Greetings Family

Welcome first time parents, and veteran parents alike. Allow me to take you along my personal journey, learning to parent my beautiful son Malcolm. Chronicling when I first learned we were pregnant, our birth story and beyond.

School was in session the moment we learned I was pregnant. Who knew 9 months could forever change your entire existence. Baby Malcolm has already begun to teach me so much. Leaving me to wonder, who is the adult here?

I hope to help others all while documenting our growth, lessons, and accomplishments. Simultaneously learning to navigate as a single first time parent living the beautiful sometimes challenging black experience. On this blog you will find the life lessons he has taught me, our victories, and our failures.

Make sure you stay in touch by following this blog don’t forget to sign up for our email reminders. We also have taken this documentation of my education into parenthood onto social media. You can find me “Raising Black Parents” on Instagram, and Facebook!

I’m Mama K, and as a first time parent, I can’t begin to explain how much I appreciate you taking the time. As a black American you learn to take each bittersweet day at a time. Balancing self-love, pride in self and not being overcome by the racism, bigotry, and various micro aggressions that come with this great nation. In the mist of the systematic hatred, and a common bond of addressing social injustices, I met Malcolm’s father. We forged an honest friendship that progressed into a beautiful bond of love, respect and a common desire to combat social ignorance, and oppression. With a little sex,👀 and alot of intention, we crafted a soul. We’re pleased to say that the love and unity of two had turned into three! Although we are separated, we are very much unified when it comes to figuring out how to parent and raise our son. Join this single momma on my journey!

Welcome to Raising Black Parents!

New direction!

Alot has changed since I began this family blog. Things I will share later on. I struggled to return to blogging. First, I was ashamed of how much time had passed between posts. That shame then multiplied to shame, plus embarrassment that I started a family blog, only to lose my family as I ended things with my sons father. My goal was never to embark on the journey of parenting alone. However, I could not continue to remain in a unhealthy relationship, no matter how bad I wanted things to work. I could not get past the thought, what lesson would this teach my little one? I also could not tell my son to pursue happy and to stand in his truth unapologetically if I did not stand in mine. Sometimes you try your hardest but you cant force someone to honour and respect you.

At some point you must learn to honour and respect yourself first! Everything seems to fall into place after that. As parents we cant pour from empty cups. Well, not just parents, as human beings we cant pour what we dont have. We must learn to fill our cups and pour the overflow.

I’m not the first single parent in the world, and I won’t be the last. So, I will not let heartbreak deter me from doing this blog that I wanted to do. For years I wanted to have my own blog, and maybe even vlog one day. I can’t let life’s hiccups to get in the way of things that make me happy. Life is complicated and sometimes challenging, but more than that life is beautiful. Composed of all our ups and downs, melding into a beautiful gift we all must unwrap.

We live and we learn. We go thru so we can grow. So I will be rerouting this blog. Shifting the look, I guess. Still centerd around the life lessons my son teaches me and my personal experience.

I had to remember to lift my chin up and stand tall!

I proudly shift from three to two. Life’s journey from the eyes of me and my tiny human.

Forgiveness

Forgiveness, a gift you give yourself!

I wrote myself a letter. A letter of forgiveness. I wrote myself a letter to aid in releasing my baggage, and promote some healing. A letter to my younger self.  I’ve been learning. Learning to let go of things not meant for me to hold. For any of us to hold.  The past is not to weigh us down like baggage. Insted it will prepare us, strengthen our muscles but only if we ask it too. The past is the past and we cannot change it. However I can, you can, we can, all learn from it.

Forgiveness. We all deserve it. I must study the art of forgiveness. To forgive myselve how we allowed others to treat me.

Have you forgiven yourself? What’s something your trying to move past?

Might I suggest a letter to yourself!

Heavily flawed, yet still beautiful

I’m not just learning how to love myself, I’m teaching myself to love myself unconditionally in spite of my imperfections. Unpacking decades-old skeletons and a few that aren’t so old. Coming to a realizations about different traumas, in my life and using that new found insight to encourage my growth and continue on my journey. Learning to forgive myself, and others who knowingly and unknowingly hurt me.

I’m proud of the woman im growing into striving to choose happy. My journey into self discovery still slipping up, but recovering quicker and quicker. Always searching for better, while appreciating what im already blessed with. Learning to acknowledge how much ego driven decisions I make. Remembering we are all one, in, some way or another connected.

Malcolm gets alot of this credit. It is so fulfilling, inspiring, and incomparable watching your child grow. Seeing and protecting their precious innocence and trying your best not to prevert them with your own ignorance. Remembering to intentionally shift the negative thoughts from my space, and mind.

Ive been focusing on not necessarily beating myself up for having the original negative feeling. Insted acknowledging the feeling and analyzing the root issue. Helping myself to mend and shift pull out of that space. It is up to us to choose which energy we nurture. In complete darkness I was fumbling around. Choosing to wallow in that negative space and not being more dillagent about choosing happy.

These last few weeks I have felt a setting in me. A higher vibrational shift if you will. A reminder in me not to be fumbling in the dark but, dancing in the light. Happiness is a choice, but we must not forget sometime although it might not seem like we have the option, however we always do.

Now, I’ll admit “choosing Happiness” is not a new concept to me. I’ve just always known this, as a phrase. Heard it several times. Read it a few more.

I just never felt it in my bones.

I’m so excited to say I see myself feeling this way genuinely, as opposed to just regurgitating old cliches and faking it till I made it.

Im proud.

Now, when I’m honest with myself I know, I have to and, will make the choice for happy. Will it always be easy, of course not. Will I strive to make it happen anyway absolutely will I win in the end, fuck yea!

No worries, about things out of my control. Time to refocus on reclaiming my power. Theres nothing wrong with taking the time you need to replenish.

Nobody can pour from an empty cup. My son is juiced up, it would be a disservice to him to not be able to look him in the face and say I didn’t try to keep the positive juju juice overflowing.

Understanding that sometimes putting your child and family first means you learn how and when to prioritize yourself.

No point in dwelling in my past shortcomings. I only have time to see the learning opportunities. They are truly only losses or failures if you claim them as such.

Reclaim your damn self.

Following and fostering toxicity will not encourage a transcendent growth. I’m proud of the woman, I am growing into.

I know the book of life is long, but this chapter is just beginning.

I AM ABLE!

I AM ENOUGH!

I AM BEAUTIFUL!

I AM STRONG!

I AM THE ENTIRE FUCKING UNIVERSE!

I AM!

Transparency

Stop signs, winding roads, and anxiety.

Stop. It’s one of the few words that I’ve always quietly whisper to myself. If it wasn’t stop, it was no.

Teased and tormented through my entire adolescence, self defense was never my strong suit. Why, I’ve never quite know. I turned 33, on the 26th of May, and sometimes I’m still that little 4th grader crying in her room. Crying because the kids are cruel and I was sensitive. Crying because I was too afraid to see what would happen if I defended myself. Cluelessness on where to begin to start. Caught between wanting to defend myself and not wanting to put anyone else down or make anyone else felt how I had been made to feel. Kids are cruel, chances are most of us are aware of this. However, I will admit, years after the fact, I found growth in their cruelty. And although I still struggle with my insecurities I learned that the cruelty of others has more to do with themselves and less to do with me. To be transparent and honest, I still have to remind myself of this. Even in this very moment.

Growth is constant.

So afraid of traveling the winding road of life. No one was harder on me, than me. So foolishly afraid of other people’s opinions. Opinions that have never really mattered. Opinions that I gave way too much weight. Somewhere somehow over time I have become a slave to my fears and insecurities. (👱🏿‍♂️Choices! We all make them.) I don’t exactly know when this happened to the fearless little girl I use to be. I somehow became afraid of taking the right turn and ending up exactly where I wanted. Why do I let those two words, and the meaningless words of others paralyze me with fear? Stop And No, are not dead ends. Simply a sign, to take a moment, pause, and reflect. Sometimes I think she’s still in my little room, waiting for me to come in there and hug her and tell her all the things I never heard. That I’m beautiful. That these kids don’t know what they’re talking about. That real friends would not treat you like this, or put you in positions to compromise who you are. That im talented. That I’m worthy. That I’m perfect just the way I am. That there is nothing another girl or boy can do to tarnish the light that is in my soul.

When you approach a stop sign you’re supposed to make sure you have come to a complete stop, check for traffic coming in all directions and proceed when safe. Somehow in my confusion I have equated stop with end. I have equated no with never.

I watch my son, grow and learn new skills every day. I laugh as I try to change his diaper and he shows me how good he’s getting at flipping over. (Changing his diaper is like a wrestling match now. 🤸🏾‍♂️🤸🏾‍♂️) I watch how resilient he is. How determined he is to do what he wants to do.

I pray that I never have a desire to stifle that.

The Tampa aquarium.

I watch him and I’m reminded that he is me. And that I only need to take a page out of our book. Our ever-expanding ever-growing book this book does not contain the word stop. Our book does not contain the word no. Somehow I have let my anxiety put words in the mouth of the book that is our life. There never is a stop or no merely a period ushering that it is time to turn the page. I see people around me growing and flourishing my son included and I am slapped with a painful realization. I am getting in my own way. I am afraid, of what I do not know. What I do know is that my fear is irrational. I do know that the fear is simply me trying to make excuses for not attempting to step out of my comfort zone. As if progress happened in a blink of an eye. I must remain diligent and although being consistent on the things I need to do to heal . A large part of that is also letting go of the bags that are not mine to carry. Although on the outside progress might appear to happen in the blink of an eye it is a process. A beautiful painful, thought-provoking, life shifting, no more excuses making, self reflecting process. He’s 6 months old and I’m pretty sure that he has this thing called life figured out. It’s time to traverse the winding roads of life and to put down these bags of insecurities that I have been holding for so long. It’s time to put down these bags of fear, I would much rather be holding my son.

How do you silence, your fears?

N*ggas In Paris: Why France should grant citizenship to African immigrants who aren’t scaling buildings to save kids, too.

Great article. Take a gander.

Bitches Love Feminism

The other day I watched my anxiety and a black man go up in mere seconds, except he was scaling the side of a building, and I was thousands of miles away, watching him in the only country I’ve ever known, and the country of those who came generations before me, but were never fully accepted here. When your family has lived here for generations and you are still treated as a stranger, I can’t even imagine what it would feel like to be a first-generation immigrant, looking for a better life in a country that has expressed how much it doesn’t want you, and where the path to citizenship is as narrow as a Trump supporter’s mind.

 

The only way you can be accepted in your new country, is to not do real nigga shit, no, you have to do super real nigga shit, like scaling 4 stories…

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The Enabler

https://wp.me/p7RxQS-5P

I’m guilty of enabling myself. I am so good at outlining a detailed plan. However I am also very good at enabling myself to not go through with said plan. I feel a shift, a transformation coming. As she said in the post growth does not come from a comfortable place. It’s time for me to stop being comfortable making plans. And to get more comfortable following through with said plans.

The joy in hobbies.

I’ve always been a craft loving girl. Pretty much anything remotely resembling a craft I can do, will intrest me.

I love making things I find beautiful with my hands. Whether it is painting, hand sewing cat toys to quilts, repurposing things I find, making jewelry and so many other little trinkets.

As I dabble in the world of crafts, I find stillness and joy. I want to increase my artistic skill sets.

As a first time mother I have been blessed with the gift of being able to stay home and raise my little one. This is something I always wanted when I was younger and fantasized about having a family. However in this moment in time, I find my pride a little saddened at the fact that I am no longer contributing financialy to my family’s success.

Now, I know that full time parenting is a priceless position. But, it makes me feel a little guilty.

As if, I would feel better letting a stranger watch my son… yeah right!

So I decided to be proactive and start seeing how I can turn my love of crafting into something that can benefit my family. I’ve wanted to sell my crafts. What better inspiration than to help my family.

A year or two ago I started an etsy page and corresponding social media pages to sell those crafts on the side. I was working full time then but was still interested in dabbling in the art of selling your crafts. The more it became like work, the more it felt like a chore, thus zapping all the real joy out of it.

I let all of it fall, I stopped posting, I no longer renewed my shop items, I let the fear and cobwebs grow.

Now I sit here trying to find the balance in doing what I love, without the pressure of turning it into a chore I no longer receive joy doing.

I’ve found myself still crafting, just not sharing what I make.

To be transparent and honest I’m most scared that nobody will love my creations.

A few days ago I realized that, this notion is completely and utterly rediculus.

It does not matter if anyone else loves them because I do. I realized I owe it to myself to put them put there anyway. I must stand confidently in myself and my visions.

I decided to refresh some of my items on etsy and continue posting on my corresponding Instagram page.

In terms of marketing I don’t push it to much. Baby steps. It will become profitable exactly when it is suppose to be.

In the mean time I will relish in the fact that every time I post something I craft, I take one step closer to accepting myself and talents.

My most reacent crafts have been crystal wire wraped pendants and earrings, I have yet to put these items on my etsy site, but I wanted to show them to any and all who might stummble across this post. I hope you like them, but if you dont… oh, freaking well.

I love them and I think that is all that should ever matter.

If you find joy in crafting, keep improving your skill sets. Do NOT let anyone detur you from doing something you love.

The newest additions…

Purple, gold and a touch of pink.

Pink and gold beauties.

Pink, and gold, with pearl.

I love these clay beads.

Selenite Wand

Simple and elegant

Life’s natural GPS

We never really know how life will progress for us.

We all do our best to prepare and drive life’s car. We’ve all made a lot of wrong turns. Been lost a few times, had to check the map and reroute. But regardless here we stand.

Life dose not care how many U-turns you have to make, as long as your not stagnant on the road. That is a true traffic jam. Sometimes, I wonder if I’m on the right road. How far off the path, have I wondered?

Placing my hand on my 2 month old sons heart is the best GPS I have ever used.

I made a left when I should have made a right. I also made that last UTurn, and I definitely shoulda stoped and asked for directions. But, who do you ask? It’s your Life! You have to accept responsibility for the turns you make, as well as the turns you don’t make.

Malcolm is the perfect place, on the exact road in my life I am suppose to be on. Teaching me to trust in myself, and the Divine ways of the universe. Everything happens for a reason. This I know to be true.

Im proud, of the wrong turns.

I’m proud, of the mistaken U-turns.

They led me to this very spot.

Holding my beautiful baby boy!

Thank you Malcolm, the best driver, I know.

You have arrived at your destination!

Old thoughts, still valid!

News flash coming into the new year!

You can no longer claim you have black friends…

if, you’re silent about the way they are disproportionately treated! Those are not your friends. Thats only you trying to keep a few tokens in your pocket so you can feel a little less racist.

Soothe your own conscience, you’re not fooling me!

This is what I try to explain to my Caucasian friends. They learn about racism in school, as a second hand story, or about racism that happened in the past as if it doesn’t happen anymore. (It seems that most times their disregarding a story about first-hand experiences with racism.) We learn about racism thru personal experience. Children should not know about racism through experience. Yet, that is the black experience in America. We are taught the hard-core lessons of racism through first-hand experience. In a place that is supposed to be our home. In a place that we are supposed to be YOUR fellow Americans. In a place our ancestors build off of their blood, sweat, and tears, literally.

Why is it that white people are so uncomfortable talking about race? As if having an uncomfortable conversation could be harmful to one’s growth. How can someone be more upset about having a conversation about race then they are about people actually experiencing Injustice? Why is my first hand experience and countless other African Americans first-hand experiences so quick to be disregarded as fiction? As if your uncomfortable conversation could ever be more uncomfortable then living in a world filled with racism.

Where is this perceived guilt coming from? Talking about race and social constructs does not have to be indicative of placing blame. Just because a white person and a black person are having a conversation about race does not mean that that particular black person blames that particular white person for said racial tensions. We must have these uncomfortable conversations if we are ever expected to move past them. Not too long ago the country was divided, divided off of something that I would have never thought. We were divided off of someone exercising their First Amendment right to protest.

How exactly dose white america want black people to protest?

Regardless of if we agree with why a person is protesting the point of the protest is to disrupt your everyday life, to bring alarming attention to the plight that that person is trying to protest and or showcase. It is literally unAmerican to suppress someone’s right to protest.

If you care more about the anthem, (Who’s roots run deep tangled in bigotry and racism.) then you do the lives that are killed continuously both black and white…

If you feel that our troops and vets who fight for our FREEDOMS are being disrespected by us excersizing our CONSTITUTIONAL FREEDOMS in protesting said anthem…

* The anthem is NOT anti-troops, whether the troops agree or disagree with what is being protested they still put their lives on the line every day for us to exercise our constitutional rights. It’s disrespectful to them to suppress anyone’s right to protest, Even the racists bigots in Charlottesville had the right to protest.

If you find yourself being more outraged that a building was destroyed but not more upset about a human life being stolen and left to rot in the street like an animal…

Then you might be a little racist.

People both black and white people are dead but, you mad about that fuck ass rasist anthem!

Let me make this clear for you guys that might not know my stance.

Fuck that racist ass anthem! It does not make America. America is all of us, coming together for the common good. America is a mixing bowl filled with a variety of ingredients all separately tasty but combined make a delicious meal. A part of appreciating a delicious meal is appreciating and respecting every delicious ingredient that came together to make it possible. As Americans we must learn to refine our pallets and by that I mean cultivating a culture, we can recognize all of our idiosyncrasies and still appreciate each other for our individualities.

Small rant of the not so angry, “Angry Black Woman!”

Why is it anytime black woman expresses her opinion, she is perceived as angry?

If you spend five minutes with me you know I’m not angry. But again that’s a part of media and white supremacy pushing this narrative that when a black person expresses their opinion must mean they angry.

It’s incredibly frustrating.

News flash: We have opinions!

Don’t confuse passion with anger!

I forgot black people must have a monopoly on anger.

Why aren’t there “angry Spanish women?”

Why aren’t there “angry white women?”

Why don’t you hear about “angry Asian women?”

Why?

Because, it’s a ridiculous notion!

We all have a rainbow of emotions. We all experience passion and anger but the media is convincing you that me displaying anything other than being quiet and passive to injustice is me being hostile violent and aggressive.

Forgive the opprssor, they said
There only trying to kill everything about you, they said
Black genocide will be fun, they said

What’s lame, is that Hostile, Violent, and Aggressive are not even some of my character traits. I’ve never been in a physical altercation in my life! However, that does not mean I will be a doormat to your micro agressions, nor dose it mean I will let your hostility and ignorance dictate my ability to bring awareness. But I guess the only qualification I needed to appear hostile, aggressive, and violent, is my skin tone.

Black person gets hurt… Be quiet
Black person gets killed… Shhhh
Black person experiences injustice…
Hush, don’t tell no body!

I have a beautiful black son. It is my job to make sure he sees past these stereotypes that are simply rooted in ignorance and bigotry. Being black in America comes with its challenges. But they are challenges that I am ready to tackle.

Even though they might be uncomfortable sometimes.

Just because a conversation is uncomfortable does not mean that it does not need to be had.

I will do my best to not perpetuate stereotypes, as well as teaching my son not to believe, force, and perpetuate stereotypes. It is our job as parents, as black parents to arm our children with tools that they need to succeed in this country. It is with a heavy heart that part of that is explaining the difference in which he will be treated and perceived just based on his skin tone. After reading this you probably think I’m angry… *insert, heavy sigh* I just have 450 years of concern to catch up on.