Skip to main content

Learning to Feel


I've always been one to hide my feelings. In my world, there's no room for error...and having feelings meant room for error. I learned at a young age how to disguise my hurt with a smile, cover my pain with a bandage of unrequited love, stampede my grief with work. For so long, part of the mystery of Mia Michelle McClain was that she was a GLADIATOR--she showed no signs of weakness and she carried herself with grace. She had no needs for anyone but herself and God. She was a saint, a symbol of triumph, and a martyr for her artistic passions. "Hell, I am Mia Mc-F**ckin-Clain! I don't cry over petty things or simple people! I don't sulk, I simmer!" And then, I woke up one day in early August of last year and all of that changed.

I don't know why we build walls around ourselves. It does nothing for our character except make us less human. I've been building walls since middle school--and the longer you build them, the taller they get, and the harder to knock down, and the more debris to clean up once they've been knocked down! I'm in that stage now--the debris stage! You don't realize how many bricks there are-how much pain there is-until to go to knocking shit down. But right now, at ground zero, I've never felt better. There's something about taking a step beyond the borders of your comfort zone and breathing in all that life has to offer. There's something about being reborn again, or what I love to call "Entering your personal renaissance."

For years we've enslaved ourselves. Yes. We have built Jericho walls around our hearts, chained down our minds, and built souls of steel that protect us from the world. But as we protected ourselves, we forgot to feel. We forgot to live. We forgot to love.
Feelings, life, and love DO NOT have to be a distant memory from our forsaken childhoods. Today, you can start over; we can start over. We can start breaking down our walls, unchaining our mind, and melting our souls, essentially loving ourselves back to life.We can learn to feel ... again.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

"We Thought You'd Be Next." πŸ’πŸ‘°πŸΎπŸ€ͺ

Recently, my little brother got engaged. πŸŽ‰ But can I just say, Hashtag Triggered?! πŸ˜‘
I was very thrilled that he finally proposed to his now fiance and that I absolutely love her. She is so sweet and brings goodness into his world. I'm so excited for them. However, during my last trip home to New Orleans, a family member was chatting with me about it and asked about my relationship, and then proceeded to say,
"I thought you'd be next." 😣
B*TCH, ME TOO! DAMN!
I did not say this aloud as I was in my father's house (#shondo #imchurchy), but everything in my body tensed up. Every hair stood up on my boiling skin and my heart began palpitating as I attempted to calmly explain why I wouldn't "be next" while simultaneously trying not to burst into tears in front of company. I started rambling about my burgeoning career--about "our" careers--and attempting to refocus the conversation while wanting to jump into the large pot of red beans simmer…

Hey Stalkers!

I was talking to a person I (used to) know--this estranged acquaintance of mine--who said that they have friends who screenshot segments from my blog and social media postings and send them to this person. I thought, "hmmm, I wonder who the mole is?" But also, I wonder who has that kind of time to (not) follow someone on social media but to stalk them and pull pieces from their writings, out of context, and send them to someone who clearly has a fractured relationship with me. Like, with that kind of time, I could sleep an extra hour or two every day! But I digress.

I welcome all to my very public blog and social media pages. I don't share anything that I don't wanna share. In fact, I keep much of my life very private, for my safety and sanity. I write my story because it's healing--because it's freeing. I open the world to some of the most intimate moments of my life because I know that vulnerability is contagious--that transformation is not to be hoarded b…

How My Mom Made Me A Preacher

When I was a kid, I used to travel with my mom to Toastmasters conferences. I went to Baton Rouge, Lafeyette, Atlanta, DC, Florida, down the street from the house, up the street from her job, everywhere. I heard some of the world's greatest speakers. I sat in many executive meetings (because my mom didn't wanna leave me in hotel rooms by myself...she watches too much Law and Order) and I behaved quietly, pretending to doodle but really eavesdropping on conversations regarding new judging procedures and managing  leadership conflict (yes, grown people cat-fightπŸ™€). I was present for speaking competitions that my mother judged, training seminars that my mother presented, and galas that I attended with my mother as her young, but show-stealingly adorable, date.πŸ‘§πŸ½
And of course, my mother took Toastmasters home with her. Whenever I had to speak in church or prepare a speech for class, she mentored me. She made sure I had a bomb πŸ’£acronym (she's obsessed with corny acronyms)…