A Love Letter To Self

Keys, blunt, and lighter all in hand as I jump into my shoes to run out the door. I just have to get out of here and clear my mind. Normally, I would go straight to the trail and walk alongside the water while smoking, but today I wanted to avoid familiar faces that would force me to smile and wave. This particular morning, I just needed to smoke my weed and be in my head. But just when I thought no one would stop me, I heard the unhoused man sitting on the bench at the corner where I needed to cross, trying to get my attention. Of course, he would catch me before I hit the play button on Spotify, so I pulled back my headphones to see what he needed. Ah, just a simple light to smoke the cigarette butt he found. Cool, I got you bro that requires little to no communication plus I get it, so I walked over and lit the cigarette butt for him. In that moment, we both felt a little sense of hope for the world to come back. He asked for a cigarette, which I don’t smoke, however, I made a promise to myself that I would start keeping a pack of cigarettes just for a moment like this.

I can see my life now, reaching into my magic crossbody to feed the birds that I see on my walk, and cigarettes for the many times I’m asked every week. Maybe that moment he and I felt hope again was because we took time to practice basic humanity without judgment. I can’t help but wonder, are people judging me as hard as I’m judging myself? Do others hold me to the same level of standard that I hold myself, and who taught me to believe my own personal standards had to be so high?

The obvious answer to that question would be simple: I’m a Black woman in America. Therefore, my value has always been placed at the bottom of the patriarchy, so why would I see value in myself? I must outperform everyone in the room if I want to set foot in it.

A conditioning handed to Black women through trauma dates back to the “discovery” of what we call America. Our children for generations have been forced to “maintain” this country while the door has continued to be shut in our faces after being invited into the room. I see it happen so often, I wonder how everyone hasn’t picked up on this pattern recognition yet. Maybe it’s not that people don’t see it, but are deciding to focus on what they can control.

A hard lesson I might forever be a student in.

This semester is hyper-focused on trying to regulate my nervous system. I would call it an obsession, actually, because I can’t think of anything better to do than something that will bring me calmness in the moment. Peace is almost like a drug once you get a little taste of it.

No cloudy thoughts, no more bending over backward for people who expect you to bend without breaking.

I still find myself cooking dinner early in the morning, but now it’s a few hours later than normal. Sleeping in has been a result of a more regulated nervous system. Since my father’s death, I’ve realized how much I truly love to cook and how much it heals me. The stillness in the moment, the focus on the cuts and gentle stirs. Those intentional steps taken to transform a family pack of chicken legs, a couple of potatoes, with a few handfuls of green beans into what we call comfort food, or food for the soul.

That’s how my words feel now when I write, like love letters to my soul.

My soul has been crying for so long to be seen, heard, loved, accepted, desired, or maybe just valued a little. All my life, I have chased outside of myself to be shown my worth, and I’ve been met with a mirror reflecting to me the lack of self-worth I carry. Was the idea that our worth is based on how the world views us in the fine print in the textbooks? Who was teaching this class in school, or what departments received this information in college? I personally just finally realized the world only values me once I learn to value myself. I’m in a season of not only teaching others how to love me properly, but also learning how to receive love unconditionally.

I had to learn what that looks like in real time for me, not for the girls on the internet sharing what they are doing. During a long talk in the mirror with myself, I told myself that we need to make our joy the priority over everything now. Because I understand that joy is not a moment in that life shifts completely, no, joy comes in pockets of experiences we create for ourselves. Without the fluffy crap of making a list of activities that bring me joy or make me happy, I just started doing things that genuinely made my shoulders drop just a little bit. I found myself doing things that allowed me to connect with a version of myself I almost left behind.

It was like my body was waiting for my mind to finally decide we were worth the joy. Over the past five years, I’ve been on my self-discovery journey, learning all of the things that bring me joy, peace, and happiness. Once I started to seek balance in my life,