Inspirational

State of a Writer’s Mind

Jeremiah 29:11 “For I know the plans I have for you”, says the Lord. “They are plans for good and not for disaster, to give you a future and a hope.”

For the past couple years, I have been in a mental state of which all writers endure from time to time- writer’s block. It is a struggle that I envisioned to be, and that was usually, just a temporary brain lapse; it would soon be cured with those sudden drops of ideas to relieve me from this gray area that freezes my hands over the typewriter or pauses my pen in mid-air. The climate of the world changed with an insane amount of intensity and at the same time mother nature made the clock strike midnight on my body. Unlike when I am writing a story, I had reached a chapter that did not have an ending- menopause. My flashes of creative spark were now just hot flashes. I thought I was going to go crazy! It didn’t just include hormones but also included the world around me.

The Covid pandemic and all its repercussions only added to what felt like the deterioration of my physical, mental, emotional and spiritual state. Like most of you, I adjusted to the new limitations. I looked forward to not having to put on my “mask” of showing up at work or going about my daily responsibilities with a fake smile. I was happy to stay at home and work, no longer having to deal with the office politics and cattiness that all of us tolerate but do not enjoy. The solitude would give me the opportunity to reflect, I thought to myself. With less time needed to get ready in the morning and commute to my job, I falsely thought I would have more moments to meditate and enjoy my outlet of writing. However, this did not happen. My brain only curled up in a corner like a frightened puppy.

If you read scripture and listen to sermons like me, Jeremiah 29:11 is familiar because it is used quite a bit in “feel good” sermons that sends a deceiving message to the listener that they will get their way very soon. The actual context of this scripture was that God’s people were in Babylon, a place that they did not want to be, for 70 years. God promised He would bring them home again but not on their desired timeline.

Just like the people in Babylon that were forced to remain in a place that was unfamiliar, God began my spiritually painful metamorphosis. At times it still seems like it will never ease up. I have learned and am still learning, that my way is not God’s way. Yes, it may line up from time to time but if we were to do a study on our lives and the statistics of how often things work out exactly as we envisioned, the odds of skipping down multiple bunny and butterfly lanes in life are very low. What the scripture, and the context of the scripture, now clearly shows me is that God has me in a chapter of feeling “stuck” for a reason. His plan (not mine, where I instantly am freed from my writer’s block and the moodiness of my hormones) is to bless not just me but also others, right where I am. In this midst of my various episodes of feeling overwhelmed, depressed, anxious and despair, He will show me hope and He will bond with me once again because I am still (not still by choice, I would like to reiterate once again). He wants to show me that I need to turn to Him, not fretting and chasing what I think is good (getting my way) but only fills my spiritual void temporarily.

My need to have worldly validation- everyone doing what I want or to be provided with external praise and acceptance- is my habitual mindset. I realize that I have been blinded by my longing for my writings to create a deep bond with others before reforming my bond with Him. My passion for writing was instilled in me since I was born; He placed it in my DNA with an intent to become closer to Him then to others, not the other way around. Once I was reminded of this scripture, I realized that God is shutting doors so that I can learn to only look “up” and not “around”. This state, this spiritual and emotional stagnancy, is to teach me and reignite my creative gifts that honor Him, right where I am. He wants me to be freed from the bondage of fear that people will mock or judge my writings. It is this fear that has me running from the gifts and tools provided for me. By having me remain in this current state of “Babylon”, my eyes can be opened to the internal confidence and joy that comes from me writing to honor God, inspire and help others. Nothing. Else. Matters.

Once I am filled with self-acceptance that overrides any negative scenarios I imagine in my mind, I will be elevated to another dimension, another state of mental, emotional, physical and spiritual clarity. He will pen paths that take me out of my cloud of despair and into a place of higher consciousness; a level where Spirit is exalted and nothing else dictates the direction of my life. I will live in an intangible land where I am free from self-condemnation and fears. This new freedom will show through my writing. His plan for promises of hope and a good future will help not only me but multitudes of people. God’s will to use me where my feet are presently planted will result in Him bringing me back to my roots, the core of who I truly am in His eyes. He will bring me home.

My point of sharing all of this with you? If you, like me, are aspiring to create and you feel that pull to express yourself through a medium (no pun intended), but it seems that cloud of self-doubt starts to surround you, just know that you are not alone. I, too, am in the process of escaping that same cloud. His promises occur even in those areas where we feel stuck. When we feel that gentle tug to write down a random thought, no matter how slight, do not let cognitive distortion stunt a potential change in the state of your own personal Babylon. Follow your spiritual guide right where you reside and trust all the skills that God instilled in you.

I will do the same.

Uncategorized

Today, I Cry

Today, I Cry

Things stir within me, things that I do not want to acknowledge and try to suppress. Those things are emotions. I am the mother of a special needs daughter and everyday for the past twelve years I have blamed myself for the medical trauma she endured. I have a hard time sharing from the deepest, darkest core of my being. I vary between the extreme of masking my pain and fear with morbid or goofy humor, to isolating in my home not returning phone calls, to ruminating on how no one seems to understand my life as a special needs mom. My daughter survived an enutero stroke before she was born and my grief, though not as raw, still lingers; a scar that is supposed to symbolize healing, yet I still feel the sting.

I knew I had to type this today because I feel like I am going to implode sometimes. My daughter is now 12 and I know I should be grateful that she is alive despite the excruciating option to take her off life support. I know I should be grateful that she met every milestone I would obsessively worry about at each stage of her life. She is at the tween stage now and new worries surface. It is like if I am not worrying, it means I am not caring. I do not know how to not worry for her. What kind of mother am I to look at her and only think about how I wish the stroke had never happened to her, that I did not do enough then and I am not doing enough now? My husband tells me I did nothing wrong; it was the powers that be. I did everything right when I was pregnant, he says. His voice is just a faint echo as I navigate through this mental fog. How could the “powers that be” allow something to happen to a life that did not even meet the world yet? My daughter is becoming aware of her struggles, especially with math and comprehensive reading skills. She has a heart of gold and does not yet know, or may never fully understand, the meaning of her diagnosis of mild cerebral palsy and that she is in a special needs class. In her eyes, she is just another girl that wants to make Tik Tok videos, wear mommy’s make up and perfume, be independent and do her own hair while balancing the fact that she needs extra help doing certain things. Her tween stage of struggling self-esteem is the underlying reason why she huffs n puffs when I try to help her. So, I put on a mommy smile and continue speaking positive affirmations to motivate her.

Today, I cry.

It isn’t because I am not proud to be her mom or don’t love her unconditionally; it is because I ache to rewind the time. I ache to have somehow known that the kick or twitch I felt as I carried her was the stroke and not just her trying to make room in the space that was her home for 8 ½ months. I am a special needs parent who prays she is not one day ostracized or rejected because she processes things differently. I pray that she will have that one best friend who will have her back no matter what. I pray she is not bullied. Yet in the same millisecond that I ponder over the “what if’s” that cause the future trips from hell, I filter through the insecurities that stem from my own childhood traumas that may be possibly overshadowing the next chapter God is writing for her. I am forever in debt to God listening to my prayers while she was in the NICU as the staff questioned if I was in denial. They did not state that directly to me, but I was told later by people whose names I can not mention. Am I in denial now? Am I in denial that this really happened to her and that one day she will catch up? Or am I in denial of accepting the beauty of who she is today? I am a mom of a child with mild cerebral palsy who had achieved and survived so much during her short time here on earth so far.

So why do I cry today? I cry because grief is not linear. Grief is not limited by time. Grief is repeated layers that stack up if I do not look at them directly. I will always grieve for the life I envisioned for my daughter before her brain trauma as I let her create her life. I will always have these moments that will sprout up like a weed. The weeds do not go away if I do not have a good cry occasionally. The weeds will fester and send me down a rabbit hole of despair and depression for what happened to my child. The weeds will have me snarling at any child or adult that I think is treating her through a stigma lens of ignorant stereotypes. Yet I can not force people to see the wonderful, kindhearted, humorous and beautiful woman that she will soon become. I must let go of my own self-demoralizing cave in which I tend to reside.         

Today, I cry.

She will never see my tears for her because if she does not see her diagnosis as a hindrance, I must come to terms with not trying to eliminate the stages of grief. I must stay on the road to gratitude along with these emotions. But in the meantime, in these moments that I pull out the weeds, I will let myself purge.

So today, I cry.  

poetry

Cornrows n Quilted Skirts

Cornrows n Quilted Skirts
That part of you that shines
Hair in the wind
A smile to the sky
Laying down your strife
Throwing off those heels
Sand between the toes
No doobie for you
But you’ll hug the trees
No longer the hustle
The nine to five
Just say good bye
Cornrows n Quilted skirts
A natural high
Arms out like wings
The heart finally sings
You’re Woodstock revived
Oh Lord, you’re one of them
But you don’t care
Just happy life no longer hurts
Cornrows n Quilted Skirts

Uncategorized

The Divided States of America

As a mom of a biracial 19 year old son who is just starting his path into adulthood, my intense worry for him has me in freeze mode sometimes. As a white woman watching what is happening, I could not imagine the pain, anger and sadness the black culture must be feeling. To be judged by the skin color you were born with is beyond what I can comprehend. I can not imagine how tired a black person must be from it all. Any human who isn’t seeing the devil making this world his playground is in serious denial. I don’t write this to claim an individual’s experience with racial injustice. I write this because all humans must start having more compassion with action. People shouldn’t only care when it affects them directly. People should care that it is happening to others too. I am so so sorry to everyone in the black community. I will pray and ask God what He wants me to do to be part of the solution. Much love to everyone.

Below are poems my son wrote. I hope his poems make us realize how overwhelming these times can be for the next generation.


Stefan Jones

I wrote these two poems to release my frustrations about the racial injustice in this country.

I don’t care if they make you uncomfortable.

You, myself, and everyone else needs to continue to acknowledge the systemic flaws and be proactive about initiating change and progression.

copyright Stefan Jones
copyright Stefan Jones
Inspirational

Wish

In a world where I feel disconnect
Dangling from the sky
Hanging on to what I wished upon
Not feeling the light in this dark place
I reach for relief, only to look down
The vicious circle that continues to spin
I can’t seem to make it stop
Dangling with all I have
If I let go I am at the will
Of this spatial abyss
Only to collapse within myself
Oh wait, it’s no different
Landing on my feet
Or downward to my death
The wish I might
Is not the wish I may
It appears the heavens
Can not hear my cries
Trying to hold on
My arms grow weary
Like my eyes that have seen
More darkness than stars
I just dangle from the sky
Hanging on to what I wish upon