Thinking Kinky : The Nappy Haired Diva

photo courtesy of  www.grandparents.com I think the best way to start this off is to give you an understanding of my relationship with food. First, we have a relationship. That should say something. The healthy person eats to live, and I live to eat. I'm not sure how it all started honestly. My memory only goes back to about age 4 and at that time, I wasn't conscious of much of anything. I didn't think about my body. I hadn't compared it to anyone else. I was just as clueless about food. I never thought of eating too much or too little. I don't recall being hungry at that age. I just remember being fed. I was a picky eater. Cold cuts made me nauseous. A hot egg sandwich could be ingested but if you tossed a hot drink in the mix (like tea or cocoa), I was tossing cookies. If my dinner had too many ingredients, I picked around it. My mom was always one green pepper or onion slice away from ruining my meal. The only thing I ate to the last drop without fail wa...

Photo by  Nicholas Bui  on  Unsplash Just typing this post is a ministry of preparation. I don't know how people will receive me. I don't knowwhat people will think. I don't know how I even feel honestly. For years, I have battled depression. I even posted about my journey as a depressed person. For some reason, the medication never seemed to work for long before I was "off". I can't completely describe what "off" feels like other than moments of battling what feels like the onset of a crisis or feeling my mood shift despite taking a drug that was intended to stabilize it. I wasn't always depressed while on anti-depressants but I wasn't always well either. I've always held a job. Being the sole provider for my household, holding a job has been a non-negotiable necessity. The issue? I never held a job for more than five years. Five years was the cap for me. I had something called the 3-year-itch. No matter what the position, or the c...

The Richest Soil: A Lesson On Strength  When I turned twenty-one, my life got very serious very quickly. My first daughter was born and I was nursing and craving the chance to flash my ID in a liquor store and actually get alcohol legally for a change (or lets pretend I wanted to taste it for the first time...whatever floats your boat. I'm not adverse to placating a few sticklers). However, the point here is that I was twenty-one and a single mom. This was indeed a predicament I orchestrated, tailored and then stepped into. I will never say that I have no idea how it happened, it was quite the contrary. Being a single mom wasn't easy at all. My boyfriend revealed himself to be a cheating boyfriend (much later, a cheating husband- got to love a man who is consistent). He went off to serve in the US Airforce while I tried my best to figure out what motherhood was all about. During that time, I struggled. I tried to do everything right and it always seemed to turn out wro...

Robin Williams didn't commit suicide. Depression murdered him. That's how I view it. I dislike when people say suicide. It's almost as if people immediately discount the significance of the loss because the death was self-inflicted. I can assure you that depression drives people to off themselves. For the sake of being technical, yes killing yourself is suicide but please do this for me: think of a time you were desperate. I don't care if it was to receive attention from that person you were madly in love with or when you stole that money, or told that lie, or took them back. Photo by  Mike Wilson  on  Unsplash It was a moment of desperation. Were you in control? Perhaps. Did it feel like it? No. Welcome to the lives of the depressed. I often feel like a shell that is housing a cloud of sadness within me. I don't get to wear all black and sit in art galleries smoking slim cigarettes discussing dark abstract art. I'm not emo chic. I gain weight and look li...

Photo by  Victoria Palacios  on  Unsplash I'd finally reached a point where I was able to careen down the dangerous road that is depression without steering toward death and hoping for "the best". I just want to clean up my life and make myself a normal happy person. It was hard learning where to start. I learned my triggers. That means I figured out what made me feel depressed. I realized that I had numerous triggers, some that I had no control over and being the control freak that I am, it only aggravated my anxiety once I figured it all out. Steering clear of my triggers became an obsession and I took an unfair and unrealistic approach toward friendships, relationships, job opportunities and even food. I would often become very rigid all for the sake of preservation of my sanity but my unwavering approach only isolated me. It was a complete mess and I was the orchestrator of it. These periods of extreme discipline would be followed by periods of extreme care...

Photo by  Priscilla Du Preez  on  Unsplash You would think I would have been more creative the second time I tried to die. I wasn't. I was a single mother with a very young toddler and I couldn't figure out how to be a very young twenty-something, a mom, a college drop out, and an adult who was aspiring to build a career instead of just having a job. I was waitressing and my tips weren't enough to make the rent for my studio apartment. My daughter was always at her father's parents home because I was working nearly 53 hours a week. Despite my hard work, I never had enough money. I dropped about 15lbs and everyone was complimenting me but I was starving. I would feed my daughter and pray she would be full so I could eat whatever she left over. I didn't care if it was cold Farina or chewed up and spat out chicken and veggies. I needed to eat and I was broke. Realizing that I was working for my daughter but hardly saw her started to wear on me. It didn't hel...

Photo by  Ian Espinosa  on  Unsplash I tried to die. I think I was 18 when I had my first crisis. A "crisis" is the term used to describe when the depression has consumed its sufferer to the point of debilitation or suicide. I was 18, and I failed my road test for the second time. For some reason, I felt completely defeated and the most logical solution to escape the pain and hopelessness that consumed me was death. So I took at least 8 ibuprofen and chugged some Trinidadian rum that my mother stowed away for holiday cake making. I drafted a sorrowful letter to my mother, brother, sister and nephew telling them that I loved them, but the pain was far too unbearable to endure for any length of time. I asked God for forgiveness. I placed the letter under my pillow and went to nap only, I wasn't very tired. Had I not taken enough? My sister was a nurse. Maybe I needed to adjust my intake according to my weight. Rummaging through the cupboards, I searched for any OTC p...

I have been called negative before. My argument has been that I am a realist. I actually try my best to stay upbeat and positive as much as possible. But then there are those days.... They are the days that you'd rather rub alcohol prep pads over your eyelids than go to work. They're the days you'd rather tweeze every hair out of your head than tell that a$$wipe the same answer to the same darn question for the thousandth time. They are the days that dealing with the BS that life has handed you is like pushing out a ten pound turd while tippy toeing on a tight rope.... (thats a hilarious visual actually- hee hee). Well for me, its been one of those days and sadly, it has progressed into weeks. I am what you call "in a funk". I don't know how long its going to last but I am doing my darnedest to get out of it. Today, I ordered pizza. This is how I know I am emotionally affected. I needed comfort food. Well, after gobbling my three slices and feeling like a glut...

Today, I am fighting the urge to consume everything in my path. My eating habits are unhealthy a lot of the time, healthy some of the time, and emotionally driven all the time. If I am feeling good, I eat clean. I have salads, I have lean protein, I work out, I live the lifestyle of someone who wants to live past 70. When I am feeling bad... its another story. I eat DIRTY. I have cupcakes, gummy bears, sunflower seeds, Mr. Goodbars, Kit Kats, and pizza. I will order a medium pizza and devour it with buffalo wings and bleu cheese faster than you can say "don't do it". Some years ago, I was diagnosed with MDD (Major Depressive Disorder). I am not one of the folks who don't believe in psychiatric evaluation. I know first hand that depression is a very real and very dangerous thing that has inflicted me for many years but has become more prevalent with age. I believe this is because the older you get the more problems you have. Since I am in an age range where one is norm...

Its no secret. I am a voluptuous woman. I was never as thin as most of my friends in High School and after birthing 4 children, my body has pretty much stood its ground after the fourth. I have lost 20lbs and it seems as if the 21st pound is completely out of the question. My body won't lose another pound. Not. One. So, I work out (sometimes), I eat right (most times) and I try not to think about how much I would love to be back in a size 9 (all of the time). Lately I give myself a break and go on a total PMS binge that involves consuming all of the comfort food I desire. Weeks later, I feel guilty and work out like a maniac to lose the three pounds I gained bingeing. This is not a healthy way to live, but it is still my life as it is now. I hope to change it. Some people are addicted to drugs. Others are addicted to sex (thanks to Tiger Woods, Eric Benet and the long list of celebrities who have pinned their infidelity on an illness). I am addicted to food. About three years ago ...