I sat in the steam room at the YMCA on Campbellton Road. I struck up a conversation with an 82 year-old member who shared candidly about his time marching with Dr. King, Andy Young, and John Lewis, meeting his wife in Switzerland, and moving to Nigeria in the 60s seeking asylum from the Jim Crow South. He also proudly shared that he was a graduate from Tennessee State University, a college athlete with a basketball scholarship. I said immediately, “Did you know my cousin, Ralph Boston?” “Of course, I knew Ralph Boston. He originally came to TSU on a football scholarship but became a long jump star to go on to the Olympics to break Jesse Owens world record in 1960. I was at his funeral in May. It was special to see so many Olympians, TSU graduates and his Oak Park High School classmates in attendance,” he said. I responded, “Yep, that’s my cousin. I miss him.” Tears started to flow down my face. I lost my cousin in early May, drove to Laurel, Mississippi with my mom to witness his homegoing service.
He responded, “You know life is about adjusting. I lost my wife two years ago. My son died a year ago of colon cancer. And when days get hard or days are filled with beauty, we are just adjusting through life. Embracing whatever comes our way with ease.”
Adjusting. We are all adjusting as life throws us curve balls, unexpected triumphs, simple moments of reprieve, and joy that makes us laugh until the sun comes up. Adjusting.
I moved to Atlanta over a decade ago at the age of 25. No money, a dream to make it as an artist, to restart life, to dream a new life, to recover from a past life, to make myself whole enough to enjoy the present moment. I have spent the last decade adjusting. Adjusting through the phases of life as I experience it, learning from my mother, removing the weight of expectation, planting a garden that I would be proud of, and understanding that my existence is enough.
Mothers as mirrors
Our mothers serve as mirrors to the truth and no matter how much we try to rewrite history, we are always the bricks, the foundation, of their legacy. Life is about confronting your mother’s truths, running head first, making the same mistakes so they can reroute you down a different path.
I moved to Powder Springs on August 6, 2014. I spent the first 151 days wearing nothing but black and making Hill Road my grieving sanctuary. When the thought of killing myself outweighed the thought of me staying alive, I called my mother. My clothes draped from my bones and I had completely lost myself. She was the only one who cared enough to answer my call just to hear me scream and for her to scream back at me. I called her because I needed to feel instead of feeling numb.
No matter how much we silence ourselves. Our mothers want to hear us speak. Our toes inch closer to the bones buried beneath the soil when we speak to our mothers. When mothers serve as mirrors, we are able to confront what we’ve been hiding from. We prevent ourselves from running. I am adjusting to the idea that forgiveness is better than the silence that greets me and death that haunts me.
Remove the dead weight
A snake’s tail wraps around my ankle, makes its way up my right thigh, it’s underbelly sits in the crevice of my waist, it’s full body takes form across the width of my back, and the head sits comfortably in the nape of my neck, peering over my shoulder, reminding me that I can remove the dead weight I carry whenever I am ready.
I am adjusting to the lightness I feel when I remove unrealistic expectations. I’ve placed unrealistic expectations on myself to fulfill other’s desires instead of fulfilling my own. The snake tattooed on my body serves as a reminder that I can shed as much skin as I like and transform into whoever I desire to be. I am adjusting, understanding my body can no longer serve me in the same way it did a decade ago. I can no longer endure or be resilient as I once was.
Plant the seeds you want to see bloom
I am adjusting to the abundance of love I experience in each small moment of my day. Too often, I’ve denied myself love because I believed that I did not deserve it. Yet, I've dreamed of a full and abundant life with love overflowing. A walking contradiction determined to work it out in a therapy session that I have yet to book. I admitted on the front porch to my partner that in this next decade, I want to appreciate what we have instead of being afraid that it’s always going to leave. Instead of self-sabotage and obsessive thoughts of betrayal and abandonment, I replace them with morning affirmations of “thank you for loving me,” “I am grateful for the time we have together,” “I appreciate this moment and how special it is.” By acknowledging the beauty of what’s right in front of me, I am actively shifting my personal narrative from “I’ll end up alone” to “I’ll always have what I need.” I am adjusting that love in its purest form never abandons but always heals.
My existence is enough
I am adjusting my eyes to like what I see in the mirror. I am no longer picking myself apart. I spent years critiquing my body, hating my broad nose, loathing my full lips, wide wide hips and my big flat feet. I have always had a healthy delusion of choosing what I saw in the mirror instead of what was actually reflected back at me. They were two different things always in conflict with each other. It wasn't until I sat on the couch with a thong on and a t-shirt and in my most vulnerable moment, my sorority sister snapped photos of me. When she showed me the photos, I thought I would be afraid of what I saw. Instead, I saw a woman settled, comfortable, raw, light and pure. I saw myself for the first time. I was exactly where I needed to be, dancing through life, basking in freedom and infinite possibilities, adjusting to whatever was and will become.
Happy 35th birthday to me. I am grateful for this little big blog that continues to transform, inspire, and empower me to become the woman I’ve always imagined.
happy birthday tiffany 🖤