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If you know me, you know that writing a birth story for each child is important to me. I usually try to write a detailed birth story by the time baby is 6 weeks, but that didn’t happen this time. Even still, what you do for one child, you do for the next, so if you would like to know the story of Azaliah, join me for the journey.
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During the last quarter of 2020, I took a break from social media. I realized that I could not maintain my mental health and exist for hours at a time in that environment. As I began to become more aware of people perpetuating harm in many spaces, I realized that I was not just observing the harm, I was encountering it. Reading problematic statements from “friends,” being unfriended by people I had tried to educate, seeing racist vitriol at every click… when I finally examined myself closely, I realized that each encounter had drawn blood and that I didn’t like the bloodied and battered version of myself. It was impossible for me to actually distance myself when the subject matter was usually some part of my most personal intersections. In the moment, I could “win” an argument or state a flawless case in the face of bull$&!+, but at what cost?
This stretch of the pandemic has been a lot it seems. I have given up social media in an attempt to approach life with intention and minimize time squandered, however it still seems that the days end with no real sense of accomplishment or achievement. This was the first week that high school teachers returned to our school buildings, which has also been a source of complex feelings and overwhelm. It seems as if the little things that I could count on to prove that I’ve accomplished something; reading a chapter in a book, writing in a journal, getting in a good workout; have also vaporized leaving me feeling like I’m failing. My days are spent alone in a freakishly cold, sterile room, zooming with the very same students I was seeing from the warmth and comfort of my home office. I have felt stuck.
Today has been a day. I, like many, was crushed after hearing of the death of Chadwick Boseman late last night. I was exhausted from the week and had fallen asleep. My husband woke me to briefly inform me of his death. I was immediately angered. Perhaps it was because of the fog that ensues when one is woken up unexpectedly, but it ignited something inside of me. It wasn’t until I woke to use the restroom several hours later that the gravity of it hit me and I wept. It seems like 2020 has been so extremely unfair.
I am opinionated. I know this. I am Black. I also know this. Navigating the world with all of my intersections can be challenging at times. I have found that to exist harmoniously on the internet, namely social media sites, I had to create some boundaries that manifested in the form of rules for myself to follow. One of these rules is that I have the right to post whatever I want on my page, but I am not to engage in discourse on anyone else’s posts. I have a long history of people going out of their way to be rude, loud and even downright abusive to me and usually it is when I have broken that rule and engaged on someone else’s page.
When I think of my history of best friends, I think of the movie Titanic. There is a part of the movie where the old lady is talking about her love life. She says, “a woman has many lovers in her lifetime.” This may not be the exact wording of what she said, but you get the point. I have had many best friends in my lifetime, starting in my childhood. In my childhood, my best friends were White. Moving into middle and high school, some of my closest friends were diverse, but it has only been in adulthood that I can say I have Black best friends.
I have to get something off my chest. This is not only for my own comfort, but also to acknowledge and take responsibility for places where I have fallen short in the past.
To my LGBTQIAP folks.My friends, coworkers and associates. I see you and your life matters. If you follow me on social media, you know that the yoga studio I call home closed suddenly. I have made it known how I feel about the manner in which the studio closed- it lacked integrity, transparency and any bit of advance notice. It felt violent and I have been going through moments of anger, disappointment and disillusionment.
When COVID-19 hit Charlotte, our studio created a Facebook page that teachers, clients and any others who wished to be kept abreast of what happened at that studio could join. We frequently posted pictures and some teachers shared posts of what classes they were teaching on Zoom. Although only a small percentage of the entire studio belonged to the Facebook page, it was nice connecting to some during this uncertain time. So here I am. Allow me to introduce myself. My name is VoNique. My friends call me Vo. I am a wife, mother, educator, fitness enthusiast and lover of the arts. I love people. I crack a lot of jokes. I move intuitively. I am an extrovert, but have retreated some as of late because your girl’s an empath and stuff is a lot.
I have known for years that I was supposed to be writing in some capacity. I’ve known that I was to have a blog for years as well. Fear and other things (mostly fear) got in the way. I, like many, have been ignited by recent incidents of racially motivated injustice in our nation. I find that I have so much to say and I really can’t keep my mouth shut. So this is my space to say what I want authentically and unapologetically. |
AuthorWife, mother, educator, wisecraker, yoga/fitness enthusiast and brutally honest social justice advocate. Archives
January 2021
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