100 muthafu*cka can't tell me nunnin'

I don't only want to focus on the negative where my childhood is concerned. I have great memories, good moments. I'm grateful to have grown up being creative and inspired by nature before I became so consumed with the online world. I'm happy I did not forget I could always get back to that to get back in touch with my truest self, closer to God. I'm looking for ways to carry that feeling with me. I think it's why I love Hawai'i so much, this place is so beautiful and the energy is so serene. Why wouldn't I want to always live in that?

We all have struggles. I'm still in the midst.

I've had this conversation recently actually, which of your parents could you be more upset with: the one who wasn't around or the one who stuck around?

My parents had me young. I was one, attending my mother's high school graduation. They're both funny, intelligent and creative people. They're also products of their environment. My dad sold drugs and went to jail. Early on, I was such a daddy's girl. Like, I remember crying and being like "I want my daddy!" I stopped crying for him eventually. I think once I was waiting for him to pick me up and he never came. He had been shot that night. My parents didn't get along for years. Being raised by a single mother is so challenging for both mother and child. She did what she could, we always had food and shelter. She always made our house feel like home, aestheically. I always appreciated that. I was the only child for the first fourteen years of my life. I thought I liked being an only child because I got much of what I wanted but on the other side of that, my mother was an angry alcoholic. Angry. And nobody but us knows what we were going through at the time.

I think God sent my siblings into our lives just for me.

When you're always the strong woman making it happen, people don't check on you as much. My mother is strong because she had to be. She had to make everything happen. I spent a lot of time with family, on both sides. I fondly look back on that time, especially with both of my Grandmothers. Looking back, I needed more emotional help than I knew how to express. And my time at home was spent escaping through music, books, any entertainment I could. My reality obsession started at this time. I've been a researcher since a youngin'. Engrossed in and trying to understand relationship dynamics though unfortunately, not many healthy ones.

Growing up in an environment like that, so hyper-vigilant, I'm not even sure how to break out of it. Always anticipating the needs of other. I didn't have many chores but the emotional labor was more than I could handle as a child. How could I help an adult with their issues and trauma when I've yet to experience much myself? How could I spend so much time helping without feeling understood? Doesn't the therapist need a therapist? I had to be the listening ear and I had to take the brunt of the anger. I haven't gotten over it yet. I'm still resentful but I'm trying to see her for who she is now. How do you let it go?

Work ends early on Friday. I had such a good lunch today with a co-worker who I always took a shine to but never took the time to get to know. Always smiling and joyful and kind. It was nice to open up and listen to an older woman with some wisdom. She made a comment about sad-laughing clowns. I understood immediately.

Baking more cupcakes...for personal consumption and of course practice with my icing pipping skills.

Cheers to the freakin' weekend,

xoxo,

Ashanti