Tag: Reflections

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

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

The Truth We Owe Each Other

The Truth We Owe Each Other

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I’ve walked into the Tracey Wyatt Recreation Center more times than I can count, but today hit different. We were there for Part 2 of We the People, our intergenerational civic engagement series, and the room felt alive with purpose. Juneteenth reminds us that freedom is not just won—it’s passed down. But in order to pass it down, we have to first be able to tell each other the truth.

Today, we told the truth about disinformation, distrust, and the divides that make it harder to move as one AND provided training on how we can help the people we care about move closer to the truth when they believe false narratives. We began something sacred: the work of repairing what’s been splintered, of listening across generations, of building a bridge wide enough to carry us all. Not just toward the ballot box—but toward each other.

Disinformation isn’t new, but its tools have evolved. Today’s lies come wrapped in algorithms, delivered through funny memes and passionate hot takes, and sent straight to our loved ones’ phones. However, the impact is deeply familiar: confusion, mistrust, and division. What we know, though, is that we are more likely to believe people we care about. According to a 2024 survey by the Majority Institute, 75% of Georgians say they trust their family members and 60 percent say they trust their friends over all other messengers. That’s why this work matters.

Our We the People series is designed to help everyday people communicate more effectively with the folks around them. What we did today wasn’t just teach digital literacy—it was soul work. We helped each other name the harm, then offered tools to heal it. We’re not here to shame people who have adopted harmful narratives–we want them to leverage the trust they already share to inch them closer to the truth. Combating disinformation is less about winning arguments and more about staying connected long enough to tell each other the truth with love.

Juneteenth has always been a reminder that truth delayed is freedom denied. The very origins of the holiday are rooted in disinformation—an intentional withholding of emancipation news for more than two years after it was law. Black people in Galveston kept laboring and surviving under the weight of a lie. While the context has changed, the tactic has not. Today, our communities are still battling distorted truths—about our power, our history, and our future.

Disinformation isn’t just a political weapon—it’s a spiritual one. It clouds our discernment and limits our ability to imagine what’s possible. It isolates us from each other by breeding mistrust, and it dims the collective light we need to organize, vote, and build. That’s why this work—naming the lie, speaking the truth, and doing it in love—is so sacred. It’s not about “fact-checking” in the narrow sense. It’s about continuing the fight for freedom.

I left today feeling so fulfilled because even in the heaviness of thinking about how to “confront” people we love with hard truths—joy showed up. The event took place alongside a festival, where there was music and food and games. Before the event, I spent time hugging necks and chatting with people I value but don’t see often. People who have known Frederick since he was an infant got to gush over how big he’s gotten. After the event started, there was room for laughter and creativity. It reminded me that joy is also the truth—a truth we’ve always carried.

In a world that seeks opportunities to amplify Black trauma, joy becomes data. Joy signals to us what’s sacred. It tells us what we’re fighting for. It’s not just resistance—it’s record-keeping. When we allow ourselves to feel it together, even while we wrestle with the harms of disinformation, we’re creating proof that freedom isn’t theoretical. It’s already among us because we are a resilient and communal people. We are still here. We are still joyful. We are still building.

That joy makes room for the harder conversations, too—even about generational divides in how we vote, how we trust, how we make meaning of the world. One reason this series is so important is because misunderstandings between generations isn’t just inconvenient—it’s weakening our power.

Older Black voters often carry the weight of history like armor. Younger Black voters often question systems with a fire that comes from disillusionment. Both perspectives hold truth, but that truth won’t carry us far unless we’re willing to speak it to each other.

Truth is not just fact—it’s felt. It’s shaped by what we’ve lived and what we’ve lost. The only way to pass it on is by creating space for it to be spoken with love and with openness to collaboration, not just shouted with frustration and hopelessness.

Freedom, like truth, is a process. Like Juneteenth itself, it often comes later than it should. But we can’t stop reaching for it. We keep telling the truth. We keep practicing joy. We keep trusting that the bridge is worth building.

This work isn’t about convincing everyone to agree—it’s about making sure no one gets left behind because they didn’t hear the truth in a voice that sounded like love.

We’re not just fighting lies—we’re fighting to stay open-hearted and whole in the face of them.

The truth will indeed set us free, but first, it will demand that we trust each other enough to tell it. We owe each other that truth. It starts in rooms like the one we sat in today. It grows in conversations we’re willing to keep having. It deepens in the quiet moments where we choose not to give up on each other.

I think often about what I’m passing on to Frederick—not just in legacy, but in practice. What stories am I telling him with my actions? What kind of truth am I preparing him to hold? What kind of joy do I want him to believe he’s worthy of?

This Juneteenth, I’m holding fast to the truth we owe each other. That truth is the path to a freedom that lasts.

Soundtrack of My Life: Liberation by Earth, Wind, and Fire


A New Chapter: Celebrating Frederick Becoming a Teen and My (Hopeful) Return to Writing

A New Chapter: Celebrating Frederick Becoming a Teen and My (Hopeful) Return to Writing

by Ranada ♥ 0 Leave a Comment

It’s been a minute—more than a minute, actually—since I last wrote here. If you know me, though, you know that the story hasn’t stopped, and neither have I. Today feels like the perfect moment to return to my blog, especially as I reflect on a milestone that’s close to my heart: my son Frederick is 13 today!

A lot has shifted since I last wrote in my blog. The past year has been filled with growth, major transitions, and new beginnings—personally and professionally. Through it all, the anchor has always been my commitment to being the best mom I can be to my kiddo. Watching him grow into a young man has been one of the most fulfilling (and most challenging!) experiences of my life. The tween/pre-teens was a lot, but what has kept me hopeful is the fact that so many people, including teachers and folks at church, tell me how mannerable and bright and thoughtful he is. So it seems I’m the only one he’s trying his antics with. My friends (and therapist!) remind me that he tries it with me because he knows I love him unconditionally, which I appreciate–but boy, can it be really frustrating and draining. Then, there are moments and milestones where I get to really see his growth, my teachings, or my family’s values in real time, and it’s a supercharge every single time.

It has been such an amazing journey despite the moments of heartburn. From the miracle of even carrying and giving birth to a human being, to witnessing his personality emerge very early on, to watching him go from under 9 pounds to almost bigger than I am (and soon, taller too!!), observing his curiosity and amazement as he learns, and so much more is simply astounding. Being a parent is one of the most beautiful experiences of my life.

Going forward, I’ll be sharing more personal reflections—especially about my experiences as a mother and how I’m navigating it all. I’ll likely also share professional insights, maybe even some research, and community building ideas that fuel me. In the last couple of weeks, I’ve been told countless times that I have so much more to share with the world, so as I figure out what that means for how I show up in the world, I’ll try to start here on this blog. There are so many stories to tell, lessons to share, and reflections that need a space. It’s also time to share more about the new balance I’m working toward, integrating my career and motherhood with intention.

So whether you’ve been here from the start and got an alert out of the blue that I posted or are just now finding this space, welcome. Again. I’m excited to share this new season with you, and as Frederick enters his teenage years, I’ll continue embracing the growth, the joy, and yes, the challenges that come with it. Let’s keep building together.

Soundtrack of My Life (bringing this back!!): If I Could by Regina Belle

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!

Image

 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

Brief Reflections from The Shack

Brief Reflections from The Shack

by Ranada ♥ 0 Leave a Comment

There are books that have been on my reading list forever and ever. I even think of some of them when I’m moving on to my next book, but somehow I never quite choose them. The Shack was one of those books until last month, someone special told me I should read it and that she has reread it multiple times because it really speaks to her. This someone was one of the first to share with me her personal story way back when I was preggo and hadn’t yet fully accepted what my life was turning into and still very much ashamed, terrified, and hopeful that maybe once my son was outside of my body that his father would choose to be a daddy. That particular morning, I just so happened to be volunteering and ended up in a small room organizing clothes with two women, whom I always just considered strong and dynamic women without a thought that they could possibly have had major strife in their personal lives. I learned that morning, after I dropped the veil of excitement about my pregnancy, that they both raised their children alone, and while of course, they acknowledged the hardships, they felt blessed through it all. That day was just one of many that was set up by God to get me through the turmoil. The respect I have for them magnified that morning, and it was a reminder that you really just don’t know what people have gone through. So, two years later, her suggestion that I read The Shack bumped it up to the top of the queue.

And it was a blessing. Last year, I read more Christian fiction books than I probably ever had before, and I think what makes this book different from some others that I’ve read is that it’s not preachy. I found it very inviting and paradoxically, light in the way that a heavy box is light if you have a dolly. And as I traveled with the main character through the story, I ended up highlighted tons of phrases and quotes. So, with that, I just want to share a couple of the parallels of my life and Mackenzie’s.

1. The Great Sadness is real. It’s frustrating to know that some people think “Just get over it” is sound advice. Some tragedies in life affect you so deeply that it feels like something wraps around you and even when you make a concerted effort to look on the bright side, this blanket is still just there no matter what. And some tragedies never go away because either it or the consequences are never-ending. I can’t really “get over” being a single mother, even if I have gotten through the grief and anger of the initial abandonment, because I am confronted daily and monthly with decisions and tasks as a single parent. So every time I pay the daycare bill or see that Frederick has outgrown something or the countless other things that parents encounter, I am reminded that I’m by myself–but I am learning to refocus my thoughts instead of reliving the initial trauma. Mack couldn’t really “get over” his tragedy because even if losing a child wasn’t enough, he was having to deal with the daily task of trying to help his other daughter. I’m happy that I was able to lift my Great Sadness some by seeing a counselor. But it wasn’t an easy process.

“Mack, pain has a way of clipping our wings and keeping us from being able to fly.” She waited a moment, allowing her words to settle. “And if it’s left unresolved for very long, you can almost forget that you were ever created to fly in the first place.”

2. One of the most difficult things in life has been accepting that I don’t control much of anything. Mackenzie and I share a tendency to take credit for things we can’t control if we tried. It took me a looooooooong time to stop being so hard on myself and to really release myself from punishing myself for someone else’s choices (think about that–the negative consequences that exist just by virtue of the bad situation PLUS self-inflicted punishment because somehow in my brain, it’s my fault). Just like Mack kept trying to recreate his situation in head, thinking of what he should have or could have done differently, I have done that  countless times too. At the detriment of peace of mind. Even if we could go back and do something differently, it’s not up to us. It’s not in our hands–so there’s nothing we could do in either of our situations to make it turn out better. When that happens in life, you have to trust and believe that the part of the story you can’t see yet will use that craziness for some bit of good.

“Earth has no sorrow that heaven cannot heal.” – Thomas Moore

3. As hard as it is to forgive, I’m sure it was as comforting to Mack as it was to me that forgiveness is not an automatic “poof, you’re forgiven” act. It’s a process that you have to work at, and it doesn’t end in forgetting what happened. In the same way that tragedies are not it happened today and by some expiration date it’s over and the impacts that result disappear, it’s okay to be angry, it’s okay to have whatever natural emotions arise–you don’t have to buy into the notion that something is wrong with you because you feel “some type of way” about how someone mistreated you. The emotions are there for a reason. And actually, I’ve found that many times there is wisdom in my anger–if I allow myself to analyze it and not just blow up. It’s just not okay to let those emotions consume you and take over your life because when that happens, it affects no one but you and possibly the people who actually care about you, which many times does NOT include the offender.

“It does a soul good to let the waters run once in a while–the healing waters.”

4. Pre-Shack Mack and I think too much. When Jesus told Mack to start walking on the water, I kept thinking what would I do? I honestly don’t know. I’d like to think I would have just stepped in on impulse, but who knows? I also probably would have thought myself into a frenzy over the author of the note that led Mack back to the Shack. Talk about paranoia. I can’t tell you how much I’ve thought about a negative comment on Facebook or subtweet on Twitter that I felt certain was aimed at me. Sometimes I can laugh it off  and say to myself “I know you think this tweet is about you, don’t you, don’t you, don’t youuuuuuuuuuuuuuu,” but other times I actually craft what I would say if I felt like the person was worth knowing how I feel. Or if the person was worth it, if I felt that our already clearly shattered relationship could handle it. See, thinking too much. Aye-yi-yi.

“Well, I am afraid of looking like an idiot. I am afraid that you are making fun of me and that I will sink like a rock. I imagine that—” “Exactly,” Jesus interrupted. “You imagine. Such a powerful ability, the imagination! That power alone makes you so like us. But without wisdom, imagination is a cruel taskmaster.”

5. We need closure. We’re human. We need someone to apologize. We need a resolution at the end of a contentious discussion. We need to know we’re understood, or at the very least, listened to. We need the funeral. And although it may not be the easiest thing to accomplish, it’s so necessary. It did MY heart good to read about Mack burying his daughter. Sometimes  letting go just isn’t official until you get that last note. And it might not even involve the person who caused you the anguish. That’s why many people do the burning paper with their negative thoughts thing. Closure is a beautiful thing.

“Today we are on a healing trail to bring closure to this part of your journey— not just for you, but for others as well. Today, we are throwing a big rock into the lake, and the resulting ripples will reach places you would not expect.”

I would share a bit more, but I want you to read it. If you have read it, please share with me some of the nuggets that touched you. Happy reading!

Sharing My Journey

Sharing My Journey

by Ranada ♥ 0 Leave a Comment

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!