I started 2024 with intermittent illness that last about 3 months. The flu, a stye that lasts months, vision issues, you name it. It all derailed me from the phenomenal progress on the Peloton and with E2M. My workouts and the motivation of the group that had been clearing my mind and healing my life were greatly reduced, and I spent the rest of the year trying to regain the drive and focus from 2023. Sadly, I was unable to fully recover the momentum.

When what is healing you is absent, your wellness suffers, and mine did. My wellness and self care are what allow me to succeed and grow in other areas for my life, and I’m only realizing this month just how much I’ve struggled this year. I am on a constantly moving wheel, feeling like I’m not moving quickly enough or far enough or purposely enough. I am tired.

I am truly exhausted. I have stood in the gap for so many people for too long, and I have never received the same level of support that I have given. I have supported families, churches, children, coworkers, organizations and causes all in need of my experience, my empathy, my energy, my finances, and my time, and I am fecking tired. I am so tired of being the one expected to be satisfied with doing and giving, and not receiving appreciation or validation in kind. I am the listening ear who cannot be heard. I am the empath that cannot be understood. My hands are out offering what is not offered to me, and I am depleted. I have given too much of myself.

The second half of the year moved quickly, and despite my best efforts, I could not catch up. My spirit was lifted when Kamala was able to step forward and provide a burst of hope. It was difficult to hear the hurtful rhetoric spewed about her, and it was impossible not to feel a similar disrespect spewed towards all of us who look and function like her. My heart broke at the hateful ignorance that demonstrated again the accepted disrespect and disdain for intelligent and accomplished Black women, and I have not healed from that. It is a constant that other women of color and non-melanated women cannot will not do not understand or appreciate, and I am tired of trying to explain it.

2024 was hard and hurtful. I am no longer in the position to tolerate what does not edify and support me. I no longer have to give what I once had available. My focus is on my health — mental, emotional, physical, and most importantly spiritual health. And like most years, I look forward to the changes that will allow my growth.

God help us all.

Listening to your gut is imperative to living a life worthy of pride, worthy of peace. And my gut says that where I am is unsafe for my spirit. The conflict is that I am filling a need that would be challenging for anyone to fill, not because of what it requires of me — because I have the strength and the depth of character to achieve, nay exceed the immediate need. But what I lack is the ability to adjust and correct the terrain that is already tended. I lack flimsy boundaries.

I’ve done this before, but not ever again. I have helped parents whose choices for their children dismiss the existence of others outside of their small individual worlds. In the previous situation, the parents were so busy hating and attacking each other, that stepping in to rescue the children from the vitriol and the neglect seemed a no brainer. I eventually learned that people so selfish to verbally and emotionally abuse their own offspring could never appreciate the value of altruistic motives.

Being an empath is exhausting. I feel the weight of the good intentions and the desire to lay a path of opportunities without fears, but point of fact, no parents can fully avoid the challenges, and there’s no one way to ensure emotional, mental, fiscal, physical, and/ or intellectual success. All anyone can do is give the truest, purest parts of their hearts, be open in their thoughts, and filled with empathy, and hope that through the deepest forest of struggle, a glimmer of light gets through.

Here’s hoping.

If I turn to my left, I walk towards the ocean, beautiful and complicated and inviting and terrifying. Whatever balance I have on the sand will disappear the further I walk into the cool water, but there is so much in the water to see and feel and experience. Maybe if I walk just far enough from the dry sand, I’ll find a place where I can do more than just step, step, step. I could step step step float move my arms in the water sit just enough for my shoulders to become warm and relaxed and ready to sway with the waves. Maybe if I was far enough away from the dry sand, I could remember the lessons of the walking, and prepare for the change of perspective, change of view.

What I’m doing now, how I am existing now is not working. I feel a little of my soul weakening the more I walk in this dry, familiar sand. But the ocean, it scares me. Soon I will have to decide whether my soul or my fear is stronger.

Recently I received some feedback from someone I once took care of for too many years. When you are a caretaker, you come to realize that no matter what good you do in a person’s life, once you decide to change your situation, you will be demonized, criticized and blamed. Ultimately the feedback I received was probably cathartic for the individual, definitely passive aggressive, but mostly oppressive. It was yet another person telling me to silence myself, to make myself smaller because my truth and the expression of my truth was uncomfortable to read. If what I write is uncomfortable for readers, I encourage them to embrace the freedom of not reading what I write. I write for me. If people enjoy reading it, that’s wonderful. If not, that’s just fine.

I credit yoga as a major catalyst for change and growth. The movement that yoga encourages enabled me to access a freedom that does not exist outside of asanas and yogic expression. When I’m bent over in wide stance forward fold, inhaling and exhaling, barefoot on the mat in the warm yoga studio, I am free. Add some stacked blocks upon which my head can rest, and I’m in heaven. The seemingly simple act of breathing in and out, focused solely on the rise and fall of my breath, takes me to peace that has not existed in my world for some years.

I have made many choices based on others, based on what I perceived would be acceptable, based on what other people needed or wanted or decided. I’m done with that. For 15 years, I was spending a small fortune to color my hair every other month to cover the grey. And let me tell you, grey hair is strong and determined, and my grey would appear within a week of coloring. It was a maddeningly expensive cycle. Eight months ago, I decided it was time to stop because I was coloring the grey so that I didn’t look too old for potential suitors. It took some time for me to realize that was the reason, but when I did, it was so freeing. I have beautiful grey hair, and it’s healthy. Hopefully, by this time next year, I’ll be fully grey and gorgeous.

I don’t know what the future holds, what 51 holds for me. I will continue to reflect on how people and experiences in my life have contributed to the work in progress that I am. Self analysis is an important part of growth and change, and I seek to evolve into the person that I was created to be. I cannot imagine that my God chose misery and regret for me. I am certain that my life was meant for joy and freedom and peace and love for me.

This place, this yoga studio, is a Godsend for me. When I moved last month, I made a decision to change and improve my life in big and small ways, and yoga has had the greatest effect. My soul needs what yoga is sharing with me.

Being a big girl, I am acutely aware of my limitations each and every day. There are movements that challenge me in ways I never expected. There are decisions I have to make before I even get out of my adjustable bed. There is seating I don’t dare attempt to slip into, there are places I simply will not venture, all because of my size. Now, I know that my size is a direct result of my choices, so I am not asking anyone to pity me. I’m just sharing the realities of my physical situation. Not all areas are safe spaces for me, and I am blessed that yoga is a safe space for me, as I am.

In my yoga classes, there is no judgement. One of the instructors always reminds us that there are no trophies at the end of each class. I compete with no one. I come into the class, speak to the people in the space, and focus on my breathing, my balance, and my body. The class, the space, is the only place where I can focus just on me — Reese — and largely let the cares of my world go. I let the weight of the world stay outside of the studio, far from my shoulders, and I take care of me.

In my real world, I carrying the needs, assignments, expectations of others squarely on my shoulders. On my job, in particular, I have to handle the work of my group and others, and there is very little help. I do not have the luxury, have never had the luxury at this job of asking for and getting help. Outside of the office, I am not the one to ask for help. I am, however, the one that people do not hesitate to ask for help. I cannot count how many rooms I’ve helped paint, how many parties I have helped to set up, and or clean up, expenses I’ve helped pay, or children I have babysat. There are times I envy people who can ask for and accept assistance.

In the family in which I grew up, we helped each other as well as others. We assisted at soup kitchens, served in church, helped with weddings, classes, funerals, and showers — bridal and baby — and parties. When I got married, I learned quickly that I was in a much different environment, and the family that I joined was not equipped to help or assist me in any way. They were solely takers only willing to offer help to other takers. My ability to ask for help was destroyed by the reality that it was simply not there for me.

Yoga is teaching me to accept help. The first few classes, they offered students little discs that we could use to let the instructors know that we were willing to accept help with poses. It’s funny, but I did not hesitate to take the disc in the class because I was more than willing to accept help in the class. Just thinking about it now, I was eager, and when the instructors offered suggestions or re-positioned my poses, I was so grateful. In fact, in today’s class, I could not stop smiling because I realized that while I struggle to ask for help anywhere else in my life, Kimber — the instructor today — reminded me how natural it is to accept help willingly, freely, without shame or embarrassment.

I’m 50 years old, and I am learning how to accept help. It makes me smile because it’s such a simple concept for so many others, but for me, it’s the beginning.

I’m melancholy. There are tears in my eyes, some sadness, some hopefulness, but mostly I’m exhausted. I am so very tired. I have truly given so much of myself in these past 50 years, and it feels like this year seemed to take even more out of me. It’s not the fault of 2021 — this I know — it’s just the year that my head and my heart took stock of the people who held space in my life, and I’ve learned that so much of what I poured out appears to have been quite a bit of a waste. That’s a hard, nasty pill to swallow, but I will keep it 100 with myself from now on.

I deserved better than what I received from too many people who benefited from my generous loving heart. I deserved better, but I allowed myself to settle and to tolerate, all the while pushing myself down, suppressing Reese, and that has been flippin exhausting. I deserve better from myself.

So as I look forward, I am planning on getting my rest. I will be resting from the foolishness, from the avoidable disappointments, from the pursuits of relationships that only drain my spirit, from the elements that serve to keep me tired. Instead, I am filling my life with time well spent — time well spent with family and friends who are family, time well spent reading wonderful books and exploring my creative soul, time well spent listening to Adele, time well spent challenging myself with yoga and strength training, and time well spent with Jesus. I am worth the effort.

There a a few things that I remember about yoga. First, the tooting. When I decided 14 or 15 years ago to try yoga, a friend (at the time) to me that when you do yoga “right”, your body frees itself, and the gas flows or blows. As a germaphobe and a person with a highly sensitive nose, the last thing I want to experience with strangers is flatulence. Still, I wanted to be so good at yoga, that I would toot with comfort, and hear toots without chuckling. Then, and now, only one of those is happening.

The other thing I remember about yoga is that it allows me to focus on what my body is doing. When I get into a pose, I find a focal point in the room, and I hold it in my sights until my entire body focuses on that focal point. I challenge myself, my stillness, my strength, my calmness until it’s time to come out of the pose. I appreciate having the chance and the ability to reduce all things, however temporarily, to a single stationary space. With all the chaos and movement and uncertainty in my world these days, yoga is a welcomed addition to my life, and the choice to engage in this mindful activity outside of my home is surprisingly enjoyable.

I have finished 2 yoga classes. Initially I planned to take 2 classes a week, but after learning how far I am from feeling comfortable in a 101 class, I’ve decided on 1 class a week, with the option for more. I try not to compare myself to the other people in the class. What I can say is that I was able to do more in my second class than I was able to do in my first class. That’s progress, and that feels good.

The ideas for blogs, articles, posts, etc. come and go for me on a daily basis. There are a multitude of subjects that I want to explore. For one thing, I have so much about my marriage and divorce that I want to share, dissect, process and move beyond. I’m still trying to come to terms with those 10 years that seem like a waste of a good decade at this point.

It’s funny, my birthday is a reminder of the worst relationship of my life when it was always the best day of every year up until the green came in. My parents have always made a big deal out of my birthday. None of those audacious gatherings parents throw their children these days. No, just my parents, my siblings, and a homemade lemon cake with lemon icing, candles from the grocery store that were used for all of our birthdays for what seemed like years, lights off with my aunt singing Stevie Wonder’s Happy Birthday song, and me smiling like it was the best day of my life. And every year, it actually felt like the best day.

When I started dating him, we bonded over having birthdays so close together. Before him, I hadn’t really had a birthday with a sig-ot, so as our relationship progressed, and we made it to my birthday, I was excited to see how he would celebrate me. He was big on over the top gestures, so I just knew I was going to finally be celebrated by a non-relative. And then I learned that his sons were starting football on my birthday, and that was that. I told myself that I understood, and that it was no big deal, and we would celebrate another day. We didn’t.

The next year, the same sort of thing happened, by then I was used to where I stood in relations to the children’s schedules, and we ended up doing a joint celebration that focused mostly on his birthday. I was still celebrating with my family, so I didn’t really allow myself to get down on the fact that my birthday was not that big of a deal to him.

After we got married, we would travel around our birthdays at first, but eventually the business or the children would require his attention, so I stopped expecting an acknowledgement of my birthday by him. The last birthday I endured with him ended up in the police being called, and me barricading in my room out of fear. The next 2 birthdays were spent going through the rigors of divorce.

Now, I’m so happy when I get to be around people that care about me on my birthday. And I make a point to only spend time with the people that genuinely care for me. That’s a small but mighty group that has walked with me through the toughest and brightest times in my life. They remind me of what I mean to them, of what I am worth to them, and they celebrate my quirks. They are my family, some by birth and some by choice, and I am deeply grateful for them.

And so I begin year 50 as a grateful to be loved and grateful to be free adventurer. Let’s see what’s in store.

I’m walking in the direction of my passion. I see it as part of my life, as part of my soul, and I’ve neglected it for too long.

This blog — name yet to be discovered — is my vehicle for finding my way into my 50th year.

The plan is to write about all of the things that I’ve held inside or have been left unsaid out of fear, fatigue and failure to choose me.

Full disclosure — I hope others will join me on this journey where I will share my thoughts on DEI, religion, relationships, growth and change, and other random observations.

Reese writes.

So, last night I was reading a devotional, and it was the story of Jesus raising Lazarus from the dead in John 11. We’ve read and heard this story so many times that it becomes predictable when talking about it. Anyway, when I was reading it last night, I noticed for the first time that their family is like our family – 2 sisters and 1 brother, where the brother is in a challenging situation. The Bible talks about how very sad Mary and Martha were that Jesus had not come before Lazarus died because, as both sisters said, “Lord, if only you had been here, my brother would not have died.”

Think of it, when they knew that their brother was sick, they sent word to Jesus to come and heal Lazarus because they had seen Him heal the sick, so they knew it could be done, and they knew how much Jesus cared for Lazarus. They had faith when the situation was difficult but manageable in their eyes. Just like them, we prayed so hard for a quick and easy resolution when we saw you in distress, when we thought your situation was difficult, but appeared to be manageable to a point. Like Mary and Martha, we made assumptions about the possibilities, and we made decisions about what we wanted from God. It’s like we sisters knew that we needed Jesus to step in, and that Him stepping in would make a big difference. Still, we wanted to put limits on how we wanted Jesus to intervene and when.

All the while, Jesus was ministering to other people, attending to other needs, and He knew all along that what Lazarus was going through was not going to end in death. Jesus did not race to Lazarus’ side. Instead He assures the questioning disciples that God will get the glory from the situation. “Lazarus’s sickness will not end in death. No, it happened for the glory of God so that the Son of God will receive glory from this.”  And even though He said it, the disciples and those around Him didn’t understand – they didn’t comprehend the extent of God’s love for Lazarus or His foresight or His omniscience and omnipotence.

When Jesus decided after 2 days that it was time to go to Bethany and see His friends, the disciples were so worried because people were trying to kill Jesus. By this time of His life and ministry, Jesus had acquired many enemies. The disciples were scared for Jesus, but they were also scared for themselves because they knew they would be targets, too. But God was unafraid. He knew what was ahead of Him in every sense. He knew what was ahead of you, too. He went to Bethany, and He went to His friends.

As comforted as Mary and Martha were when Jesus arrived at their home, they were so sad when their brother died, sad and hurt that Jesus allowed Lazarus to die, as if Jesus chose to hurt them, as if their timetable was the same as His. They had Jesus in a box, and that hurt Jesus and it angered Him. It’s like people keep saying, “I trust, I trust, I trust,” but when it comes right down to it, they trust for a specific result, but judge when the desired result doesn’t happen. That’s not trusting. That’s wishing. And Jesus wept, cried real tears as a result.

As the people watched Jesus, they continued to make assumptions about Jesus, commenting on Him wanting to be taken to Lazarus’ burial plot. They saw regret in Him, but they were wrong. This was the moment that Jesus would again show His unfailing love for the world, for His people.

And Martha… funny one, she is. When Jesus told them to move the stone from the grave, the always practical Martha said, Lord, he’s been in there for 4 days. He will smell awful! As if Jesus didn’t know that Lazarus had been dead for 4 days. Maybe she was trying to rub it in a little that Jesus had allowed so much time to pass before coming to them. As if Jesus is held to life’s time constraints! It’s almost like saying to God, If you don’t do it this way, it can’t be done at all.

You know the rest of the story. You know that Jesus called for Lazarus to come out, and he did. But before we get to that part, notice in the text how the scriptures stop referring to Lazarus by name. They call him the dead man. For everyone but Jesus, the situation is done and over. They have all quit. But God… thank God for the But God’s!

Jesus prayed to God, thanking Him for listening. He said, “Father, thank you for hearing me. ⁴² You always hear me, but I said it out loud for the sake of all these people standing here, so that they will believe you sent me.” God could have healed Lazarus from a distance. He could have done the simple and the expected. We wanted that. We wanted for this whole situation to just go away. We did not want to deal with the pain, the fear, the unknowns, the loss, the doubts, the consequences. And we would have been happy, just like Mary and Martha would have been happy. But Jesus had something different in mind for them, and He has something different in mind for all of us.

If Jesus allowed Lazarus to just heal up and be fine, His miracle could have been dismissed as coincidence. “Oh, Lazarus got better on his own. He just needed to gargle with some peroxide! That was chance, that wasn’t God.” And if “nothing” happened in your situation, we could have said the same thing, “That was chance. That wasn’t God.” But the truth is that there are so many things that happen, or don’t happen in our lives that are not chance at all. They are God working, God performing miracles, God being God, and we just take those things for granted day in and day out. There are so many accidents we aren’t involved in each day because God worked out the timing on the road. There are so many sicknesses we don’t get, so many fights we avoid, so many jobs we do well, so many blessings that really are miracles from God. They are NOT chance at all.

Instead, God performed a very public miracle. He showed not just Mary, Martha, and Lazarus that He loved them and that He had the power to change their worlds, He did what He did “for the sake of all these people standing here, so that they will believe you sent me.” After all these unbelievers saw what Jesus could do and did, the Bible says they believed on the Lord Jesus Christ. Some didn’t, but some did, and their lives were forever changed. On that day, Jesus didn’t just raise Lazarus from the dead. He prevented many others from going to hell as a result of unbelief. He did more than the expected. He did more than He could. He did more, he did greater, he did better than Mary and Martha could have ever wished. I cling to that. I cling to the Lord’s love and power and grace and mercy for all of us, and in my heart, I believe it!