So today I did something major. Something I haven’t done in the past two years. I avoided it out of fear. I didn’t want to face the truth. Facing the truth meant I had to be totally accountable for where it was currently.
I got my fat ass on the scale, and I could not believe how much I weighed. I assumed I was 15lbs lighter than I was. All kinds of emotions went through me, but overall I felt relief. Relieved because I faced something I ran from for a long time. I knew what this meant. I knew that once I faced it, there was no turning back.
I was already going hard in the gym. I had to due to fact that I was screwed over by a so called personal trainer-I use the term lightly, to the tune of 250.00!!! And since I’m petty like that, I needed to prove to myself that even though my money was taken I could still lose weight, and train myself even better.
K, back to the subject. After looking at the scale, I decided to make a deal with myself. Now this may seem silly and trivial to some, but here goes….
I decided I would not drive my Lexus until I lost 15 lbs. This is major for me because it’s my new dream car. I admired it for a long time before I took the plunge to purchase. Everyone knows what it’s like when you get something new. You want to break it in. I believe this will be motivation to work hard to drop those 15lbs. I hope I’ll only be without my baby for a month but I guess we’ll see.
For now, I’ll be with my good ole faithful Nissan Altima. Black Sheba is my baby. She been there through thick and thin. She been through about three boyfriends and two jobs. We’ve been to too many states to count. We’ve been together the last seven years.
You will hear her brakes before you see her, but she still all good. We still all good. That janky trainer still all good. As my Mama say, God don’t like ugly.
Side note- don’t you hate when people pose next to their luxury cars on social media. I think that’s the most ghetto crap I’ve ever seen. It’s like, let me show the world I’m riding foreign. I despise show offs.
The love of a sister is a unique love. It’s a love that carries a bond so strong, that the forces of darkness could not break. The love of a sister is a blessing from God. Many people search high and low to experience that bond.
The thing about this bond is it can only be organic. Don’t get me wrong. There’s plenty of friends that have bonds like sisters, but I don’t believe it’s the same. Your sister can feel what you are feeling. She literally experiences sadness, happiness, and joy with you. She’s that constant companion that becomes your secret keeper, your motivator, and most loving critic.
A sister can give it to you straight with no chaser, and although you may initially be angry, you know in the back of your head she loves you. She loves you enough to tell you the truth.
The truth about you. The truth about her. The truth about life.
There’s no search to be accepted when you have a sister.
Wynter and LaDonna, I’ll be forever grateful God gave me you.
Your baby sister
Hello, my name is Trinity and I would like to welcome you to our family group….
This is the script I start off with every Saturday when I am conducting family group at my part time job. I work at a substance abuse program every weekend, and I have been the primary facilitator of this particular group for the past three years.
Every Saturday morning I sacrifice sleeping in to provide my gift to a population I never cared for or desired to work with. It’s strange how the things that bring you the most pain cultivate the gift you have to give back to the world.
To be honest, I still can’t figure out how I began to work with individuals I swore I would never work with. To understand why I would never work with them, let me take you back to January 21, 1982.
That’s the day I was born. That’s the day I entered this world and was placed in the arms of a loving mother and an absent father. I never had the experience of knowing what a father was as a child. This was due to addiction. You see, addiction robbed me of my sense of identity, sense of security, and self worth as a child. I grew up with an innate feeling of being flawed because I did not have a father. I never had an example of a positive male figure in my life, which led to poor decision making when picking relationship partners, and a relentless drive to work as hard as I can to ensure I had a security blanket so I would never feel like I was going without. In essence, I became a workaholic. I was addicted to making money. Addicted to making sure I would never have to depend on another soul for my wellbeing. This definitely came at a price. A price of missing many milestones my counterparts had the luxury of experiencing.
Every Saturday, I pour out my soul to these families. In a sense, I believe helping family members who have had similar experiences as me is a way to not only heal them, but heal myself. To give them hope and let them know they are not alone. Hope to know that regardless of how you begin, all that matters is how you finish. At 1:30 every Saturday, I give them the real me. Not Trinity the Therapist. Trinity, the daughter of an addict who keeps pushing against all odds.
What these families don’t know is, I cry when I leave group. They don’t know that as I walk out of group I thank God for allowing me to bless them. They don’t know that when I look in the disappointed eyes of their children, I see myself. They don’t know that I revisit the pain of my childhood every Saturday at 1:30pm.
Another thing these families don’t know is I dread waking up early every Saturday. They don’t know there’s times I can think of a million places I would rather be. They don’t know that up until 1:29 I don’t want to do it. They don’t know that I want to block out the pain.
But that still small voice whispers in my ear– Trinity you have work to do. Allow me to heal them.
The trials of life are inevitable. Those same trials can be a blessing to others. Maybe that’s the whole point.
It’s strange how life works.
I have come to the conclusion that I will never have the sought after “thigh gap”. My genes, and jeans ain’t set up that way. I can’t count the numerous times I’ve walked in a random store and someone says look at those big pretty legs, or you got some thick thighs. I used to hate it, but now I embrace it because it has it’s benefits. Let’s check out a couple benefits of being in the thick thigh club.
1. If you drop a small item while seated, you can be sure those thick thighs will catch it.
2. Your boo will have a nice cushion if he wants to chill and watch a little TV or whateva!
3. You can move big pieces of furniture if you throw those thighs on it.
4. You can sit your plate on them and eat comfortably.
5. You can wear tights and not look like you shaped like a wisdom tooth!
6. If you need to restrain a mugger, burglar, or bad kid, you can pin them down with a thigh. Believe me, they won’t be able to move!
For my thick thigh club members, what are additional benefits of having thick thighs? Might as well embrace them. They might not be going anywhere.
Have you ever felt the odds were against you? Not from a victim perspective, but a realistic perspective. We are bombarded with statistics on a daily basis. For example, most African American males are either told, or shown that there is a strong chance they will be arrested in their lifetime. As an African American female, I knew at a young age there was a lower marriage rate between African Americans, and that a large amount of African American homes were headed by single mothers. Honestly, growing up, I was always intrigued when I met someone who had parents that were still together. It was kind of like looking at a rare species.
What do you do when you have a dream, but statistically speaking, there is a strong chance you may not accomplish that dream. Do you give up? Do you go extra hard? Do you become ambivalent?
I guess that’s where faith comes in. After all, faith is the substance of things hoped for, but yet unseen. I think of people who have had a vision or dream in their heart for a long time, but have not seen it come to pass. By a long time, I do not mean a mere six months, one year, or even five years. I’m talking ten or more. How do they keep the faith when it feels that Goliath is conquering them? How do you keep the faith when you are trying to do the right thing, but adversity and failure takes hold, and won’t let go?
In my journey, I’ve learned faith is something that needs to be renewed on a regular basis. At a minimum, daily. Sometimes, it has to be renewed multiple times throughout the day. Whenever I look at my Goliath’s, I remind myself of all the Goliath’s I’ve conquered throughout life. As long as there is breath in my body, I know there’s a chance for all my dreams to come true.