Proud of being angry

It was a lovely day. I spent most of it napping in the bed with our youngest son. When I wasn’t sleeping, I lazily read my favorite manga. I did much of the same for the afternoon. By the evening, I felt enlivened and revitalized. I was actually able to respond from a space of love rather than exasperation. However, within an hour all that went to shit and I got angry.

I was angry because it actually takes will power to chill because there is always something to do. I was angry because it takes work and space to calm myself down. I was angry because I was actually peaceful for once and that shit felt good! Peace radiated from my heart, infused my being and reminded me that despite everything I love. Man, I was so angry.

Then it dawned on me, I love this anger. I love this anger that protects me so fiercely. I love this anger that guards my connection to my loving self. I love this anger that wants peace, goodness and sweetness for me. I love my anger and it feels so good.

Loving my anger has allowed appreciation for other emotions to blossom as well. Anxiety is my invitation to slow down and annoyance is my reminder to use my energy and time more selfishly. I no longer feel burdened by my many many emotions. I feel cared for; which is amazing and new.

Loving and caring for myself allows me to love from a space of love rather than from detriment. I don’t really have to give until I can’t give anymore. There is no shame in caring for myself  because there are ways to refill my cup that are easy for the whole family <3

We’ll see what bubbles up next..

Take Precious Care



ISO: Sweetness

I sniff the sweet tea steaming on the stove and decide to add more sugar. I need something with just the right amount of diabetes; something sweet enough to prevent me from raiding the eldest son’s jellybean stash. I’ve been out of control lately. So out of control that I’ve been eating gluten too. Normally I avoid gluten. I know that gluten isn’t sweet, but it is good. Foods with gluten break me out and give me a spare tire. They’re also super fucking good.

So, why am I eating sweetness that rots my teeth and gluten that clogs my digestion? I have lots of different reasons:

  1.  I want more physical and emotional space. I feel like if I eat enough, I can create a safe space for me to hide in my body where no one will find me, ask me shit or want to suck on me.
  2. Did I mention emotional space? The eldest is three. He’s going through all sorts of big emotions, working through expressing his will and figuring out how to communicate. I often spend so much time trying to help him process and work out his shit, I don’t have time or space for mine. His shit reminds me of mine. The same is true for the youngest. By the end of the night, I’m exhausted and there doesn’t seem to be space for sorting out my own shit.
  3. I’m fucking tired and my body hurts. I’ve returned to my yoga practice and that has helped. However, my body is wrecked and my eyes are red.
  4. A civil war rages on within me. There are parts of me that want to Mama the fuck out. That part needs no personal time or space. It just needs to be loving, cooking, cleaning and tending. There are other parts that want Mama-me to hold the fuck up. There are rituals to prepare for, a business to re-establish, friendships to water, herbs to care for and a whole other host of shit to do outside of fucking with my kids.
  5. Did I mention that ritual freaks me out a bit? Don’t get me wrong, it feels right for me to do and I’m excited about it. I just wish that I had more space and quiet to hear. The odd thing is that my ears are full. More so than usual. I hear my ancestors, a few old friends and other things that watch me. More so than usual. It’s nice but also…. well.. a little more intense than usual 🙂 At least my dream life has calmed down 😀

Too much discord and a lack of space to sort it out leads me to eat. I eat to remind myself that I’m not processing my life. I eat to remind myself that there is sweetness in my life, but to enjoy it I need more balance. I eat to ease the pain of abandoning myself to care for people and situations outside of myself. I need to honor more of myself than just the part of me that is mother to the boys.

I am a full human being. I deserve expression outside of cooking, cleaning and playing with children.

We’ll see how things come together <3

Take care of yourself


How to Mother… the Mother

This week, I had the honor of reconnecting with a good friend. As she shared all the good going on in her life, I watched the youngest son sleep peacefully. When it came my turn to share, I wasn’t sure where or how to start. Too much was going on. Before delving into all the Motherhood shit going on, little me’s posse grabbed the mic and spoke.

We miss smoking weed, excessively drinking red wine, dancing to live music and occasionally hoe’ing. Regular yoga was nice too. Every now and then my inner Grace Jones pops up, sneers at me and asks what the fuck am I doing with myself. I should be out in the world conquesting and shit. My friend listened and then reminded me that I could still do all those things, but I wouldn’t like the consequences. Truer words have never been spoken. I love my husband and children. I choose them over the single life.

After we got off the phone it dawned on me that a large part of me has refused to grow up. It’s angry for a childhood it never got and misspent teen years. It feels odd because I am not a running wild sort of person (—that may be part of the problem).  I think it’s more honest to say that I never really felt safe or supported in fucking around. I’ve always felt responsible to or for something.

Whether responsibility meant anchoring a household at a young age, being the flag bearer for all black folk, upholding communal order or making sure that my drunk ass friends got home safely without fucking that dude, I was always about it. I’m not sure that I consciously allowed myself to be young and dumb. Instead I chose to be “old enough to know better yet too young to give a fuck” for far too long. I look back at my life and see a stubborn toddler, angry teen or depressed college student that clearly said fuck all this adulting shit. I want to play!

The fucked up thing is that being responsible is in me. It’s me on default. It’s what I do. I’m secretly 80 years old, too old for this bullshit and will help you solve your problems. However, I’m not sure how to bring these younger aspects to heel. I wish we could run the fuck amok, but that time is over. Those days have passed. There are children who need their mother and shit to do.

These aspects remind me that I don’t want to leave the same holes within the sons…. somehow I need to bring these parts of me to peace… we’ll see…

Stay tuned…


Who am IIIIIII????

Since having a second child, I don’t know who I am anymore.

When there was just one child I had space to do shit. We lived in an affordable space with a great babysitter. I was in a space of stability. Regular sleep, regular sex, folks I dig, work that paid… All the things that seemed to anchor my sense of self were present. Then, I got pregnant. Then we found mouse poop under son #1’s chair. Suddenly we purchased a house and had a baby.

Fuck, I am lost.  I don’t sleep regularly. I don’t have sex regularly. I know awesome folks, but have no energy or time to socialize. I’ve stopped working. There is really nothing to anchor me except for being Mom. I think being Mom is cute, but I also feel like there is more to me. Or at least there was more to me this time last year.

I need to figure out who I am with two young children. It’s a bit of a daunting task. I always thought that I am what I do and how I spend my time, but I have to be more than that. I must be more than a milk machine that chases a toddler all day. Raising children has meaning, but I want more than that. When they leave I don’t want to be empty. With every age, a woman changes. Someone new emerges within me all the time. I am looking forward to seeing who emerges next, because I am feeling lost.




Since my last post, we have moved to Bowie, MD. I am so in love with Bowie.  I love Bowie so much that it scares me.

Through a happy daze of settling in, I can’t shake this gnawing feeling that something is about to bust loose.  So, I do what I normally do when I am scared but don’t want to admit it. I nitpick. I thought a couple of spots on the walls were mold. They weren’t. Next, I decided to focus on the garden. Nothing but bunnies and butterflies there. Since that didn’t yield a proper emergency, I turn my attention to a couple of holes nestled close to the foundation in the back. Bingo! I have found an emergency.

There is a little mouse (update: chipmunk) burrow outside of our house. Mice were the reason we left the last place. In panic mode I call pest control. Not satisfied with the suggestions given, I explore all sorts of options for mouse exclusion. I ponder digging a trench across the back yard and placing hardware cloth against the foundation of the house. I ponder drenching the backyard in bob cat urine and peppermint. Then I *silently* ponder ripping out the sink and dishwasher to re-enforce the wall and floor.

After soaking my feet and talking with my husband, who is not ripping out the dishwasher to re-enforce the wall, I realize that I do not fear mice. I fear repeating my past. I fear deeply enjoying all the things that I have ever wanted only to have them ripped from me or fuck it all up myself.

The mice are outside. They are not in the house. My joy has not been violated or shit on. Should that happen, I need to realize that I can handle it. I can rebuild my boundaries and find my way back to happy. It may take a bit, but it is possible. I also need to realize that the past is the past. I’m not there, I am here and now.

All these realizations are cute, but not calming. So, what am I doing to work through the fear? I’m making a play date with little me. I have an idea where this originates. I am going  to talk to little me and see what can help her to stop being so afraid. I think I am also going to properly mourn the various losses of life that I’ve experienced.

Most of my freak outs are about unresolved childhood messes; which keeps me in the past. I can see how being fully grounded in the here and now really shifts my ability to deal with whatever is going on 🙂 Once I address little me,  can work on some mindful practices to keep me in the here and now.

Oh yeah and Hooray for Chipmunks!

Until next time.. Take precious care!



Mommying Mommy: Unyielding anxiety

I am honestly quite an anxious person. Or rather, I feel a great deal of anxiety. And when I am most anxious, I try to be in control. I can’t control life. All I can do my best and and that’s it. Nothing is really certain in the world. Control over anything but myself isn’t real.

I know all these things about why I can’t control life, but that doesn’t mean I won’t try. I figure if I am control of everything there is no need for me to be anxious.  So, I plan to get whatever I want. I push to get whatever I want. I work to get what I want. I scheme to get whatever I want; anything but trust whatever I want to unfold. The odd time when things did blossom into what I most wanted, it was beautiful. Maybe I haven’t recovered from the beauty of that experience.

As we have started making Boo#2, I find myself rife with anxiety. I am pushing. I am working. I am doing everything I can to have/make/create another life as if it was all mine to do all alone. We have a midwife, I am looking at furniture, charting my temperature, peeing on sticks, budgeting for the future, following my ovulation, drinking my fertility tea, doing my fertility yoga practice…. all with the hope and prayer that all this activity unfolding into a healthy baby, right now!!!!!!

God knows that babies arrive how and when they want. They also do what they want. I really have little say in the matter. But somehow I’ve decided it’s time. So now the tension mounts and I try to control a situation that is out of my control. Because you know, anxiety will increase your fertility. It sure will 🙂

Somehow I want to tie up this post with a bow of enlightenment and serenity. You know a pithy ending that means I’ve grown and shit. But I haven’t really grown :). I just know that I don’t really want to be this way. Somehow, it never works. I push too hard and end up no where. We’ll see what happens next.

Take Precious Care


Dropping into the heart: Learning to see love

Over the past few days, while working with Wild Rose, I’ve had the oddest realization. Love has always been all around me; I just couldn’t see it. I just couldn’t understand, know, receive, perceive or feel love. There was just too much pain.

The pain comes from not knowing who or how I am. I have been lost in enmeshment with others. I confuse my own goals, values and sense of self with theirs. Then I retract in anger when I don’t or feel like I can’t express myself.

When I can honor and express myself, I don’t need to flee from others because they don’t honor who I am. When I have enough space to “let others off the hook” of allowing me to be my by attending to myself, I can see how much I am loved. Now, that doesn’t mean that they ways in which I was/am loved jive with my values, essence, morals or what have you. It doesn’t mean that I always get what I want. But it does mean that I can recognize and appreciate what others are sharing with me while I focus on taking care of myself.

The rub for me has been accepting who I am and how I be, while knowing that it’s okay if others be differently. It’s not my job to “be” for them so they can be happy or be against them so they can be happy. I don’t have to respond to that. It’s my job to be and love me. If we are on the same page about life good; let’s roll. If not, that’s fine too. All things can support and nourish our us if we allow them to. All things are valuable in their own way.

That’s all for now 🙂 Until next time..

Take Precious Care!



Still in the body: What it takes to be here

The more I commit myself to fully being in my body, the more I see how badly I treat myself when I am in my body. It ranges from small things like eating gluten when I know my immune system is already struggling and my digestion is sluggish, to large things like not honoring my need for tranquility and taking on things I don’t want to do. There are a million little ways that I disregard my own wisdom, violate my own boundaries and generally fuck myself up only to blame others in anger.

It’s odd. My behavior hasn’t really changed much since my commitment to being more present and engaged in my body. I can just better see how I create my own pain. I understand why I am so dreamy. If I don’t honor my own boundaries and have faith in my internal guidance why even try to engage life? I’m not really living. Fuck it, let’s read manga and watch bullshit all day. I am not really expressing myself anyway; I am only doing/being what others want with the hopes of being loved. Am I really being loved (or being loving) if I am not being myself?

The good thing about this depressing ass turd sandwich is that I can now see how I sabotage myself and my relationship with my body (or myself).  Since I know how I am hurting myself, I can make different decisions and give myself grace when I don’t. Knowing is half the battle 🙂

I so want to leave this in a little “everything will be alright” bow 🙂 It will be alright. Over the past week or so I’ve started working with Wild Rose Flower Essence from Green Hope Farm. I feel more of myself in my body. I feel stronger, more present and much more compassionate. Slowly and surely I will unravel and love my hurt. I’ll get there. We all do.

Until next time.. Take Precious Care!







Still in the body: Emotionally Constipated

Damn ya’ll, I have hit a big snag in my mmmmm… voyage into the body. My emotions are literally fucking me up. I was in pain.

No, really I was in break-out the whiskey and bite a stick because you are about to cut something off pain. It started as a twinge in my right hip. I thought it was due to a little bit of rough housing combined with improper alignment during my yoga practice. So, I shifted my yoga practice, stopped rough housing with my son and had confidence that the pain would go away.

It didn’t. Not only did the pain increase, it started to rise up into my lower back. Meaning whenever I woke up in the morning, I rolled out of bed scrunched and hunched over on my right side and could barely walk. It took most of the morning to warm my body up and picking up my son was out of the question. Try not picking up a toddler 🙁 To let me know that it was serious, my body started waking up at God-awful hours and not going back to sleep until 10 minutes before my alarm. No herbal concoction could bring me good sleep. Only NyQuil would do and even with that shit I was up at 5-ish.

In the midst of all this physical pain and frustration, I forgot to feel my feelings. I never checked in. I mean I kept grounding chakras and shifting around my yoga practice which offered some relief. But, it took me a week or so to actually stop and feel my feelings.

My emotions (and I have lots of them) have a way of pooling in my hips and lower back. When I refuse to pay attention to what I am feeling, this is usually where pain starts and increases until I listen. If I am super stubborn (and I am) my sleep starts to mess up. When I wake early and my hips throb– that is my clue to just let my feelings flow. So, eventually I did just that.

What did I hear? I heard all sorts of nasty stuff 🙂 Rage, frustration, pain from many moons ago. All sorts of things that I have ignored over the years because it has been easier to bury my feelings underneath food, dick, alcohol and/or good weed over the years than to actually feel anything.

All this listening and feeling has led me to another book. I know, I am a sucker for heal your bullshit books. But, my lower back has stopped hurting and my hips are less cranky. There is hope for me yet 🙂

Until next time, Stay warm and be good yourself!