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