Whoa, I’m 46 now. You better recognize!

The goddess known as ME is now 46 years old. I’ve not made it here on my own. It’s been a hard road, both from the standpoint of nature and nurture… but I made it. Hello. 46 I’m here.

Since I turned 45, I’ve been filled with dread. My Momma (RIP) died at age 46. I was 21 years old. My whole world ripped apart, I became a functioning alcoholic, I got a great job, and I sat in a dingy, cheap apartment crying every night and putting myself to sleep with a 5th of gin.

Suddenly, here it was the year of our Lord 2018 and I was 45 about to turn 46. I had gone through all the things my Mom had endured. A horrible divorce, single motherhood, financial ruin after divorce, chronic and manic depression, excessive weight gain, alcoholism… and I thought to myself my God – Mom – you were so alone and I’m sorry. Then for her to perish from smoke inhalation in a fire after enduring all of that seemed f*cking horrific and tragic as f***. It also seemed atypical of a Black American woman’s story. There is a history of trauma in the flesh of Black Americans who are descendants of American Chattel Slaves.

Now here I was 45 years old, what the f*** am I doing with my life. My child is 1/2 the age I was when my Mom was 46. Was I going to perish from Sarcoidosis, from my escalating obesity, was it in my genes – death – …. was I going to parish young too… cause I think I’m just starting to really live confidently in my own humanity.

As the months loomed up to my birthday, I became more anxious but reflective. I was about to turn 46 years old. This little poor, weird Black girl from 79th Street / Chicago had beat the odds. I had made this far because a lot of beautiful people were so kind to me and gave me Grace. I had made it this far due to the love of my beautiful friends. I had made it this far because I had vehemently hoped for a better life. I had made it this far because perhaps God had a bigger plan for me. I was fighting to stay alive because there is little kid who calls me Mommy and I love them more than I love myself and they are the reason I wake the f*** up and fight every gotdamn day.

I had to tell myself that my Mom’s story was not my story. Angrily, I had to remind myself that I am bigger than the negative bullshit I tell myself in the lonely hours of the night.

F*** yeah! I had made it to 46. And you know what, I finally let go of what I thought my life should be and should look like. I realized life is hella short, I better go live that shhhhhhhhh for as long as I can.

I know I am going to still make mistakes, but they won’t hurt as much as before. They won’t sting for years or cripple my wallet. I know that I’m a beautiful SuperMom making due the best I can with what I have. I love so hard and so passionately that it is what gives me my glow. I write my bullshit thoughts, spout my bullshit opinions, and dance in the kitchen like I’m 17 again at the Bismarck Ballroom listening to Lil’ Louis beat the box. And it’s okay.

So here I am, you better recognize me for the magical Black, Sexy, Big Tit’ (and stomach to match…. bwwwaaaaaaaah ) unicorn that I am. Moreso, I better recognize who I am and pour all the love that I Bless others with onto my own soul as a way to survive and emotionally thrive in this big, bad ass world.

Like whoa, I’m 46. That’s bad ass!