tHE mE FILES
It all begins with a thought and believe me I’ve had and have some doosies. Not always the best thoughts but they all have served me so far. I’m still kicking. It’s after midnight and I had a thought. I should start a blog. Ok…here I go.
If you had asked me what gets me out of bed every morning I would have to honestly say cause I can. I start most mornings in prayer with my wife. I bet most of you pick up your phone to see what you missed or to get that first shot of endorphins scrolling through someone else life. I don’t blame you cause life does go on even when you aren’t there. I make a conscious effort to thank God for the first breaths of the day. I tell you this not because I think Im better than you but because I want you to know that about me. I really believe that without God, I would not be here today. I believe that without God, I could not of made it through this existence so far. I have lived many lives rolled up in this one life time. Most of it has been in trying to be the person life was giving me instead of being who I really am. I’ve spent my time trying to fit into a mold that was never really me but kept rolling with it cause I was in survival mode. I've come to realize this had started from a very young age. I feel it started from a young age being a middle child for the first 6 years of my life and maybe a little longer until my little brother was a little older. I think my first trauma started with my parents. Mainly my Dad and a situation in my young life that started the ball rolling. I was the middle child with an older sister who hated me from birth and a younger sister who was my sidekick later in life. I always felt not seen. I remember getting scolded by my parents for wetting the bed. I remember my sisters teasing me. I remember the girls playing and not letting me play with them. The biggest thing I remember in the early years was getting blamed for something I never did. There was a period of time when I use to get punished (whippings) for throwing my toys out of my bedroom window on the second floor of our house. For months every week, my Dad would find my toys outside the house and the neighbor would tell my Dad that this was happening. My Dad would not believe that it was not me and proceeded to give me my punishment. My sister would let it happen. Eventually, she stopped but It was not until we were young adults did she ever tell my Dad it was her. They all laughed and thought it was funny. I don’t think I ever got over that hurt and pushed it down to the bottom of the grab bag I was to carry for most of my life. There were other things that fade in my memory now but I just know they added to that bag. My mom use to get mad at me and say I was evil….just like my uncle ervin. Those are the kind of things that never left my mind.
The next most influential moment , the one that sealed my my need to be seen for who i was our big move.. It was a “coming to america “ kind of experience. Moving from Detroit Michigan in 1973 to Burnaby BC was a complete culture shock. I don’t think my parents really understood what they were doing to us kids. I know they thought they were doing their best and removing us from a racially hostile environment to a better life but the deeply imbedded trauma that grew from this one moment would never be addressed or even recognized until now. I will try to keep this about my feeling and thoughts and what I know to be true for me.
Just think, a young black male who didnt feel seen by his own family moves to a different country with different people and no real guidance to what to expect or do. I was on my own. We came from a predominantly black neighborhood to a place where there were no black people. Well less than what I could count on one hand daily, I was placed in a school where I had to defend myself from day one. If I was not fighting I was sitting somewhere by myself because no one wanted to play with the black kid. I was called names daily and treated different by my teachers and other adults around me. I dont think my parents ever say my pain. I think the best thing my parents ever did for me was to get me into sports. Of course I was athletic and usally kicked ass in every sport I participated in. In the early years that wasnt even good enough and I would be one of the last kids picked to be on a team. The early scars where real and my grab bag was getting full already. My parents had moved us out of a place of familiarity to a life of relentless uncertainty. I dont remember having any real friend until I was in grade 5 or 6. Until then my only friend was really my younger sister.
to be continued….
Don’t worry about sounding professional. Sound like you. There are over 1.5 billion websites out there, but your story is what’s going to separate this one from the rest. If you read the words back and don’t hear your own voice in your head, that’s a good sign you still have more work to do.
Be clear, be confident and don’t overthink it. The beauty of your story is that it’s going to continue to evolve and your site can evolve with it. Your goal should be to make it feel right for right now. Later will take care of itself. It always does.
