Weekend Chronicles

"I find hope in the darkest of days, and focus in the brightest. I do not judge the universe." - Dalai Lama

 

 

This past weekend was filled with days I've yearned for. Days I've been planning in my head for forever. It was a weekend full of great food, cocktails, fun times, and most importantly quality time with some of my most cherished loved ones. Oh and let's not forget the fashion.

Friday night I decided to surprise my husband with a grown & sexy date night. It was Center City Restaurant Week here in Philadelphia, so what a perfect date. For those not familiar with Restaurant Week it's an ideal time to enjoy exquisite eats for cheap. We enjoyed 3 courses which would've cost a lot of coins for a measly  $35/person. I choose Ocean Prime for our fare. The night was perfect filled with awesome food, Berries & Bubbles, love and a little night cap (wink).

 

Saturday the fun continued. It was my best fran, whom also just happens to be my cousins birthday celebrations. I started my Saturday with taking my CBS (COUSIN.BESTFRIEND.SISTER) to MAC for a makeover. Which followed by a surprise dinner that her sister and I orchestrated. The night was filled with deep conversation, laughter, and family style eats from Maggiano's.

 

I slayed for the GAWDS each night, Saturday's slay was my favorite though. I choose floral prints for the weekend to go along with the theme of blooming new beginnings. I have been falling in love with rompers and florals are my friend. Most women I know have scoffed at the fact I rock florals, but "Tuh" to them. Florals are no longer your granny's house coat pattern.

 

 

I couldn't tell you what happened Sunday because I slept the entire day away. The way my age is setup lol, I hate to admit it, but I can't go on like I used to. However this weekend was amazing. I had some dark days this past week and my hope was for a weekend like this. My focus has shifted from having expectations of what should be or what will be and just live in the moment. I'm making a conscious effort to enjoy the happiness of being alive, appreciating love and continuously remaining on a journey in the pursuit of joy. I pray to have many more memorable weekends like this one.

 

Continue to follow me on this journey!!!

 

Love & Light,

 

Xoxo Jane

 

 

 

Friday Night FIT

Duster: Charlotte Russe

Jeans: Old Navy

Shoes- Target

Bag- OLD- Body Central

 

Saturday Night FEVER

Romper: Charlotte Russe

Wedges: DSW

Bag: H&M

Confessions of A Shopping Queen

"Elegance is achieved when all that is superfluous has been discarded and the human being discovers simplicity and concentration: the simpler and more sober the posture, the more beautiful it will be." -Paulo Coelho

As I walked through the aisle my palms were sweaty and clammy. I continued on, this feeling had become second nature when I entered any shopping arena. I clutched on to the cart and perused the shelves. First dresses, then women's world, shoes, handbags, and lastly beauty for the exit. I begin to surf through the dresses. Then I made a mad dash through shoes they never had my size anyways so no harm in looking. Tuh... Today was my lucky day cha ching size 11!!! I was too excited. Last stop handbags, I needed another bag and they had just received stock; the store was overflowing with Betsey. Yes I am obsessed with everything Betsey Johnson creates. Who doesn't love a lady who can do a cartwheel at damn near 80?

Anyways... As I looked at the bags I got a terrible feeling in the pit in my stomach. Honestly the palpitations had been pulsating faster. I thought it was from "shopper's rush" as I called it. But this feeling was weird and different. My mind began to race and the sweat from my palms seemed to now be pouring from my face. I wonder what I looked like? The only thing I could think was please don't let me have a panic attack in this store with my grandmom. Oh lordt!!! Lol... All I could think about was all of the bags at home. The shoppers from Ulta, Ross, Charlotte Russe, Forever 21, H&M, Target and the list went on. Bags of things I had no clue as to what inhabited them. A plethora of items with tags. 

I am a professional shopper. No I am NOT a stylist nor does anyone pay me to shop. As a matter of fact, no one even asks my opinion on what they should be purchasing. I just shop... shop till I drop... and not in a good way. I am not like the "can-can ShopRite sale" shopper either. I don't belong to Groupon or Ebates. I shop whether there is a sale or not. I once was a self-proclaimed fashionista on a budget, but that doesn't even make sense if you buy the skirt in every color because it's on sale. That's really no bargain.

Weird and as corny as it may be. In my minutes of angst I couldn't figure out if the shopping God's had been playing some sort of trick on me and I had lost my desire for the sport. Or was I really having an "AHA" moment. I had been shopping with nothing to wear before the meme was popular. 

I wasn't, well rather I am in no shape, form, or fashion a fashionista. I am simply a woman who loves clothes and doesn't know what to wear. I would like to blame it on my weight gain. In a sense, my body has become unfamiliar territory. The extra pounds I've acquired don't fit my "formula"; ruched dresses, six inch heels, tight pants, flowy tops, and big hair. I know it's a "Big Girl" movement in fashion but I haven't felt fab in it for a while. Many woman have this formula and more power to them, but it is no longer working for me. I had been chasing trend after trend hint to all of the unpacked bags. The pressure to be a brazen BBW (thanks Drake and instagram) has become too heavy for me. Honestly though prior to the weight, which has been gained, lost, gained again, lost 3 more times, and gained some more, I have had an OBSESSION with shopping for years. All the way back as far as I could remember anytime I got money I spent it on clothes, not even food beating the stereotype for a heavier woman. I have starved with a bunch of clothes, shoes, accessories, makeup and fragrances.

I digressed...

Boom!!! Another realization stabbed at me as I stood teary eyed (tears have become second nature to me) staring into space in the middle of Ross I couldn't afford to continue to shop this way. Not just because of my already deflated dwindling bank account, but because I was drained from deceiving my husband. Sneaking clothes into a house is hard. My husband notices everything. I can be using a new hair product and not seeing the jar of stuff he will say "Trying something new in your hair". Like word son!!! Who are you Houdini??? It had just become a task of hiding receipts, accounting for money and making stories for every new item he somehow discovered. It is exhausting. I felt embarrassed for so many reasons. How many got darn pink lipsticks can one person have? I won't tell you how many I have, but my pout will be pink for many seasons to come. SMH

Cliche or Aha!!! In the midst of my "realism" I wanted a profound change to come about. Some euphoric moment to occur. That or either a genie to appear with 3 wishes, in which my first wish would be for a billion dollars. LOL. Unfortunately change doesn't just occur like that. I knew this though, the shopping has to STOP!!! STOP THE SHOPPING INCREASE THE SHILLING!!! Wack I know, but you get the point.

I'm no Beyoncé, I can't buy lace bunny ears that will collect dust in my closet (speaking from experience). I'm no fashion model, nor am I an instagram sensation. I'm just a woman trying to define herself. I don't know what works for me, I don't have a formula and I'm not one of those just wear whatever is in your size girls. I've saturated myself with a conundrum of trends that aren't essential in the development of ME. So I've decided to stick to basics for a bit and try some new things along the way. 

First runner up I called the outfit I am wearing the "Basic Bish"... Blue jeans and white top!!! Oh... and BIG HAIR that is coming from my own scalp!!! Please excuse my pic, I had been asking my darling husband all day to take a flick of me and he got around to it a bit later in the day... Caption the expression on my face!!! HA!

Fit Deets:

Shirt: Charlotte Russe Plus (NEW)

Jeans: Old Navy (OLD)... my favorite jeans

Shoes: Target (NEW) my husband likes them... WIN

Bag: Forever 21 (OLD)

Hope you enjoyed this post!!!

Thanks for reading!!!!


Continue to follow me on this journey!!

Love & Light,

xoxo Jane

Antigua Smile

There are moments of monotony for which I crave the chaos of change" - GDP

At 17 years old I was a wet behind the ears teenager flying solo to the Northeast Caribbean to a foreign land. My high school counselor Mrs. Cunningham thought Aunt Pam had certainly went insane. Actually so did I... She wouldn't let me go to Spain because she thought someone may kidnap me, but she trusted me in this place with not one familiar face in sight. 

I remember the angst on the car ride to airport and me saying "What if they don't like me?". I recollect the conversation with my aunts friend the night before. He warned me "Don't be mean to my family... you know how you are..." well no I didn't know how I was, I looked at him puzzled. He continued with his thick island accent "You sit and stare. Don't do that!!!" Okay so I had an eye problem. I still do, but this post is not about that. 

Anyhow... I landed in V.C. Bird International. I was nervous to reach my destination. Who had even heard of this place? Antigua..."Antigua Bay, Jamaica" (FYI...that's not a place). I'll skip the particulars of my ride to Cedar Grove (the village I would be staying in for the next month). There were 2 girls waiting for my arrival. Honestly my grown ass wasn't interested in meeting anyone. It was like the trip you take down south for the first time where everything seems to be a season behind. 

One girl was inquisitive and mischievous. She was intrigued by my presence and would grill me for hours about my personal business and what it was like to live in the U.S. The other girl had this bright smile and our souls clicked. She was a unique duck and I say duck as a term of endearment. She was intelligent, well spoken, and just as interested in learning about me as I was her. We would tell each other stories until it was time for us to go to bed. We laughed, cried, and shared secrets. In those 4 weeks we built a bond that would stand the test of time.

That girl has blossomed into an awesome woman, my sister, and one of my dearest friends. Gina is her name and the quote that started this post is hers. She's an amazing writer and a kindred spirit. I was in awe when she started writing, she's come a long way from the letters we penned to keep in touch over the years. Ginny From the Block or Gin as I call her is purposeful and passionate with her words. Whether she's writing to demand for people to get out of her space, about the loss of love or a beautiful sonnet she's inspiring and gentle with words.  

Antigua is not just the place of Sea & Sand or the place that has 365 breathtaking beaches for each day of the year. It is the birthplace and home to my kindred spirit Ms. GDP. Please read The Ginny Diaries (ginaphillip.wordpress.com) and subscribe while you're there, you'll enjoy the journey. 

Thanks for reading!!! 

Until next time. 

Love & Light, 

xoxo Jane 

Dirty Thirty

"When you’re a teenager, all you want to do is buy beer. But once you hit 30 all you want to do is to get carded."- Carrie Bradshaw

Ha!!! The truth the above bares! I still however get carded, I must say it's an awesome feeling. I don't always feel 30. I actually feel closer to 40 than I do 21. I remember on my 21st birthday as my grandmother tried to convince me to leave the asshole I was dating at the time she said "Girl you better live your life. You'll be 30 in a blink of an eye". That blink came as fast as she said the words to me.

In my 20's I went away to college,  partied some, traveled a bit, made poor decisions and some huge mistakes in friendships, relationships, and finances. However upon turning 30 I was fearful that not only had I not experienced enough, but I hadn't made enough mistakes. Sounds crazy right... Wrong!!! My 20's was an era I felt I had to have it all together. I held good jobs often being the youngest in my department, lived on my own, and stayed in a series of mundane monogamous relationships. I admit I was kind of a L7... you know a square... AS IF (in my Cher Horowitz voice)... 😎😎😎

Anyhow... carrying on... As 30 crept up I was fearful of not only suffering from some form of arrested development because of my un-lived experiences, but also petrified that I was supposed to have my shit together and that was farthest from the truth. The aging process in all honesty makes me paranoid; the thought of thinning hair, hot flashes and gray pubes in my close future is alarming.

Turning 30 I knew I was stepping into a new realm in life in so many ways, so I decided to do the "grown up" thing and take control of my existence. I made a list of things I wanted to be a part of my life's experience. Funny enough that some things happened as soon as I wrote them down, but others are still a work in progress.

Eight months into my new age bracket I'm a step away of indulging in a consultation with a plastic surgeon, as gravity has begun to tug and pull at some places that were once firm. My love handles can no longer be fixed with a 2-day juicing effort and a few sit ups. Let's not forget about my God awful Aunt Flo who has replaced the Mean Girls in my life playing all sorts of cruel tricks on me. Lastly my body is going through a revolt resisting any kind of shapewear. Even with all of that evolutionary crap that's going on with my body and it's functions I somehow became an adult overnight. My aunt always said you aren't grown until you're 30 and now I understand.

I have a great deal of responsibilities now that I somehow innately know how to handle. My vocabulary has changed, big words are just that BIG WORDS. I'm learning less is more. I'm sillier with a more intentional and heartier laugh. I no longer care about the people who don't want me to "sit" with them, heck I don't want to see them!!! And I've found blurting out expletives especially a giant FUCK every now and again is liberating. 30 has proved not to be the new 20, sorry Mr. Carter, but it's a new decade of budding and infinite possibilities that I'm looking forward to.

Please find inspiration in my list... Copy if some of these things resonate with you.

30 Things to Do @ 30
1.) Reinvent myself
2.) Smile more... laugh lots
3.) Be creative
4.) Be fearless
5.) Finish something I start
6.) Chase my dreams (seriously)
7.) Pray often
8.) Fall in love with ME
9.) Read more
10.) Hone my craft
11.) Blog 3x a week
12.) Be adventurous
1 3.) Watch less television
14.) Get on a Rollercoaster
15.) Travel more... ROADTRIP
16.) Empower someone else
17.) AGENCY
18.) Invest in my brand
19.) Be healthier (mind, body, and soul)
20.) Take care of myself
21.) Lettie Scott
22.) Be weird
23.) Use all of my lipsticks before I buy any new ones (HA... the real challenge)
24.) Save LOTS
25.) Make new friends
26.) Become an oenophile
27.) Take an acting class
28.) Try new things ie a blood facial and a V Steam
29.) Marry the love of my life
30.) LIVE EVERYDAY TO THE FULLEST

Continue to follow me on this journey

Love & Light,

xoxo Jane

Through His Eyes

Your self-esteem won't come from body parts. You need to step away from the mirror every once in a while, and look for another reflection, like the one in the eyes of the people who love and admire you" Stacy London

"Janai Coleman is a life blogger, college student, care provider, novice feminist and self proclaimed gypsy.  Janai is a plus model who has graced the covers of Manik Magazine and appeared in the Love Love Your Face campaign.  Formally represented by IPM Model, she has taken some time off from modeling to pursue a career in American Sign Language/English interpreting.   Janai's blog, Style files of Jane, is a raw depiction of her life chronicling her journey in hopes to inspire others. The blog addresses issues that most women of color encounter and often don't speak about such as depression, abandonment, childhood trauma and issues of self esteem.  Janai is determined to live her life out loud and chase every dream that has been placed in her heart.  Janai takes care of her 87 year old grandmother who she credits with being the example by which she lives her life."

Who is this person??? Ha!!! My husband whom is my biggest fan and supporter,  recently wrote this about me. We had an amazing opportunity to meet with Danielle Moody-Mills of NBC BLACK to share our love story for their Love is Revolutionary series. I needed a bio so he wrote what you see above. I've had to read this excerpt over and over because I really am unfamiliar with this woman he wrote about. That was just a prelude. As I listened to him fawn over me as we told our love story, I wanted to pause and ask him "Harpo!!! Who dis woman!!!" because this remarkable being he spoke about I have no recollection of me being that.

Blame it on Mercury Retrograde or whatever but unlike the Queen of the Beyhive I'm not feeling myself as of late. I've been Debbie down on my own ass and it's not been the worse. Honestly my last post put me in a bit of a funk and I've been feeling empty. I explained to my Monday Mentor who now mentors me on Saturdays that change is ugly. But never did I think the ugly would transfer to me. I feel like a teenager who's going through that awkward phase better known as the "ugly phase". I don't know who I'm looking at in the mirror anymore. It's like looking at a blank canvas, because I don't see my reflection looking back at me. I've changed my hair and added makeup and I still see no remnants of me. I'm certain I'm not alone in these feelings. But how do I shake them? Instead of avoiding the mirror I've been having intimate sessions with it lately trying to catch glimpses of myself. My nose is different, my eyes are strange, I'm uncertain who this anomalous figure is reflecting back at me. It's frustrating to say the least.

Having to pull myself together for the Love is Revolutionary interview, as well as some other events I've accompanied my Rockstar husband to has been a brutal task. It's been challenging to break out that phenomenal woman that he penned and spoke about. Some big shoes to fill. While it has been hard for me I'm glad to know what he sees in me. I've sort of become dependent on him a bit too cajole my mind into seeing the beauty he sees within me. I know self-esteem is dependent upon oneself however his views don't hurt. I'm just praying that I see what he sees as I continue to push forward. Prayerfully the reflection I begin to see is not what it once was but a greater illustration of my soul.

Love & Light 

xoxo Jane

The Purge

"The supreme art of war is to subdue the enemy without fighting"- Sun Tzu...

Unable to sleep... Thoughts racing... heart pounding... Tonight was the night, my soul could no longer rest in this vicious game of tug of war. I thought it was from the words of our exchange earlier he never really seemed to understand that every heated face off chiseled away at me. For him it was win or lose for me it had everything to do with feelings of inadequacy. Every critique or complaint took me too a place I once buried away. However tonight there was no rest, in my head as Kelly Price belted out "There's a hole in my heart...My soul is bleeding... I need to free my mind... And see what I'm feeling" I was broken and nothing could be done to fix Me, but ME. And it began... Plagued with sordid memories and horrific tales. Forced to face the truth... My truth. I wish I was a rapper and could write a prophetic rhyme with a dope beat , but the only beat I could feel or hear was that of my heart racing. My palms are clammy and Kelly Price's Tired continuously plays on a loop in my head. I get up from where I lay with him and rock back and forth careful not to disturb him, even he can no longer help me with this. I think of brunch with my friend earlier and how we chatted about the very thing I needed to do. She was proud I was getting "help" finally, but little did she know I'd been getting this kind of "help" since I was 6. Finally I move from my husband's side and disappear to the most far away place in the house, because when the sobbing began I didn't want anyone saving me. I was mourning ME. The fear of facing my own self was debilitating. The load I was carrying could no longer be a crutch, no medicine could cure this, only the harshest detox could remove this... It was ME vs ME... What a war? I had been battling it for years but now it was time to duke it out. There was a life to be saved in this war and it was my own. The platoons had gathered and as I sat there shaking I began. I had to face my demons those that I had brought on myself and those inflicted on me by others before I could get any place in life. I laid there on the floor in a labor like position as if a new me would be conceived. I read on Carol Parker Walsh's blog evolveyourimage.me about 3 Resolutions to Make in 2015, positive self talk was one of them, but before one could get to the positive you had to go through the negative. I decided to dig deeper. Feeling abandoned in ways one couldn't imagine, sometimes feeling like the child no one wanted, having an unique upbringing full of dysfunctional love, running for my life some nights, ashamed of defilement, raped of my innocence, spoiled at a young age, self hatred pushed on me from the one whom carried and birthed me, Miss Piggy (she wasn't cute in sassy back then), rejection, feeling insecure and unsafe, awkward and out of place. Maslow's Hierarchy of Needs states this damaged foundation is where it began. It was like the root of evil, the seeds that were planted within me, bred so many things before I could even grasp them. More fortunate than most of the kids I grew up with. I went to private school, my family was looked at as affluent, I was well traveled, well versed and knew Shakespeare. A bit ambivalent I learned how to live outside of me. Proteus at age 6 and have been that way ever since. Although my infrastructure was a bit different from my peers I grew up with, the rules have proven to be a lot of the same. I was no different from them, an ideal shattered right before my eyes. As I played things out. Little black girls aren't safe in a house with men and boys, domestic violence was the way love went in the hood, drugs were the unspoken secret of us kids, snorting Pixie Sticks emulating that in which one of my comrades had seen and showed us. No this wasn't Losing Isaiah or Precious this was life. Some people will never talk about it, it's just the way it is, deeper than the code of streets, it was to protect ourselves and our family name. However the things you witness as a child and bury, those secrets fester and on nights like this, they refuse to go away. I feel something well up and seasoned tears begin to roll down my face I can taste the salt as they hit my mouth. I can't weep like I want to, like I needed to. I've detached from my baggage, so now what. I get up and go over to the mirror, purposely removing my clothes, naked I stare at myself. I looked through me as I began spewing some of the venom out loud that I had told myself and been told a lot of my life... As I looked over my nude body, the foul rhetoric began like vomit; fat bitch, trifling, lazy, ugly, not good enough, never going to make it, dirty, disgusting, stupid, weirdo, I hate you, misfit, nappy head, bulimic, whore, nobody's going to want you, look at that stomach (as I grabbed my rolls), pig, your just like your mother, you'll never be good enough. I looked over ever nip, tuck, and fold of flab. I remembered every scar, blemish, and bruise. I began to breath baited it was as if I was being suffocated by my own malevolence. I lay back on the floor, the cold begins to comfort my trembling corpse. I gaze in the ceiling feeling like I could hurl at any moment. Falling into a slumber I awake to my husband calling my name, I'm stripped, not only in the literal sense. I jump up and go about my day as usual, but I can't get last nights rite of passage out of my head. Yes rite of passage. So many demons came alive in me and they were riving silently at the core of my being. Fat shaming, body shame, sexually tainted, mentally muddled, self-hatred, eating disorders, psychological damage, bad relationship, even worse decisions and the list goes on. Methodically I continued on with my day, cooked dinner, went to my Monday mentoring session, hit the gym, all the while knowing that I would have to deal with this soon. Long gone were the days that these wounds were left open. It was an endless loop. These nights were becoming more frequent and the aftershocks were lasting a bit longer. It had become a dangerous game of torment. But after Monday came Tuesday, then Wednesday, Thursday and Friday... and the week was almost over. It was like some sort of sorcery had to be done to fix this. I had gone on for days barely sleeping and crying without cause. Too many times had I purged, but not cleansed. Then it happened almost a week till the day the Purge began, I was inclined to get on my knees, confess and pray. As I knelt there in that prostrate position it was as if the heaviness from heart was lifted. I didn't know what was ahead of me, but this I knew that in which was behind me had been killing me softly for years. If I had not mopped up this slop once and for all, along with those secrets I would've found myself 6ft under soon. Before I continue let me say this, my life hasn't been bad, horrid moments didn't equate to a horrible life. I've been blessed with wonderful people which is part of the reasons I've made it thus far. I've had awesome experiences, been too wonderful places and seen amazing things. I was actually very fortunate. However, the woman in the mirror could no longer go on rooting and uprooting the mess that had hindered me. Before I could pulverize the nexus of this all, it was time for me to face the mirror again. That same shiny reflector that for days at a time I'd avoided, for moments in time I'd covered up detested at what looked back at me. Finally after almost a week and a half since this all began, I walked over to the mirror in the center of my house and looked passed myself and let of a big "FUCK YOU"!!!!! I then looked at myself dead in the eyes with the passion, that same passion I looked at my husband with on our wedding day and said "I apologize. I've mistreated you. I love you and I promise to honor, respect, and care for you for the rest of my life." No this wasn't a kumbaya moment or some Tyler Perry movie, it stamped the first day of the rest of my life. No longer rigid, a gentle foundation where I can begin to build. I am no longer that shackled, rejected, mentally confused and tortured girl that looked in the mirror and despised everything that she saw. I'm a woman free and building a brand new me. We all must face that mirror one day, if your tormented by your past don't be afraid it's time to Purge as we walk into a new season in life. If you don't like what you see in the mirror it's time for self reflection and change. You can do it. I dare you to.

Please continue to follow me on this journey.

Love & Light
xoxo Jane

Mourning Attire

“A single person is missing for you, and the whole world is empty.”- Joan Didion, The Year of Magical Thinking

As I clutched Natasha Trethewey's Thrall in the passenger seat listening to my husband chatter about paying bills I drifted off... It was late summer/early fall it wasn't too cold or heaving heat, I was beginning the 3rd grade, Aunt Pam and I were doing our yearly ritual school shopping. We ventured into The Gap in Suburban Square and there it was a green and blue patterned tartan dress on the mannequin in the window. She scouted the store for the dress and voila it was like she had found a prize. I gave a bizarre look, one of my infamous faces that I still make to this day. In Aunt Pam fashion, she urged me to try it on, I hesitantly obliged. I came out of the dressing room all but enthused and she said in her soft (persuasive) tone "Janai you look so nice honey"... Abruptly disrupted from my musing, my husband hit a pothole. As I came to Fire & Desire blared from the car speakers, vexed with my other half for his choppy driving and disturbing my reverie. Sucking my teeth I laid back in my seat, closing my eyes, but to no avail I attempted to pick up where I left off. I turned the radio up and began murmuring Teena Marie's verse, I slowly zoned out again. This time was 5th grade, it was my birthday and like every year I got a new outfit for my special day. I could feel the fabric in my hands as I rubbed my wool fringed red tartan wrap skirt, paired with red opaque tights and cream clothed Mary Janes. I was classy. It was then I knew I was in love with tartan. Jarred from my memory this time by a car horn, agitated that I couldn't bask in the memories of her. It was bad enough that I couldn't look at her pictures and the dreams that I'm sure one would think were comforting was short of being a horrible nightmare. I awake in tears each time I realized she was gone. Paralyzed by her warm smile, haunted by her sweet voice, only to revive and realize it was all a fantasy. March 8th made 4 months since she made her transition into what my religion tells me is a beautiful place with a street paved with gold. How uncomforting are the classic phrases we all say when someone passes on "Heaven gained another angel" "God got another flower in His garden". Torn by her memories why did God need my flower. She said she was going to beat this. Victory would be hers. I claimed it for her even in her weakest hours. As I lay on the couch 4 months since her demise I can see her smile when Dr. Sharma would give bad news. As I laid there I felt her tears the day we were driving in the car and she thought I was sleep. This must be a incubus hoax, maybe I'm in an hallucination and she's sitting by my bedside waiting for me to come to. I've yet to cry out for her. It's as if mourning her would actually acknowledge the reality of it all. The audacity of me to ever think or believe that my family was exempt from this kind of pain, this loss. I had seen it many times before, even lost my brother not so long ago, but this torment was different. Maybe I can perform a gestational ritual and reborn she will be. They say the pain is eased with time, I say with time it's gotten harder often unbearable. I never felt a void as much as this one. Nothing could've prepared me for this moment in time. They say give people the flowers while they can smell them, I did that. They say tell people you love them while they're here, did that too. I wince each time a commercial for a cancer treatment facility comes on television and I often wonder why not her. Why isn't she giving her testimonial? When I scroll down my timeline on social media and someone's family member is fighting this ugly disease or has succumbed to it I get a nauseating feeling in my stomach because I know the strife all too well. My "Monday Mentor" suggested I go to grief counseling I look at her strangely and think I can't do that, it solidifies the deal. It's reality tv and not some scripted tale. It would mean she's really gone and not returning, not in the hospital as I tricked my mind into believing. I think of ways to mourn her, I even thought about wearing all black for 90 days as if somehow that would be a rite of passage to getting through this. All the black in the world couldn't mask my confusion and pain. Today though I'm at ease looking at my pile of clothes. Since she's gone my routine is just wash and fold, nothing has a place. As I conquer the mass I know exactly what I want to wear to remember her. I pull the tartan leggings on one leg at a time, warm tears roll down my face as I hear her say to that 3rd grader" Janai you look so nice honey" More tears come as I'm putting my makeup on blush (rouge as she called it) was her favorite. I fight back what's coming next as I've done for the past 4 months and a day, for fear that whatever it is won't stop. A broken artery or a bleeding wound. I take a deep breath, swallow it back, I gaze in the mirror and a pseudo smile is planted on my face. Aunt Pam and I never agreed on fashion, but tartan was common ground. She always said I had no style I would retort that she dressed like a Quaker. It was the times in which we grew up. She was baby boomer, so midi skirts and longer, clogs and birkenstocks, and blousy top were staples of her trousseau. My wardrobe was and is the complete opposite the tighter, the shorter the better. We both liked color. Today I dressed tartan my way in memoriam of her in the only way I've learned to cope with her absence... Swallowing the lump in my throat, patting the tears dry, forging a smile, on my way to conquer my day an attempt to keep going believing that one day she'll come through the door again and not just in my dreams. 

Outfit DEETS

Hat: Charlotte Russe

Jacket: Ashley Stewart

Sweater: H&M

Leggings: ASOS

Boots: Torrid

Until we meet again, 

LOVE & LIGHT

XO

Jane

Let FREEDOM Ring

For as he thinks in his heart, so is he. Proverbs 23:7

Who's really free? Who's really walking, living, and breathing in their truth? I've NEVER been free! When she asked me the question repeatedly she looked stunned by my answer "I need YOU to tell me what to do" I needed instructions on freedom as if it was handbook to a Mattel trainset. Freedom my ancestors fought for, were enslaved for many years for. I asked her the definition of freedom and she said facing your truth, dealing with it and moving on. She made it seem like an easy task. A one, two, step. What a confabulation! Both her and I knew it was harder than the snap of a finger. Especially when you've been enslaved for so long. Enslaved by societies standards of what and who you should be. Chained by your familial ideals of who you are and how you should act. I drifted off in the midst of our exchange and thought was freedom that thing that big boobed women talked about when they took their bras off after a long day. Was to be free the gall chubby me had when I would put 3 kinds of Oreos in my cart and look at the skinny bag girl like what's up... yeah they're ALL mine. Was that freedom? As I consciously returned to our conversation she said "Freedom was a state of being, it was happiness no matter the situation, freedom was bliss" As far back as I could remember most of my decisions were made for me. I grew up in a house with strong, domineering black women. One would think I would be like Angela Davis or Denise Huxtable, but no I was more like Sandra, less than a free thinker often doing what was expected of me. No knock to the women that raised me, but being raised in that environment was and still is a gift and a curse. You operate as you are programmed to. Far from perfect, but perfection was the goal in all things. Most any decision that I've made on my own always seemed like the wrong ones, staying in relationships too long, hanging with the wrong crowd, and so forth. And unlike most, my mistakes didn't go unnoticed. Although I have an older sister, I didn't want to fall into her standards of life no knock to her, but we weren't Marsha and Jan Brady, so that wasn't it. I grew up in a household where you sat a certain way, you spoke in a certain manner, children were seen and not heard, where I was supposed to fit in, but I seemed to stick out like a sore thumb at times. Although I could be boisterous and often rebelled, for the most part I stayed within the confinements of what I knew. My cousin and brother who came 8 and 9 years after me were more of the free thinkers, the diplomatic and objective ones. You know the kids that got options when being punished. It wasn't that I didn't have a mind of my own or my own ideas. It just seemed that when I used that mind against the "norm", I was made to believe it was being used incorrectly. I've always craved for validation. Corroboration even in the simplest of things like telling someone my strengths and weaknesses or having someone affirm to me that how I'm feeling about something is okay. I've often gone about hiding who I think is the "true me", for fear of being mocked and ridiculed, especially from my family or rather maybe I don't even know the true me. I keep my free thinking about life and how it should be to myself, because to say it would somehow make it real and make me have to deviate from what I've been taught was the holy grail. Wow even as I'm writing this I'm saddened. I can see now how draining it has been for some to be my friend. As crazy as it is, I can't makeup my mind about my own life, however I sure can tell someone else about theirs. It's easier that way, not dealing with my own entrapment. I often thought my self-proclaimed title Gypsy made me free. I moved almost 7 times in a 3 years span that wasn't freedom, but instead that just showcased my lack of commitment and my fear of "staying put". I'm mortified to say that I have the slightest idea of what freedom is. Was it those nights during the times I would indulge in the "mean green" (not the health shake either) and live carelessly on top of the world like a Rockstar? Was it the times my husband and I went to beach and I would sit in beatitude as I stared aimlessly at the ocean for hours and just let my mind wander to a place of infinite possibilities? I knew Oxford's definition of freedom, but my own freedom I just don't have the formula for. I walk into her office this week without an answer to her inquiry. Another failed attempt at putting the pieces to the puzzle of me together, or maybe instead this will be a great beginning. Hopefully she helps me in finding the answers to letting freedom ring. (to be continued...)

Outfit Deets
I was going for a minimalistic look... How did I do?

Shirt: Old Navy
Jeans: Old Navy
American Flag Scarf: Charlotte Russe (oh the irony of me wearing the flag)
Boots: Target


Until I write again.

Love & Light,

Jane

Aviation

There is no easy walk to freedom anywhere, and many of us will have to pass through the valley of the shadow of death again and again before we reach the mountaintop of our desires- 

Nelson Mandela 

I finally arose from the sofa after 72 hours. It was almost as if I had been practicing the ritual of sitting Shiva, all I needed to do was sit a few more days and the liturgy would be finished. But who was I sitting Shiva for... All I could do was thank God it wasn't the floor this time. It's not a place that I ever speak of, nor do I want to return, which is why I had to get up. Besides the stale smell that began to ruminate from me, it was time to shift my position and not from one side of the sofa to the other. Plus Daddy came home, not the man who took place in my creation, but the man that I vowed to spend the rest of my existence with. You know to love and cherish, honor and respect, through sickness and in health, till death do we part. The scariest part of those vows was the death portion. As I've sat on the couch these past few days I've thought about how final death is. But I don't want to stay in that state of mind right now. Let's go back to my husband's arrival. It wasn't butterflies and lace panties as I'm sure he dreamed of when we stood in front of the pastor and our family members just a month before. It was more like a hood chronicle. I had on sweats, straight backs and a hoodie. I mirrored Cleo from Set it Off. I'm ashamed to greet him like this, but even more abashed to admit I hadn't moved from that space on the couch since he left for business 72 hours prior. So today was the day I knew I had to get up if not for me, for him. So that I could begin to unshackle the invisible chains put upon my marriage by the events that took place seems like many lifetimes ago. The cycle of confusion and dysfunction to no fault of our own, that we've both been whisked into. Not only for that reason alone did I need to rise, but I had to salvage the little bit of self dignity that I was holding on to. I knew when I finally got up what I wanted to wear. The sweatshirt that caught my eye last week when I made one of my many returns to H&M. The sweatshirt was more allegorical than anything. The dark birds that shined through the pale pink shirt was symbolic to what I wanted to be, candidly flying spontaneously in any direction but here.

**P.S. These are real events of my life and real struggles. When I sat down to write this I wondered what people would think about me "airing" my dirty laundry, but then I figured it's no different than the blogger talking about their body image issues or their natural hair hate. I'm not doing it for those who have an opinion on how I express myself, I'm doing it for the girl that hasn't gotten off the couch.

Outfit Deets

Sweatshirt: H&M

Jeans: Old Navy

Boots: Torrid (old)

Continue on this journey with me.

Love & Light

xoxo Jane

Lessons...est 2014

I could harp on the fact that 2014 was the worst year in my life. I watched the closest person to my heart fight a valiant fight, deteriorate and lose her battle to cancer. I lost not only my damn mind, my home, some money, a few friends and family members along the way. I was faced with my own pre cancer and other health scares. I wish I could say with the "magic" that a new year brings I'm not still stuck on some of these things, but by right some of the events of last year have forever changed me. However in this moment as I am writing this post I'm choosing to focus on not which I have lost, but that in which I have gained. I've half stepped into 2015 as a woman with her head held high replacing fear of failure with a consistent search of my purpose. I have found my voice and I'm no longer afraid to use. I believe in my strength. Whomever said say hard times doesn't build character it reveals it, wasn't lying. I have become this person, that I am trying to understand and get to know. Sounds crazy right? But often times especially in the last months of 2014 it was like I was having an out of body experience. This strength that I never knew existed in me was released and this WOMAN was birthed. I am no longer the childlike young lady I was in my 20's, it is like I have blossomed and morphed into this supernatural being. Please don't label me a psycho...LOL... I'm trying to figure it out myself. 2014 brought me great joy and even greater pain, but I learned some valuable lessons along the way. 1.) The mind is a powerful thing, use it wisely. 2.) Forgiving is not forgetting 3.) Letting go doesn't mean to let what tried to hurt you or destroy you back into your space. 4.) In hard times real friends are always revealed... when my aunt passed so many friends I had lost contact with or just simply written off were right there supporting me, hugging me, and wiping my tears. I really needed it and appreciate it. 5.) This was the most important lesson of them all. .. We are all mortal beings and our time here is limited, it is our divine duty to make every moment count. We truly only get one chance at this thing called life, there is no dress rehearsal. With all my lessons learned I've decided I will live in the moment, try new things, embrace change, operate in kindness. I will find my authentic self and embrace ME. I will continue to love those that love me and pray for the rest, but most importantly I will leave a mark on this earth so great that my presence here cannot be denied. I'm coming into my own, not yet am I fearless, but I am embracing whatever happens along my journey in 2015.

Outfit Deets
Jeggings: Forever 21+
Turtleneck: Old Navy
Plaid Shirt: H&M
Boots: Torrid

Happy YOU Year!!!

Love & Light,

xo Janai