Me & Mine

In the summer of 2016, I was preparing to go on a shopping trip at BJ’s with a coworker for our Fourth of July BBQ.

Let’s call her L.

As we exited the company vehicle in the parking lot, she shared with me that she was sensing a female presence from the afterlife. It wasn’t until this moment that I knew my coworker was a Medium.

I’m skeptical of all things mystical. I believe that too often fraudulent people claim false abilities and prey on others who are in vulnerable or emotional positions.

But I didn’t ask for this contact. It was being presented to me.

We began discussing some of her other experiences in communicating with those who have passed on. She told me countless stories of their interactions while she was in museums, or near grave sites, where the dead often linger. We discussed high profile unsolved cases of which she was sure she knew the answers due to her abilities. L told me of how she never charges anyone to enlist her help. This put my mind at ease a bit and helped me to trust her more.

After telling L of those nearest to me who have died, she assumed the woman who was joining our shopping trip was either my mother or my grandmother. I clung to the idea of my mother trying to communicate with me and I needed to know more. I hadn’t after all, seen her since I was 8 when breast cancer put an end to her life.

BJ’s was too loud, L said. We should reconnect another time and do this in a setting where she could concentrate better and work at her full capacity. L was also moving across the country the following month. The clock was working against us.

The day before moving, in between her last minute errands, my fiance and I met with L in a park in the Bronx. We sat down at a bench amidst all the sounds of passing trains and traffic and the normal distractions of the boogie down. The setting was still not ideal but it would have to do.

We sat and I was asked to lead….. What questions did I have?

Shit. I wasn’t prepared.

I didn’t have any questions to ask, so L took over sharing with me things that my mother was sharing with her: Paint Jayda’s room pink and keep her into music- Jayda hates pink but loves to sing and plays the violin. My father was the love of her life- good to know. Name my next child Josephine- we’re hoping for a boy, but OK.Put her photograph back up on the wall- I had recently painted the walls in the room where my mother’s photo was hanging and hadn’t put her picture back up yet. This particular detail of our meeting intrigued me the most.

Before we parted ways, L told me that, my mother was hugging me and to expect a dream with her soon. I felt nothing and I so desperately want to feel my mother’s embrace. I was somewhat disappointed and confused by what was revealed to me as some of it had significance but not all of it.

When I returned home that evening, while looking through old pictures I saw and then remembered that the living room I grew up in with my mother, was pink. Was L really on to something here?

That day, I didn’t have any questions, but since that day I have many. Meeting with L prompted a drive in me to learn more about mother. Whether or not the encounter was truly authentic, I’ll never know but the consequent events have changed my life and that’s for sure. I decided to begin a research project by interviewing people who knew and loved my mother.

I first interviewed my mother’s childhood friend who is also my God Mother. Then I interviewed my dad, who was my mother’s ex-husband. Thirdly, I interviewed a close friend from my mother’s adulthood. I’m learning so much that I never knew I never knew!

I’m no longer afraid to confront my emotions while hearing the stories of a woman I barely got to know.  I’m excited to continue this project and I still have several more interviews to conduct. I don’t know what all will come of this. Blog posts? A book? We’ll see what I’m inspired to do once the research phase ends.

My mother lived in Italy for many years, pursuing her passion for acting and this August I will be visiting Italy for the first time so as you may imagine this trip holds great significance for me.

When my mother passed away, many including myself thought that I handled it well because I didn’t speak about it much but there are simply no words to match the pain in a little girl who loses her mother. This pain is now transforming into intrigue and appreciation…. stay tuned.

Happy Mother’s Day to all mommies and mother-figures, here and beyond

And I would like to wish a very Happy Mother’s Day to my own…

Yvonne Southerland

Yvonne Holder

Baci

Vonny

Mommy

(Baci is an Italian word which means Kisses and is pronounced “Bah-chee”)

Review: Tapping The Power Within

One of the books I read towards my Doula certification is “Tapping The Power Within” by Iyanla Vanzant. I  chose this book because I am a fan of Iyanla, and based off the title, I knew this book would add to my new career as a Doula, but more importantly to my life as a whole.

The most personally influential concept addressed in this book, was that of alignment. Iyanla writes, “When we are in alignment, we can recognize and accept the lessons that will lead us to a fuller, more peace-filled, and more purposeful sense of living.” The idea of alignment has been increasing present in my life over the past few months. In December, I attended a three week yoga workshop and that is where I first heard the word, in this context. The workshop discussed how being aligned with our higher purpose increases the flow of our lives. When we aren’t aligned, we find ourselves feeling unsatisfied and displeased.

In January I  read “A Return To Love” by Marianne Williamson and I saw her speak later that month. The part of her seminar that resonated with me the most was when she said “When you are aligned, you cannot separate your spiritual self from your personal or professional self.” This truly spoke to me, as it also did while reading “Tapping The Power Within”.

For the past 10 years, I have been employed by an agency that serves the developmentally disabled population. It is a frustrating job for someone like me, because I feel like administration, overseeing agencies and bureaucracy in general, held me back from implementing change in the lives of the people I  served. My initial disalignment was the catalyst for finding my higher purpose.

Through many conversations with myself, family and God I  came to find that I am truly served by serving other women and their babies. This realization led me to people who were and/or knew Doulas. I was overwhelmed with the thought that I  could be fully aligned in my life’s purpose and create a career out of it, at the same time! “Although thoughts govern how we respond throughout life, they may not be in alignment with the spiritual purpose or meaning of the experience,” Iyanla writes. As a doula, I  feel like my spirit is at ease, because every aspect of my being is working together to serve the world and to equally serve myself.

Image result for tapping the power within iyanla vanzant

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63 through 66

7/17/14

3:42 AM. I lay motionless. Hearing only the steady breathing of my sleeping child. She represented everything right with the world. At six years old she was inquisitive and curious; kind and gentle; energetic yet thoughtful. I never understood how she managed to be balanced in a world so reckless and unreliable. She must have been born with a predisposed tolerance to chaos and madness. I offered her little relief. She is wonderful in spite of her mother, what a resilient little thing.

She inhaled deeply and let out a quiet sigh as she exhaled. Another trickle of sweat rolled down my temple.  63. That’s how many sweat beads had found it’s way from my pores to my now soaked bed sheets by route of my body. Like small well-mannered track stars, who let their opponents finish before they began the same course.

I thought of getting out of bed, taking an ice cold shower, changing the sheets and giving sleep another chance. I thought of how I would need to call out from work again as I certainly was in no condition to rise and shine in three hours and tackle another day in the office. I thought about how I had already called out from work one time each week in the past month and how supervisors were beginning to watch me suspiciously.  I thought about how it was now too late for an Ambien. I thought about how it maybe wasn’t too late to roll and enjoy a blunt. At least then my daughter and I could both enjoy inhalation, although in very different ways.

Food. I should eat. It had been maybe four days since I felt motivated to open my mouth. Chew. Swallow. Repeat. What daunting tasks. This grumbling stomach didn’t make sleep anymore of an achievable goal than explaining to my daughter why bad things happen to good people, why I happened to her.

64. I closed my eyes again, trying to remember a time unlike now. Live in the present, often advice for those seeking happiness but my present was where I wished to be furthest from. The future is unknown and frightening, but the past was a place of certainty, security. Less favorable memories were easy to forget or alter to my liking, which sometimes made life confusing. Confusing yes, but bearable.

65. 66. These two were neck and neck. Hope stretched her arms around my torso, seeking a comforting embrace. All she received was a cold, near lifeless shell where her mother should have been.

 

Baby Baby Please

5/23/16

Baby baby please gimme one more chance. It’s what my last sleeping breath begged of the universe before my eyes opened each morning. One more chance is all I need to get this right. Today will be different. And like all the days before, this one was the same. Poor decisions, letting the wrong people claim love and letting the right ones wait.

Night time was the hardest. Child asleep. House still. Sirens, maybe. Honking probably. Commuters wanting to get through that tunnel; me, wishing I had an ounce of their direction. Countless friends, and oh so lonely. Never a recipient of true love by the definition that felt intended for me, and beginning to believe this was it. Forever.

Baby baby please gimme one more chance. One more chance is all I need to get this right. Night was hard and wrong, it wasn’t for me, yet it was me. I hated that I belonged to the dusk and was terrified of it too.

Wake up.

Get out.

Smile.

Make it back home without pulling out the Kleenex.

Make it home and pull out the Kleenex.

Pop one or pull one.

Sleep.

… and repeat.

Until I saw the snail. Walking past a Brooklyn bush, there slugged a snail. Small and almost unnoticeable yet it caught my eye. I snapped a pic and posted it on Instagram with a caption that came to me as my fingers swiped along,

“A snail! I declare this a sign of excellent health, prosperity and good sex because that’s the typa shit one declares when choosing happiness! Happy Wednesday Y’all”

I didn’t know I had chosen happiness until the decision was made. And as sneakily as depression cloaked my life, it had been lifted up by this arbitrary symbol of everything I needed. Nothing was the same from then on. No more begging for chances to make things right. I would only plead for another day to see the world, to learn more and to love harder. Finally Alive. Finally awake; and awoken by a snail no less, on a Brooklyn bush listening to beggars’ cries.