When I was little, I knew we were different. Not only because of my parents and their thick accents but because of the lines they drew around us and the other children in the neighborhood. I remember my mother saying, “You are not to go and play with those kids! They are not like us!” Even now, 30 years later, it rings out like an echo. A black mom boomerang.
I always say my first son birthed a Mother, but my second son birthed an Advocate. A woman who wants fellow millennial mothers to thrive in their role as divine co-Creator, even if she’s come face to face with death in the process. I’ve been talking about birth trauma for two years now- supporting women in getting comfortable with acknowledging and giving voice to the undiscussed pain behind their birthing experiences
For the past three years, I’ve struggled with anxiety and ADHD in which both of those labels, I became very dependent on medication. I was more so dependent on the medicine for ADHD than the anxiety because my inability to focus and sit longer than a couple of minutes was a daily struggle. So much so, it became a problem in my work as well as school. I became increasingly unorganized and frazzled.