Editorials

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.

There were a few other young ladies who were single, unwed with children, patiently waiting for someone — anyone — to come and save them from their singleness. We were beautiful, ambitious women — why were we being overlooked? Then it hit me. We weren’t virgins and just like Hester Prynne, our babies branded us with scarlet letters.

My frustrations of being labelled as privileged because I was indoctrinated into a lifestyle I didn’t ask for, having nights contemplating taking my life because I felt inadequate and frustrated and constantly being told I took my upbringing for granted, weren’t serious concerns in my dad’s eyes because I had a bed — a king-sized one at that. Because I had a car that I didn’t pay for. Because I had a flat-screen TV in my bedroom. Because I had my own laptop. Because I had both of my parents. Because I grew up in the suburbs. Because there were people who were far worse off than me.

Unintentional doesn’t mean positive. It more so means a person didn’t set out to make you feel like s**t — but they did. The church didn’t mean to make me feel like my badass kid self didn’t belong — but it did. The woman praying for me didn’t mean to make me feel like something was wrong with me because I hadn’t accepted Jesus Christ as my Lord and Savior — but she did.

“Okay God, I know you said ‘thou shalt obey your parents,’ but what if your parents are for real wildin’ and are low-key emotionally abusive at times? “How am I supposed to rationalize listening blindly to everything my parents tell me when I feel like they don’t really see me as an individual? They only see me as an extension of themselves that they get to control. “Okay God, I know you said no sex before marriage, but my parents are divorced and you said that was a sin too. Also, there are so many divorced people at church and they’re remarried so they’re having sex with someone who’s not their original spouse. “Okay God, I know you said to be a modest Proverbs 31 woman, but why’d you make me a curvy black girl with a love for fashion if you wanted me to wear three-feet skirts all day? “Okay God, I know you said not to love the things of this world, but then why’d you go and make me Jamaican? You know I can’t resist a good rhythm and beat! “Okay God, I know you said that we’re all created equally in your image, but then why is my church and so many other churches racially segregated?” I needed answers.

My whole world shifted when my mom told us my dad and her were separating — I was in the sixth grade. I didn’t understand everything, but I remember being angry in my heart at my father and never wanting a man to hurt me like he hurt my mom. Although my parents restored their marriage and my dad changed (praise God), I definitely saw how the family dynamic shifted. I think this shaped my view of what marriage was and what a guy could do to me. Hurt me. I didn’t think about marriage much more after that. Fast forward to my freshman year of college, I met a guy.

“You’ve got to make the camera do what you want it to do,” said Bobby Wiggins, one of my friends — an accomplished photographer — said with my camera in his hands, with his frame hunched over my car window frame. I gingerly shook my head as my eyes widened with curiosity and intimidation as he pointed out the endless capabilities of my camera. “But at the end of the day, the best way for you to learn is to go out and shoot.” And that’s what I did.