We all have a story. This year I was compelled to tell mine. 2020 brought the highest of the highs and the lowest of the lows. I learned how to love myself. I learned how to forgive. I learned how to be alone. But most importantly I learned how to peel back the layers of my childhood traumas and dig deeper into generational seeds planted in my family.
This is the only picture I have of my grandmother. I never met her so I look at this picture often. Her story has been told to me by my mother, her daughter, throughout my life. They are intricately woven antidotes when I need them the most. It turns out we have a lot in common. Her story is one of pain and redemption, much like my mother. They are the epitome of a black woman's strength. She navigated life the best she could with the tools given to her, but societal pressures would ultimately rule her life.
As I got older I would begin to see patterns in my family. There was a turning point for me. I can’t remember when or why, but I started to pay a lot more attention to these repetitions. Probably when I realized they were taking shape in my own life. I was experiencing the same traumas my grandmother did some 80 years ago. I decided that it had to stop with me.
I started this blog as therapy. I experienced the power of stepping outside of my comfort zone in 2020, and I want to continue the journey. My mother recently told me how proud my grandmother would be of me and the reasons why. I’m sure she didn’t know it at the time, but I really needed to hear that. I needed the reassurance that I’m on the right path. I dedicate this chapter to her and every seed she planted in my family, good or bad. Though I never had the opportunity to meet her, I know in my heart that she’s with me. My story is only possible because of her story, there is beauty in the harvest.