Editorials

What was the point of sacrificing rest if my output would be subpar? The math wasn’t mathing. I was trying to burn the candle on both ends with no candle wax.

I'm in a reflective place as 2022 comes to a close. Here are a few things I love about us.

It seems as the national conversation surrounding Black equity has faded, so has Coach Prime’s mission to uplift HBCU football. It feels like he’s abandoning the fight to take the “easier” route at a PWI.

I have to remind myself I’m worthy of His love regardless of where I am in life or how my prayer life looks. There’s nothing I can do to win Him over. As long as I desire to be close and obedient to Him to the best of my ability, that’s enough for Him. He’s not just fire and brimstone.

Trauma "validates" our lives and bodies in the eyes of non-Black folks—and, even at times, Black folks.

The mantra uplifts and praises the accomplishments, beauty, and other amazing qualities of Black women. But on the flip side, it inadvertently pressures Black women to maintain a standard of excellence at all times.

Almost every time we spoke, we argued — nothing I did seemed to please her.

She didn’t like the person I was dating (which, in hindsight was fair).

She didn’t like the activities I engaged in.

And she didn’t like that I stopped attending the church I grew up in.

The friction felt unbearable and the basis of my frustration was that I felt my mom wanted me to be like her.

In one heated argument, I remember shouting, “You just want me to be like you. I’m not YOU!"

Think of the SportsCenter’s Top 10.

Back when sports were a thing, every day the Top 10 would showcase 10 amazing bit-sized moments from sporting events around the world.

Now think of how many sporting events happened on a daily basis coupled with how long each event was.

Because of this, the caliber of the moments that make the Top 10 are borderline supernatural.

This same concept applies to social media — times 10.

I was mad at the people who willingly decided to violate me.

And I was mad at God — mostly God. 

But growing up, I thought Christians weren’t allowed to be mad at God. 

I was taught that questioning God was out of place and could result in being smited.

So I suppressed my anger and used sports, boys, and self harm to cope.

Upon returning home, I knew something had to give.

I decided to get some help and learned I had unspecified bipolar and depression.

I learned, however, that it’s not about the diagnosis. It’s about how you cope with it.