Skip to main content

When Tears Freeze

I wanted to cry so badly today. It started around 5 pm as I made my way from the A train at 125th street to the supermarket near school to pick up a refreshment for my intern-small group. I started reflecting on my life, especially the past 4 years--the ups and downs...the tears and the triumphs. I do this often, after I hit a milestone or during the weeks leading up to my birthday. The 4-year anniversary of a devastatingly life-changing event just passed and I thought about where I was 4 years ago, comparing that to where I am now. So much has changed, and yet, some things have come back into sameness. I was in my 2nd and final semester of grad school at NYU (full-time status), depressed and hurting, yet pushing my way through the pain while working a full-time job. I remember waking up everyday after very little sleep, showering, and filling myself with just enough energy to put my hand on the door knob, turn it, and exit my apartment. I always had just enough energy to make it to and on the train, down to the village, through class, to work, and back home again. I seriously don't know how I did it! I'm still amazed at how little sleep I got and how much weight I lost that year. But I made it through, and with a 3.975 gpa! #AskAboutYaGirl

Today, I was sad--but I remembered. I remembered that I pushed through one of the most difficult times in my life once upon a time and made it out alive, well enough to not only see the other side, but to enjoy it fully. I pray that for each of you, today. I pray that you not only make it to the other side, but that you can live to enjoy that freedom fully. I pray the same for myself. I wanted to cry so badly today--I wanted so much to lament over all that I've lost over the past year and a half--but my tear ducts froze. The water would not drip. The dry heaving and nose-snotting would have to be postponed for another time. I thought I was due for a cry but, perhaps, I was due for reflection. Perhaps, I was due for release. Perhaps, I was due for revival.

be blessed folks.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

I'm A Quitter...So What!?

When I was 8, I went to a cousin's wedding in Lansing, Michigan. My mom and I stayed after the wedding festivities to sight-see. One afternoon, we were walking to the public bus and it flew passed us to the bus stop, a good distance away. My mom told me to run! I took off jogging, casually. Frustrated and annoyed, I stopped running. I turned around and proclaimed that I was tired and our efforts were futile. She told me to keep running. Rolling my eyes, I took off in a light sprint and the bus driver was gracious enough to wait for us to catch up (this clearly wasn't anything like the brutal NYC transit operators who could care less about you). We winded-ly climbed on the bus and to this day, my mother uses this story to lecture me about the benefits of not giving up--of not quitting.
Although my mother would never want me to stay in a toxic situation, that experience has shaped the narrative around my vigorous fight against being labeled "quitter."

I'm an overa…

Finding Love after Sexual Assault

Disclaimer: For mature audiences only
I was sexually assaulted on a first date when I was 24. The events of that evening landed me in Harlem Hospital at 2 am with a concussion and a bruise on my forehead (among other things). During the hours in which I took up residence in a private emergency room, I was coached by a nurse on how to proceed--to take legal action immediately or to not take legal action...to complete a rape kit or to not complete a rape kit. It was overwhelming. I also had to take 17 pills, mostly anti-viral meds. It was intense. There was a moment when I looked up to the ceiling and silently bemoaned. "Really God?" I said, as the quick air from a painful chuckle slipped through my lips. I felt like I was in an episode of Law & Order: SVU. I felt defeated. I felt stupid. I felt isolated. And all because I said, "yes." The details of what transpired that evening are not important to this post. What is important, however, is how the lingering trau…

For Colored Girls Who Aren't Afraid to Acknowledge Their Therapist, Pt. 2

A lot of people have read my earlier post (For Colored Girls Who Aren't Afraid to Acknowledge Their Therapist, Pt. 1) about being a strong black woman who unashamedly has a therapist. I've gotten a few comments like:
"Mia! You've always seemed like you had it all together! I'm surprised."
"Mia, this is my life! I've had/I'm having trouble finding a therapist too!"
"I had no idea therapy costs that much! Why won't insurance cover mental health care like they cover everything else?"
1.So, let me say this: I'm grateful to know that I am not alone in this process--that there are friends and colleagues who are doing or want to do work on themselves so that they, too, can be healthy. My generation might be deemed selfish or self-absorbed by older onlookers, but many of us are outchea tryna to cultivate the best version of ourselves--the version our families and communities expect from us. We ain't just outchea overachieving for …