hood therapy vol. 6

You know this week I have been inspired by me. In this piece, I serve as my own muse as a Black woman freely creating the life I dreamed of.

Something is healing about waking up early with the sun rising with a cup of coffee, enjoying your morning, and then getting everybody in your home in a position to help you clean the house.

How I remember this day growing up was on Saturday mornings and it was my mom who had that wonderful start to her morning but it was me who woke up to a Black woman upset about hair strands on the floor from my many failed hair attempts for the zig-zag part braids halfway back into a ponytail with the rest hanging down curled.

I was in the bathroom braiding my own hair for hours last night frustrated that I had to settle for my classic straight backs halfway in a ponytail with all my hair in rollers for the night because the zig-zag wasn’t to my standard on the first attempt. She doesn’t care, she talking about getting the hair off the floor. I will! I wrote the note on the kitchen table…

Mommy,

Don’t be mad about my bathroom. I just finished my hair and it’s 1:31 am and I am so tired. When I get up in the morning I will clean my bathroom and shake the rugs outside. I don’t want to wake you up with the alarm going off by doing it now. So I promise in the morning.

Love you,

Candace

You see?

I write her notes because it’s easier to communicate with her this way. I don’t know I love her she is my mom, but she can be really mean sometimes like I ruined her life and she just hates that I’m this setback. I don’t know. The older I get the more I realize it’s easier to just take accountability upfront and spend as little time possible in her way. I go to my room and stay there unless you have to pee or eat, work as many shifts as Scarlet will let you work with your workers permit, oh that reminds me to let Coach Newton know that I can be at the boys’ games Friday night as the basketball manager since I’m off work.

Candace is my inner little girl. She is precious, so sweet and innocent. She has been broken and nurtured back to healing. And continues to heal as her voice comes out through this piece and I feel the anxiety in my chest that I grew to know as a familiar feeling. The tightest in my chest that grips right in between my breasts heavy like a chain thrown across my back and looped around my neck creating a lump in my throat that feels like a knot to swallow.

That feeling was a normal experience for Candace since I can remember. The feeling is so familiar I had forgotten about it until writing the opening for this piece. I healed my way through the anxiety attacks since I can remember but this time I get to create a life that doesn’t cause them as frequently.

I’ve always been the next best, never the best.

This is hard for me to say, let alone admit.

But it’s true.

I have never been able to accomplish the actual dream, it’s always been the next best outcome. I don’t say this to complain or seek petty, I say it to heal another part of me that gets that tightest in my chest when I think about how many times growing up I was the second best. There was always someone better than me academically or in popularity but mostly to be selected after an audition or try out. And that shaped my need for perfection because if it’s perfect then I’m automatically best right?

Wrong.

It wasn’t until this year that I learned how far that thought takes us away from the truth.

I mean, so what if I never seem to buy the perfect pair of socks that will slouch just right to take my outfits from a cute attempt to Pinterest level, ‘oh I need a pic of this outfit’ type of style? Honestly, this is part of why I never got my fashion degree or barber license in the classroom there was always someone better than me and I second-guessed myself and my capabilities to be successful in a career that thrived off of my creativity. I didn’t complete many passion projects because I never felt good enough to share them.

Not that I felt that if I wasn’t the best then I wasn’t worthy, no, I believe there is always room for everyone to thrive and shine because we are different. But I can’t help but feel that my different isn’t enough sometimes. It’s gotten better over the years, but this might be the first time I was able to pinpoint the feeling. I recognized the feeling but I wasn’t reacting to the feeling this time I was responding. I’m not sure if I can find the words to explain what I mean but I will say I felt myself in the moment choosing a different approach and the outcome changed in my favor.

I rediscovered writing and my book became my passion project - one of the first completed. My book was for me in endless ways, but it was a beautiful package of a part of my story. It’s not my full story, but a sneak peek into my world packed with beautiful inspiration that resides in it.

I love music and I believe new music lacks soulfulness that I miss feeling when I would listen to the CD players in the store to make sure that song I heard on the radio was on the album. If I could get excited enough, my mom might get it for me.

Music brings me comfort and healing at times when I don’t always know I need it. Music is like a hug that squeezes me tight when there are no words available for me to describe my feelings nor do I possess the emotional strength to express it. I remember the first time I realized my best wasn’t going to be enough to accomplish some of my dreams and that I would have to work a lot harder than others if I wanted certain things.

It was mid-week at the end of the day right before our last class before we got to go home. I was in elementary school, a magnet school, so there was already this atmosphere within the school that we were a special group of gifted individuals. Anyway, I will never forget that feeling of hope seeping through my body as I read the list over a dozen times hoping I missed my name.

I didn’t make the choir. This means I couldn’t sing. There were no dreams of being a singer. My mom was right, I don’t sound like the singers on the radio. I had so much confidence in myself until the shame and embarrassment that took over my body that last period of the day. I was devastated. Not only was I not good enough to make the choir but now I’m not good enough to hang out with my friends because they all made the choir. This memory is a core memory stored in my mind that pops up sometimes when I start going after my dreams.

And the older I got the more I had to accept that second best would sometimes mean being left out of the experience completely. I had to learn that that was okay.

My life would not be like the people’s lives I saw around me, hell I barely fit in with them anyway so I wouldn’t shouldn’t expect my life to be like theirs. Right?

I can’t lie there is this little part of me that just feels like we aren’t doing life right and things should be how it’s set up for us to navigate. But then there is that other large part of me that is like man fuck the system let’s figure out how to make this shit work for us, build the life we dream of.

a visual of my attitude now towards perfectionism and the need to be accepted as the best

The problem was always that I would have to do it myself first to inspire others. And that would require me to face my own fears and level up my life in a way I had never done before.

But I did it anyway.

I took the bet on myself not with the fear of not being good enough but because how could I ever be second best to myself? As long as I stay authentic to who I am then I will always attract the people that are meant to connect with me at that time.

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Yes, you will absolutely catch me outside with my hair in rollers.

Matter of fact, I am known to leave the hair salon with the rollers I brought from home still in my head. I like to blame it on the fact that my hair is ridiculously thick and takes hours to dry.

So you damn right I will leave the salon and take my happy tail home with the rollers still in after spending at least two hours under the dryer. That is why I bring my own because I don’t want them holding me hostage any longer than what I paid for.

That damn dryer gets to burning on my ears and the back of my neck. My cousin got these cute ear covers but they get on my nerves when they get hot too.

a visual of the energy I was giving leaving the salon to go smoke with my baby brother

I remember one day my little brother called me to come smoke with him. And like the big sister I am I hoped on the highway to make that quick 40-minute drive to lay eyes on my baby boy, with rollers in my freshly colored locs.

My cousin was like you probably got another 45 minutes under the dryer as she was focused on the micro-loc retwist in her chair. I said girl I will come back in the morning and sit for 30 minutes before we take out the rollers, baby boy just called me. She already knew what that meant and that tomorrow she would get a little ziplock bag dropped in her purse cause that’s my girl.

So yeah, I was cruising down the highway bumping my stereo excited as hell to see my baby boy and test out this new work he picked up for me, with my rollers serving as the main attraction through the NC streets.

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I want there to be more representation of Black women creating the life of their dreams, so I became the inspiration.

Growing up I was only allowed to play with the Black Barbie dolls, and if the store was out of the limited amount of Black Barbies they had then I was out of luck. This was before you could just look it up on Amazon, it wasn’t until later eBay became an option.

My mom always said you have to play with dolls that look like you because representation matters. She was always big on Black girls having a positive Black woman influence to help the confidence and self-esteem of young Black girls.

It wasn’t just me. She does it with my god-daughter (her niece), my daughter (her granddaughter), and anybody she knows who has a Black baby. If she is buying a toy that comes in skin colors, she only buying the Black one.

I know I give my mom a lot of hell in my posts when I speak my truth, but this quality about her I love so much that I adopted it for myself. We ain’t buying it if they don’t come looking like us.

The only difference is now I don’t have the Barbie dolls to dress up and create the day-in-a-life experience that later turned into my dream life. I am the Black Barbie doll. I dress myself from head to toe and experience the morning walk to the coffee shop before heading in for my nail appointment.

Today I felt a little guilty playing “pretend” with my daughter. She has been calling herself my assistant recently and I told her she could be my assistant for my Substack posts. While playing “pretend” she got to explore my dashboard for both my publication page and Blackstack. The way she hyped me up about the numbers and analyzing my growth made me feel so proud. The guilt was that our pretend moment was Mommy’s real life, I just let her see what I have been doing behind this laptop screen for hours.

Even with my book.

It was something special seeing her face with pure excitement because she was there the entire process of writing this book that was in her hands. My passion for writing has inspired her passion for reading and now writing. I find her in her Roblox playing spelling games and practicing her handwriting on my iPad in her Procreate drawing app. I see how I am inspiring her to explore her creativity in new ways but also showing her how to show up in the world as her most authentic self without letting the naysayers and imposter syndrome hold you back.

We are here to inspire.

I went from living out of a suitcase and traveling the country following my internal navigation to home. Not having a clue where or what home was for me. It was tough on me it took a big toll on my energy. But my creativity is running wild right now and I am so motivated to continue going because this time it’s about me. I have inspired others and I am honored by that, but it’s time for me to enter a new era that involves me being my inspiration.

I am home. In a city that feels like home. In a community with people who are from my original home but reside in my new home too. I know I will thrive in my new home and that is my motivation.

My next journey is for myself. I have struggled with my appearance for this past year and it’s time for me to step back into my baddie aesthetic. So tomorrow I’m going to do some much-needed self-care and I’m bringing my daughter alone with me so she can get pampered too, and develop the habit while she is still young. I am excited for this shift in my focus because if she tells me one more time I look tired I’m going to tickle her until she pees her pants.

And honestly, I can’t take another day not being able to look at myself in the mirror because of how I have let my appearance go. It’s kind of wild because this is completely out of character for me. I’m going to some wellness events and pilates classes in the coming weeks so that will allow me the experience of success I have been missing when it comes to my definition.

I’m never been healthy, or a healthy body size and I want to see that version of myself. I’ve been close a few times but I want to be her regularly now. Being in the Bay the idea of biking in the mountains or alongside the beach brings a smile to my face. Or taking a jog along the beach shore as a regular form of self-care. Things like my nails and a haircut tomorrow will be normal errands.

The reason is I need my confidence back in my appearance so I can comfortably show up in the world, I am a published author after all. I love seeing Black women in their natural beauty but I also love when Black women are self-expressive through their appearance. And that’s my aesthetic.

I don’t see a lot of women who look like me in the spaces that host the opportunities we seek. But I also don’t see a lot of women who look like me sharing their creativity in this packaging and I want to see more of the stories from the women who are pulling themselves out of the mud. We have stories too and we might not be able to rap or sing about it, but we can write about it and you will feel something.

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It’s something about the smell of a freshly cleaned home to just sit in.

Now that I’m the one hitting everyone with cleaning chores as soon as I see them wake up I understand both perspectives. I am the Mom now, and I understand how living in filth will only result in a reflection in the mind.

I remember as we all sat down in our spaces and got comfortable I thought to myself, they are so irritated because I pulled them away from the phone to help me clean up - but they don’t know how much they needed it. I could see the shift in energy instantly in our moods.

We were laughing and joking.

Like a family.

At home.

That makes me happy but also a new emotion, content.

Thank you as always for reading and showing me love with these newsletters. This week I have been unpacking and getting settled at home. Just the process alone has been so rewarding and fulfilling for me that I had several “I can’t believe I made it moments” while updating my mailing address or walking downtown to the coffee shop for matcha. Thank you for supporting this journey in the ways that you do!

Love always,

Jacquie