Summer has started, and I am not even about to pretend
like I am walking into it all soft, rested, and carefree. I am tired. I am
triggered. I am anxious. But I am still trying to make something good out of it
because what else am I supposed to do? Just stop living? No.
pexels
Today is the first official day of summer, and I am not
going to sit here and lie like I feel light and free. I do not.
This is not one of those summers where I am posting packed
luggage, booked flights, and pretty views like life is just giving luxury. My summer
looks more like bills, kids, work, anxiety, groceries, memories I did not ask
for, and me still trying to smile through all of it. I am just trying to make
it from now until school starts back in late July, then into that first week of
August when my daughter turns five and she and her big brother get on the bus for
the first day of school. And I already know my heart is going to be in my damn
throat.
That part alone messes with me. My daughter is about
to turn five, my son is already eight, and time really does not care if I am
ready. It keeps moving. Kids grow. School starts. Bills come. Life keeps asking
me to show up, even on the days when I feel like I am barely keeping myself
together.
And honestly, I am tired of pretending being strong
all the time does not make me want to scream sometimes. Because it does.
I
am not dependent on child support. Let me say that clearly.
I have been making a way, and I will keep making a way. My kids are going to
eat. They are going to have clothes, shoes, school supplies, and what they need
because that is what I do. But would him paying what he is supposed to pay
help? Yes. Hell yeah, it would. Especially when he is not physically present in
any way, shape, or form.
That is what gets me. It is not just the money. It is
the sick days and nights, the school forms, the hygiene checks, the snacks, the
sibling fussing, the appointments, the bedtime routines, the emotional labor,
and all the little things nobody sees. So yes, the money would help. Not because I cannot survive without it,
but because these are his children too.
This summer, I am working until the end of June at my
school, budgeting, creating, mothering, healing, and trying not to let all this
exhaustion turn me bitter. Some days I feel like I am handling my big dawg
shit. Other days I am staring at the ceiling like, Lord, I know you see me, but
damn.
I am still conquering my driving anxiety too, and that
shit is humbling.
People say, “Just get on the road and drive,” like it
is that simple. As if your body does not lock up. As if fear does not sit right in
your chest. As if the interstate does not feel like too much when your nervous
system is already tired. I have not traveled on the interstate yet, and I am
not about to bully myself about that. I
am still moving. I am still trying. I am still taking the small roads in my city until
I am ready for bigger ones.
What I want this summer is simple. I want a Friday night
or Saturday night where I can breathe. I want to be outside if the weather lets
me. I want good food, good drinks, warm air, good-ass laughs, and a few hours
where I am not fixing, planning, providing, worrying, or holding everything
together for everybody else.
And of course, this is Louisiana, so summer comes with
heat that feels personal and weather that does whatever it wants. One minute it
looks like a good night to sit outside, and the next minute the sky is acting
funny. With hurricane season creeping into its peak, I am trying to enjoy the
outside moments when I can while still knowing storms may come.
I would love to travel back home and visit my mama
too. I really would.
However, going back home is hard for me. I want to go see
my mama. I really do. But I hate how choked up I get. I hate how one street,
one smell, or one memory can make me feel like I am right back in the middle of
everything I survived. The poverty. The bullying. The shame. The feeling of
being a little Black girl who had to swallow too much pain and act like she was
okay. That kind of trauma does not just disappear because you grew up.
Home can feel peaceful and heavy at the same time. I
want to hug my mama. I want to laugh with her. I want to feel that kind of love
you cannot get anywhere else. However, I also know going back can crack something
open in me. It can bring back the version of me who felt poor, picked on,
embarrassed, and stuck.
Still, I do not want that to be the whole story. I do not want trauma to keep its foot on my
neck forever. I want to go home one day and not feel like the past is
waiting at the door to drag me backward. I
want to remember what hurt me without letting it turn me into somebody I do not
recognize.
So no, I am not going into this summer with some fake easygoing
caption pretending everything is peaceful. Some days will be messy as hell.
Some days I will cry in private. I’ma cuss under my breath. I’ma pray out loud.
I’ma wash another load of clothes. I’ma feed my kids. I’ma pay what I can. And
then I’ma get back up because nobody is coming to do it for me.
But
I am also tired of acting like joy has to wait until life is perfect.
I want soft summer nights. I want my children to have
memories that feel safe and happy. I want my daughter’s fifth birthday to feel
special. I want the first day of school to feel like a fresh start and not just
another thing sitting heavy on my already full plate.
I want to look back at this season and say, damn, I did
that. I survived the heat, the bills, the anxiety, the memories, the parenting,
the disappointment, the waiting, and the storms. But I did not just survive.
I
lived.
I laughed when I could. I rested when I needed to. I
showed up for my kids. I showed up for myself. I kept working on the parts of
me that still shake. I kept choosing a future that does not look like
everything I came from.
If you are reading this like a close friend sitting
across from me, then you already know your girl is exhausted, but I am not done.
This
summer may not be easy, but I am still here. Still trying. Still healing. Still
mothering. Still building.
This time, I am not just trying to make it through summer. I am trying to find the damn light, even if I have to drag myself toward it one tired, sweaty, anxious, faithful step at a time.
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