I avoid Huntsville, AL like the plague. I lived their a few times in my youth. I moved there with my mom and sister when I was 5 and my parents divorced, then left and came back again when I was 13. When I turned 18, I dipped out of Alabama with no plans to return. I definitely did return, though. But every time I have come back, I count down the hours until I can leave again.
I’m in that space now. Counting down the hours. I have about a day left.
Its weird because while so much of my surroundings have changed… and Huntsville as a city has grown to being almost unrecognizable… so much is still the same. The thought processes, the mindsets. My desire for so much more from my life.
Add to it that I caught a stray from my grandmother that I was not expecting. She told me that God told her I was gonna die if I didn’t lose weight. Like ma’am! She was crying and everything. Said I was gonna leave my daughter an orphan. And, that God said that I would get a boyfriend once I lost weight. Then she smiled like she was telling me good news. Like, you’re not good enough as you are, but not to worry, just get on Ozempic and then some man will want you.
The way she’s talking, I must need to be a cast member on 600-lb life.
Two things: could I lose weight? Sure, its something I have actively been working on. But also, like ma’am, do you know the work I have had to do to get to a place where I love and value myself as I am?
Today’s Story:
I thought about posting this story last week, but I didn’t because it hurt too much still. Shit, it still hurts now, but after this week… I gotta let this go.
As women, as black people, as black women, we are constantly hearing how if we were just a little more… or a little less… then somehow that would be the thing that makes us acceptable. Desirable. Valuable. But all of it is a lie. We can contort ourselves, break off pieces, twist our spines into knots, and still not be enough, or be too much, for other people. Why continue to play into this game? I’m having more fun just existing as I am.
“I felt I had to change every part of who I am in order for someone to love me.”
by Katrina Mitchell
My therapist looked at me with serious concern on her face. “How long would you say you’ve been feeling depressed?”
I wanted to act nonchalant. I didn’t need her panicking. It wasn’t a big deal. “A few months,” I said. “Since this whole thing started.”
“And have you had any thoughts of harming yourself?”
I paused with this question. Now I knew she would panic if I told her the truth. “No.”
She didn’t break her gaze. I looked away.
“No, I don’t think of hurting myself. Got too much to live for.” I laughed uncomfortably.
“If you ever did, would you tell me? Or tell someone? Before you did?”
“I mean, yeah. I’m not crazy.”
“No, I never said that you were.”
“I know.”
We sat in silence for a moment. I looked at my hands. I watched my thumb as it ran across the tips of my fingers.
“Why do you think you’re feeling depressed?”
“I don’t know. Isn’t that a typical feeling to have when your world basically falls apart in a matter of a few days?”
“Stop exaggerating. Remember what we agreed to.”
“That we’d only consider what’s true.”
“And what’s true, according to your timeline, is that everything occurred over the past year.”
“Right, but that one week when everything came to a head—“
“I know, but you don’t think you might have been feeling down from before that?”
I exhaled. At that moment, I did not like that woman very much.
“I lost my job. My best friend passed away. Yes I hated my job. Yes, my friend was sick for a long time before she passed. But when it all happened, it was too much.”
My therapist nodded. “That’s why you’re feeling depressed?”
“I mean, yeah.”
“That’s the only reason?”
I didn’t want to answer her. I refused to answer her. I didn’t want to lie again.
“So there’s no other reason?”
“You wanna ask me that again in a different way, doc?” I snapped. “My answer ain’t gonna change.”
“You didn’t answer at all.”
“Cuz I can’t say what you want me to say.”
“Jennifer, therapy only works when we are completely honest and are willing to be open and vulnerable about the things we are feeling.”
“I’m not— I don’t want to feel that, though.”
“Feel what?”
“Alone.” My tone was harsh. I looked up at her and apologized. “I’m sorry. I just—“
“No, it’s okay,” She nodded. “Feeling alone is normal. You’ve experienced a lot of loss over these past few months.”
“I don’t want to talk about it. Like, I’m for real tired of talking about it.”
“I know. But the thing that you’re resisting the hardest, that’s the thing that needs to be examined. Brought to the light. As long as you suppress it, you continue to hurt yourself.”
“It’s just a situation that won’t go away. No matter what I do, I always feel alone. So why dwell on it?”
“Why do you feel like you’re alone?”
“Cuz I am! I mean, look around. Everyone is concerned only about themselves. Don’t nobody have time to help me with my shit.”
“Do you ask?”
“Why would I? I already know their answer.”
“Do you know? Or are you just afraid to ask?”
I really don’t like this woman.
“What do you think will happen if you did ask someone for support? Your mom, for instance?”
“I think she will lead with ‘well you think you know everything, so figure it out.’ Then she’ll proceed to send me a barrage of job listings that I am either deeply uninterested in or extremely unqualified for. This is how she shows support. But it is very unhelpful.”
“Do you ever just say specifically what you need?”
“Yes, but it doesn’t matter. She only gives what she wants to give. It’s just easier to figure it out on my own without involving her. Cuz that’s what I’ll end up doing anyway.”
“Doing what, exactly?”
“Figuring it out on my own.”
“Right, but just a moment ago, you said you feel alone.”
“I do! It’s just something I have to deal with. Accept. I get that.”
My therapist observed me silently. I looked away.
“I just feel like everything is requiring me to change. Like I’m not lovable or acceptable as I am now. The only person who I knew that loved me for me is gone, and I’m still here. And I do not know why.”
My therapist closed her notebook. “We speak in truths,” she said. “And the truth is you are not the only person who feels alone right now. But the feeling of aloneness is not fact. Feelings shift, emotions change. You’re grieving and that is okay. But at some point, you’re going to have to make a choice. A choice to change your perspective. You are not actually alone– you’re choosing to be. And that’s okay for now, but only for now.”
I shifted in my seat.
She continued. “I know your friend wouldn’t want you to be out here feeling lonely. She would want you to get up, go out, and enjoy your life. And yeah you’re not working now, and that’s frustrating, but it is a temporary state. You’ll find more work, or even better, you’ll find something else to do. But that only comes when you choose it.”
I looked at the clock, willing the hour to be over. Five more minutes.
“Hey,” she said, in a voice that startled me. “Look at me. I need you to hear this.”
I turned back towards her with the most defiant look I could muster.
“You, as you are right this moment, are lovable. You, as you are today, are acceptable. I need you to repeat that back to me.”
“I am lovable.”
“As you are right now.”
“As I am right now.”
“You, as you are today, are acceptable.”
“I, as I am today,” I started. “I am acceptable.”
“Good,” she said. “Now work on believing it.”
