Freedom Song.

It’s my birthday, y’all. And this year, my gift is freedom. My 30s have taught me so much thus far and I am ever evolving. I guess you can say this newfound freedom began with the resurgence of my desire to make time for therapy. After an incredibly stressful incident at work, my friend and co-resident reached out to me with a full list of Black female therapists. Yes. She curated a list where she wrote background information and the areas of focus for each therapist. She also notated what she liked and thought about each one. Y’all, with my permission, she went ahead and emailed them for me and gave them my contact information. All of this just for me. I will never forget her kindness, care, concern, and selflessness. She made it super easy for me to re-engage in therapy. All I had to do was wait for them to contact me and choose from the list.

And so it began or should I say restarted? I embarked upon a series of opportunities for learning and unlearning. I grew to know myself more along the way. It didn’t take me long to realize one of my major sources of self-imposed stress is my desire to control the situations around me. Allow me to explain. One of my first memories in life is the wake and funeral of my dear Uncle Keith. I was only 3, but I remember so much. I remember details, y’all. He passed in a car accident a week before his 23^rd birthday and my family was completely devastated. That happening is why I’m a timid driver. It’s why I get concerned when loved ones don’t answer the phone for a while. It’s why I subconsciously took on the role of being the protector in my family. It’s why.

Over the years, I’ve been a gatekeeper for my family. I have literally grilled significant others who tried to enter the courts. I’ve given loved ones deadlines to do what I think is best for them. Dead. Lines. Like what?! Link my fierce desire to protect with my outspokenness and lack of a filter and well, you can imagine how some of those conversations went.

My therapist also pointed out I’ve become incredibly scrappy over the past several years because I’ve had to fight so hard to get to this point in my career. I’ve had to advocate for myself like no other, fend off naysayers, ask for rules to be rewritten, hustle to ensure my bills were paid, and make so many things out of nothing. I’ve become scrappy. I think that was her nice way of saying I’m a little hood. Ha! My advocacy has greatly benefited me and learners coming behind me. I’ve seen policies broken and changed all in the name of supporting future physicians. I’ve seen administrators straighten up when they address and interact with Black doctors. I’d be lying if I said the process didn’t wear me out, though. 

I get to be soft now. I choose to be soft now. I love my family dearly and I never want anything negative to happen to them, but sometimes when I’m trying to protect, God whispers to me, “I love them even more than you do” and that gives me peace. I don’t have to control things to garner safety. I can pray. I want my own immediate family one day. I won’t have time to run around commandeering others’ lives. I’m also coming into the realization I have accomplished so much of what I set out to and maybe I can step back from the scrappiness of it all. I can disagree. I can disengage. I can disengage.

I feel like this is a year of rebirth. I’m almost done with my medical training. I’m almost free from being on someone else’s clock 24/7. With the new freedom surrounding my mental space as well, I fully intend to embrace all God has in store for my next season. I had to drop the self-imposed stress so I can fully enjoy. There are some truly amazing things on the horizon, many of which have been 17 years in the making. I choose to bask in alllll of that. I had peace and joy before. Now I have even more. 

For those looking into therapy resources, here are two I really love:

Therapy for Black Girls

Psychology Today

Who the Son sets free is truly free indeed (John 8:36). Once He sets you free, stay free. Happy Birthday to me.

xx,

Photos by Sweetie Mensah