A few months ago I yelled at my birth mother.
Not raise my voice yelling
Lost my shit yelling

We’re Black and Southern and raised in the church and debutantes.
We don’t yell
We’ll Jenifer Jeanette Lewis each other to death but we don’t do yelling

I remember being simultaneously horrified and relieved. We said some pretty rancid and in hindsight hilarious things to each other.
I remember screaming “I’m so angry. We need space. This is just a moment mother. I love you Mommy Dearest but I’m taking my inner child and we’re leaving this conversation!” 24 hours later we were hella southern civil with each other even though it took weeks for us to come to center again.

As I seethed for a solid month I vowed to never be so idealistic again with her (that didn’t last 😂) I held tight to the child she stung. I told her I was her fucking mother now.

This was the best thing to have ever happened.

It has allowed me a way to give myself the gentle nurturing my mother, our single black mothers working two jobs and dealing with systemic oppression and the church didn’t always have the space to give.
We chat now
This child I was and I

Today she tugged on my arm and said “Am I too sensitive?” The response came swift and easy
No child.
You’re also asking if you’re weak. If you’re too soft. You’re not weak and softness is not a bad thing. Consider that some people are fucking ass hats and cunt faces and that’s their cross to bear. Instead of being decent and doing change work these punk ass bitches will make you think you need to change.

Your sensitivity has given us access to compassion
It is a double edge sword and we bleed but we feel and we have joy even if all we can feel right now is sorrow.

Wield your sword child.
Don’t worry.
I’ll always be there to punch the people who fuck with you in the throat.
I love you.
I love me.