I Want To Speak From The Heart

I figured out at a young age that I was different in some way. Maybe because I was dark-skinned, black, caribbean descent, connected to the Divine in some way. And I was vulnerable. And I wanted to be loved and to be seen as beautiful and valuable, in a way that no one around me was capable of making me feel at that time. I was alone. And in my vulnerability, I was taken advantage of. By many. And I think I learned to allow myself to be violated repeatedly by tensing up and whisking myself away when the violation happens. I’m not talking about sexual violation. That did happen. The violation I am talking about is mental and psychological. I feel like because of the events that transpired in my home life, I became a target for abuse on many levels.

Over the years, I learned to stop allowing my heart to speak freely and openly about how I feel and about various traumas. I learned that people don’t come to my aid when I need them to. This affects me on a creative level. Fear of speaking from my creative place makes it so that I stifle my writing and method of expression. But it needs to come out. It needs to be expressed in order for me to live in the fullness of my being.

I guess this is why I’m here. This is why I write the things I write on this page. This is where my heart writes its truth, unfiltered and uninhibited. It needs to happen.



Tell The Truth: The Fire Turned to Ashes

During therapy, I told the truth about all the anger I felt. I explained that the solid boulder I felt in my heart had transformed into a fire that burned throughout my chest. I could see the flames. My therapist instructed me to invite the energy of my mother into the fire and tell her everything I was feeling. I did.

I wish you had the courage in yourself to advocate for yourself. If you did, you would’ve had the courage to advocate for me. I wish you had more love for yourself so that you wouldn’t have projected all of your self-disdain onto me, your daughter. 

That was all I had to say. My therapist asked how I felt and what images I saw. I didn’t know how to explain it at the time. I needed to process. I simply said I felt sore. All the areas that the boulder blocked, all the areas that had burned with flames were gone. I imagined eschar being removed from a wound so it could heal. I didn’t tell her that. What I saw was ashes. Throughout all the areas where the fire had burned, in this seemingly vast wasteland, ashes were now in its place.

One of the things I asked my therapist was whether or not healing meant having to be ‘best friends’ with my mother. I do know (or use to know) people who are best friends with their mom. I told her how I noticed that my cousin often goes into a baby voice whenever she speaks with her mom and that she tells her mother everything. While I thought this was cute, I didn’t want to have that kind of relationship with my mom. I wanted to be able to keep some things to myself if I so chose to. She said that was okay. The truth is that in that moment I sought validation for who I am and what I wanted. She asked if I could honor that. I said yes and felt relieved.

My therapist asked what it is the little girl in me needed as it is possible for me to give her what she needs. I said a voice. She needs to be heard, she needs to continue to tell the truth, be sincere, be authentic, she needs validation and a support system that works for her. Lastly, she needs to advocate for herself. I asked her why these people treated me this way. She said from what I told her it seemed as though they saw me as being strong and resilient and could handle them. I can see this. My original thought is that they tried to break me. But I realize now that they were all cowards. They were scared and taking their fear out on me because I was the most vulnerable.



Tell The Truth: Day After Mother’s Day

I am chronically angry. In public I smile and say hello, I’m polite, im helpful and I’m nice. But deep inside, I’m angry from years of having it communicated to me that I don’t matter in some way, shape, or form. I’m angry because for years I have been told that in some way I am wrong. This never stopped.

I remember my experience in the NICU where I use to work in DC. All I felt there was anger and distrust. I remember trying to talk to them about what I thought, how I felt, what I needed. Again, it seemed like it was communicated to me that I didn’t matter and I didn’t belong. I tried to stick it out like I always do, forcing myself to stay in situations where I often can feel and know I’m not wanted. Because that’s what the strong girls do right? You don’t let people make you quit your job. But I never worked in a place where I felt so much anger and hostility. Only one and I vowed never to return.

I remember the patient care manager in this NICU. Under the guise of keeping it real she would unleash so many insults, threaten me and say I’d be blacklisted from the hospital for 7 years and that other institutions talk. If she only know how much I had disliked this place. But I didn’t trust them there. I tried and would always be cut off. I felt like I was the outsider and I didn’t belong. And the truth is, I didn’t belong. I didn’t like the energy I felt there or how those who had been there a while would all team up to talk about any newcomers who weren’t exactly like them in some way. I didn’t like that everyone knew each others business and people were constantly gossiping or knew about each other’s personal lives. I wanted out. I used my options.

My family looks at me like I’m a complainer. But the truth is I’m trying to be heard. When I look, I realize that it’s not my ‘family’ I’m angry with. They hurt me for sure. But most of my anger is directed towards my mother for not being the support system I needed as a child. The truth is, since I’ve begun to untangle, I realize that she couldn’t be that support because she still isn’t able to truly support herself emotionally. She’s only now beginning to learn and her voice gets stomped out by the bullies of the family (her two sisters). I realize that all the pain she exacted upon me is what she either had put on her or what she put on herself. She couldn’t do any better. Even when I try to point it out to her, she couldn’t hear me, maybe because as her offspring, my voice didn’t matter if hers didn’t. But that doesn’t make me any less angry. It only makes me hate her more. I can’t imagine seeing my little 10,11,12,13,14,15,16 year old girl cry and hearing her say how her father’s refusal to call her or spend time with her for years even though the two of you are in a relationship makes her feel neglected and abandoned and turning to my daughter and basically blaming her for her absence and neglect. How is she suppose to feel? She felt invalidated and worthless. That’s how she felt. And ended up with a boy who further made her feel invalidated and worthless.

I’m angry because I realize that the little 6, 7, 9, 10 and 13 year old in me mattered just as much as the me I am today does. I’m angry because I realize that I always deserved a voice and was entitled to my own opinion but the grown ups around me didn’t see it that way. I was ‘wild’, I was ‘different’, I was ‘rude’, I was ‘weird’, I was a host of names but these people were not nice and allowed others to do and say not nice things to me. They didn’t allow me to have a voice, they didn’t treat me like I mattered so much as they didn’t want me to make them look bad. Shame. Guilt. Control. That’s what I grew up in.

Grandma, even though I can’t remember a single bad thing about you, I can’t help but feel as though somehow you contributed to the cultivation of all of this. But in my heart, my mother plays the biggest role. I don’t like her. I don’t respect her. Yesterday was mother’s day and I was even more angry with her then than today. Sometimes I feel like I’m just waiting for her to die so I can finally stop feeling like my very being is wrong and like I don’t matter. She keeps me tied to people who constantly seem to try to make me feel like I’m wrong and don’t matter. Why God why?

What is Normal: Belonging

My counselor suggested that I revisit that 11 year old girl who went through a myriad of transitions at once and experienced a lot of pain as a result of her resistance to those changes. She asked what it is that girl, me, needed at that time. That 11 year old girl, I, was angry. Very angry. In many ways she’s still angry. She wanted belonging, validation, and respect. None of which she felt she truly received. But she blamed herself. I think deep inside she wanted to know that she was good enough and that nothing was inherently wrong with her.

The 11 year old girl came up with a lot of reasons why she wasn’t wrong and the rest of the world was the problem. And this was how she coped for years. I think my encounter with God was always humbling but confusing. When I no longer saw the world as being “the problem”, when I felt like I did everything “right”, I again began to question what was wrong with me. This is where I am now. This is what I feel, how I often feel. Like I don’t belong.

I’ve been trying to write myself a new story for years. I’ve been trying to create a new script. I do remember growing up feeling like I had to change who I am in order to fit in. I remember opting not to change, to remain true to myself, even if it meant feeling lonely. But that wasn’t always easy.

Many times my feelings of anger are aimed towards my family that I often felt only supported me so long as my changes weren’t too outside their own comfort zones for approval. My desires weren’t “bad”. Just not acceptable. I realize that even to this day it influences my life.

Most recently, I developed very strong feelings for a man who smokes marijuana. I like him more than any man I’ve met so far. We just click! But I kept destroying the connection because my mother would not approve of the fact that he smoked marijuana. I dumped him. In my heart I think I do regret it because the feelings I have for him are very real.

One of the things I did notice about myself during this time of reflection is that I actually know who I am and what I like and want. I’ve just been afraid to acknowledge it because I deemed many of my wants or feelings or thoughts to be unacceptable. My counselor suggested acknowledging how I feel without judgement. So here it is…

I want to be in control of my life

I want to be heard

I feel I’m a natural born leader

I would really like to reconnect with that guy

I feel myself to be strong, loving, supportive, insightful, intuitive, independent, pretty

I see myself happy

I see myself as an advocate for myself

I see myself growing in the direction of my dreams

I know where I truly belong…it might not be exactly where I am right now

I Ain’t No Mother Theresa

I want to come clean about some things. For the last year, I’ve been writing a lot about my feelings (which I now know is what many call “Burnout” or “Dark Night of the Soul”). I recently mentioned that I got into graduate school and I’m going. I’m so glad to be continuing my education. That said, I am also filled with dread at the thought of going to work another day as a bedside RN.

I knew, by sophomore year of college, that I did not like what I was studying. My vision in life was to be a spiritual nomad, not to work in the hospital. The most I ever wanted to do was work in a clinic, possibly abroad. I thought I’d have more autonomy as well. And I didn’t. I chose to work in the hospital because everyone said this was where you get the most clinical experience. But my desire had never been to work with the sick and dying. I never aspired to be Mother Theresa or Florence Nightingale. Not once. Ever. In my life.

quote-emily-bronte-proud-people-breed-sad-sorrows-for-themselves-144339When I agreed to continue down this path, that’s when the panic attacks ensued. I was so scared of being wrong, or making a mistake, of embarrassing myself and my family. It all went back to Pride. I remember being in nursing school sophomore year not studying, not paying attention because my heart and soul had left interest in the profession long ago. It all felt wrong. But when I was given the option to quit nursing school and drop out of college, not knowing what the future held or what my options were (social work and psychology were not interesting to me anymore), I panicked, rolled up my sleeves and studied like no body’s business. I even made it into the honor society. But I knew, from the panic attacks, the weight gain, the general lack of self care, and the fact that my heart often wanted to focus solely on the spiritual or on meditation or escapism, that this was not exactly for me. And it didn’t get better when I agreed to work in the hospital.

Being there, I felt like I didn’t have enough decision making power and I’ve always loved having the freedom to come and go as I please. Many RNs talk about loving the camaraderie they experienced as a bedside RN. In truth, I never truly cared for it. I have made friends here and there in the profession but I never really cared for camaraderie when all else feels wrong to me.

The truth is, I’ve been exhausted ever since I started nursing school. And it’s because I refuse to listen to myself if my desires weren’t ambitious enough. I’ve kicked myself many a time for dreading the thought of working in the hospital  when that’s where the “real nurses” work (yes, I’ve heard others say this). I’ve come down hard on myself for not wanting to party it up with my colleagues on my days off…ever. I’ve tried to ignore myself and my feelings of anxiety when I think about having to go to work or for my indignation towards performing certain tasks. I’ve swallowed those feelings and did the work anyways. But it never negates that those feelings are there. Everyone around me are often the first ones who encourage me to “stick with it”. But “stick with it” isn’t what I need right now. The truth, the real truth, is that I dislike bedside nursing and never wanted to deal with the acutely or critically ill.

primarycareI’m writing this here because I need to confess this to myself. I don’t know what I’m doing anymore. In truth, I might never have known what I’m doing. But the last few years I’ve felt increasing disconnect from myself and while I’ve worked to reconnect with myself in 2015 to now, I still don’t think I’ve found my path. Maybe it’s growth. Maybe it’s because I’ve had experiences that have opened me up to so many new possibilities that life seems increasingly more gray than black and white. But I have no hope that bedside nursing will get better for me. I dislike it. I also don’t know if attending graduate school will yield better results. What I do know is that it’s an option. I want to work in primary care. Nothing sicker than that. No more than 3, ten hour days a week unless I have absolutely autonomy and control over my life and decision making ability, something which I did not have as a bedside RN.  While it’s very ambitious to want to deal with the most critical cases in healthcare, I think it’s only truly ambitious if it’s something you really want to do. I don’t and have been resistant to it my entire career. The funny thing is, I remember in college someone asking me why I didn’t apply to work in the ICU and I told them, “If I ever take a job in the ICU, know that I’m moving in the wrong direction for myself.” The funny thing is, I applied for a position in the neonatal ICU.” I’m glad I didn’t get it because I don’t want it.

What I do want to do is get out of the bedside before the end of the year and focus primarily on graduate school. My focus this year, before work, before ego, before ambition and people who embody all three of these things, is stress management and moving on from burnout. I burnt out. There’s a reason for that. I’m sick of ignoring everything I feel and know to be true of myself simply because it requires radical shifts in behavior or thought.


Communication Styles: Are You Passive?


So the picture above is a reflection of the three main communication styles. I am passive. I wrote in my previous blog that I am in the Esteem phase of my development. This is why. It’s funny because I think I’ve known all along that I had self-esteem issues. But in college, I went through a “there is no self” phase while not really understanding what that meant in addition to experiencing hardships. Instead of beating myself into silence, I should’ve been seeking ways to empower myself, especially since I was in an environment that seemed to be working it’s damnest to leave me feeling defeated.

I’m now in a position where it’s important to speak up. Also, I’m not a little girl anymore. So it’s very important that I learn not only to advocate for myself at work and in public but to also communicate in a way that’s clear, concise, honest, and effective. If I’m not, I now feel that I’ve defeated the purpose of communication. For this reason, I’ve begun to do conduct research on assertive communication styles. I’ve read these before and many of these I already know but it never hurts to be reminded. It’s not enough to just be aware of this information, but rather it’s important now that I utilize it.

I’ve been paying attention to how I am in public settings. During my mid-point evaluation, I found myself slouching, crouching my shoulders, whispering, staring at the ground, sometimes avoiding eye contact, blushing. I also noticed myself tensing up and clenching the pen in my hand. I had the same kind of behavior during the rounds with the MDs and Charge nurse. This behavior communicates shyness, uncertainty, insecurity. Now contrast this with how I am when communicating with my family, I am relaxed. During this time, my expressions and my words align and I project my voice in a way that allows me to be heard and understood. This is effective communication. I’m still reading and researching looking for new tips and reminders on what assertiveness is and looks like because I think I would like help in this area. And my goal going forward is to implement these. Reducing my nervous laughter, and just working on speaking up and projecting my voice.


Letter to The Old

I’ll keep this short…

For me, talking to you is exhausting. You require a lot of TLC. You take all of my energy and leave nothing but exhaustion, stress, confusion and weight gain in its place. You were deeply unhappy. For so long I deceived myself but now I won’t. You’re not a partner you’re a parasite. You’ve always been a parasite. I was your host. I am not your host anymore.