we mature because they take us back to a place when life was simple and uncomplicated. Trust me when I tell you, Puppy Love is the keeper of many of my sister’s deepest secrets and his fur is probably matted from the many tears she shed while holding him thru the years.

Hey, my lovelies! Am I the only who feels that this adulting shit takes a toll on your mind, body and spirit? Remember the days when you had someone take on the responsibility of waking you up, feeding you, getting you to and from your destinations, and paying all the damn bills? All this was taken care of while you lived a carefree life of hanging out in grade school, coming home and doing homework, and then getting to play outside while someone fixed your dinner. I promise we didn’t know how good we had it back then, did we?

I was recently posed with the question of “If I could travel back in time, what year would I go back to” and that seems like a simple enough question, right? Well, it wasn’t an easy question for me because there’s nothing I’d change about my life. Wait, that’s a whole lie. I would have given in to letting my father teach me how to hand dance.

Yes, I have had my ups and downs, heart smiles and heart breaks, joys and sorrows but I wouldn’t change anything because everything I went thru made me who I am today.

This question sat so uneasy with me that I posed it to others to see what they’d do and feel some kind of way about the answers I got. The first person I asked was my mother and she said she would go back to her freshman year of college and that gave me a sad pause because that was the year before she met my father. If my mother had the ability to time travel, I wouldn’t be here. This was something I couldn’t fathom because there is no way I’d ever erase my girls, I’d endure all of the shit in my marriage all over again for them to exist. Now, I know it seems as though I’m being harsh on my mother but I’m really not because I may not have lived her life, I was on the sidelines when she almost lost it at the hands of my father. I sympathize with my mother because she spoke with such a lightness when she thought about going back to her freshman year and having a clean slate. I am not here to judge her, only love and accept her.

I sat on the fence about this subject for several days because my brain had to process each and every scenario several times and I’ve come to my answer: yes, I’d travel back in time! BUT I wouldn’t change not one single thing. The first year I would return to is 1979 when I was 7 years old and we lived with my grandparents and mother for a year. My Grandaddy grew his own vegetables and my Nana made everything from scratch. I’m guessing all the time we spent outside is the reason we weren’t fat children because Nana loved to bake and we loved sweets.

I would go back to the night we snuck to the fridge for a snack but the cherry tomatoes fell off the door and we scattered like roaches, leaving my non-tomato eating sister standing there to catch hell for being out of bed. I would have been there more for my sister who was ridiculed in school for having bucked teeth because I know it was hard on her, I tear up now at the mere thought of someone bullying my sister. I would risk pooping and vomiting red all over again to have Nana’s red velvet cake washed down with red Kool-Aid®. Apparently being young doesn’t enable you to make wise choices, the gluttony takes over your mind.

The next stop on my time travel journey would be 1981, when I was 9 years old, when my grandmother was still alive and our family was tight knit and strong. Little did any of us know that a short 18 months later our family would be rocked and weakened by the passing of our matriarch. When I was this age, we had holiday cookouts at our house every year with all of my family there laughing, drinking, eating, playing spades, and dancing to the music Daddy played on his stereo system he set up in the backyard as the libations flowed very freely.

My sister-cousins would be there and we’d play on the swing set with my crazy sister going so high, she’d pop the leg out of the ground which made the entire thing unstable but living on the brink of death was somehow exhilarating as long as the family was there.

This was the time when my sister-cousins spent every weekend with us and we’d stay up all hours of the night, or so we thought, and make cakes cooked by a low wattage light bulb in our Easy Bake Oven ® and eat the partially raw dough with icing without ever getting a tummy ache. I miss the days of doing things which seem reckless to some but were common place to us such as making box cake batter but never baking a cake, just eating off the mix for days until it grew mold.

I have driven by my childhood home a few times over the years and am amazed how many times we walked the 2.5 miles to the convenience store on a whim and never being tired. On one of our trips, I would have told my best friend that she couldn’t ride my bike which would have put her on the sidewalk with me and not directly in the path of that speeding car. By the grace of GOD, she didn’t suffer any broken bones but she was forever known to my sister as Raggedy Abby because she flew up in the air like a rag doll. I have told you that she was an asshole and that’s not a stretching of the truth, it’s who she is.

To be 9 years old again, riding our bikes to the local lake no matter the season, walking around admiring the beauty it possessed, playing on the playground, and watching my sister drop our sister-cousin, who couldn’t swim, in the water. We worked together to get her clothes and hair dry and our parents didn’t find out this happened until we were all grown with our own children. We were smart enough not to tell them until we could drive away in our own cars and head to our own homes, we are not stupid. Oh, how I miss being in our basement while Daddy played our favorite records on vinyl while we sang along in the microphone, believing we were harmonizing and sounding better than the actual artists.

If I had the chance, I’d go back and snuggle up with my best friend in the entire world, our red Doberman, Baron. He was my protector, confidant, and sleeping buddy which is why I wouldn’t taint my time travel journey to when I was 12 as that’s the year he gained his wings and left me.  

Back in those days, we had actual winters with more snow than we knew what to do with but, for us, it meant no school and we got to put on our snow suits and play while the adults cussed and shoveled the massive amounts of white hell. As an adult and mother who is single, I now feel the same way about the white flakes that fall from the sky because I have to attempt to drive in it and have had to shovel while my girls innocently enjoyed the pure beauty of it.

So many people, if given the opportunity, would go back in time for a redo because they feel their life has been so horrible when it probably hasn’t. Yes, we all go thru shit at some point or other but we have the choice to come out of it bitter or better, it’s up to us not the circumstance as to who we are transformed into. My sense of nostalgia is the only reason I would go back in time, I would make sure not to step on a bug or alter any item while I was there out of fear of altering the future. Okay, okay, I may watch too many movies but it feels right to say it.

In life, there is no undo or redo button, you can’t go back so you might as well enjoy every day you wake up on this side of the dirt because tomorrow isn’t promised to any of us. There is a way you can go back in time: find your family photo album and immerse yourself in the images, smell the scents of your grandmother’s house, feel the grass beneath your feet, hear the waves crashing against the shore on your family beach vacation.

If you ever want to travel back in time, all you have to do is close your eyes and remember the good times when your loved ones were here and celebrating all aspects of life. Be great, my loves!