If I'm being Honest

I am a product of my environment

And I will spend my days chasing freedom for as long as I can…

Many will find joy collecting seashells at the shore. But you my darling were made for the depths of the ocean.

As I sit here and type, I am visited by a hummingbird yet again. That is the third time here recently in my garden. Synchronicities are my love language, and I just can’t ignore this one. But we’ll come back to that.

Before I start, I must say I am not a jealous person. But I also must admit the feeling has reared its head a time or two. If I’ve learned anything in therapy, it is that these feelings come with a story, a message they wish to share. Shaming yourself for experiencing them leads to further self-abandonment. Ask them what they want with you. And be ready to listen.

The thief of comparison has been riddling my mind. It ran off with a few of my tears that I was saving for a later date. As I scrolled through Substack I celebrated the growth of so many new Substack artists. Remembering when they first started, I wondered why I wasn’t experiencing the same kind of growth. I know, I know - we don’t actually care what others think, who shares, who likes, and so on. *sarcasm* Even when we “don’t care” a small part of us has to deal with some real feelings. Realistically, I admire these artists and want to learn and grow with my own unique voice.

But I have been feeling stagnant here, invisible at times writing into a black hole. Dramatic? Maybe. But I remember that the only requirement for this season of life is that I show up for myself, first in line for the blog post and the events that I eagerly plan. As a person, I’m definitely making progress because even being able to admit that I desire to be seen and acknowledged is kind of a big deal. Though I cringe at saying it - it is true.

As I begin to have therapy with myself, it was clear rejection and feelings of invisibility were resurfacing as I know these were topics my inner child was already working through in actual therapy. It makes sense to appear here too. Once you identify things in therapy, it is actually interesting to watch it play out in real life, as an observer. Don’t run from it. Sit with it. Just because you know better doesn’t always mean you feel better. I’m guessing that is how the inner child in us works. They don’t always want to reason their feelings with what we understand as adults. And scolding them into understanding, pushes them further into hiding. And they hold the keys to our freedom.

I began to realize that remembering why you write is just as important as the act of writing.

There was a post circulating, well a few, that have grabbed my attention.

There was one from Practicing Creativity by

Nicole Asinugo

- Write like you have a Deal with God. That one shooketh me. I realized that obedience was not a question. It was the answer. If I know writing, storytelling, using my voice is where I need to be then that is all that matters. & Yes - God told me - teaching too if I might add. I be paying attention to the whispers in the wind yall. *inserts laugh* But the message was powerful. Create with God. I have to be a willing participate on the journey necessary to get where I desire to be.

One was being shared in the notes and I’m not sure who started it, but it said, “show me the entity whispering in your ear when you write.” Of course, I shared and as I shared, I realized how abundant I am that I have so many.

I think about the fact that I’ve been writing since I was a child. I won’t lie and tell you I remember what age, but I remember the set up. Late nights in my room with my thoughts. Releasing. Emotions. Poetry. And I think what possess a young person to write, to connect to poetry specifically? And then what makes them stop? Refuse to share it? I hear her. She wants her words to be heard, felt. She longs to be seen, truly seen.

I thought of my late great grandmother who was a freedom fighter, an activist, a teacher, a mother, a wife, a nurse, a midwife, a community healer in times where people were searching for family as they are now. “Free the land” she says. Free your heart baby. Shine. Queen Mother Dara Abubakari - Virginia Collins.

I shared my mom. Her voice is always ringing in my ears, our constant conversations almost on a daily basis about shifting what it means to be normal and to feel normal. Remove yourself from this rigid mindset. From her I learned to create my own life. A container of wisdom and a home for my soul. Home to many and an expert (to me) at the obstacle course of life. I don’t know how else to describe her. Embodied divinity. My mother always reminds me that there are only two things I HAVE to do. And we know what those are.

I thought of my late maternal grandfather who told me at a very young age how wise I was. I never forgot. I embodied it even when I didn’t believe it or know how to believe it. Even though our interactions were brief most times, his words stuck. He spoke over me. It mattered. My mother speaks of him often. He lives on in her spirit. Grandpa Brooks.

I shared my maternal grandmother. I remembered that I come from a line of beautiful speakers. She is always raising her hand to deliver a speech at an event or ceremony and damn proud of it. *insert chuckle* She speaks like she is addressing thousands. She knows her voice should be heard. And you will listen. “I love that which is me,” I hear.

I shared my sisters. They have always watched over me at every stage of life. They are my family. Home. I never once considered whether I liked them. I know them. They are a part of me. We are infinite. Deathless. I’m not sure how, but I just know. We came here together. In agreeance.

I shared The Rose. I capitalize The Rose because as a plant, rose is the highest vibrating plant there is. Love. It is sacred and it embodies all there is and ever will be. The Divine Mother, the unconditional love of God. Deep and transformative faith. It was my first intentional plant walk - a journey I plan to share more about soon. My ancestors loved me so much, they sent me roses for the journey.

The Rose also reminds me of my father and paternal side all together. My late Grandmother Rose. Who was she as a woman, a person beyond a wife, mother, and grandmother? How did she become who we knew her to be? We were always full when we visited her. No food left on the plate. I consider the thorns of the rose bush vs the bloom - the environment necessary to bloom. And my father, his gentle spirit and rough hands reminding me to be playful anyhow. Sillyness is music to the soul. He is always preaching to us to be mindful of how we as sisters treat each other. He brags about his six girls often.

As I think of the abundance of people who I didn’t mention, I know that I have something to say. Because if these are all the entities that whisper to me while I write, there are so many stories that have yet to be told.

So, as I feel sorry for myself, I have to ask myself - am I being honest? Slow growth. No growth. Authentic self?

Can I really do this, embody truth, share it? Is a life as a writer really a part of my destiny?

Can I embody the true essence of my soul and pour it onto the page? Or am I holding back at the seashore because it feels safe there. So and so did it and it worked for them. It will work for me too.

To be real, I know I’m being asked to dive into the abyss. Dive. Wade. Whatever but get the hell in!

My words, my real words they are out there in the depths. And if I don’t go and get them, if I don’t embrace them, yes life will go on. But my soul will linger lonely, unattached from my body. Because I gave up before I really tried.

So no, I didn’t cry out of jealousy. I cried out of doubt. I cried out of fear. I cried because I took too many what ifs to the head. I learned that in therapy. Go beyond the first feeling. There is more. You are not angry, you are hurting. You are not sad; you don’t want to do this by yourself.

You aren’t jealous. You are afraid to be seen. Really seen. The seen that once you say it, you can’t take it back.

But I had a dream recently (I’m always having dreams). It reminded me this:

I bare the words of my soul in my throat and so I have to mean what I say and say what I mean like my life depends on it. Because it does.

In the back of my head I’m singing Beyonce:

Freedom! Freedom! I can't move

Freedom, cut me loose!

Freedom! Freedom! Where are you?

'Cause I need freedom, too!

I break chains all by myself

Won't let my freedom rot in hell

Hey! I'ma keep running

'Cause a winner don't quit on themselves

And as Mereba reminds me I’m not tryna get by. I’m tryin to get free of the confines of who I thought I had to be and what I thought I had to do to be successful in this world. To be happy. To have joy. To have peace.

So, the hummingbird reminds me to whistle while I work. Here is a snippet of the story I shared on IG about the one I saw earlier in my garden. And they came back while I was writing this. Message received. It is my birthright to do what I love and what brings me joy.

I shared me. Now you go. Where do you need to get free? What parts of yourself are you not allowing to show up for you? How are you denying deep connection with your soul and soul’s path?

With intense vulnerability & a little bit of cringe,

Marasia Simone