When I set out to write this blog, I meant to use it in 2 very distinct ways. My primary goal was to dispel stereotypes. I don’t think women who look like me have much of a voice anywhere. My secondary goal was to use the blog as therapy while my husband is away. It appears that my secondary goal has become my primary and I think I’m fine with that.
There is something about sitting in front of your computer screen after the day is done and simply letting your thoughts out. It helps me get through my days and it also continues my journey of healing. One of the major things that I wanted to keep out of this blog was negativity about myself and my family. I felt that opening up that side of myself would be further perpetuating what society views as the “Black” story. The problem with “keeping things out” is that you become inauthentic. You can’t write freely because you’re thinking too much about the perception and not the message, so instead of coming to the computer and writing freely, one begins to edit and pick and choose topics, when in reality I really should be writing or typing for myself.
I recently submitted an article to ForHarriet.com on domestic violence. It is my story. It is a story that is all too common in the African American community. It took a great deal of courage for me to write my story and then share it, but I specifically wrote it for a friend in hopes that she would leave a situation that is causing great pain to her spirit. I went back and forth on if I should share it here because my whole purpose on this blog was to prove that we are all not what is portrayed on social media, television, or even music. I wanted to show that I am a mother, wife, friend, and all around good person. I am not a baby’s mama and I don’t subscribe to that mentality.
Somewhere along the way, I forgot that the makings of me are directly tied into why I act and make the decisions I have made in my life. More than anything, my life and the struggles I have overcome show that being raised in South Central Los Angeles, being Black and female do not dictate what life you will lead. More than that, being raised in an abusive household does not dictate that you will live a life that is not whole. It takes work and some days it literally feels like a fight for happiness, but the alternative is repeating what generations before me could not stop. I love my children and husband too much not to give them the best of me, so all the negativity ends with me.
I guess that is what the term “Not Your Baby’s Mama” is about to me. I am supposed to be a statistic. I wasn’t supposed to find love. I wasn’t supposed to come from a place of love in how I deal with my children. My beginnings set the stage for me to be someone’s baby’s mama, struggling and frustrated. I was supposed to be unfulfilled and bitter. I was supposed to wake up everyday frowning instead of smiling. I was supposed to blame my children for my crappy life instead of seeing them as adding to my joy and being the ultimate gift the universe has given me. Don’t get me wrong, I am not speaking about single mothers as being some tormented life. It is not single mothers because I wholeheartedly admire all the women who do it on their own. It is the “baby mama” stigma that I am writing about. It was supposed to be me and I am so thankful that it is not.
So from now on, I will write from my heart…along with the crazy crap I go through.