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I saw a video today of a young lady who I truly believe had great intentions. The topic was things a woman needs to do to keep her man. I actually began to check out at the moment I heard “how to keep your man.” However, I’m working on practicing the art of non-judgment as well as being open to opinions and thoughts that differ from mine. So I watched. I was not impressed. There were some things she said that I could sort of, kind of, maybe, quite possibly agree with. However, there were more than a few things that I could not. One of those things involved fixing your man’s plate because, as she said, a man should never ever have to fix his own plate. The other thing that rubbed me the wrong was the mention that a woman should be so in tune with her man that she anticipates his needs so that he doesn’t even need to ask for what he wants. She’ll already know. Because she knows, she will do get whatever he needs.

Now, I could say I didn’t like what she said and I disagree because of sexism. I could say that I have grown tired of the trite “Wam-Bam, Get Your Man!” “Don’t Go To Sleep, If It’s Your Man You Want To Keep!” messaging geared toward women which speaks on how they need to get and keep a man. I can say it’s ridiculous to believe that one should be able to–and consequently can–read another’s mind. As if one is not responsible for speaking up for their needs and wants. I could say how illogical it is to think that it is actually possible to “keep” another person, since realistically speaking, one cannot do such a thing. People remain in relationships; and faithful or unfaithful to their beloved; by their own volition. However, those are not my issues with the video I saw today, or the many others out there like it.

No, none of those are truly my issue. I dislike and disagree with the message because I do not like the generalized nature of the message. Human beings are far too complex to simplify their behavior. While I understand that a 7 minute video, which I myself share from time to time ; ), requires one to get to the point quickly and succinctly, I cannot get with a step-by-step instructional on how to maintain a relationship. There are far too many complexities to even attempt to surmise that there is a certain number of steps that will guarantee your partner will want to remain in relationship with you. Let’s say you do all of these so-called steps, yet you and your partner part ways for reasons unrelated to those steps. Would one be able to surmise that you failed?

There is also the fact that relationships end for a multitude of reasons. Relationships are simply our very own intimate class, where we are provided opportunities for growth, death, rebirth, and more growth. Once the growth has stopped, the relationship ends. You reach a point where it is made evident that you can go no further together because you have gone as far as you can. For some, the end happens with a physical death of the body. For others, it happens when there is a death of love, trust, or respect. And yet for others, the relationship can simply change course.

The other reason I disagree is because I really dislike the transactional view of relationships. I cannot get with the idea of I’ll-scratch-your-back-if-and only if-you-scratch-mine in a relationship. I say that with the full understanding that in practical terms, there is a bit of transactional play in relationships. However, I don’t think it’s the least bit healthy to enter into relationships with the mindset of I’ll only do my part if you do yours. I think that mindset is what has cost many relationships. I’m not quite sure what it is about romantic love that makes us mere mortals lose our grip. We place a tremendous amount of pressure on our lovers and on our relationships. I think it’s far better and simpler to figure out what you desire, what your strengths and weaknesses are, and what you are willing/unwilling to do within the relationship. Once you’ve done those things, then you can seek to find someone who will not only accept all of those things in you, but also take you and stretch you to your limits. Only then can you know and experience real love. And that, my friends has nothing to do with any steps or instructions. That is all an unspoken language that only the heart can speak and comprehend.

So that’s just my two little cents. I don’t say any of this to disparage the messenger or anyone who agrees. I like to chew on and digest what speaks to me and leave the rest. That’s exactly what I did today. And I wholeheartedly believe that she had the best of intentions. And there were many people who, based on their comments, agreed with her. It was touted as conventional wisdom. But as a wise man I’ve heard once said, “Conventional wisdom is usually neither conventional or wise.” And again, that’s just me.

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Who Do You Say You Are?

Happy New Year! I’ve been going back and forth between excitement and dread since the turn of this new year of our Lord. Excitement because the optimist in me believes that I am closer to the true joy that I long for. I believe doors are going to open that were once closed. Dread because the little doubter in me is afraid that it might not happen. So that what if it doesn’t pops up now and again. So what do I do? I sit back and watch the two battle ’til the death for it. Well not really. But it would make for an interesting show.

Anyway, as the sun revolved around this here earth for one more ‘gin, I was hit with an unexpected circumstance. Initially, it made me really sad. Someone who believes they know me accused me of being some things that I’m not. But as I sat with it, I began to feel better because I was reminded of how far I’ve come. I know this person was either truly mistaken or simply lying because I am not the things that I was said to be. But I remember a time when I wouldn’t have known the truth of that. I remember a time when I would have simply believed what this person said because I unknowingly would have assumed this person was in authority over my life. Thank goodness for growth and wisdom because today I know better. Today, I know who I am. And any time I’m confronted with a moment like this, I ask myself the question, “Well who do you say you are, Je’Niece?” It’s proven to be a good practice for me.

As we go forth into this 2016th year, may we all take a moment to ask ourselves the question so that we can root ourselves firmly in the knowledge of who we are. Happy New Year again!

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The Thing About Family

We are in the vortex of the holiday season. A time of merriment, wonder, love, and community. Or is it? For some of us, yes it’s true this is a time of joy and gathering. However, for others, it’s the opposite. For some of us, the holidays bring about a spirit of depression, loneliness, and even dread. Some of us have no families or communities to gather around. Some of us may have families, but we know a seemingly harsh truth, and that is family and relatives are not the same.

When I was younger, my father would find random moments to teach and philosophize with me about life–or as he called it, to spit venom. A simple request to go to the store could be met with “Let me tell you this”, as he would then proceed to give me whatever was the lesson of the day. He would even tell me, “You may not understand what I’m saying to you right now. But one day you’ll look back on things and you’ll see.” Well of course, tiring of him always being right, I vowed that I would never understand. And I swore to uphold that vow until my dying day. But today, I am happy to admit that I was so wrong. My father was right. I do understand. I understand a lot of what he said to me and what he tried to instill in me. I initially thought he was so cold, for attempting to teach me this lesson. I now know better. And that is what I said earlier. Family and relatives are not the same thing!

My father’s version of this lesson went something like this: “Don’t get caught up in the titles of folks. Just cause somebody is your family doesn’t mean they have your back. Family will do you worse than a stranger on the street. You know Cain killed Abel.” Yikes! Sounds harsh doesn’t it? I certainly thought so. I couldn’t fathom someone in my family not being happy for me, not supporting me, or being there for me. Until one day, I found myself having to face this very truth. There are more than a few family members who I learned did not want the best for me. They are not happy for me when things go well for me, and they actually seem happy if things don’t work out in my favor. The experience left me shell shocked because it went against everything that I thought I knew. I felt robbed. I felt cheated. I had been had, hoodwinked, bamboozled, and well you know the rest. I went into victim mode: “How could they?” And I really did wonder how could they. I certainly hadn’t done anything to them. I lamented over my pain and let my heart bleed. I picked at the scabs on my bleeding heart just so that it would bleed again. I did this for a while until one day, I found myself surrounded by a group of wonderful people who were encouraging, supporting, and nurturing. They praised me where I was strong and offered loving reproof where I was weak. A couple of them have been around for many years and others were new additions to my life, but they shared the same thing: they all genuinely love me. I looked around and heard my father’s voice telling me “I told you!”. I believe Oprah would call it my “Aha moment”. I got the lesson: Family and relatives are not the same thing! Oh! So I’ve had it wrong all this time? So it takes more than a shared genetic link to make someone your family member? Having the same last name does not a family make? Being born into a group does not necessarily make that group a family? If not, then what does make someone your family? Well, as I mentioned of my group, a family is a group of people who come together in the name of love. And when I say love, I don’t mean merely in words. I mean in action. It is very easy to tell someone you love them, but if you are not acting in love, those words are in vain. Such is the case with my relatives. Family is the group of people who seek to understand you, love you, offer you support and encouragement, help when they see you need it and loving reproof to help you become better.

Now sometimes, some of your relatives are also your family members. But there are those relatives who just are not your family. And the thing is, that’s ok. I know this is the time of year when we focus on love and family and some of us feel bad because we don’t like being around relatives, or maybe we don’t have too many family members to gather around. But if you have a group of people who you know love you and have your back, you can rest assured that you have a family. And sometimes those people won’t have your last name or genetic link. And again, that’s ok. Whether your group is as large as the multitude that Jesus fed, or as small as a party of 2, you have a family. Most times, your family won’t look the way you imagined. (I certainly know mine doesn’t.) And while they may not be relatives, a family is much better than a group of relatives any day.

Regardless of what it is, I hope these times find you happy and full of joy. And if you are feeling a bit bah humbuggy, I understand.

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Stripped Away Truth

Hey there! I know I have been so inconsistent with my posts. But I’ve been in a really contemplative state. So this is the time of year when I do a lot of work–not necessarily manual labor, but more spiritual. I spend a lot of time working on myself, releasing old habits and things that no longer serve; learning new more serving ideologies, methods, etc. and incorporating them into my life.

As I look forward to releasing this here year of 2015, I was faced with the questions of “What is your truth? And how did you find it?” Well don’t you know those are some darn tootin’ good questions?! And I was really happy to have been asked them because it allowed me the space to answer. Soooo . . . Here’s what I was able to gather for myself. But what about you? What’s your truth? And how did you find it?

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The Stories We Tell

Oh! what a tangled web we weave
When first we practise to deceive!

from Marmion, the epic poem by Sir Walter Scott

I’ve said this line many times in my life.  I’ve heard others say it as well.  And it’s become so commonplace that I’ve really lost the meaning of it.  I mean, at first glance, it resonates deeply with me.  I don’t like when someone lies to me.  Moreover, I don’t like to lie.  I hate lying.  I’m terrible at it. And the way my conscious is set up . . . I’m terrible at it! But I started thinking about the state of relationships–not just mine, but the ones of those I love and the ones I see reflected in the universe.  There seems to be a disconnect in relationships.  And it’s so odd to me.  We love to say how much we love love.  We love to say how much we love the ones we . . . hurt the most.  So often, we tend to take for granted the ones we claim we love the most.  We allow a lot of things said and done, not said and undone to come between us and the ones we love.  And then, you know what we do with that? We make up a whole story about it!  A good, juicy story that only seems to get better the more we tell it.  Details get added. Inflections get thrown in.  Oh yes, the story gets real good.

So going back to Sir Walter’s line.  What a tangled web we weave indeed when we practice to deceive. But today I’m not talking about the intentional deceit.  I’m not talking about the lies we tell when we’re fully aware that we’re lying.  I’m talking about the unconscious deceit. The stories we create that go on to create deep, gaping valleys of disconnect between us and the ones we love.  We want more love in our lives?  Well, perhaps we need to look at the stories we have told.

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Gratitude Day #6

I’m late. I’m late. For a very important date!  Well, not really. But I feel as if I shouldn’t have waited so long to post today.  I really meant to do this earlier. However, this California dreaming has got me in a different state of mind.  It’s been so nice to leave my cares behind–albeit temporarily.  So that’s yet another reason why I’m grateful today.  Interestingly enough, I’m no more thankful today because it’s Thanksgiving than I’ve been every day before.  I am just in a state of gratitude.  Life certainly hasn’t been a crystal stair (Oh Langston, you wordsmith you!), but it hasn’t been as bad as I’ve felt it’s been at some of my darkest moments. The great thing about it has been that when I’ve felt it wasn’t worth living, once I just kept living  (kind of like Dory told us to just keep swimming), the feeling passed and there was another feeling.  It’s made me understand that life isn’t about any one particular feeling, experience, or moment.  No!  It’s about the collective.  And just think, I’m not even done.  Yeah, as Tina Turner once sang, I think it’s gonna work out fine.  So here’s today’s gratitude.

Today’s gratitude is interesting for me because it is just so fitting.  I truly didn’t plan this–and yet isn’t that the beauty of life?  Since my dad has passed, the holidays don’t mean the same to me.  I don’t “celebrate” them as I once did.  I’m more about appreciating the moments which add to the collective experience of my life.  My dad was such a wonderful teacher, and the lessons haven’t stopped because of his passing.
On this day I am grateful for my dad. But today I want to say that I’m grateful for not just his life, but also his death. Of course I’m not happy that he’s no longer here. But after 5 years of mourning, I can see the beauty in the midst of the pain. It’s that beauty that I’m grateful for today. I’ve said before that my dad was my soul mate, and I really believe he was. I’m convinced we’ve shared many lifetimes together. I was and still am in awe of him. He was unlike any other person I have ever known–beside myself. When I look back now, it’s amazing to me how much we mirrored one another. From our sharp wit to our sensitivity (Yes believe it or not, The Mac Man was extremely sensitive), we were carbon copies. Now that I get that, I can totally understand why and how my father could work my last nerves better than anyone’s business. In his absence, that’s what I miss most. He was my button puncher, and I his. I’ll admit that I didn’t always understand him. He spoke in ways that seemed so far above my pay grade. He would speak in codes and riddles. He would tell me “You don’t understand what I’m saying to you right now, but one day you will.” I, being like any normal daughter, would mumble under my breath “No I won’t” and I truly thought that I meant it. But he, being the wise sage that he was, was absolutely correct. I didn’t understand much of what he said until he passed away. A veil of fear, uncertainty, and insecurity shrouded my vision of my life. It wasn’t until my dad passed that the veil began to lift. I can’t accurately describe it, but all of a sudden, I could see everything so clearly. And everything he’d ever talked about made sense or came to fruition.

When my dad was alive, I learned to play the supporting cast member. I stayed quietly (and happily) in the background. And I had no complaints. After all, he was the one who always wanted to be famous. It was just his personality. And as much as we were alike, I bought into the notion that we were different in that respect. I didn’t want fame. I didn’t want to be the center of attention. It’s amazing to me how unaware I was of my own self. After my dad’s death, I felt like I was catapulted into the spotlight. Suddenly there were cameras in my face. People were recognizing me. It was so uncomfortable and I resisted. In my resistance, I tried to make everything about him. I started working with his foundation, convinced that it was my duty because his legacy needed to continue and who else but his only child could take it on? What I didn’t realize is that was just my way of carrying out my same pattern of hiding. If I could make everything about my dad, I wouldn’t have to deal with myself. I would talk to my dad everyday. One day I was at home talking to him about how unhappy I was with the foundation. It just wasn’t what I wanted to do. I asked for his guidance. I pleaded for him to help me. That night he came to me in a dream. He told me how proud he was of me. He told me how much he loved me. And he told me that it was time for me to live for me. He said, “Boops, you’ve spent your whole life doing what you think everyone else wants you to do. Now it’s time for you to do what you want to do. This is your life. Don’t’ worry about me. I’m fine. I did what I needed to do. Now what did I tell you about letting folks steal your mojo? ” I realized then that my father’s legacy was/is in tact because of the work he did here on earth. His job is done. And above all else, his legacy will continue because of me. I am his legacy. Jasmine is his legacy. There’s nothing I need to do for him. I need to create my legacy. The next morning, I told my mother I was leaving the foundation. Once I did, doors started opening that I’d never expected. I received a call from some producers of a new TV show, which would be called Windy City Live. They asked me to audition, and I did. I was scared out of my mind, but I did it. After my audition, one of the producers pulled me aside and said, “You know, for someone without any experience, you’re a natural in front of the camera.” And while I didn’t get the job, they still continue to call me for appearances. More than that, they helped me to see how capable I am. A producer by the name of Robert Small wanted to do a documentary about my dad. While working on it, he called because he wanted me to conduct some of the interviews. And I did. While we were working together he told me “Je’Niece you are really talented. You have a real career in this industry if you want it.” I’ve traveled across the country speaking in front of audiences. I’ve been on radio. I started a blog. I’m not sure I would have been able to do any of this if my dad were still alive. It’s this very thing that I’m grateful for. As much as I miss my dad, I recognize that the transformation that I’ve undergone is a direct result of his passing. When my dad died, I was devastated. I felt like I lost so much. But now that I’m on this side of my grief, I can see the picture in a broader view. Sometimes things in our life are torn down in a most ugly and painful way in order to create anew something beautiful. That’s what happened to me when my dad died. Yes I did lose some things when he died, but now I know that I also found some things. I found my voice. I found my truth. I found myself. I’m not at all sure of what lies ahead of me, but I know that it is something(s) I would have never imagined possible. Beyond that, I’m no longer scared of the possibilities. Daddy, you know how much I love you. I am so thankful for the 30 years that we were able to spend together. You were the most amazing person I’ve ever known (besides Jasmine) and it was and still is an honor to say that I’m your daughter. I thank you for everything that you’ve given me–in life, and even in your death. I am because of you and that means more than I could ever say.

*Reading this today actually brought tears to my eyes.  Two years have passed since I wrote this and I must admit I’ve forgotten some of these things at times.  But I find my way back to the truth–or either my dad keeps bringing it my way. I wouldn’t be surprised at all if it’s the latter..*

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Gratitude Day #5

Well it’s day 5 and today’s gratitude is a bit deep.  It has to do with a secret that I carried around for much of my life.  I actually never even told my father before he passed away.  Yet today, I don’t feel the heaviness of it as I did in years passed. In m opinion, humble as it may be, that is a true mark of my growth.  And yet another reason to be thankful.

On this day I am grateful for my unborn child. I’ve not shared this with many, but almost 20 years ago, when I was 16, I got pregnant. I felt ashamed, embarrassed, and disappointed. But most of all, I was just plain old scared. I was scared of what my father was going to do to me when he found out. He would have killed me—or come very close to it. And who could blame him? After all, I deserved to be punished. I was supposed to be a good girl and if I was pregnant, that meant I was having sex, and good girls simply did not do that. It also didn’t help that I’d begun having sex simply because my boyfriend wanted to. I wasn’t even remotely curious about sex. I just really wanted to be loved so when he showed me in a most non-discreet and obvious way where we were headed, I fell silent and complicit. I thought to myself, “Oh wow, I guess I’m going to have sex now.” And I did. I felt ashamed, but that was when and how he showed me attention and I desperately wanted his attention, so I continued to engage. I acted like I liked it. I acted as if I wanted it, but I didn’t and I died a little inside each time I succumbed to his will. I was in agony. Winding up a sobbing hot mess on the bathroom floor after reading the positive result on a pregnancy test only pushed me further into the abyss. I decided that I wouldn’t tell my parents. I’d get an abortion and never think about it again. But for the next 10 years, all I could think about was that baby and the horrible thing I’d done. The abortion only fueled the war I’d unconsciously waged against my already fragile self-esteem. I was in misery every single day.

A few days after the procedure, my mom found my medication. She’s a nurse so she knew exactly what the pills were. Too ashamed and afraid to tell her, I lied. I said they belonged to my best friend. She believed me—or at least she really wanted to. I felt so bad that I confessed to my friend. Being the wonderful friend she was/is, all she said was “Well, your parents already think I’m fast so a little less respect from them won’t hurt me.” Now it would seem that I’d been given a pass so that meant that I should’ve been ok from that point forward. But I wasn’t. I actually felt worse. In my mind, not only was I a fornicator and a murderer, but I was also a liar with no morals and a horrible friend. I deserved a fate worse than death. I deserved to be brutally punished over and over until I wished for death. And because I was so low, I didn’t even deserve to be relieved of my agony through death. For over a decade I rooted myself in this torment. I would be 27 years old, finding myself pregnant for the second time when I recognized that everything I was feeling was nothing but guilt and I had been wallowing in it. Before I gave birth to Jasmine, I thought about my unborn child every day. What would she/he look like? What would I have named him/her? What kind of mother would I have been? I didn’t believe I’d ever get the chance to become a mother. After all, I didn’t deserve it. When I found myself pregnant with Jasmine, I was happy but afraid. I was afraid every day of my pregnancy. I thought something would go wrong. I thought I deserved for something to go wrong. How dare I enjoy the beauty of motherhood after what I’d done to my first child? Once Jasmine was born, a peace wavered over me that said, “Enough. You must take care of this little girl who is here. It’s ok. You’ve punished yourself enough. Now stop this foolishness. It’s time to enjoy.”

I’ve heard it said that the soul of an unborn child simply waits until the next time to be born to their mother. So I don’t know if Jasmine was the soul waiting to be born through my unborn child at that time, or if my unborn child was another soul who has gone on to glory. But I do know, that I love that unborn child with all my might and I appreciate my unborn child. Through that brief encounter, that beautiful little soul has touched my life in a most amazing way. That soul taught me that guilt is a monster that serves no one. Guilt is a beast that robs of all joy. I wasn’t even able to get the lesson intended for me because I was stuck in my shame spiral. Through my unborn child I learned that guilt and sorrow are not the same. Sorrow says, “I messed up. I won’t do that again.” But guilt doesn’t. Guilt isn’t necessarily sorry for the act.  It simply feels bad about it because it knows the act goes against your moral compass.  Sorrow seeks to make amends.  Guilt just wants to feel better.  Guilt will continue to repeat the same thing and cry afterward having the nerve to say “Oh I feel so bad.” Yes I was sorry for my mis-steps, and I never did repeat the same mistake. However, the guilt is what allowed, even compelled me, to remain in the horrible cycle of punishing myself time and again. The guilt prohibited me from receiving and enjoying good. That unborn child also taught me compassion. Before I found myself pregnant, I judged young, unwed mothers. I looked down upon them. They were something to point at while I puffed up my chest and told myself how much better than they I was. The sweet irony of ending up just like them forced me to bake and eat my very own humble pie. While it wasn’t as sweet as I would have liked, it was very necessary and it was sustenance for my soul. I learned that we are all on our own journey and no one person is better than any other. We may cling to petty and superficial ties to make ourselves feel superior, but underneath all that bravado lays insecurity. But our insecurity is no excuse for having the audacity to think we can judge another. I’m still not convinced that I didn’t make the best decision for me at the time, but what I am convinced of is that it was all par for my course and I’m thankful for it. If my unborn child can hear me, I simply want to say that even though I didn’t birth you, I love you with all my heart and know that Mommy finally got the lesson. Thank you.

 

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Gratitude Day #4

While I didn’t get to post my gratitudes for the past 2 days, I must say I’m still feeling quite grateful.  My daughter and I have gone to visit my best friend who moved away in August.  I’ve known her since we were 4 years old.  She’s been an integral part of my life throughout its duration.  I was quite happy when she received the amazing job opportunity in August–which is what prompted her move.  I was so excited for her and her son (who is also my amazing god son).  But, I can’t lie.  I was sad for me.  I was sad that my best friend was gone and I would no longer have the opportunity to just run by and sit on her couch while we talk about everything and nothing.  I was so excited to see them when they pulled up at the airport that I burst into tears.  It’s been great spending time with them.  And my Fizzle is so happy to see her “brother.” We’re reunited and it feels oh so good.  So this feel good feeling that we’re all feeling is only inspiring me to continue on with the gratitudes. So here we go.

On this day I am grateful to my mother. When I was growing up, my security relied on my parents. In my mind, we were a Love Triangle–our own Holy Trinity if you will–with my dad at the top, and me and my mom at the bottom. I didn’t want much if we weren’t all together. As the years went on, my mom and I developed an incredibly close relationship. I would tell people she was my best friend. I would nurture her and look out for her. I never told her, but I’d even get scared in the middle of the night that something might happen, so I’d get up and check her breathing. Mother-Daughter relationships are extremely complicated and can be incredibly volatile. Yet somehow, my mother and I were able to navigate through the explosive Mother/Daughter realm with ease. We were the amazing dynamic duo. We were the envy of mothers and daughters everywhere. I had several friends chastise their moms with cries of “Why can’t we be more like Je’Niece and her mom!” Of course our relationship would irritate the hell out of my dad and he’d say things like “Your mother is going to hurt your feelings one day.” I thought that was incredibly odd and quite rude to say, and I couldn’t understand why he’d say that—until he passed away

An incredible shift took place in our relationship. A distance I’d never known grew between us. It felt quite hostile. All that mushy gooey-ness we shared seemed to dissipate before my very eyes. It was incredibly hard for me. As an only child, I’d built my identity on my parental units. Now my father was dead and it seemed that my mother was (in a way) dying to me as well. I would ask if I’d done anything, did I remind her too much of my dad, and of course she would say no. But she wouldn’t offer me any thing else. We went from talking for hours every day to not talking—sometimes for weeks at a time. She had her story she was into about me and I had my story that I was into about her. It was so bad that when she got engaged, I may have been the last person to find out. She told people at the spa we both went to before she told me! I was crushed. I don’t do well when my feelings are hurt. I retreat. To others, it appears that I’m angry, but I am not. I am simply hurt and unable to move forward. It’s a simple defense mechanism, but this time I made an exception. I chased my mother. I mean I ran after her until there were holes in my proverbial emotional shoes. I couldn’t sleep or eat and it seemed like the harder I chased, the faster and the farther she ran away. Until this day we have never come to a true conclusion as to what prompted the shift. But you know what? It doesn’t matter. All I know is that I am so thankful that it occurred, because it forced me to recognize some heavy truths. While I love my mother with one of the purest loves I’ve ever felt, we had an extremely co-dependent, slightly dysfunctional relationship. My father was the center of our universe and much of our bond centered on an Us vs. Him set up. We weren’t very honest with one another either. I think we both believed my father to be a brutally honest person who would not dare hesitate to hurt your feelings in the name of “Truth” so we wouldn’t give that honesty to one another. We’d give the sweet, syrup, sugar coated version of what we thought the other “needed” to hear. I think we both also bought into the notion that the only “important” person in the family was my dad. Even before he became famous, he had this electric energy that just commanded attention. We both knew we were important, but just not as important as he. So we settled into this coddling type of relationship with one another. Neither one of us living to our true potential, but telling each other that we were. When my dad passed away, we didn’t need that anymore. We needed to move into something that would better serve us. But I didn’t get that. Hell, I didn’t want that! I felt like: Dammit there has been enough change in my life (with my dad’s death and my divorce) and if I couldn’t have at least this one relationship the way it’s always been what the hell was left for me?! But I realize now that was one of the best things that ever happened to me. And it had to happen as it did because I wouldn’t have gotten the memo any other way. Had she not stepped away from me, I probably would have moved in with her and become a spinster. I would have played safe, put all my focus on her. I would have asked permission to make any type of move in my life and only done so if she wanted me to. I remember her coming to me after my dad died. She said, ‘I had a dream that you moved to California with Jasmine and I was so hurt. I just couldn’t believe that you would do that to me.” I really did want to move to California, but I took what she said as a warning and decided, “OK well I won’t do that.” That shift in our relationship showed me that having boundaries in our relationships is one of the healthiest, loving things we can do for the ones we love. That shift in our relationship healed the mother/daughter bond and allowed me to be a better mother to my daughter. Otherwise, I probably would have repeated the very same pattern with Jasmine. Regardless of my initial reaction, that shift was the best thing that ever happened to us. We both have gone on to the paths we were meant. I now know that better days are ahead of me and that I am the only person required to give permission in my life. And while our present relationship is not what it was, I don’t love or appreciate my mother any less than I did then. I may actually appreciate her more because she helped me find my strength. So in some ways, once again, my dad was right because my mom did in fact hurt my feelings. But whether she meant to or not, she made me a better person, Woman and Mother. So thanks Mom. You were and still are a great teacher.

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Gratitude Day #3

It’s been quite refreshing to reflect upon my life with gratitude instead of regret. I’ve long since been of the belief that regret is a waste of time, energy, and emotion.  However, I’m not feeling as judgmental of it as I once did.  Instead, I’m just in a peaceful space.  I don’t feel the need to replay the events of my life thinking “If I had only . . . ” I’m ok with it all as it is.  After all, it’s jut life.  So onward to the gratitude of today.

On this day, I am grateful to the loneliness I experienced while growing up Mac. Many people (some names known, others not so much) have discarded me and hated me simply because I am “Bernie Mac’s daughter.” Many people assume that the fact that my father was famous means that I had an easy life with no problems and that simply is not true. Many people assume that I grew up  as this pampered princess and that also is simply untrue. My father’s road to fame was not on the express ramp. There were many years of hard work, disappointments, and ultimately successes. But those successes were his, not mine. I remember when things started taking off, he sat me down and told me “You are about to be hated. You’re going to be hated by people you know who claim to love you and you’re going to be hated by people who won’t even take the time to get to know you. And they’ll hate you simply because you’re mine. Now if I don’t take care of you they’ll say, That’s a damn shame Bernie Mac don’t take care of his daughter. But because I take good care of you, they’re going to hate you. They’re going to hate you because they’ll wish they had what you do.” Now I’ll admit that I heard him, but I didn’t really grasp what he was saying. I was (and still am) the type of person who has nothing but good vibes for others. I don’t think I’ve ever experienced jealousy over what someone has. So it was impossible for me to conceive that people would react this way. Oh my, was I wrong! He was right. I was ridiculed, bullied, betrayed (even by members of my own “family”) simply because my father was becoming famous. I was (and still am) reduced to nothing but Bernie Mac’s daughter. So that meant that I had no skills or talents of my own. I have never achieved anything in my own right. Everything I have, everything I have done has been handed to me simply because my father is Bernie Mac. Now to some, this may not sound so bad. But for a sensitive soul like me, it hurt like nobody’s business. I was already insecure and needy so when people became hostile toward me I internalized their issues and made them my own. I was desperate for people to just see Me: Je’Niece. Not Je’Niece who happens to be Bernie Mac’s daughter. I didn’t meet too many people who were willing to do that and so I was very lonely. Iyanla Vanzant has said that to be lonely is to be shut down from the thing you want. I wanted to be seen, but I wasn’t seeing myself. I wanted to be loved, but I wasn’t loving myself. Yes my father was famous and had all of these accolades, but what did I have? It would be well into my adulthood when I figured out that all the people who were reducing me to just Bernie Mac’s daughter were mirrors of the very thing I was doing to myself. And guess what happened once I became comfortable in my own skin? Yep, you guessed it! I began to attract people into my life who saw me and valued me. Now don’t get me wrong, I still encountered (and still do) those who hate me for being my father’s daughter, but the difference is today they don’t matter. So today, I’m no longer lonely because today I know that I am always in the company of at least one great person, and her name is Je’Niece. So, I am thankful for that time and those people and well, not to sound cliché, but here’s to all the haters.

 

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