Skip to main content

Who am I: Looking for my own rainbow......

This morning, I woke up thinking. I had mad thoughts racing through my mind about "Who is Rhonda?"  Its a question I continue to ask.  For Colored Girls still fresh on my mind as I've examined my confusion of who I've become. I don't really know.

I don't know who this person is that I carry around daily. I remember someone else, happier, more pleased with her smile, her style, her flow, her focus.  Today, I miss her. I wear an outer shell of this confusion, my body.  I can teach the world to eat, move, love and those steps are being lost on my own journey, my own poetry. This outer shell tells the story.  It tells the story of being kicked, smacked. It tells the story of being called dumb and told my dreams are foolish. It tells a story of longing for closeness from a father that doesn't know how to be close. It tells the story of repeated death and loss.  It tells the story of mistrust and dishonesty.   I'm wearing this outer shell of hurt and pain, of womanizing, of sexual exploits.   Every pound is a like a layer of clothing smothering the woman I use to know and be. I miss her.

I sat on the floor of my office approximately two weeks ago and cried. I longed for her. I cried as my stomach ached in pain confessing my death to my dearest sister/friend.  It was truly a confession repeating over and over, "I don't know me."  Just in that phrase I knew I am an abused woman.  I am a suffering woman.  I am a depressed woman. I'm a grieving woman.  I've put on these layers so that the world could not see me anymore.  Maybe if you can't see me, you can't hurt me. You can't demand me to be something I'm not.  You will stay away. You will not claim to love me then hurt me. Each pound a reflection of mental illness. I no longer purge but I've traded the euphoric feeling of bulimia with workaholism with food still being a passive lover.  Rhonda is known for being a hard worker.  Just this past weekend when I spoke with my aunt, I told her I had to attempt to write a grant. Her response I connected with.  "Rhonda, you're always working."  It was said with pity and I noticed. It sadden me.

I wonder if I'm a walking build board of hypocrisy as I lay down the foundation of a nonprofit to teach women and their families about balanced living when I know my own life is on full tilt.  My eyes are wide open. I know the path to health. I know the steps to freedom but I'm admittedly in some bondage.  I want Rhonda back. I need to have more to me than a great work ethic, great ideas for change.  Maybe it isn't about getting her back but allowing her to live and breathe again. I've lost my FREEDOM.  She needs CPR. She needs to heal from abuse that she thought she could so easily walk away from because she is that cliche`, a so-called Strong Black Woman.  She is here. I feel the labor pains of a rebirth but I need midwives and hand holding through this delivery.  I'm a motherless child and I feel that loss daily but I know there's power in being here without the physical love of a mother. There is hope.  Its time to peel the layers off.  Its time to prepare for this rebirth.  My spirit connects with the Spirit who woke me up this morning with all of this on my heart to release unto the Universe.  This is my confession.  I am greatness. I'm an eagle who has to be reminded she is an eagle.  I am greatness.  I'm a lioness who has lost her fierce roar. God has revealed my latter will be greater than my former and it starts with a confession.  I am still  know my rainbow is on the horizon. I must first deal with the rain. 


Popular posts from this blog

Confessions of a Recovering Misogynist" by Kevin Powell

In the past few weeks, I've had the opportunity to have very brief conversations with Kevin Powell. Its very interesting to speak with someone with similar passions for community service. As someone who has been very transparent on her blog, I find this essay by Kevin refreshing. I just happen to see this on Facebook as someone posted it many months ago.
Thanks KP.


I take no great pride in saying this, I am merely stating a fact. It is not that I was born this way-rather, I was born into this male-dominated society, and consequently, from the very moment I began forming thoughts, they formed in a decidedly male-centered way. My "education" at home with my mother, at school, on my neighborhood playgrounds, and at church, all placed males in the middle of the universe. My digestion of the 1970s American popular culture in the form of television, film, ads, and music only added to my training, so that by as early as age nine or ten I saw females, includ…

The Ankh

Ankh : The Original Cross

The Ankh is defined as: The symbolic representation of both Physical and Eternal life. It is known as the original cross, which is a powerful symbol that was first created by Africans in Ancient Egypt.

The Ankh is commonly known to mean life in the language of Ancient Kemet (land of the Blacks) renamed Egypt by the Greeks. It is also a symbol for the power to give and sustain life, the Ankh is typically associated with material things such as water(which was believed by Egyptians to regenerate life), air, sun, as well as with the Gods, who are frequently pictured carrying an Ankh. The Egyptian king is often associated with the Ankh also, either in possession of an Ankh (providing life to his people) or being given an Ankh (or stream of Ankhs) by the Gods. This can be seen in the picture of King Senworsert below who is holding two Ankhs to his chest. There are numerous examples that have been found that were made from metal, clay and wood. It is usually worn as …

Ebony Covers: Black Cool

I love the concept of these covers.

Indeed, I celebrate my brothers. I love black men. I LOVE black men. I support you, admire you, and long for you. I wish ya'll loved us in the same manner. Other blog...yeah..I know.

Black Coolness in full effect.

Listed in no particular order.....