To Simply Show Up (When You're Not In The Spirit)

 

Dear Grandma,

I woke up this morning.

I am breathing.

I am feeling the aches and pains related to the drop in temperature.

I paused so many times in my morning routine, but I eventually got going.

For the past few days (no, even longer, well over a month), the phrase, "Simply show up" has been a whisper in my dreams before I open my eyes. That is what I have been attempting to do since November.

I sit here wondering if checking out (not literally but emotionally) would have been easier.

I spent last month getting myself ready. I was trying to manifest all the courage, positivity, and determination to show up for the tribe. We were having company and I was doing the best I could to show up as the lighter me while feeling heavy.

The incident (I now deep the Sassy Southern Stereotype Saga) took so much out of me.

Yes, there is a crossroads over the swiftness of action and how it was handled.

Yet, it went deeper. I spent all of the week being at my most vulnerable, and truthfully when that happened, it made me regret doing so and being so.

I haven't fully reset. It has nothing to do with external forces but the turmoil it caused within.

A shattering ... yeah, that's the closest description that makes sense.

Even this month, I have "shown up".

From going to work holiday gatherings to donning Christmas colors and sweaters, I have tried to manifest the cheer and joy to match my festive looks. I even visited the stores for cards, stockings, and gifts, believing the trips could unite a spark.

My response to Christmas music has been to switch the station or put in my earbuds to block out the melodies. I can't bear them ... not this year. 

For me, Christmas has never been about gifts. Grandma, you know I have never been one to throw a tantrum about a gift I never received.

Christmas has always been about warmth and togetherness.

You and Grandpa were that warmth. Just hearing your voices and being near your energies meant everything. I did not want for anything.

It stopped feeling like Christmas with Grandpa's passing. Each year after his death, we would speak about him to elevate our spirits. 

Then you left.

I have no close family members with whom to share our memories.

This is the month Mom is consumed with Junior's loss; she is absent and unavailable. I have shed all the tears over a healthy bond that may never be.

Everyone else has their extended families and traditions, and like you, Grandma, I've never been one to rain on a joyous parade. 

The countdown to Christmas is on, and I cannot predict my countenance.

I have one more day of work, then off until the 27th.

Jazz works all week.

Gino has the adult day program for most of the week, except for Christmas Eve and Christmas Day.

Who (in my immediate circle) would have the time to spare for the nostalgia? Apart from the Creator?

Showing up ... perhaps it may not be enough this year ... but it is the best I can do at the moment.

Happy Heavenly Upcoming Christmas to you and Grandpa.

Miss you.

❤️

Perception: Unspoken Rules

 

Dear Grandma,

This is not the post I had in mind to write. No worries; I will write that one and schedule it for a special day. However, the above graphic is the closest to matching where I am at the moment. 

The day started off rough. What I thought was just extended muscle soreness from working out is shaping into an arthritic flare-up. This means I will have to take prescription medication since the over-the-counter remedies have not been effective. Also, I was experiencing digestive upset ... more from the reintroduction of festive eating than anything. I decided to skip going to the gym; even without the soreness, it would not have been effective anyway.

By the time 9:00 rolled around, I wasn't hungry. My stomach was agitated, but I was open to having hot coffee.

While I was sipping my coffee, Jazz received a call from one of her family members, and the discussion of Thanksgiving came up. This family member commented that she was glad that one of her friends made the Sweet Potato pie because she said that her making the pie wouldn't be the same as a Southern black woman making the pie. 

My ears perked up at the comment. I wasn't upset yet, but I was wondering what she meant by the comment. However, I didn't want to be rude. Jazz and the family member were on video call, and the phone was facing so that only Jazz could see her. 

This family member continued to associate a Black Southern woman's rendition of sweet potato pie as something that's sassy and has attitude. That the sweet potato pie could hit her in the face. This family member was giggling as if this was the funniest thing ever.

Grandma, you know how my fingers start tapping when I'm getting annoyed or upset?

Well, my fingers started tapping against the coffee cup. Jazz has been around me for soon-to-be ten years now. She knows my unspoken mannerisms of agitation. Yet, since it's her family, I felt it wasn't my place to address this low vibrational, stereotypical, not remotely funny joke.

Instead, Jazz said, "So the pie was going to hit you in the face, huh?"

I went hot and cold at the same time. I was in utter disbelief. Some more emotions followed, but that was the very first one. A few moments later, Jazz said that she had to go to the bathroom as a means of the call ending because she could see I was very uncomfortable.

If Jazz had said what she intended to do to counter the disrespect immediately, it would have been one thing. But she is looking at me ... at my reaction. 

One of the things I've learned is that I do not speak when I feel hurt, wronged, and disrespected, not only will this manifest negatively, but I may become resentful. 

I was feeling a type of way, and I let Jazz know. There are so many layers that I don't even think she realizes. Her hesitation read as co-signing on the behavior. It was worse when she low-key tried to joke with that family member while looking at how it impacted me.

Grandma, you know I am the Queen of poker faces, but if anyone was talking slick to you, the location would not have mattered.

Jazz cared more about making things peaceful for her visiting daughter's last day here than the temperature of my emotions.

I get her viewpoint, but I don't agree.

There are respectful ways to check someone's ignorance and disrespect. She could have said, "It's poor taste to joke that way, and I don't find it funny" at that moment. Boom and boom.

The fact that the offense isn't addressed immediately allows the pain inflicted to linger.

This bothers me because I would (and have) never done that to her. 

Her daughter is leaving. Jazz will still be in this space with me.

I don't doubt that she is sorry, but I don't know yet how to move forward.

Jazz told me from the beginning that she considers me family, but she allowed her blood to disrespect me.

How am I truly supposed to feel like I'm family when in the moment to stand for me, she's selective in when that advocacy occurs? 

It makes me feel a way, and I can't shake it.

She's apologized and the whole nine, but the incident reminds me of the divide each time I defended her viewpoint of our connection to others, you know?

I left the house for a while and took a walk.

It's almost one o'clock and I haven't eaten.

I haven't taken all the medications that I should have at this point.

Grandma, I don't know what to do.

I'm not expecting perfection from any person. I never have. There are just unspoken rules when it comes to protecting those you love.

I didn't feel like she did that, and there aren't enough emotions to describe how that is impacting my energy.

Today, I am going to spend time with myself. I'm socially tapped out. I need to replenish. I'm going to pray for continued growth and healing. If this is the reveal symbolized in my dream, then I pray for the strength to navigate through what is next.

Until next time,

I love you.