The Traveler
Journey to Healing & Hope
One of the most life-changing and impactful experiences that I have had in this life was the birth of my son. It was an eye-opening and sobering experience. One that defines who you are as a person – whether you’re a good or bad person. The rush of responsibilities can be debilitating and overwhelming if not properly navigated – and rightfully so. You assume the responsibility for molding a little life into what their future selves will become to this world. They will impact the people they encounter – and it can be tragic or triumphant, or nothing at all. You’ll shape how they view the world, and what you do will influence actions they choose to take or not take. What you invest into their future can be to their success or detriment and even if you have the perfect road map you can never shield them from the parts of life that you cannot control – especially if they are black. I’ll divert here to call to attention the fact that I can only speak for who I am, my experience, and what I represent and that is a black woman – though I do not represent the opinions of every black woman or person. I think that it is safe to say that you don’t need to be black or a parent to know the indications of a good or a bad one, or one that falls somewhere in between. The one thing that we all have in common is that at some point in all our lives we have been children. And that experience impacts who we become as an adult, whether it is a positive or negative outcome.
motherhood
When I think back, the standout moment when introduced to motherhood was when I was in the bathroom of my then employer and got the results of the pregnancy test that I decided to take on break – don’t EVER DO THAT! Standing in the stall in disbelief with a sort of shock amusement – because this isn’t real!?! It was very real when my primary care physician confirmed the test results a couple weeks later. The required conversations after that point indicated and confirmed for me that I would be a single mother, and I was on my own. There is a hollowness that is absent of any warmth that exists when you are met with such a reality. Another hole was created. I didn’t think someone could be so callous, after all that wasn’t the persona that was portrayed to me before this new situation. I’m not sure what made me think that in the moment this was not something a person could do. It hadn’t dawned on me at the time that I had been abandoned several times for long periods of time during my formative years by my own parents. This wasn’t new, but it was new. Now I’m responsible for a whole person. What the fuck. I quickly settled on the fact that I would be a single mother – a statistic. I had to sit with that, the generalizations and labels that I and my child would receive forever. I went through the range of emotions that are normal and the only thing that I could do was ensure that I could take care of my child. At that point, I wasn’t thinking about what values I’d instill or any of the things that I later found really matter. Right then, I needed to secure necessities to keep this child alive, and the only way to do so was to go directly back to college after giving birth – a pursuit that had been paused by a combination of the pregnancy and the breast cancer treatment my mother was undergoing a large part of my pregnancy. In addition to the rapid changes that were occurring starting in preparation for the birth of my son, I found myself gripped by fear. It was the sort of fear that was so real that it directed what I chose to do and avoid.
After I gave birth, the consuming thought was that I didn’t want to leave my son in this world without anyone and lacking. And what would that life look like for him? Mistreatment, neglect, depression - oh God no, please. I’ve prayed plenty of those prayers. At all costs, I had to make it home to my child. I had to live for him, and I couldn’t do anything to jeopardize his safety or mine – so I did nothing. I didn’t go out; I didn’t make space for self-discovery or rediscovery. I lost myself. I had to protect him and me and that was the priority. A trigger had happened, and I didn’t even know it. I hadn't felt protected as a child and, in many instances, I wasn't. So, I had to do what wasn’t done for me. By the time my son was preschool age, I didn’t look anything like who I was prior to parenthood. I no longer wore heels, skirts or my dainty wear that made me, me. I didn’t sing anymore. Singing was a huge part of me and it was now a distant memory. I was super serious, angry and the whole time my son was growing up and hadn’t experienced any of the things that in my mind and my heart I wanted him to experience as his brain was early in development. We took small trips to close by beaches and mountains, but each time I even thought to plan anything that was monumental to me …New York, Disney, the Grand Canyon…I shrunk in fear, terrified of what could happen to him, to me. I had PTSD and at the time, I didn’t know that either.
Spite Fear
Before the breakthrough in therapy and starting this journey, my son and me had gone on a few family trips. Some didn’t feel like vacations and often they included differences of opinions on scheduling, itinerary, or some other impasse casting a shadow on what should have been good memories. The vacations weren't without loving, memorable moments and experiences - in fact I found a love of the sea. But they didn't feel like the sole path for me to disconnect the way that I needed to, and for me to get better. I needed to do what felt right for me since I had spent so many years doing what seemed to be the right thing for everyone else, except me. I couldn't live like that anymore.
My only option with this new revelation was to plan destination travel for my son and me. The notion gave me a sense inner peace, but the thought was terrifying. The greatest value in going on family trips was having a form of familiarity and safety in distant places that I now wouldn't have. I would have to overcome the immense amount of fear that was now not only stagnating my own life experiences but had also affected my child’s life experiences. It wasn’t fair to him and he deserved better. I deserved better. The first major trip for us was spring break 2024. My son and I had traveled to a friend’s wedding a few years earlier and internally the anxiety was intense but limited since we would be joining friends and it wasn’t too far away. I had promised my son for years that we would be going to visit Kennedy Space Center. I mean he aspires to work for NASA, why wouldn’t I cultivate and invest in that dream? It took me years to overcome the fearful thoughts alone. One day I was talking to a close friend about planning and taking the trip considering that my son had been given the opportunity to spend time with a NASA mathematician one on one to discover what life is like working for NASA and what it takes to get there. Taking the trip was only natural. My friend told me, “Plan the trip and pay for it. One thing you aren’t going to do is waste your money.” So, I did. I don’t know if she knows that, that simple idea was the divine action item I needed to set me on the road to overcome the fear of venturing outside of the box that I had been stuck in.
In the true nature of fear, I experienced a panic attack on that trip - but quickly recovered. Despite the panic attack happening, it was one of the most amazing and life-changing experiences that I have ever had in my life. I guess trusting God despite the fear works after all.
