Welcome to The Lotus Lounge
A safe space for holding and processing grief, decolonizing and deconstructing faith, healing and yapping from an awkward black girl. Grab your tea, maybe some tree, and get comfy! Let's chat...
Endings are hard. Beginnings are harder.
As some of you may know, I was accepted into Emory University Candler School of Theology’s Masters in Theological Studies Program and was set to begin this fall. In the midst of planning our move to Atlanta, my partner was diagnosed with a Chiari Malformation (here’s a video cause, yeah, wtf). A few doctor’s appointments later we were advised to stay put for him to have brain/spinal surgery and recover. And a few meltdowns and therapy sessions later, I decided to defer my program a year.
We both have gone through all the emotions—grief, anger, frustration, asking “why now God?”—but one thing has stood out above all else: Spirit is still here, She still cares, and this is a time to intentionally slow down. To intentionally heal. To let community in and give them the opportunity to actually show up for us. Delay is not denial and God has a purpose for this season of our lives.
Going into this year, I knew one chapter was ending for a new to begin, but I could not have imagined it would pivot quite like this. I’m launching this platform to share authentically, to give my thoughts and research a place to live, and to maybe make someone feel less crazy on their own healing journey.
Making time to actually feel
These last few years have been pretty tumultuous for me. I was reeling from grief, navigating autistic burnout and a seemingly more unfriendly world post pandemic. I lost a job, left a job and felt completely defeated. I developed agoraphobia and would leave my home maybe once a week. Everything was terrifying—I could not look at my computer screen without bursting into tears. My phone ringing would send me into a complete panic attack. Things I loved became a chore. After of years of pushing through trauma, trying to take care of everyone else and completely abandoning self, my nervous system was wrecked.
I tried to heal in isolation (spoiler alert: that didn’t work, don’t do that). I was so ashamed of myself, I did not feel like I could fully let anyone in. Those I did try to did not have the capacity themselves, which affirmed the lie I constantly told myself: “I’m too much. I’m a burden. I need to just snap out of this.” But the mask I had so carefully curated throughout the years never returned. I had to re-learn how to live my life for me. I created accommodations for myself. I stopped guilting myself for what I couldn’t do, and focused on what I could. And finally, I reached out to my community authentically. It was then, I was surrounded and uplifted in a way I thought I was completely undeserving of. It was through community, honest conversation, and a lot of tears, that I started to see the light at the end of the tunnel.
Make joy and rest be a mandate, not a reward
If I have learned nothing else in these last few years it’s this— all you can be is honestly and authentically you. You are the one who has to live your life, so start living for yourself. Not for your family, friends or how society says you should. Unequivocally for you. When you show up as your truest self and not a diluted version, life really does flow a little easier. You’re not behind, you’re not failing, you’re right where you need to be where you are right now. Comparison is truly the ultimate thief of joy. Stop constantly moving the goal post for yourself and celebrate the little wins! Live in the present moment—not the past or the future.
We live in a pressure cooker right now. Because of that, joy is mandatory. Being joyful in the face of oppression is an act of liberation. Stop treating rest as a reward. It’s time—for black women especially—to only give from overflow. Your cup must be full before you can give to anyone else. You’re allowed to circle back, to say no, to take a break. Rest isn’t when you are collapsing from exhaustion, it’s what you do to mitigate the exhaustion in the first place.
So dance, laugh, read, write, paint, make love, play, sleep—whatever feeds your spirit. Whatever brings you joy. Whatever brings you to a place of stillness, reflection and reverence. You don’t have to be perfect to be seen. Show up broken. Show up in grief. Show up a little messy. But show up. I leave you with words from the brilliant, complex and beautifully flawed Alice Walker.
Excerpt of “The Taste of Grudge” from Hard Times Require Furious Dancing IV. Let the joyful heart that knows the dance return! Sorrow has banished it, grief has stilled my feet. But there remains internal movement toward life’s margin where all begins again in solemn beat. —Alice Walker
With deepest love and respect,
Lo
