Where I’m From
I grew up with a “foot in two places” as they say. Eight different schools from K through 12. For most of that time, I was living around mostly Black people while attending Predominantly White Institutions (PWIs) for my education. And every time I switched neighborhoods +/or schools, I reinvented myself.
My mom was a pageant queen—I’m not describing her general disposition, though that would be accurate. Hi Mom! 👋🏾 She was a literal pageant queen. Her goal was to obtain a scholarship to an American college + become a chemist.
At 17, she achieved her goal by winning the 1977 Miss Commonwealth Bahamas title + earned herself a full ride to a Historically Black College + University (HBCU) in Daytona Beach, Florida. Shortly after, her mother + six younger siblings migrated to South Florida + eventually to Columbus, Ohio – which is still home to most of them.
I grew up listening to my mom’s stories about her college experience of not being accepted by her fellow classmates—specifically Black American women. She was seen as different because she’d come from an island, + for her, this was shocking. She’d grew being in community amongst Black people – + she wasn’t finding that in her newly achieved home. That heartbreak has never fully left her.
You can be in proximity to people who look like you + still feel like a complete outsider.
Wait, where?
Being the first American-born citizen in my family exposed me to many different environments. I developed a skill for reading situations—for sensing the unspoken dynamics + using that information to navigate. For decades, I used this skill as a coping mechanism to belong. I became what I thought people needed me to be: sometimes nerdy, sometimes playing dumb, sometimes saying things I didn’t mean, always pretending the microaggressions didn’t land. The contorting went on + on + on + I was struggling finding a safe home anywhere.
Then, through a series of seemingly unfortunate events, I found myself staring in the mirror, weeping, + completely devastated by what I saw deep down. And I’ve been journeying home to myself ever since. Learning to not only recognize myself in the mirror, but to love + accept what I see inside + out has become my life’s work.
Home
Dictionary.com defines home as a noun: “a place in which one’s domestic affections are centered” or “the place or region where something is native or most common.” My mom was looking for home at college in a new land. I was looking for home well EVERYWHERE! These are all immigrant stories – regular people looking for a home in an unfamiliar land.
How do we help others + ourselves journey home? Are we welcoming? Inviting? Disengaged? Going through the motions?
Are you at home + at peace with yourself? What is getting in the way of you accepting yourself? What is getting in the way of you accepting others?
Most of us, regardless of our stories, are looking for our version of home in an external place—we want good vibes + Instagram-worthy aesthetics + people to like us. But the true home, the domestic affection, the native + common place, is inside of us.
Let’s come home to ourselves.
