Reflections on season enders

After the gruesome injury of Gordon Hayward, I found myself in deep reflection. The words from his teammates, words from fellow NBA ballers, and even words from the most hated player, the Black Mamba, sent me into very deep thoughts. Hayward’s season ending injury touched me deeply because: 1) I am a basketball fan and want to see the Celtics do nothing but win. They worked so hard to come to where they are now and winning is important for those who put in the work. 2) His injury reminded me of my life. I have had many season ending injuries and NEEDED to work my way back from them. And when I say injuries, I do not mean of this type. Sure, I’ve had quite a few very painful fractures but nothing compared to this.  My season ending injuries were a little bit more personal. They were setbacks. They were breakups. They were discouragements. They were ending friendships. They were the rebound relationships. They were not getting what I thought I needed, when I thought I needed them. These were things that I planned my life around and they fell short because it just was not my time. They were the letting myself be okay with not being perfect, even though people in my life may view me as such.

Now, the injury was very touching but my God, the inspiration, the deep thoughts, the nightly reflections stems from the recovery process, the mental rehab, the support, the discouragements, the confusion that comes with season ending injuries were the crux of my reflections and continues to be. As I reflect on my season ending injuries and think about how they keep me up at night, bring tears that I shed in the comfort of my solitude,  isolate me from my environment, and create anxious expectations from me, Hayward’s words bring to a place of peace and motivates me to move forward. Season ending injuries are just that. They last for a specific season and with continued motivation, continued rehab, continued work, I improve. Season ending injuries are temporary, in fact, they prepare you for better and greater things ahead.

As I reflect, I see this. I recall a particular season ending injury and how I grew from it. I am a better person after having gone through this. I am better equipped to teach my sons, daughters, nieces, nephews, sisters, brothers how to move from this particular injury. Rehab from this injury not only taught me how to move past it, but also, taught me how to avoid it. One of my above mentioned fractures (see first paragraph) was a thumb fracture. I danced for a long time and when dancing, you learn to fall a specific way. You learn to catch yourself to avoid painful thumps to the ground. You learn to fall gracefully. This particular fracture was as a result of a fall. I did not apply the techniques I learned properly. Moving forward, this fall scared me into submission. I am more conscious of how I will land when I fall and remember to apply the techniques I learned in the past. Application is key. This is what season ending injuries are about. It is not to scare you from doing things again but they teach you how to move on, how to not let it happen again, and how to be stronger and better after. Will they happen again? Yes. I would be lying if I said certain injuries will not occur again. I do not believe in “to win you must lose but losing is a natural part of life.”

I’m using season ending injuries as an example and you might still be thinking, “I’ve never hurt myself before.” You are missing the point. It is not about hurting yourself but it is about the hurdles, the trials, the tribulations, the losses, the deaths, the breakups, that we face in life. Your season might have just lasted a day but there are lessons to be learned even in daily season injuries.

It is hard to prepare ahead for these season injuries, as often they occur so suddenly. But fear not, there is light at the end of the tunnel. I am a living proof that joy does indeed come in the morning. You will find your true purpose, even during your recovery period. But I warn you, take the time to recover. Take the time to heal. Broken people cannot prosper. You will be toxic to your surroundings, including yourself. You cannot move forward you if you find comfort in your pain.

I truly hope you were able to grasp something from this post. I pray that whatever season injury you are currently facing brings a happy and healthy recovery.

How do you deal with season ending injuries?

En tout cas,


A teenage regression

I am grown. I have grown. I have experienced growth. I am grateful. Now though, in this very moment, in my current space, I feel 16. I feel 16 and not because I am experiencing some crazy teenage love or that childish simplicity. I am 16 because now, at 3something, where I have accomplished one of my most important goal, where I have seen and experienced the trauma, where I have found my peace, I find myself going back to the year I was forced to grow up. The year I did not get to experience because life veered off course. I find myself not really fitting into anything right now because I feel 16. I feel the weight of 16+ off my shoulder. I feel whole. I feel superior to my trials. I feel like the leader of my wilderness. I feel like I can fly because I have overcame. I feel like I owe it to myself to give myself back the year I lost.

How does one act 16? That’s the thing, at 16, I don’t know how to act. I want to be free and I act on my freedom. I want to live my truth and I am living it. I want to rebel against all institutions that bind me and I am knee deep in rebellion. I want to do things on my own terms and now, my terms are priorities. I do not want to be bound by the rules (with the exception of the law..because, well you know) and there currently are no rules.

And because I am grown, I am a responsible 16. I am making good choices. I am deciding who stays and who goes. I am not allowing my heart to experience 16 year old pain. I am being intentional. I am not hiding the truth. I am being purposeful.

I am going with the flow. I’m centered. I’m prayed up. I am watching as God surprises me. I am working on obedience. I am accepting. I am being. I am 16.

Teach me how to…

“Friends, Romans, countrymen, lend me your ears.” Am I the only one that is obsessed with William Shakespeare? Anyway, the past 29 months have been inundated with learning. I’ve learned so much law to last me a life time. It’s at a point when I want to partake in certain activities, I’m wondering if there’s a Mass. Gen. Law prohibiting it. Besides the law, I’ve learned different things about myself. Some of these things, about me, require a little adjustment (always wanting to be in control and being skeptical of everything and everyone), some I’ve grown to love and stand fiercely in support, and some, not too sure how I feel about, but they are part of the package. I’m sharing because as mentioned in my last post, honesty is crucial. I come raw as ever, mostly because I expect the same in return.

I’ve learned….

To just be. For me, this means to do what I want, feel how I want, love how I want, move how I want, and so on. I don’t want to apologize for being in this space. It’s my time and I’ve given myself permission to be there.

I’ve learned that it’s okay to invite new people into my space because sometimes they help remove the venom of those already in. I’ve always struggled with letting people in because I feared disappointment, I feared lies, I feared people taking advantage of my vulnerability, and I feared people preying on me instead of praying for me. New, good, people are breaths of fresh air. Can’t say they won’t disappoint but my God, they serve a good purpose.

I’ve learned that I am hella skeptical, as above-mentioned. I need to trust more, but this comes with a series of heartbreaks. Not every will always inflict pain. I subscribe heavy to Proverbs 4:23 though: “Above all, guard your heart because everything flows from it.” Truth is, I’m scared and that’s on God.

I’ve learned that I am fierce protector of every one of my relationships. I literally use my heart as a shield because I want to preserve these relationships. I want them to be healthy and so I guard them. Anything I think isn’t good for them, I keep them away, including people. True story: I have different groups of friends and they’ve only recently come together during my graduation. They love each other, and I’m happy to be that glue that connects them all.

I didn’t recently learn this and some of you already know, but I like to have control. I’m learning to release. Feels good. I’ll have random moments though where things are not going how I think they should, and I’ll bow out gracefully.

I’ve learned that I have no problem leaving toxic relationships. I only want pure and true energy around me. I will exit if your energy disrupts my well-being ( I really mean aura here, but for the sake of simplicty, lol).

I’ve learned that Ritalin and Adderall do not work for me. I’ve learned to calm my ass down in other ways. Trial and error. You’re probably thinking, you don’t seem hyperactive. LOL

Finally, I’ve learned a multitude of other lessons that don’t need explanation:

Give wholeheartedly with zero expectations.

Have zero expectations.

Chase after my freedom.

Love without bounds, those that deserve.

Speak life into my dreams.

Protect my space.

Be open to new things.

Never cease my prayers.

Have you learned anything recently? Care to share?

En tout cas,


Bone of my bones and flesh of my flesh

This is now bone of my bones and flesh of my flesh; she shall be called woman…

I love a feminist man because his love for me is pure. He loves my womanhood,  celebrates my humanity and embraces my imperfections.  He places my entire self at his level, and our equality is not to be compromised.  He believes that we were both created in the same beautiful image–from his rib I was birthed because without me his existence was far from complete. My feminist man lets me choose the role I want to play not because he’s a punk, and bends to my every command, but because part of our equality includes freedom and freewill endowed to us by our creator. The role I choose so happens to be one that allows me to cater to, create with and provide for. It also allows for him to be in the kitchen with me because it’s a task without support I can’t seem to enjoy. My feminist man doesn’t tell me what I should do or not do because I am a woman, and for that I am thankful.

My feminist man’s love for social justice is matched with my passion. We speak against the bigots, the sexist, the abusers and the wrongdoers with the same tone–fierce, with love, sans condemnation and with truth. He argues against why my sisters should be slut shamed, why my black sisters should be equally worthy as my other sisters, and why we should all #fuckthepatriarchy. When my sisters are sexually abused he doesn’t look to what they were doing, how they did it or what could have been avoided. He looks to the perpetrator, and demands justice. He doesn’t get brownie points for being a feminist because it’s not something he does for show. He does it because he believes it’s his way of life. In fact he doesn’t label it feminism because equality doesn’t need any other name.

Together we fight against misogyny and misandry that pollutes our community. We believe the hate and animosity keeps us from achieving the most important tasks of loving our neighbors, breaking through barriers that keep women at the bottom and confines us in boxes to be opened for sexual purposes. We fight against these things because a united front is necessary to get what we believe is deserved all in the name of equality.

My feminist man and I make plans to have a future. We plan on having Sean Bell’s, DJ Henry’s, Trayvon Martin’s, Rekia Boyd’s, Renisha McBride’s and Jordan Davis’. Black boys and girls who lives matter. We plan on raising them to ask for help without the fear if being shot in the back,  playing loud music that helps them get into the groove, and wearing hoodies that keeps them comfortable. We plan on teaching them to give the utmost respect to all of humanity regardless of the differences that exist. We don’t plan on raising martyrs, but fighters, survivors and truth sayers that will change the world.

I love a feminist man because the worth that I carry is not only contained in my vagina, but in my mind, soul and spirit.  All these things indeed make the most passionate/explosive night, but also a passionate speech, a Voir Dire and a winning POTUS campaign (lol). I love a feminist man because he is an educator, humanity lover, community warrior and family builder. I love a feminist man because it’s my choice.

En tout cas,


Staying out my Jewels

19 years ago I made the decision to go to law school. I wasn’t too sure if I was going to actually fulfill the dream, but it was one that I had nonetheless. My main concern was being able to find the voice to advocate for those that  I knew needed me the most. I was frightened at the thought of being so outspoken in the court, but I was silently passionate about saving lives through advocacy. I had no idea what aspect of the law I wanted to focus on, where I wanted to practice or even knew anyone who actually went through the process. My passion was strongly driven by truth and justice. Before I could even bring this dream to fruition I had a job to do. I needed to build myself.

Two years ago I decided that perhaps I needed to change my career focus. I wasn’t worried about being able to practice at this point anymore. I just so happened to become exactly who I needed to be to do this job. I was still quiet, but very outspoken, extra passionate, and vocal. You could say that I made good use of my mouth—(no pause).  I still do that thing where I pick and choose who I want to share me with. If I’m in one of those moods you’ll probably think I never talk, and that’s totally cool. But I decided that I didn’t want to be an attorney anymore because I thought maybe I needed to save lives a different way. I was working at an eating disorder/behavioral health hospital, and felt so drawn to the patient’s there. Experiencing and understanding the struggles that they faced (story for another day—maybe) I thought maybe I can spend the rest of my life deciding levels of care for critically ill anorexic/bulimic patients. That quickly faded because it of course was not my passion. In fact I needed to hightail my fanny out of their so quick because being in that environment will quickly pull you in. Next thing you know you are thinking about how ED can change your life.

Fast-forward to now, and I have finally made the leap! I was so scared of not getting a passing LSAT score, rejection and just plain embarrassment. I mustered up the courage to finish what I started 19 years ago, and went for the goal. I was pretty damn impressed with it all—GLORY. What I was not impressed with was how this exciting part of my life turned into a story about my vagina. Apparently I am getting older and:

Should probably have some babies
I should find a husband instead of trying to be superwoman

I won’t even go into details about how I feel because it’s evident. I don’t let the ignorance phase me because in the end I will be happy when I have completed my 27 months of law school-God willing. But for future reference my vagina is named Lolita, and not Everyone’s business. I do plan on having ‘dem babies though, but I just need to do this for me, and for my future.

Let us live yo.

En tout cas,


When did Rape become a culture???

Over the years I have come to embrace the concept of culture, and different ideologies that make up our Universes’ melting pot. This process includes: being aware and accepting of differences, having my own unique and personal set of practices that characterize my beliefs, being acquainted with different forms of the arts (my views on art go beyond paintings, music, poetry and literature. I’ve come to learn that art is so beautiful because of its subjectivity and creative interpretation), and straying away from normative practices that I never quite fitted into. This cultural embracing has also allowed me to stand against man made concepts such as religion, and embark on finding my purpose in life through a very personal and intimate relationship. I am in a better place mentally, emotionally, spiritually because of this cultural embrace. I am encouraging growth–“I cultivate.”

Like Art, culture is also subjective. Many of us tend to disagree with certain cultural practices because they seem demoralizing, unjust and offensive. Those that practice these forms of culture tend to see it differently, and embrace it. It’s important for us to fight for human rights, civil rights and equality, but we must also accept that certain practices for certain people are forms of growth—except for rape.

In the past couple of weeks there has been a lot of buzz in (social) media about “ending rape culture,” and I am appalled. I have tried my best to avoid reading what either side has to say, but this has become a difficult feat. I’ve come across several tweets, messages and articles that describe rape victims as “harlots who deserve what they get, folks who need to avoid getting raped, or as persons responsible for another’s sexual behavior. Perhaps this is just my own naïveté, but I am appalled that this is even trending as some sort of culture. Rape as a culture implies that it is an acceptable form of abuse, it encourages self-expression, and an art form meant for imitation.

The justifications/defense for rape as a culture includes victim blaming as aforementioned, slut-shaming, glorifying music that encourages/perpetuates rape, and the gross sexualization of men and women. No matter how extraordinary, unjust or unique someone’s culture might be these absolutely do not define a cultural make up. What this defines, however, is the lack of education around why boys/men/women should not rape, the complete disregard for humanity at the conception of the thought to rape another, and dehumanization of the victim. I cannot stress how important it is to use well thought out word choices. Words are a form of art, and they breathe life into our world. Using the term “rape culture” permeates this form of abuse into our being, and makes it socially acceptable to the perpetrators. Let’s just call rape what it is, Rape: a crime.

En tout cas,


My first heartbreak continued…but not really

This story was going to be how things flourished, and how Eduardo ripped my heart out of its cavity, (I can be a drama queen guys. Blame my mamma) but I am not dwelling on the past.  Why bring up old memories when I have so many new ones that I can share. Working on bettering myself through the thoughts that I entertain and the people I entertain. No worries the story wasn’t gonna get all extra juicy anyway. I’ll save that for blogging after dark ;-).

So glad to have a medium where I can do these things though because this is exactly how it occurs in my head.

En tout cas,


Reaching my “O”

Shamelessly I lay on my back breathing breaths of air as you explore the rhythm of my body.

Shamelessly I lay and gyrate my hips to match the movement of your rhythm.

Shamelessly I lay as the beats of yours and mine become one.

Shamelessly I lay as your rhythm explores my body.

Effectively awakening the feelings in my toes, my hips, my navel and my breast.

Tossing my head back I get ready for that high point I know you will reach and I too, inevitably.

Shamelessly with my hands on my hips, the movements I followed.

My thighs became my imaginary guitar strumming through the rhythm of your vibrations.

We are nearing the end and I am reaching my peak.

My body explodes with excitement and the rhythm becomes too hot to handle. Head back, knees bent, toes curl I let out a sigh of liberation as you reach your finale.

The vibration stops, your beat drops, my dancing ceases and your rhythm begin to fade.

I need not speak sometimes and you know just what to do.

But I leaned forward to where you laid and changed the track hoping the next song would do it to me again: Just Right.

Thank you iTunes!


En tout cas,


My first heartbreak

I fell for him in my sweat pants and wife beater. That day he kept his promise to me, and I ran downstairs with feathered feet. Not a care in the world because the man I was digging was waiting for me in the lobby. I was pretty young. I just turned 20, and he was 30. I was captivated by his smile, his curly short hair cut, and the coarse sound of his voice. He was fine as hell, and I wanted me a piece of Eduardo. I was curious about his everything– especially the swag and his Trinidad and Tobago and Dominican Republic heritage that penetrated his core. I was smitten.

I met Eduardo on the metro in DC as i was headed to court. He told me to smile, and i was hooked. His reasons for being at the court turned me on..little did i know it shouldnt have at all (nothing felonious folks). Hesitantly I gave Eduardo my number, and went about my internship business.

Well I’ll have you know in the midst of Eduardo’s courtroom shuffle he lost my number. Apparently he searched all the courtrooms till he found me. You can imagine my surprise, fear and nerves when the court officer asked me to step outside. I thought for sure I was going to be apprehended by the men in blue because of the purple scissors I accidentally brought to court that morning. This man just won major points with me!!

That one day when I met him in the lobby I knew things were perfect. I wasn’t sent to DC to get sprung, but the heart wants what it wants. I was worried about a few things because he was a grown ass man.

Would he want me to stay in DC?

Would he want that cake!? As much as I wanted to throw it at him I truly wasn’t ready for that experience. Not this fresh cookie!! Lol

How soon would he want to settle down? I had my whole 20 yr old life to live, and wasn’t ready for all of that.

To be continued…

En tout cas,


Anger brands you!

Anger brands you!

I burned myself accidentally last week. Was so upset about something I walked into the heater wet and partially nude. My anger blinded me, and consequently branded me. I’ve got 12 circles to remind me to let go!