I was speaking with my coparent a few weeks ago when he eloquently shared the importance of prioritizing, finding purpose and exercising time management to our teen, who had opened up another social media account without our permission. The first attempt was on Snapchat earlier this year but this most recent one was on TikTok when both he and I knew the narrative about the pros and cons of being on social media had to change. First, we acknowledge and are aware that our teen (like others) is curious about the world around her.
“Why can’t I have a social media account,” she asked? “Sweetheart, we are not saying you cannot have one ever but rather waiting until you are mature enough to handle its content is the preferred time,” was my reply. I could clearly see how my reply was welcomed, yet she was not satisfied and the reasoning did not appease her curiosity nor her desire because the ‘outlier’ status she has among her friends isn’t a good feeling. So, as to avoid piling on more sentiments atop what is happening in her friendship circle, her Papa shared a correlation to put things in perspective.
He said ‘Today my number is 28; I added a year since I turned 57.’
We waited, knowing an analogy would follow. I then silenced my voice and joined forces with his because I knew he had a message that I could endorse. He continued, “I recently asked God to grace me with 85 years. Now at age 57, I have 28 years left. If given the opportunity to see you mature, grow and blossom, you will be 44 years-old. Just imagine how that might look and feel for us, your parents, to witness your adulthood and reflect upon how you manage time, navigate challenges, tap in to your emotional intelligence and accept responsibilities – most, if not all of these milestones, happen when we are teens.”
Before he finished making his point about his number 28 (the balance of his life), our Butterfly understood the message and so did I. It was then she interjected with an emotional whisper, telling us how much she valued our time, while understanding that having a social media account requires a level of maturity she hasn’t reached; appreciated our love deposits; understood the importance of parenting and how finding the balance between being a friend in the parent realm is a delicate balance. Her feedback was clear and unambiguous! It was like an Aha! moment for us all, including he, who had not expected such a reaction.
Conversely, the takeaway for us is to instill, deposit, share, teach, instruct, display and illustrate our walk in parenting. And because my ex- and I are products of the ‘hush-hush’ generation where responding to parents is nearly prohibited, we vowed to break the cycle of remaining mute when God gave us our daughter because a silenced voice or expression will invite neglect, confusion or worse, may lead to unacceptance among other things. Therefore, our 3-person conference call was a discussion, and is never an ultimatum to our daughter because our intent is to rear an independent thinker, who will attempt at opening up another social media account – that is no doubt – but at least in doing so it will be a conscience act and not a trivial one.
What will you do with the balance of your time? As for me – my number is 34. I am also asking God to grace me with 85 years. And at age 51, I have more years behind me than in front, which is why I chose peace over drama, simplicity over complexity, valued relationships instead of quantifiable acquaintances and the list continues. Therefore, although our Butterfly will adopt the habits that may not be to our liking when she becomes an adult, we will always stand by her decision to choose what she believes is correct, which will be in a couple of years.
Hopefully, it will be awhile before we have another ‘social media’ discussion at which time our teen may be preoccupied with something else to hold her attention. Nonetheless, we will continue to give thanks to God for guiding us through challenging discussions and for showing us the importance of validation because the takeaway was just that – our teen’s feelings mattered. And she further learned about why we do what we do and how its done, i.e. coparenting to the best of our ability, while living in different states.
Heading to see Stephan Speaks to better understand how to rid myself of toxicity for a better me happened yesterday, October 17. I was fresh and ready after arriving home from a 5-day cruise to the Bahamas. I thought “this is freaking cool” to finally witness in person how this phenomenal speaker-, relationship coach could deposit nuggets for me to use and apply to my personal life.
Heading to a ‘Stephan Speaks’ event
I left with a resourceful takeaway that will help me to understand ‘why it is that my headaches recur’ when I am among certain family? The throbbing mostly seems like a constant when her repetitive calls go unanswered that regularly results in unexplained confusion, hurt, and frustration because when I do decide to answer the phone it’s stress about the ‘why, where, what, how and when’ and never about how we can heal us or our family to function in normalcy. Conversely, when I don’t answer the phone it’s the constant voicemails from her about how I need to stay in my lane and not question anything she says or does, although her actions systemically and negatively impacts others. Yet, she never forgets to tell me how my life will be “shortened” because I am that child who supposedly talks back. Ahem.
I can never win with this petite, 5’2″ lady, who is my mother. Therefore, I find it therapeutic to block her phone number instead to exercise peace of mind for me and mine, who stands witness to this dysfunctional relationship. So, attending the function yesterday reaffirms the importance of healing, which “is an emotional detox,” while the other nugget I find useful is to “learn that life is happening FOR you and not TO you!”
The risk I took at 23 is a different risk today at 47. Times have changed. I’ve changed. I see life differently and my physical abilities aren’t as good today like years ago. Okay, these are a few of my excuses for a long-time engagement with a slow crawl to the alter. Yet, I can clearly recall what she said to me about a year ago, ‘Felita, you’re probably the only woman I know who would be engaged this long without getting married [paraphrased].’
My immediate response was silence, and then I thought to myself, “She might be correct about that statement.” Yet, just the other day I reminded myself of how listening to that and giving it weight is the sentiment she carries, and not that of my own. Albeit a disagreement or an indifference, we have independent decisions to make for particular reasons. Hence, my decision to remain engaged- with a brief hiatus- is a mutual agreement in my relationship.
Truth be told! There’s a hesitancy between us with approximately 34-years of past luggage we both are still unpacking. He, formally married for 18 years and I for 16.5. Our wounds of past agony are slow to heal, and we can now finally see progress with our communication skills where, formally, we spoke at one another. Today we now talk to and are empathetic towards each other. We further understand our beginning was in haste; hence, perspectives are realized. Nonetheless, reaching this stage has been an uphill battle but neither he nor I would have it any other way.
Conversely, we are now beginning to apply helpful tips to strengthen our relationship, such as ‘working on our whole self’ and bringing that person to the table. Though remedial to a few, these relationship nuggets are useful reminders of how the slightest misunderstanding of words can potentially lead to a large ordeal that, if mishandled, can take days or months to heal. We’ve gracefully been through that also.
With that said, me and my fiancé are going on 6-years strong with no plans of turning back. So today I will say this: Yes, you’re correct about the ‘very few women‘ who will hang this long. However, my urgency to marry is different than the next (it’s not an urgency at all)! Grant it – your and my decisions are independent but our positions are the same – direction, forward. So, I wish you well at your pace that will officially occur in a few months with one simple request … I pray you will also appreciate my walk to the alter – regardless of how slow of a pace I take.
A house is a structure that includes different participants with dissimilar objectives. Each entity has a different focus and goal that is notarized and projected. The members in the house will behave in an agreed upon manner insofar of guidelines but each person has a different direction or objective to accomplish that, when given an opportunity, may lead to enticed conduct, e.g. stealing from one another, inflicting harm upon another, cheating or moving on to the next available offer. Further, the house members will enter and exit as they please because whatever laws that produce civilized conduct will be breached and persons will ultimately succumb to individual propensities, such as biases and judgments. Later, the ambiance in a house will fluctuate and grow uncomfortable, sometimes so unsuitable that it greets excessive admittances, produces high attrition, and invites intolerable demeanor and ultimate distrust.
In contrast, the home is a feeling (ambiance) that provides, produces and breeds tranquility. The cohesion and union cannot suitably occur without accordance. Certain things must be in place for a home to mature because it requires clarity, time, patience, tolerance, management, calm, a certain temperament, active collaboration and proactive teaching. Metaphorically, each member is a fiber that adds to the value of a finished product. The difference can be witnessed with the role of a project manager (PM) who is assigned to lead a group of 5, which was our household size before my parents divorced. The PM will wear many hats because he is the appointed overseer who will allocate funds, deliver assigned tasks, disseminate materials and issue project deadlines to name a few. Thus, I equate the PM to the head of the home; the father who is further designated to answer questions and provide clarity with the goal of delivering a finished-quality product.
The Apology that Mattered
Clarifying these two distinctions lends itself to a question about the modern marriages compared to what I will call contemporary unions today. Shortly after sharing my most intimate post yet, titled “Sharing my Personal Scar” I received a phone call from my dear father. I will preface this to say that my dad has become my best male friend. He was overly apologetic and emotionally moved to learn that I had not reached out to him at a time of need. The content of my recent blog lends itself to a lot of speculations about the quality of parenting I and my brothers received when we were young; hence, I point the blame at no one because I attribute my parent’s parenting styles to that of which was passed on to them, i.e. adopted practices that were observed and illustrated in what I describe as the house where the parental figure was absent.
Conversely, I wonder if my grandparent’s decision to withhold facts about what they knew of their predecessors deprived my parents of an opportunity to predict and monitor certain tendencies that were imparted? Today I know the spoiled- rotten-little girl, who was left to self-parent because her older siblings were creating lives of their own, did the best she could to take care of house while her mother worked odd hours as a private-duty nurse, is the mother who parented us to the best of her ability. I also know the young man who pursued her because he wanted to be the paternal example that was absent in his life was improperly coached on chivalry and dating etiquette. Hence, both teenagers made conscious decisions to marry and create a nuclear family.
“The future of every generation lies in its progeny. Prepared or, unready they are the unwitting guarantors of familial memory, living time capsules filled with stories that define and sculpt family identity, culture and history. All of us are both mirrors and windows reflecting what has been and apertures allowing a brief and narrow look into the limitless potentialities of what can be.”
Dr. DeGruy alludes to the practice of inheritance. Whether it is knowledge bestowed upon us, experiences lived in the footprints of those we follow or the psychological incapacity of discernment, we essentially become what we may want to disown. Having said that, I see the authoritative, stoic, guarded, independent and covert habitudes that were instilled in me from my maternal upbringing that contradicts my paternal traits of balance, candor, transparency and objectivity to name a few. However, I also know that a lot of my characteristics were acquired along the way through my exposure to others and their experiences.
“In families where the father’s interaction with the children is limited because of marital statuses, he still has an effect on the children—but to a lesser extent. The roles of the father figure are assumed by male relatives, partners of the mother who live in the home, and by extended family helping networks (McAdoo, 1996).”
For instance, writing and sharing my Personal Nuggets are necessary not inasmuch for personal healing but for others who are also reserved about why the black family is prone to systemic practices that seem challenging to overcome. For instance, if we were to poll children of divorce parents in the black community and ask them questions about their experience each person may have a different outcome; however, the common theme and take away may convey a degree of self-blame in their parent’s decision to live separately. Thus, my childhood history resembles other children that are now caught in the crossfires of a ‘tug of war’ between parents who have become fierce opponents. Accordingly, has the home structure that many black fathers desire been unreported? Is the black man stigmatized by the mainstream media as deadbeats and uncaring?
There is supportive research that highlights the positive image of black males, who are willingly and actively involved in their kids’ lives, as was our father. Yet, for reasons I will write about later, both parents were subjected to unhealthy conditions that compelled him to leave when I was 10. Subsequently, his efforts to constructively co-parent and the attempts to remain in contact grew challenging as years passed. What I didn’t understand then I absolutely understand and agree to today. So, although the intentions of creating a home instead of that ‘house’ environment may be short-lived, our relationships with the comprised members don’t have to be. It is possible to maintain contact with our loved ones, albeit a grandmother or the village that reared us. And it is further possible to open our hearts to misunderstandings and disagreements. Today I thank my dad for the apology that matters because I am now receptive to hearing and receiving without reservation because he was the ‘Head of our Home’ and has accepted fault.
A lot happens behind the scenes and we can grow dangerously comfortable in these areas where masquerades are consistently worn.
My surprising week began on Saturday, 9/23/2017, instead of Sunday this time because it was the morning we picked her up from the train station when she finally visited for the first time in nearly two years. I remember saying to my daughter “I’d be surprise if grandma comes but I don’t believe she will,” when soon after she called and told us about her train reservation. I remember hanging up from the conversation, thinking about how the text I sent her on 9/15/2017 at 06:24 that read “Good morning. You should visit us this weekend” must have touched her the same way I felt when I sent it – sorry, wishing we could make forward steps to heal our hurt.
It was awkward, I was nervous and my daughter sensed every emotion. I remember Butterfly saying something that insinuated my acting like a little girl who was happy to see her mom. Bingo! That was the exact feeling I had: happy like a little girl who would finally have a chance to ask questions about us and get clarity but also apologize for anything I did or have caused. When we finally had a chance to talk we were like foreigners in unguarded territory, hoping that certain questions weren’t asked because we did not want to hear the answers because dealing with what we heard would require us to do things we don’t normally do, such as show emotions. The feelings we conjured up were so unusual – at least for me – because a part of me wanted to let my guard down, but my cautious side knew that relaxing too much and exercising true candor was too risky too soon in our process of making amends after years of breached trust.
Moreover, most of our conversations resembled interactions you may see between strangers who would use their eyes to communicate because it was the only common, understood language, e.g. body language. However, unlike strangers, we had a common language but were afraid to speak it because it was the voice of pain, hurt, humiliation, turmoil, ugliness, immaturity, suffering, and deep wounds that, if exposed, would not survive the environment without professional intervention, which we did not have. So instead of daring to dive in, sort of speak, we talked using cues and at the surface of our pain insomuch that we each spoke our apologies, but only long enough to not feel the sincere result because we both wanted to keep a cordial atmosphere for my daughter’s sake, who was in listening distance and could sense if things were going sour. Yet, there were a few occasions when I would look a certain way and feel differently when responses were shared because the lag of time between each past incident left us both unsure of certain facts that needed proper addressing.
So, the remaining time spent together included bouncing around my small, intimate apartment, tip-toeing from room to room with hopes of not getting too uptight and in our feelings because we each knew that should things get out of hand, my daughter would be left to witness the very ugliness I have been trying to avoid, i.e. disruptive relations between females in the family. And although my attempts to make a positive difference was slightly successful, the result was expected: elevated voices, speaking over one another and wearing the mask that kept us safe for all these years – the facade that tricks one into believing that the image and scenery given to the public is just the opposite. Nonetheless, not all was lost because efforts were made and attempts were illustrated and the result left us both feeling a little better about what we dared to resolve on our own, which is our differences, misunderstandings and hurt. But at least we scratched the surface of what has changed the way we see, speak and perceive each other and I remain optimistic that our next visit will be sooner rather than later to gradually peel away our masks.
My immediate response was silence, and then I thought to myself, “She might be correct about that statement.” Yet, just the other day I reminded myself of how listening to that and giving it weight is the sentiment she carries, and not that of my own. Albeit a disagreement or an indifference, we have independent decisions to make for particular reasons. Hence, my decision to remain engaged- with a brief hiatus- is a mutual agreement in my relationship.
Congrats 🎉 Mrs.!
Clarifying these two distinctions lends itself to a question about the modern marriages compared to what I will call contemporary unions today. Shortly after sharing my most intimate post yet, titled “
My surprising week began on Saturday, 9/23/2017, instead of Sunday this time because it was the morning we picked her up from the train station when she finally visited for the first time in nearly two years. I remember saying to my daughter “I’d be surprise if grandma comes but I don’t believe she will,” when soon after she called and told us about her train reservation. I remember hanging up from the conversation, thinking about how the text I sent her on 9/15/2017 at 06:24 that read “Good morning. You should visit us this weekend” must have touched her the same way I felt when I sent it – sorry, wishing we could make forward steps to heal our hurt. 
His Child, Not Hers 