Trust Yourself

I used to doubt myself. Always questioning if the decisions I made were the right ones. Did I in fact have what it took to be the best version of myself that I was aspiring to be? On top of that, were my experiences in fact, proper training ground for the beauty that was supposed to lie ahead? These questions haven’t completely evaporated from my thinking, they just no longer dictate my emotions, control my sense of self; they no longer keep me stagnant, not wanting to risk mistakes in lieu of learning experience. In short: I had to trust myself. 

This revelation came at a high cost, one that I (used to) believe set me back from all that I was meant to accomplish with my life. I would fret over every single detail, working myself into a type of frenzy accompanied by short periods of nothingness, where I questioned my total and utter purpose on this earth. Insert LOL, only it was no laughing matter. I had come to see myself only as a byproduct of my trauma and the result was that I was destined to keep repeating the cycles that had bound my mother and her mother before her. According to epigenetics, it was literally in my blood.

To underscore this, in June 2018, my mother died. Along with a host of emotions brought on by her death, the most traumatic one was when her now deceased (crazy how death happens in 3s; my aunt, my mother 3 months later, and “Aunt” Shar soon after that) friend of at least 35 years--I remember them being friends since I can remember--got up to speak of the affection she had for my mother. What was most striking were not the platitudes; what cut me to my core was the statement that my mother ‘had so much potential and never lived up to it’. That moment served to ground me in the reality of my situation: pregnant with my third child and I still felt like I had nothing to show for my life. I was forced to confront what it would mean to leave them a legacy. Would my friends stand up one day and utter the same things about me? I didn’t know it was a girl at the time, but I promised myself that if it was, I would not let her be able to eulogize me in such a way. And I get it. My mother was swept into the torrent of the crack-era; she literally birthed all seven of her children at the height of an epidemic that not many of her peers were able to resist, either. 

I challenged myself on that day to be more than just “potential” and to do more with the gifts God has given me. 

So I decided.

I’d have to trust myself if this were to work. 

My next steps brought about a series of me digging through a number of “self-help” books, scouring the pages for a glimpse of a “formula” that would allow me to, in the words of some (or all) mega-preacher(s), transform my pain into power. I found bits here and pieces there; I was determined to “fix” myself--to undo all the wrongs for which I had no control but felt had landed me in my current state of affairs: struggling to keep my head above the proverbial waters of my trauma--my fractured relationship with my mother and void left by an absent father. You can imagine how this went: girl reads books, girl realizes book was written by wealthy, privileged drug-addicted white man, girl throws book and says all is lost, girl searches for more books.

The cycle continued on like this for the greater part of 2018. I’d extrapolate the minutiae that I could apply to my situation; I’d chew on the tiny morsels parceled out to me in my humbly traumatic, scarred way, functioning off some thwarted notion that even the dogs can eat the crumbs from the master’s table. But I was still hungry. Still operating off antiquated survival patterns when the life that I was currently living did not require them. Still in dire need of a black-woman-black woman-wife-mother-traumatized-but healing-and on my way to whole--fix. 

Plus, I was tired.

I was tired of relying on others’ remedies for “success”, for dealing with trauma, for promising me foiled notions of freedom to a situation they were not privy to. There was no one out there (or I hadn’t found them yet) who was able to speak to the multi-levels of my being, who could traverse the rough and rocky terrain of my mind and tunnel into the recesses of my pain. And help me emerge on the other side a varying degree of better.

So, I decided. 

I decided that I would trust myself. I would trust that the decisions I had made given the knowledge I had would have to be good enough (for now). I decided to believe in God’s Providence--that everything was in fact, all in God’s perfect, divine, right timing and that it indeed was all working out for my good. 

I decided. 

I decided that I’d have to be comfortable in my own skin if this were to work. That the beauty in my story meant fully embracing who I was. Who I am. Who I’d become. It meant owning up to my “mistakes” and “failures” and making sure to celebrate my “wins”. It meant deciding that where I am, is where I am meant to be. Writing this piece, in this head and heart space, is the right therapy I need (along with the years of therapy I’ve already had--sidenote: get yourself a therapist if you don’t have one already) to gather and carry the water I will use to bring along future generations. 

Because there will never be a right(er) time than the one you’re in. And while it’s natural to want to have exciting experiences and live a unique and provocative life, that only comes with the understanding that the sum of your experiences are what has sustained you. Pretending you’re just like everyone else will only make you feel more alienated and alone--sooner or later you will have to come to terms with your unique and different set of circumstances. 

Sooner or later, you will have to trust yourself. Trust that you’ve been prepared for the journey ahead. All that you are doesn’t disqualify you; it has rightly prepared you for such a time as this. Do not stifle the joy that comes with owning your individuality. Embrace the tenderness and vulnerability that comes with letting go of where you think you’re supposed to be and accept where you are. Trust yourself. You got this.

P.S. If you want more of this in a weekly podcast, check out my Bread for Today podcast!