slowly surely + xyz : a journey of (re)discovery

I AM. Guided

By InspiredJourney

We both exit. As we cross the parking lot, she mentions something about the ‘interrogation’. I respond that I hadn’t heard the conversation. Her immediate response: “Bullshit.”

My screaming thought: Huh?

Forever being respectful first, and as a result not knowing what to say, I look at her with a puzzled heart and repeat that I had not been listening. She goes on ‘in agreement’ about not gossipping(?), as if to confirm that’s my meaning. No, I wasn’t suggesting that, but more to clear the air of being called a liar. She spoke about Chidema trying to ‘save’ her in response to Baba. I confirmed I’d heard that bit, but wasn’t sure what the entire conversation was, and it seemed as if a child had done something and was being chastised.

I felt stupid and I didn’t like that feeling. Stupid is not a default feeling I experience. I feel stupid as I write this. The abuse had effectively bled over and spilled onto me when being called a liar. I can only imagine what the others must feel like, having lived in this condition for nearly 70, 50, and 40 years. I too would be broken in ways.

When we think abuse, we think physical…and later emotional. We often don’t realize how abuse permeates space and is projected onto anyone in close proximity to it.

Knowing one doesn’t get in the middle a domestic issue, deepened the mind-fuck I found myself; getting involved means that you, invariably, become ‘the problem’ when attempting to help. So it’s best to remain on the sideline or away.


The night turned into day and life was as it had been. The routines continued.

Safely sliding it to a weekend, Sundays my or may not have been a day of rest or a day to go in and get some things done without normal workday traffic disrupting workflow.

This particular Sunday I asked if there would be a trip that day, citing that I’d like to go if the trip is made. I had the intention of getting closer to finishing on a pouf I started. The idea to create this piece was inspired by the bags of random fabric, used clothing and ruined tees that were now used as scrap for testing rough prints.

The day expired, without my having the opportunity to work as I’d like.

No problem. I didn’t think anything of it, until Kenya mentioned she’d been to the shop that day.

Me: Perplexed, again.

I don’t function like most people, and I trust until given a firm reason to not. But other people? Well, they trust no one; even themselves and for good reason.

I can only assume something was weighing on her mind, as Kenya ‘confessed’ she’d checked the contents of the pouf! Waaaah?

I laugh internally because this was insane.

I laughed because after being called a bullshit liar, the decision to book my departing ticket earlier than planned, to loudly protest when shit was being stirred, to step away from tutoring, to not listen/participate in family conversations, to not interject my opinions often, to be cool until I could leave, confirmed my intuition trumps any reasoning I might use to excuse this experience.

I’m thankful my conscious is my intuitive guide.

I’m thankful for being able to hear intuition and honor it. I’m thankful to have been in a position that I could leave.

I’m thankful because I’d be leaving a situation that’s not healthy for anyone.

And I’m thankful for that lone untrustworthy pouf. For without it, I might still be questioning some of what I experienced.

Thankful, my days in Atlanta come to a close.

The Girls: You CAN’T Go!

Me: I can, and will.

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