Loving Myself in Action
Sometimes it takes more than good intentions to practice self-love. This weekend was a lesson in how to put self-love in action for me. It's so easy to dismiss a term as fuzzy and warm as "self-love", but the power of self-love runs deep.Sunday night was my first time reading my work aloud to an audience - like a real audience, not my creative writing class or workshop. The night before, I was sick with worry. My heart was racing all night. I just kept thinking "You can't do this!" one moment and then "You know you have to do this, right? This is the path that you've chosen, don't be afraid of it." the next.I thought about dropping out, making up an excuse, anything!But deep inside I knew that I would go and that I would perform. As anxious as I am, I'm also kind of a thrill seeker. I like to play chicken with myself and see how far I'm willing to go. I'm always trying to top my last thrill, and right now nothing could be more thrilling than this small, but important milestone for me as a writer.So I started the process of pumping myself up. I started playing "We are the Champions" by Queen and also "Today was a Good Day" by Ice Cube which always puts me in a good mood.It was one of those rare moments in life when you just have to trust yourself completely. I had to find self-love. I went scrounging around for it, searching underneath couch cushions and in little-worn purses, taking every coin available including the penny stuck to the back of a lollipop. And with that and the support of my loved ones, I made it through!
Here's the piece that I performed. I hope you enjoy!
Too Free
Black women are constantly living at the tipping point of “Too Free”, and it seems there’s no right way to fall. So, I’ve decided that I want my own kind of freedom, my own personal design. And I don’t care how it weighs on anyone else’s scale. I want freedom, and when I say freedom, I don’t mean freedom to do as others say I should. I mean freedom to do what I feel like. Freedom to fall and freedom rise up again stronger than ever. Can I have the freedom to not care? Honestly, I’m curious. I want freedom to disagree and not be shot. I want freedom to party and not be judged. I want the kind of permission that only I can give myself. Checking in with myself, I’ll ask what I want right now in this very moment, consult my lifetime calendar, give myself approval and act. That’s the kind of freedom I’ve been craving, I have a taste for it that lingers on my soul. I want that oh so coveted “individuality” and no, I don’t mean dying my hair or changing my style of dress. I mean not having all Black women stumble when I stumble, not having my success lauded as proof that we are able. I know that we are able. I want us to be free. I want the kind of freedom that you get when you reach your limit. When you’ve tried to follow the rules, when you’ve played the part of the proper lady, the dedicated giver, the flawless beauty. I want the freedom that comes only just at the edge of all of those things, when you’re exhausted because none of it exempts you from violence, none of it gives you power. I want wild freedom that I’ve hunted, tired of waiting for it to be served. Tired of waving at the waiter “Umm…Excuse me? Waiter? Ehem…” I think I’ll set my own table and make my own food – something sweet with fresh coconut milk, the hard shell broken with a cutlass. If it’s true that each generation is freer than the next, let us live untethered, unleashed, so that freedom never crosses our future daughter’s minds. I have a nagging feeling that it will, but in the words of Alice Walker “How simple a thing it seems to me that to know ourselves as we are, we must know our mothers names.” And we call ourselves Freedom.