Sessions with Sue 1

After 13 years of living in darkness and denial, today I did something that I've been afraid to do. I started seeing a counselor. This may make me seem weak to some of you, but at this point I can't afford to keep worrying about how things make me look. I'm turning 21 a week from today, and I wanted to use this symbolic time of transition as an opportunity to make things right and learn how to be happy.

 

As I approach real "adulthood", I've learned that there's a difference between being ready to do something and recognizing that it's time to do something. It's been time for me to talk to somebody for years, but I was always too afraid, didn't feel like I was ready, believed it was for weak people, was certain I didn't need it. But I do need help, and there's nothing wrong with that.

 

This morning I met with a lovely woman named Sue. When I arrived at her office we sat down, she had me fill out some forms, then she asked me "Now, why are you here?" So I basically told her my life story. I hadn't meant to, but it wasn't possible for me to tell her about all the problems I'm dealing with without going back to the beginning (which was age 7 or 8), and talking a lot about my dad. Plus, I rarely have the opportunity or feel safe enough to talk about myself and my feelings in front of other people, and I just had so much to let out! So I just talked and cried, talked and cried. And she listened.  She offered her input and asked me questions here and there, but mostly she just listened. In our conversation she pointed out the following things, some of which I was already aware:

• For a long time I have been, and to a lesser extent I am still being, emotionally abused.
• What I experienced during my childhood was not normal. It was trauma.
• I suffer from depression and anxiety, and the things that I feel are not my fault.
• I did a good job of recovering in the best ways I knew how. I am no longer at the lowest point. Now I just need some assistance and tools to help me get the rest of the way.

My head's still pounding from all the crying I did during that hour that flew by. But you know what? I've also been feeling lighter all day. It's difficult, it's painful, it's awkward, but expressing your reality out loud to others is a really cleansing and empowering experience. I know I just started and it's not my place to get on a soapbox or anything, but I suggest anyone who's even considering counseling to give it a try. Even if it doesn't solve all your problems, sometimes it's worthwhile enough just to have someone to talk to.

Anyway, that was my morning. Just thought I would share. Love y'all.

Yoga Wisdom: Don't Fight Yourself

"You can't compete with the bones you've been given."
-Tara (Just B Yoga)

"I don't believe in Jesus."

While waiting at a bus stop with two of my friends this afternoon (I'll refer to them as "Esse" and "Jay")  this conversation arose:

 

Esse (to Jay): I want to stop celebrating Christmas, but if I told my parents I didn't celebrate Christmas anymore, they'd look at me crazy.

Me: Why don't you want to celebrate Christmas?

Esse: Because I don't believe in Jesus.

(This is news to me.) Me:...Oh. You don't?

Esse: I mean I'm down with the Lord and all that, but no I don't really believe in Jesus.

Me: Hm, okay. But which "Lord" are you referring to?

Esse: You know... (looks upward) the Lord. 

 

Then the bus came and things had already started to get awkward,  so I let it go.

 

Obviously I'm disappointed about my friend's choice. I tried not to show it, but I'm pretty sure she could tell.  (Besides, she brought it up in the first place, and you can't just spring "I don't believe in Jesus" on a follower of Christ and expect her to jump for joy.) 

 

Of course, young educated people questioning and/or rejecting religion, faith, or certain aspects of the two is nothing new. But a couple of things strike me as strange here. First: In referring to the "Lord", she was certain that she was referring to God and not to Jesus. This confused me, because growing up in the church (Esse grew up Christian too) I've always heard that term of reverance in connection to both Father and Son. After all, though Christians recognize them as two entities, they also believe them to be one in the same. So in my mind it doesn't make sense to use that term for one and not recognize the other, because they are inseparable.

 

The second: That she was using a Christian term to deny faith in Jesus.  Obviously the word "lord" is used in many ways in the English language and followers of Christ do not own it. But Esse used the word in a way that is particularly characteristic of Christians, "the Lord". I'm not sure what to make of this. Maybe because that term is also commonly used by black people (Esse is also African/black/however she chooses to identify herself) in everyday conversations to refer to a higher power (or the Higher Power), she feels that using it will allow her to still connect with that culture while remaining sufficiently ambiguous? Or maybe because she's in this ambivalent state of having her own beliefs yet not wanting to estrange herself from her parents, Christian thought and ways of speaking still influence her even though she rejects Jesus?

 

I really don't know. I am confused, as I think she is. To be honest, as I've gotten to know her I've had a feeling that she wasn't a typical believer, but I hadn't anticipated that she wouldn't be one at all. I want to be an understanding friend and I'll love her regardless, but I can't say that I'm not disappointed.

 

I'll be praying for you, Esse.

Although, now I am interested in learning about how many other black people/people of African descent are out there who don't believe in Jesus.  For most of my life I'd assumed (ignorantly, I'll admit) that nearly all blacks living in the US were Christian, but Esse has shocked me into acknowledging that that's not exactly the case. You learn something new everyday. 

On Repeat: "Trouble Sleep Yanga Wake Am"

For my final project in one of my classes I'm analyzing two tribute/charity albums produced by the Red Hot Organization that are dedicated to Fela Kuti.  Fela Kuti did many things and is known today by many titles, so I'll just say that he was a Nigerian composer, musician, and political activist who is credited with founding the music genre known as "Afrobeat". The albums dedicated to him are  titled Red Hot + Riot (2002) and Red Hot + Fela (2013).

Back when I was familiarizing myself with Fela's music, before I'd even gotten my hands on the Red Hot albums, "Trouble Sleep Yanga Wake Am" struck me so unexpectedly. Its sadness touches me in a very deep place, and it's simply mesmerizing. Not only that, but this song's groove is just so smooth. There's a certain attitude, a coolness even, that gives the song an easygoing feel even amidst its sad lyrics. It creates a space for you to grieve, groove, and heal all at the same time. The tune's infectious, and though I'm still new to his work, I must say that this is my absolute favorite Fela Kuti song.

I'm still learning how to understand pidgin English lyrics, but from what I've gathered this song's message is like the idiom "no rest for the weary". Everyday people are just trying to get by, live good lives, and make the best of what they have, but authorities and people who have power over them seem to have no sympathy and won't leave them alone.

There's a version of the song on both Red Hot album's, but I think the more recent one sounds more like the original. It also emotionally affected me in a similar way. Below is Fela's original from 1972, and My Morning Jacket/Merrill Garbus/Brittany Howard's rendition from 2013. Enjoy!

Good mood.

In a bad mood and want to be in a good one? In a good mood and want to stay that way? Start complimenting random people, especially strangers, and see what happens.

Let Bookworms Be

Ma came to visit me today and dropped off a book that I might need for a research project. I'd left it at home and asked her to look for it, which I knew would be problematic because I have so many books. Too many, she might say.

Sure enough, as we sat together over dinner she complained about the trouble she had to go through to find that one book. She was awed by the number of other books she found, and the variety of places in which she found them. Mind you, these are written treasures that I've accumulated from elementary school to the present: lining bookshelves, left in bags and old backpacks, piled onto desks, stacked in storage bins and drawers and cabinets, laying out in the open. Most read but many yet-to-be-read.

I know Ma was half-joking about it, but I fail to see what the problem is. After all, you can never, and I mean absolutely never, have too many books.  Right? So I said to her:

Who bought most of those books?

Who now has a child who can actually read and enjoys reading?

I thought so.

Wisdom from PostSecret

Via PostSecret