Tag: family

Ceremony as a Love Language

Ceremony as a Love Language

by Ranada ♥ 0 Leave a Comment

There’s something sacred about the way we do things.

Whether it’s a homegoing, a church service, or a college commencement, Black pomp and circumstance has its own rhythm: a choreography of care, history, and pride.

I thought about it this weekend as I sat in the sanctuary of the church I spent my childhood and young adulthood attending regularly. It was lined with so many flowers I couldn’t see the pulpit from the second pew. As I watched everyone sit on the right side, leaving most of the left open for the family to process in, I started thinking about how we just know. How customs are just rooted and observed through time. There’s an unspoken order to how we show up. A reverence that moves through us like a well-rehearsed hymn.

The same feeling rises at commencement. At Tougaloo, the drums start first — deep, resonant, ancestral — and suddenly we’re connected to something far older than the institution itself. It’s one thing to observe it, but it was a whole different thing to experience it as a graduate myself, trying to keep up with the march across campus to our seats. When I attend commencement to support new graduates, I’m reminded of that feeling but also am grounded in this ritual serving as a thread that ties all of us together over time. And I’m looking forward to feeling that feeling again when I go back for my silver graduation in a couple of years. It’s not just ceremony; it’s continuation. A declaration that our striving and our joy deserve a soundtrack.

In church, it’s the hymns that have survived generations. Sometimes when I sit in my church, I envision Deacon Jones starting the devotional and wish I could hear him call “I know I am a child of God” and wait for us to respond as a congregation. I miss the devotional because it just felt important in my bones. It felt deeply spiritual, and every now and then I sing it to myself, and as I sit here typing, I wonder what healing or comfort it’s providing that I don’t even realize. I can still hear Mother Curlie sing her special version of This Little Light of Mine, wondering if I’d ever be that voice that leads from the pews without ever touching the choir stand. I cherish the way I give countless hugs when I walk in on my way to my seat. I appreciate that when a word hits home, there’s always someone I can look at, and they just get it without me saying anything.

Even in our everyday lives, the rituals are there. The “say thank you” that echoes from moms through the generations, the debates about whether or not fish and spaghetti go together, the connections through memories of fried chicken Wednesdays on varied HBCU campuses, the plastic-covered furniture or the wooden panel walls in your grandmother’s living room that somehow we all reminisce about. The details that shape us, bind us, and make us smile when we realize how universal they are.

Black pomp and circumstance isn’t about extravagance. It’s about intention. It’s how we show love, how we hold history, how we make meaning out of moments both monumental and ordinary. It’s ceremony as language. Beauty as inheritance.

We’ve been curating sacredness for centuries — in our grief, in our joy, in our striving, in our rest. Whether it’s a processional, a praise, or a favorite meal on a particular day, the message beneath it all remains the same:

We matter enough to mark the moment.

Soundtrack of My Life: Total Praise by Richard Smallwood

The Stories that Shape Us: Six Minutes, Dragons, and Big Words

The Stories that Shape Us: Six Minutes, Dragons, and Big Words

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I can’t believe it’s been 7 years since I wrote this post about the podcasts Frederick and I were listening to. Back then, we were exploring the joy of shared stories in audio form. Of course, we also watched shows like Yo Gabba Gabba (which came up as a trivia question the other day!) and others as he got older, and we read out loud to each other. Now, those stories have expanded across podcasts, books, and shows—threads that weave together our routines, our conversations, and even the way relate to one another.

Our current car-ride soundtrack depends on what’s happening in the news. Sometimes I start with The Daily or Up First because I think it’s important for him to know what’s going on and to have an opportunity to ask questions or discuss our thoughts before he hears about it or talks about it at school. I want him to have a safe space to be able to process his own thoughts and opinions and to have gentle pushback or validation or whatever else our conversations bring up.

If we have time or if I don’t prioritize the news or politics, our go to podcast right now is Six Minutes. It’s short, interesting, and just the right dose of suspense for our commutes (even though we definitely listen to multiple episodes at a time). Frederick has become a pro at anticipating the plot twists or figuring out the mysteries (just like my mama!), and we get to have “What would you do if that were you?” convos, and my hope is that we’re regularly building blocks for his critical thinking. Also, this morning, because of the plotline, I asked him if he thinks he’d be friends with me if he met me when I was a kid. We had an interesting exchange about that, and of course, I’m also thinking about what I’d think about my parents if I met them at my age (or as kids). Food for thought!

TV wise, we’re watching the How to Train Your Dragon animated series. After watching the live-action movie before school started, Frederick wanted to dive deeper, and here we are. Now it’s part of our evening unwind over dinner. This too has become a jumping point for conversations, and I love that for us.

Of course, books are still a large part of our lives, even though we’re no longer reading out loud to each other. We started listening to Dear Haiti, Love Alaine, and while the story pulled us in quickly, it also got a little heavy sooner than expected. We decided to press pause, a reminder that it’s okay to honor our own pace with stories—especially ones that carry real weight.

In the meantime, he’s deep in his reading list for his school’s Reading Bowl team. Right now, The School for Invisible Boys has his attention. It’s been so fun to see him stretch his imagination while also honing the discipline of reading with a purpose. The way he breaks down plot points with me—plus the sheer size of his vocabulary at 13—reminds me that all these years of bedtime stories and library trips are bearing fruit.

What I love most is that none of this is just passive consumption. Every book, every show, every podcast has the possibility of sparking a conversation. We talk about fairness, bravery, identity, tough situations, ethics, and so much more. Sometimes the conversations are lighthearted and fun, and sometimes they’re unexpectedly deep. Sometimes they are the gateway to sharing experiences or problems that maybe wouldn’t have been discussed otherwise. Sometimes hearing his general perspective is so insightful. Each one is a reminder that these shared stories are shaping him—and me too.

Parenting doesn’t come with scorecards, but when I hear him pull out a word that makes me pause (words or word combinations I know most adults wouldn’t reach for so easily) or get excited about choosing our next podcast or book, it feels like a quiet nudge from the universe: You’re doing alright. Keep going.

What are y’all reading and/or watching with your kiddos? Let me know!

Soundtrack of My Life: Reading Rainbow

The Burden of Strength

The Burden of Strength

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People talk a lot about the blessing of being strong. They call it resilience. They call it beating the odds. They admire how you always get back up, keep moving, keep holding it all together. However, they rarely wonder or ask what it costs.

The truth is, being “the strong one” is a lonely place to live. It means that when life piles on, when your body is tired, when your heart is stretched thin–people assume you’ll handle it. They forget that you, too, need soft places to land. They forget that the defender sometimes needs defending. They forget that you’re human and are sensitive even if you don’t usually wear that sensitivity on your sleeve. They forget that strong doesn’t mean unbreakable.

These days, the weight feels heavier. I’m watching my parents age. I can see their needs growing, and with it my worry: worry that I won’t have enough time, enough resources, enough of me to give. At the same time, I’m raising a teenager. Teen years so far feel complicated and overwhelming. They require an abundance of patience (that I do not always have), guidance, and the kind of steady love that doesn’t waver even when your child pulls away. Doing it alone sharpens the edges of that challenge. There’s no one to trade shifts with. There’s no one to tag in when I’m drained. There’s no one who witnesses what’s going on.to vent to. There’s no one to brainstorm with in moments of strife. There’s no one to carry half the load.

My life feels like it’s becoming a balancing act between generations. I’m trying to give my child wings while also making sure my parents still feel held. And in the middle of it all, I’m trying not to lose myself while I pursue my passions and try to do my part in this world.

The hardest part? Very few people check on the strong ones. They assume we’re fine because we make it look fine. Yet sometimes, we aren’t. Sometimes we’re standing in the kitchen at midnight staring into the fridge, wondering if anyone sees how tired we are. Sometimes we’re smiling through the meeting or the church service or the family dinner, holding back tears because we know if we let them fall, we might not stop. Sometimes we’re biting our tongues when people talk recklessly to or about us because we feel like we have to be the bigger person. Sometimes we want to not be the responsible one who considers everyone else because we never seem to be considered. Sometimes we want to be more (or perhaps less?) than the person held to the highest of standards. Sometimes we want to be given the benefit of the doubt when things go awry. Sometimes *I* just want to feel like someone has my back no matter what.

But alas. Here I am. On a Friday night fighting through my feelings of so very rarely being held with care. And of course, this isn’t a plea for pity because pity is something I can’t imagine being given either. It is, however, a reminder—for me, and maybe for you, too—that strength and softness can coexist. That the strong ones deserve tenderness, too. That it’s okay to admit the load is heavy, to ask for help, to say out loud, “I need care.”

So if you love someone who always seems to have it together, check on them. Handle them with care. Let them know that they matter. They may not say it, but they need it. If you are that person—the strong one—let this be permission to take off the cape for a while. To breathe. To rest. To be held, instead of holding everything. I can’t tell you just how to do that because I haven’t quite figured it out myself. But I do know we deserve it.

Because even the strongest need somewhere safe to rest and recharge before going back out there and being that one.

Soundtrack of My Life: Hear My Call by Jilly from Philly

Coming Home: Family, Freedom, and the Fight Ahead

Coming Home: Family, Freedom, and the Fight Ahead

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I hadn’t been home to Mississippi in six months. I need to be here, my birthplace, physically to sit still, hear the rhythms of my people, enjoy the laughter, listen to the familiar voices that know me truly to be reminded of what I’m actually fighting for. To rejuvenate me. To give me even a small reset. I know the pace I keep is unsustainable, and the times we’re entering demand clarity, strategy, and soul. And there’s no place that can revitalize my soul like home.

Today is the Fourth of July. Independence Day, they call it. But let’s be real—none of us are truly free. Not now. Not ever. Not with the way things are heading.

Not with the Big Uglazz Bullshit Bill ready to wreak havoc on our communities far and wide. Not with rights unraveling in broad daylight while some folks act like nothing’s happening. Not with a political climate that keeps chipping away at our autonomy, our safety, and our ability to care for ourselves and one another.

While Black communities have always carried the heaviest weight in this country’s unfulfilled promises, this moment feels even more expansive in its harm. The target is broader. The aim is deeper. It’s not just about race. It’s not just about gender. It’s about erasing the very things that make us whole—our bodies, our stories, our families, our agency.

Make no mistake—it’s not just about legislation.
It’s about how policy becomes culture.
How oppression gets normalized in real time.
How the system depends on us being too tired, too overstimulated, too divided, or too disconnected to resist with any real force.

That’s why I had to come home and stay even just a lil while. I needed it physically, spiritually, emotionally, and strategically.

Family is a grounding force. It’s not always easy. It’s not always tidy. But it’s real. In times like these, being rooted in something real is the only way to survive—let alone build something better.

Family reminds us of who we are.
Family reminds us of what’s worth protecting.
Family reminds us that no matter what they legislate, they can’t erase our lineage, our joy, or our collective will.

So I’m preparing. Yes, I’m stocking the pantry. Yes, I’m thinking ahead. But more than that—I’m tending to my relationships. Reconnecting with the people who keep me sane. Laughing with my son. Listening to my elders. Connecting with the folks I know are aligned with my values and vision for the future. Taking inventory of what matters. Restoring the kind of love, trust, and presence that policy can’t touch, but that will absolutely shape how we respond to it.

Because when the storm comes—and let’s be clear, it’s already here in some places—we won’t just need talking points or political analysis. We’ll need each other: whole and ready.

If you’ve been running nonstop, like I have, let this be your permission to pause. Go home. Call your people. Make the meal. Hug the babies. Check on your strong friends. Speak truth. Refill your spirit.

Because freedom isn’t something they’ll hand us. It’s something we build—daily, deliberately, and together. And we are not alone.

If this resonated with you, I’d love to hear what “freedom at home” looks like for you. What are you preparing for—and who are you preparing with?

Soundtrack of My Life: “Optimistic” by Sounds of Blackness

I love when I make myself cry, lol.

I love when I make myself cry, lol.

by Ranada ♥ 2 Comments

This morning I got an email with the subject teaser “I love you.” Hmm. What’s this? It was a letter from the July 2013 me. I wasn’t going to share it, but why not? It’s my 2nd mommyversary today, and I am super blessed to be able to celebrate the milestones my baby has made over the last two years AND the milestones I’ve achieved myself as the sole caretaker of a bustling, precocious, charming boy. I’m so proud of him, and I’m even prouder to be his mom. He’s an amazing soul, and though this journey hasn’t been easy, it has been beyond worth it. I look forward to being Frederick’s safe place throughout his adventures. Watching him evolve is an almost unbelievable experience. I can barely even believe that at one time he was a butterbean in my body. Now he’s over half my height! If Frederick has taught me nothing else, it’s that life keeps moving through it all. He’s a daily reminder that life is mysterious and beautiful and hope-filled and worth living to the fullest. Happy 2nd birthday to my sweet thang!

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 June 6, 2014 vs. June 6, 2013

Anyway, here’s the letter from past me to present me.

Dear FutureMe,

Congrats on your second anniversary of pushing an almost 9 pound human out of your body! Frederick is 2, and you have even more to be grateful for than ever before. I hope that as you’re reading this you are saying to yourself, hey old me, I can barely remember the heartache from that time. I hope that by now, you have fully reclaimed your confidence and your passion and your “I can do it” attitude and have been slanging it around for all the masses to see and feel. You MADE it through the roughest time of your life so far, but just like the other rough patches you’ve been through, you are better for it after it was all said and done. Can you believe you actually thought you were less of a woman because of situations out of your control?? But I am confident that today, you know and OWN the fact that you are MORE than a woman. You are a WARRIOR and an extremely loyal, dedicated, and gifted person. Do you realize that in the worst of times, you conquered your depression, your hurt, and your bad outlook on your own life to do whatever was necessary to give Frederick everything he needed and more?? That’s powerful, young lady. Even when you didn’t want to take care of yourself, you did it anyway so that Frederick could have a strong foundation and a solid connection to his mother. Even when you despised his father, you swallowed all your hurt, anger, and sadness to try to have a cordial relationship with him for the sake of Frederick. That’s not WEAK, honey, that is STRONG. Can you believe that your sweet thing was once an arm baby, then he started teetering everywhere like he would tip over at any moment. OMG I can’t wait to see what he is like at 2!!

I hope this letter finds you in a brand new, loving, positive, promising place in your life, where you wake up with happy thoughts and new ideas and a fresh outlook on the day ahead of you. Continue to leave the past in the past, and know in your heart that your future is #winning. And live today like the star you are.

I love you for all you are today, all you have been throughout your life, and the wonderfulness you will be in your future.

Love,

Your Past Self on July 3, 2013

Sharing My Journey

Sharing My Journey

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In my journey so far as a single mother, I have experienced an emotional roller coaster like none I’ve ever ridden. And not just romantically–that’s actually probably the easiest part of the ride. The scariest and most difficult parts of the ride have been dealing with my self-image, managing and changing the dynamics of my friendships, and reconciling societal perspectives with my reality.

Some days, I get to a place where I want to share this experience, and other days, I don’t–mostly because I don’t want to deal with any more opinions. I also don’t like that some think I sound bitter (and in some instances, I am)–when my bitterness has waned significantly over the last two years. What’s funny is that the more I talk, the more some think I’m bitter, when in actuality, the less bitter I am, the more willing I am to talk. There was a time that the last thing I wanted to do was talk about what I was going through. And I avoided people like the plague for fear of being seen by people whose opinions I valued as a negative Nancy and bitter Betty. And then I think to myself that the bitterness that’s left should be understood–why is it even such a negative label? Emotions are what they are, so who can judge me and say and too bitter–from my perspective, it’s just as relevant to wonder if I’m bitter enough because I haven’t allowed my bitterness to permeate my decision-making as a mother. So then I began to really appreciate the people who ASKED me how I was doing and stayed around no matter what I was talking about, whether it highlighted my bitterness or not. Because they still saw me, Ranada, and still cared about me as a full person, and didn’t confine me to the box I limited my own self-image to.

There are times that I also wonder why I care what people think. And I’ve realized it’s because I’m human. Humans need to be liked, accepted, affirmed, and understood. So when I’m feeling my loneliest, it’s because I feel like the group of people who have tried to understand what my life has been like in the last two years is much smaller than the group of people I considered my friends before this ordeal began. It’s all an exercise in evaluation.

Self-evaluation, which I’ve gone above and beyond in doing for the last two years and had to realize that even though so many of the self-help articles begin and end with self-evaluation, that I was being WAY too hard on myself, and there definitely is a such thing as judging yourself too harshly.

The evaluation of the people I can truly call my village, understanding that I could not have made it to this place in my life without their support and understanding that you can’t predict who will be standing there when the dust settles. And you can only trust that God sends his encouragement through the people He chooses–over the last two years, I’ve received a good word from the most unlikeliest of places, and they were salve for my soul.

The evaluation of my previous perspectives, societal ideals, and my current reality in the context of those.

The evaluation of what happiness is to me and what role hardships have in my journey.

Evaluation.

Zora Neale Hurston’s birthday was yesterday, and one of her most well known quotes is

There are years that ask questions and years that answer.

Sometimes I think 2012 and 2013 were question-asking years and I’m hoping 2014 is an answer-giving year. But time will tell, huh?

So as my bitterness continues to subside, or at least I continue becoming one with it and learning to not care if people use it as a label when I’m only speaking my truth, I am kinda looking forward to sharing the lessons and emotions and outlooks from this joyful yet painful, rewarding yet taxing, fun yet hard, loving yet lonely journey as a single mother. Happy new year!

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God made my bambino beautiful.

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I love the lyrics of Beyonce’s new song. I look at Frederick every day and am still amazed that I shared my body with him for 40 weeks exactly. And I will always be grateful for the joy he’s brought to my life. This Thursday, my #1 blessing is Frederick Daniel. ❤

Softball and Switchblades

Softball and Switchblades

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I’ve had to say goodbye to a hefty number of family members in my life, but bidding farewell to my auntie (pronounced aint-tee) Rita Kaye Robinson Purvis has been almost surreal to me. I can’t really believe she’s gone. If I ever believed anyone was invincible, it was her. I still haven’t really fully accepted that she didn’t tase the heck out of cancer. She stood 4’11”, but she was one of the feistiest people I’ve ever known. She was fun to be around, but she didn’t take no mess either. She was the only girl smack dab in the middle of a bunch of boys (like me! I’m the only girl and middle child too 🙂 #youcare), and she was tough yet nurturing. She was one of those people you definitely wanted on your team. She was fiercely protective of anyone she loved.

I love these pics. Her smile tells you most of what you need to know about her.
I love these pics. Her smile tells you most of what you need to know about her.

As I was reading her obituary, I realized that even though I’ve always known she was a single mother, I never labeled her that. One line in her obituary caught my attention more than anything else: “She was proud to be a single mom to her four children.” I began to wonder why I’m so ashamed of my status when I’ve admired her all of my life. I still don’t have an answer. It never even crossed my mind that it was anything but natural for her to be my cousins’ solo parent and protector. As a matter of fact, as I’ve been navigating my way through this single motherhood thing, I didn’t even think about Rita as a role model of single motherhood. Isn’t that crazy? She’s definitely been a role model for motherhood–as are my mom, my cousins, and others. But when I think of single mothers, she just didn’t come to mind even though she’s never not been in my life–so how could I overlook that? Of course I was a child so I wasn’t privy to some things, but she never seemed upset about her “plight” or resentful or any of that. It’s kind of been a lightbulb never-ending moment since I read that line. I’ve been thinking about this almost nonstop. I think the biggest way I can honor my aunt now is to figure out how to start being completely proud of my journey as a mother. And maybe, as well, to be willing to share with my village, which includes her children, when I’m feeling overwhelmed the way she and my mom shared with each other. It’s really hard for me to show my hand and let people know when I’m feeling really down, but I know I need to start, as they reminded me this weekend. (I’m listening Shun and Chelle, I promise!)

When I think of Rita, I will always remember her coming down from the scorekeeper’s box to give me a hug when I arrived at the softball field to watch a game. As I noted in my blog post about my granddaddy, baseball and softball are a family tradition, and of course, she played, and when she stopped playing you could still find her at a game. Keeping score, socializing, making everyone around her feel special, and talking much smack.

Still at the ballpark
Still at the ballpark

And yes, that second part of this blog title is how I will remember her as well. My aunt never left home without a boxcutter, switchblade, taser, SOMEthing. She gave me my first taser after I started living by myself. And when my neighbor was effing with me, I’m sure Rita wished she were in Atlanta to stick up for me. I hope I made her proud when I decided to start walking my dog with my softball bat in my hand. That definitely solved my problem! I didn’t hear another threat once I showed I wasn’t taking any mess off of him! I can thank Rita Kaye for her feistiness when it came to protecting myself. She would say “I don’t care how much bigger they are, how much stronger they are, I got something for em.” And she always had a way of making you feel so much better and more optimistic about a situation after she finished with her pep talk and but-I’m serious-though jokes.

I will absolutely miss my aunt. I’m happy she’s no longer in pain. I know her mom and children and grandchildren and brothers and nieces and nephews will carry her in our hearts forever more. Rest in love and power and happiness, my firecracker aunt.

Day 2 – Life Assessment

Day 2 – Life Assessment

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Today’s task was to do a life assessment. I’ll admit that I was a little bit overwhelmed by the thought of it, but I sat down and made it happen. In this life assessment I had to answer two questions for each of 7 areas of my life: “What do I like?” and “What do I dislike?” Since part of the purpose of this reset is to shift my focus to what’s good in my life, I’ll only share the answers to the former question. Suffice it to say that it was pretty easy for me to answer the latter, BUT identifying what I do like wasn’t as hard as I expected. Progress! 🙂

Lifestyle: I like that I have a pretty impressive network. I like that I live in Atlanta and have access to many opportunities. I like that I am still connected to my hometown of Jackson since it holds a special place in my heart. I love that I get to travel and explore.

Work: I love the level of support I get from my management. They genuinely care about me as a whole person, not just as an employee. I also love that I’ve found a place where I can apply my math skills to being a do-gooder in communities across the country. I also like that I am diversifying my portfolio by not just doing research for projects but also helping with marketing and the operations side.

Education: I like that my educational background is relatively diverse. I’m also happy that I had the experience of finding out that I actually didn’t like a field I had dreamed of entering and was able to find my niche later. That was a hard time in my life because it was one of the first times I ever had to decide not to finish something I started, but I saw after the fact that it was just what I needed to steer me in a better direction. (Message!)

Finances: I appreciate the fact that even though I don’t receive help from the person I expected it from, I’ve never missed a meal and Frederick has everything he needs and more. I like that I truly have my mom’s support and that she’s been my security net.

Health: I like my weight. I like my newfound upper body strength. I like that I eat mostly fresh and organic foods now. Thanks x3, Frederick.

Family: I love being Frederick’s mother. I like seeing my son develop and flourish everyday. I love hearing him laugh and seeing him discover new things. I love his hugs and kisses. I love watching (and hearing) him sleep. I love the way he looks like he is going to tip over when he is walking full speed ahead. I love to hear him say new words. I love reading and singing to him. Also, I love my mom and my daddy and my brothers. I love my aunts and uncles and my cousins. I love that I still have a living grandmother. I love that all these people love me. I love that even though I live 6 hours away, I still have a church family that loves me and my son. I like that Frederick and I have a village.

Relationships: I like that I have friends who speak life into me when they notice I’m low on fuel. I like that I have friends who believe in me. I like that most people who have made even a brief connection with me like to keep in touch with me, which I think means they see value in knowing me.

So 2 days down, 29 to go!

FYI – if you read my pregnancy posts, I used the same password on yesterday’s post. I’ll make it public sooner or later, but until then, hope you remember the old password!

A letter to me from my past self

A letter to me from my past self

by Ranada ♥ 1 Comment

I started a ranting post about how depressed I have become, hoping it would help me like Kelly Rowland says her song Dirty Laundry helped her. And then my friend popped on my screen and reminded me without knowing that I never read the letter I wrote to myself in August 2012 set to deliver to me on my baby’s first birthday. (For anyone who wants to write a letter to your future self, visit futureme.org). I totally blessed myself. I take things one day at a time, but I’m glad I could reinforce what my mom tells me daily and remind myself of where I should force myself to focus my energy. Here it goes.

Dear Ranada,

One year ago, you joined the superwoman club and gave birth to a beautiful baby boy after hours of painful labor that you can no longer remember. You didn’t have support from his father despite the love you thought you shared with him–but guess what–you’ve made it an entire year. With the love and support from your mom, the rest of your family (even Clint!), your friends in Atlanta, and your friends all over the country, you and Frederick are doing well and that’s no surprise. You’re the bomb, and Frederick is going to be an amazing young man because he has you for his mom.

Keep up the good work. Enjoy life. Appreciate the blessings of motherhood. Don’t focus on what’s hard–keep your eyes on what’s great. Remember that mantra from 2010?PERSPECTIVE. Things are as they should be. You are loved. Your baby is loved.

With self-love,
Ranada