Today’s listen was the 5th track from Cowboy Carter, “My Rose.” Three listens. Back to back to back. I don’t know who she is singing to but what I love about this song, this 53-second nugget, is the harmonies. Let me tell you why. When you hear anything that encourages the listener to “be fond of your flaws”, you want it feel like a chorus of people trying to lift you up with their voices, which is exactly this song did with her harmonies.
Sometimes, the negative voices seem to boom and drown out any semblance of positivity. We can focus on our thorns, not even believing ourselves worthy of our gorgeous petals.
I need every bit of power encouraging me, hoping the best for me, acknowledging my inherent “rosiness.”
It occurs to me that I haven’t written here in months. But I didn’t realize why until I am watching a glimmer in my therapist’s eye as she is telling me to grieve. Yes, I know I lost a grandfather, an organ, the possibility of being able to grow a child in my uterus and a friend in 2023 but I’ve been dealing with all of that. But she pointed out something else I have been grieving.
The rights to my first book of poetry and prose “She Lives Here” were reverted back to me last year. There are loose ends to tie up that I am responsible for that I have been distracting myself from for months. But why?
My therapist had the nerve, the unmitigated gall to point out the truth. I am also grieving everything that went with writing, promoting, pushing, doing readings for “She Lives Here.” This is not to say it is over but it’s been a couple of years, almost three and it is no longer a new work that I am excited about birthing into the world. It’s been here. It is still my baby that I am proud of and will always carry with me but the truth remains. As I pointed out above, I have become a reluctant expert in grief. But have I learned to move through it? Is there really a coming out on the other side or will there always be moments when I retreat back into the darkness of the cave, unwilling to peek my head back out?
I believe these questions will stay with me as waves of grief hit me in the months and years to come. I think the sadness is natural. I think there is beauty in letting it be what it is. I think there are smaller things to grieve like the closure of the freshness and newness of She Lives Here and the tsunami sadness waves like losing my grandfather. And it is all real. It is all valid. And all of it is worthy of recognition and attention.
This is my mantra for this new season in my life. The season where I put every aspect of my health first. It was pointed out that if I had a child, my own precious child would I feed him/her anything that would hurt them. I took it a step further and asked myself the same thing of how I speak to myself. The abuse of children has always been and will remain one of the most heinous acts to me—in any way. To make a child feel less valuable or to tarnish their innocence strikes a chord within me that makes me want to cry at the thought of it.
I was once a precious child.
I was once a precious child.
I was once a precious child.
I seek to honor and protect the woman this child has become.
So much has happened over the last couple of months. I celebrated a birthday where I spent many hours outdoors, letting saltwater and sun caress my skin.
I finished hosting my first poetry series with the library, had my first author signing and spent time at a school with children unexpectedly. During this time, I began experiencing an outbreak of psoriasis all over my body that could have caused incalculable grief but I chose, am continuing to choose to find answers to heal myself.
One thing that allowed me not to spiral was the experiences I was open to having even if nothing was perfection. During my last session of the poetry reading, my internet went out and it took a few minutes to log on and resume my hosting duties. I was on my way to a birthday lunch and stopped in to my mother’s school and was asked to speak to two classrooms. I had nothing prepared but something inside of me wanted to be present for these 6th and 8th graders. The answers to the questions they asked flowed freely and the teachers all made me feel welcome. A couple days later, I had the pleasure of meeting one-on-one with a student, a bright, inquisitive, creative girl who made me want to go home and write and bear 10 children just like her.
A couple of weeks later, I was at my first author signing with Chop Suey Books. It was a dream for me to speak with other authors about their work and meet curious readers who may have wandered into the event from the brewery.
With Author and Podcast host, Arvat McClaineWith Poet and Author Lindsay Young
I have a few new things coming for 2022 (including more Strongman training) but none of those things will matter if I don’t make and take the time to honor myself, to treat me like I am my own precious child.
The rest of my year is shaping up to be full of writing activities, time with family, work and moving regularly. I am actively exploring Kemetic Yoga and dancing around in my own house for these options. I also decided to spend more time reading. One of my current reads, “Rockaway: Surfing Headlong Into a New Life” is about a 40-something journalist and divorcee who challenges herself to become a surfer. It reminds me of my goal to continue competing as a Strongwoman. This is no surprise as reading has always made me want to dip my toes into worlds I have yet to explore be that with travel, athletics or activism.
I have a tendency to pile on but letting reading take me somewhere else never leaves me feeling like that. It inspires me to write better, look for the detail and cultivate understanding. I attended James River Writers Conference over the weekend and served as a ShopTalk expert with the topic “How to Own Your Story: Getting Your Truth on the Page.” It was invigorating to listen and dispense advice to other writers and part of me wished I could jet off to the future to hold their finished works in my hands.
Right before my first ShopTalk session on Saturday morning
We were told at the conference that being a literary citizen is writing, reading is writing and good conversation can be writing. I believe this to be true because when I am engaged in any of these things, I find spirit lifted and I feel nudged to get to a pen and jot these experiences down.
I am hosting the second session of the virtual open mic poetry series “From the Page to the Mic” with Henrico County Public Library this Saturday and the last on November 13th. I am attending a showcase at my sister’s pole studio next weekend and an author’s signing in December. I will be bending, stretching, dancing, writing, reading, listening, supporting and watching others’ art. I can’t think of a better way to grow into the kind of writer I want to be.
These past 2 weekends have been filled with some of the most beautiful people, poetry, truth and art. I had the honor of co-facilitating a writing and yoga workshop entitled “Our Whole Black Selves” with my dear friend, poet and yogi Kisha Hughes on September 12th. We had planned this event for well over a year. When COVID hit, our plans came to a standstill but they were not forgotten.
We held it at The Baresoul Yoga studio with the Well Collective (gorgeous space!). Because it was a BIPOC yoga only event, the space created was void of the tension that comes with having to explain yourself and of apology. There is such a special freedom in spaces like that and I am proud Kisha and I facilitated it. The event was 45 minutes of yoga (which I desperately needed to focus and center myself) and the rest of the time was devoted to journaling, sharing and witnessing the truths spoken from each of the women who attended. Each participant was given a copy of my book “She Lives Here” and two of my pieces were read and served as inspiration for journaling prompts. On the drive back home, I felt many things but this overall: an overwhelming sense of gratitude.
Throughout the week, I held onto small moments of the event: the sound of our collective breathing, knowing smiles from one woman to the other and the smell of the herbs and flowers wrapped in twine gifted to me and Kisha.
I held on as I prepared for the next event—a vision I had since early spring—to bring an open mic poetry event to my local library. In March of 2021, celebrated poet Brian Voice Porter Hawkins reached out to find female poets to honor Women’s History Month during his event “Bards and Brews” with Birmingham Public Library. I answered the call and my exchanges with Brian and the lovely experience of the event inspired me to forge ahead with my idea to bring an open mic to our library. It was of the highest importance to me to have poets (both novice and veteran) share their art in an open, supportive, uplifting and diverse environment.
After the library said yes and months of planning, our first session in the series, “From the Page to the Mic” made it’s debut this past Saturday. This was my first time hosting an open mic so the nerves were present but I trusted all the work, prayer and good intentions. It surpassed all expectations for me. All of the poets were celebrating one another and read personal, powerful pieces. I now have an even deeper understanding of how vital it is to bring a beautifully inclusive community together to honor the art of poetry.
Now that the first session is over, my excitement is only building for the next 2: October 16th (amplifying BIPOC voices) and in November 13th (work reflecting our origin stories) with Henrico County Public Library.
In the midst of this, I am also honored to participate in the James River Writers Conference for the first time answering questions about “How to Own Your Story” as a ShopTalk presenter. As I give all of you these updates, I am remembering a shyer, slightly quieter and less confident version of myself who chose to only dream about these realities. I am not reaching that far back. I hope this serves as inspiration to stand in the truth if who you are, who you want to be and rest with the knowledge there is a community of people who were waiting for you all along.
I hope the next post I write here doesn’t start off the same way. The last 3 months—which I believe is the longest break I have ever taken from writing here—have been a whirlwind. Some of the biggest things that have happened are this newly redesigned website, I am partnering with my local library to host a fall poetry series, more interviews for my book of prose and poetry, She Lives Here, I was featured in Richmond Bride Magazine, (first magazine feature) for my E-book, What I Love About You: A Guided Journal to Writing Your Proposal, traveled to see my family (vaccinated, double-masked with goggles on the plane—not playing with COVID) and I have taken some measures to address my physical and mental health.
At the beginning of June, I took a couple of days to visit my niece in PA which ended with me in the ER dehydrated and panicked. I was already on the road to addressing how to handle taking better care of myself but I did not realize how working, planning for more non-stop and still stressed about keeping me and my husband safe had taken a toll on me. I think when you are lying on an ER bed with your heart feeling like it is threatening to leap out of your chest, it’s time to make all the changes. It is time to slow down, abandon the shame that creeps up when you sleep too long, spend some time in the sun and stop pretending like you can push through everything on your own. My norm had become work, panic at any given time, planning for writing events, endless breathing exercises, and cleaning up after my psoriasis riddled body on every surface in the house.
In Florida with HubbyMy first magazine feature!
I was accepting all of THAT as my norm. It wasn’t until I read in the literature provided by my dermatologist that a study found that psoriasis can contribute to anxiety and depression by sending certain messages to your brain that I decided to stop the madness. If I thought I could make it as a raw foodist who does yoga and swims in saltwater pools everyday, maybe I wouldn’t have decided to make the changes I did. I am on new medication that has started clearing my skin, reducing inflammation and I can finally make it through the day without fearing I am approaching the edge.
I also went to a couple of Strongman training classes. I have hurt my back and my wrist but I will hopefully be back next week. It was a shock to the body to be back deadlifting such heavy weight but if I keep at it, I know it will feel like me again.
While I was at one of my lowest days a couple of months ago, I took a drive. I started to have thoughts I can’t bring myself to write here but they were not healthy. What I realize now is that I couldn’t see it for what it was at the time but I remember something that snapped me out of it—the smell of pine needles. My windows were down and I could smell something natural, strong and real after cooping myself up in the house for days. It reminded me how much I love being here, awareness and how much I wanted to fight to always feel that way. Outside of the ER visit, that was the turning point for me.
I spent so much time afraid of taking chances with doctors that I wasn’t giving myself a chance.
I was robbing myself of choice.
This past year and a half showed me that my world could be bigger. I could unapologetically share my truths. I am grateful that I realized I was limiting myself by not taking those chances.
I don’t think God made Kristina a limited being. A flawed one—yes but not a fearful, limited being.
That’s what I hope to express more here—an expansion, curiosity and exploring more of what’s to come.
I love sharing about writing and growth but there’s more to me than what ends up on the page. Here are 5 things you may not know:
I love the NBA. I was all in watching the playoffs in the bubble, John Starks from the 90’s NY Knicks is still one of my favorite players and I will happily watch commentary on ESPN and FS1 as if they are paying me to view it.
I love how comedians think. I watch and listen to their podcasts. I am in awe of the courage it takes to hit the stage. I have heard many stories of getting booed. I could not do it, especially since that level of rejection may have to happen a hundred times before approaching “good”. I am fascinated by their motivation for wanting to make the world laugh, even when it seems some may be crying on the inside.
Every time I watch “The Sound of Music”, I cry. I don’t know why. When Julie Andrews starts to sing “My Favorite Things”, my voice starts to tremble. Maybe it’s the nostalgia? We watched it every year and we owned the movie growing up. I still have a soft spot for Julie Andrews.
My husband has tried to teach me chess many times but I end up making jokes and getting distracted because I lack patience. I am starting to watch “Queen’s Gambit” and I hope it inspires me to try again.
5. I once sprained my ankle during a trust exercise. That’s right. Trust. I was blindfolded and being led by a fellow leadership camp participant. I tripped over the edge of a sidewalk into the grass when my guide stopped paying attention. There was never a real apology and I stayed on crutches for a few weeks. No thank you to that kind of “trust.”
I hope you find out a few new things and maybe we have something in common.
I am writing this from my bedroom because my hubby is making me breakfast and he doesn’t want me around, checking in on his culinary masterpiece to be. I am still currently banned from our guest bedroom where his surprise is but that’s fine by me. He mentioned something about hoping I like whatever he’s creating.
The truth is that it doesn’t matter.
I already have my present. Someone I love tooled around town, masked up, picking up items to create a gift for me. This very person made it possible for me to spend a few hours with my pages undisturbed and brought me dinner without asking last night.
I will write it again.
I already have my present.
I can open whatever it is and know I am staring at thoughtfulness from someone who just wants to make me happy.
I am not sure what else I am supposed to be asking for.
I took a couple of days to rest so today was my first day back to Miracle Mornings. There was a lot of talk about boundaries. Who we let in our inner circle. Who pours into us? Who drains us? Is there a balance?
I have had this conversation with myself several times over the years. I knew when it was time to slip away or when I simply didn’t have the energy anymore. Sometimes it happened rather quickly or it took years because of my refusal to see what was in front of me. Because I refused to acknowledge the dread or panic I felt when I saw a particular name on the phone. It was easier to be there to listen or lean on than admit it was mostly one-sided and I was tired.
In those situations, I can only point the finger at myself. Asking for what I need in any relationship is my job. It is also my job to discern where people fit in and how my energy is invested. Please understand I know people are doing the same with me. People have disappeared, grown distant and drawn closer over the years and sometimes one person has done all three. That is OK. I may never know why relationships develop or weaken in my life and to be honest, I don’t always want to know. If I hurt someone, I want the opportunity to talk it through. If that person just has outgrown me or we feel each other drifting with no animosity, no words need to be spoken.
This has been the hardest for me to go through as an adult. It challenged my courage, my honesty, my ability to communicate, how I viewed myself as a source of support and my value as a friend, daughter, sister, cousin and wife.
Establishing boundaries, how we choose to protect ourselves and energy is ever evolving. I believe I will be working through it whether or not I am open to growth, open to trust or open to the love people are trying to give.
During my minimizing tear yesterday, I found an old vision board from about 3-4 years ago. I took a quick picture of it so I could remember this younger version of myself’s vision for the future. There were no grand fundamental changes. It was full of pictures related to giving, writing, making a living writing, authors like Edwidge Danticat and Maya Angelou, Black women praying together, declarations of love, success and fitness inspiration like runners and Misty Copeland, fruits and vegetables and a small section dedicated to being individual, even if it means keeping it a little weird.
What really caught my eye was a picture of a woman with an afro, eyes closed, sunlight highlighting the peaceful expression on her face. The words on the top left corner: Get Lifted.
It brought me back to a over a month ago when I was in my bed, scribbling notes about how I wanted to describe my upcoming class at Life in 10 Minutes and what I wanted to call it. I knew listening to music and poetry had brought me joy, allowed me to escape for awhile and I wanted to write about it with others. It was my medicine for melancholy.
I thought it hit me out of nowhere: Get Lifted: Using Music and Poetry to Find Your Light.
But peering down at the vision board, seeing a brown-skinned woman, sunlight beaming across her face, framing her afro, the words “Get Lifted” boldly printed on the page, the “out of nowhere” part no longer rang true.
I am slowly becoming her. I was always her.
When I guide the class on December 6th, I will be embracing her, rising from the page and breathing into her future.
Kristina Hamlett writes to connect, heal, and be a force for change. 