Full Swing

There's a party going on at darkdaughta's, but I have to start studying again. I wish it had started a little earlier! A long, entangled, ongoing conversation about race, love, marriage, sexuality, gender, silence, memory, blackness, motherhood and so many other things. You should check it out. My new silence over there is not because I don't want to post...I am simply back in my reality, which leaves no room for the mental work required to engage in the ways I would like to over there. It's dangerous to get sidetracked in this program...but god I wish I could lose my mind in the party. I set up a little list in my side bar of the folks currently at the party...

Anyway.

*sigh*

Back to life.

Spring 2008, Day One

Was long...9am to 7:20pm...but I only lasted until 7.

My body faught coming back this past weekend. I was tense and having muscle pain. The man worked out most of it, but there's still some neck tension. My mind is still fighting.

I have a lot to say, but I'm tired. Maybe later today. First class starts at 9:30, and I go full steam until 10pm tonight because it's my work night. *sigh*

Spring 2008

DITTO.

A Day on Labor and Delivery

As an effort to ease into the new semester which includes intrapartum and antepartum classes with clinicals, I shadowed a midwife on L&D today. I wanted to reaquaint myself with the monitors, get the lay of the floor again, and mingle with the nurses. It was great day of rounding, triage, and birth.

I saw a human come into the world today. A girl child, through a 17year old woman who was so full of power.

Amazing.

Coming Back Home, Without Fear

I've been out visiting other bloggers at all hours of the night and day, for hours at a time. Reading the current words of some and archives of others. But today I'm coming home to my blog because school is about to start (in a week), and therefore the reality of my usual life. This blog will continue to be a blow-by-blow of being brown in nursing/midwifery school...ivy league learning while black. But also, I hope, a more integrated testimony of living, period.

While out visiting I found that I talked about things that I never talk about in as much depth here, but also that I have been trying to talk about for years but haven't always had the people to talk about them with, and when I finally found someone who pulled it out of me (wow, looking back, I fought hard, lol) I moved here for school. I don't know how much of that I will bring back here...part of my compartmentalizing...I'm working on it...but I do know that as I continue to bounce around the blogsphere and comment where I'm so moved, I'm growing. And I hope that the people who come here do the same.

My mama was here, and her reading this now I know she is fearful for this upcoming year of blogging. She always is. Fearful. But I get it, it's hard to be anything else while raising children who have it coming to them from their world. It requires a level of work, patience, and knowledge that comes from non-stop reading/evaluating/processing that working class folks rarely have time for.

But she's home now. (It was nice having you here mama...come anytime)

For most of my life I have worked on walking squarly into my fears. So this semester of blogging will hopefully not be hindered by fear.

Hooraaaaay!!!!!!!

Today's the day!

I'm officially entertaining my mama.

I knew ya'll couldn't wait. LOL

Happy New Year, 2008

LMAO. I feel you Calvin.

But, seriously, we should all evolve into better versions of ourselves, to the best of our abilities.

I have a few goals for the year:

Short Term:

1. Stay on top of my school work, organizing the notes as I go along, instead of right before the midterm and again right before the final.
2. Have my midwifery cohort over to my home at some point in the semester.

Long Term:

1. Write more often, even if a jumbled mess.
2. To continue to be unapologetically me, even with, especially with, the man.

Our Goal:

To continue to define marriage on our own terms (even if still within the narrowly constructed idea of heterosexual monogamy) especially as we venture into possible parenthood - so that, maybe, we can be comfortable defining those roles for ourselves as well.

Lastly. I am thankful to have made it through 2007. Still surviving school, still with him, with family alive and in most cases well, and with almost all of my sanity. (anybody who is completely sane isn't living or thinking ;o)

Mama Countdown, cont.

...days left.

purchase wine a plenty. Check.

Coronas. Check.

Food for homecooked meals...that she doesn't have to cook herself. Check.

Clean, clean, clean so she's not tempted. Check, check, check.

Make some drinks, sit down, and enjoy New Years Day. Almost there.

Countdown

DAYS UNTIL MY MAMA ARRIVES!

Tying Up Loose Ends

Just a hodge podge of all what's flying through my mind...trying to organize thoughts, check boxes marked as "return to," fill in empty spaces, and answer a few questions before I dive deeper back into my head (and hopefully the page)...

[::] There's been discussion going on in the comments section of this post. You should read it. I think what just happened was that moment when you get right up on something...but then stop because of the blow up that might occur afterwards...even though the blowup is what moves people (some people) toward growth. I've been thinking about why I didn't respond with as much enthusiasm/anger/frustration/energy on the page/in the comments as I did in the house as I was discussing it all with the man. He said, "why didn't you write that?" Meaning, what I said, in the way that I said it, to him. Great question. I don't have a good answer, except that maybe that moment was coming, full steam, where I was going to "go off" and then there would be aftermath. Ironically, I had just said that I wasn't afraid of confrontation. Hm. I don't think I am afraid of confrontation...at least not in person I'm not, so what's going on? Maybe it's about not wanting to feel like I have to defend myself on this blog because I do that so often everywhere else. It's also because I can obviously talk much faster than I can type, and while bouncing all of this off of the man, I am able to flush out what the hell I'm thinking because his questions come in real time, not the next day...and I'm just tired of explaining to others. Especially when they don't wanna hear/understand it enough to go do their own thinking about it. But when the dialog is honest, I love the interaction. There was one thing I wanted to respond to though, and that's whether I always bring it (whatever it is) back to race when talking or asking a question in class. The short answer is NO because, believe it or not, I rarely speak in class...I don't have the patience for it. But when people ask my opinion, I give it to them. And I try not to hold back. A lot of times that opinion includes race, how could it not? Ask a stay at home mother to never talk about their children, a midwife to not talk about birth, a CEO to not talk about money, a volunteer to not talk about purpose. Almost impossible, why? Because it's part of their identity. I'm walking around in this skin. It's part of me. How do I...why would I, walk, talk, and act as though it's not? Furthermore, in class, when I have the energy, why say what everyone else is saying? I know you want to talk about eating right...but when I mention the cost of eating right in my neighborhood, how do I do that without the lens of race when your next question is "why is what is sold in your grocery store different than what's in my grocery story?" I can try to explain that without saying because my life/my needs/my health is not valued as much as yours is....but then you ask "why not?" Why in the hell am I supposed to refrain from saying because I'm black and therefore devalued and not worth meat that doesn't say "use or freeze by (today's date.)" What you want is for me to avoid talking about race because it makes you uncomfortable. Fuck what is happening to me, let's make it easy for you.


NO.


Or, you want me to stay focused on the fact that there are poor white people, poor people of every color, and so let's just talk about poor people in general...not poor black people specifically. Or that those in Africa are even poorer than we are here in America. I'll leave it to you to talk about poor white people...in my community there were very few poor white people. Maybe I should talk about that one day, because I know that people who grow up in places that are "diverse" are sometimes shocked that in other parts of the country segregation is still very much alive and functioning. But I also refuse because even poor white people have the protection (although I should think of something else to call it) of white privilege, and therefore, even if we eat the same thing, go to the same community centers, or frequent the same theaters....when the police arrive, we are not just poor people....we are black people and white people, and when you reach for your wallet to prove your identity, they aren't going to shoot you, but me? Maybe 42 times.

moving on.

[::] A while ago I mentioned that I was blogsided by a dean at the university. I never emailed her back. But she approached me one day and we ended up talking about it. She wanted to know so that they could use one of the posts during black history month. I told her she could use whatever she wanted...anonymously. She then told me that she had already told the lady who's coordinating the events that she thought the blog belonged to me, and that the lady is supposed to contact me. I told her that when she does, I will deny being the blog's owner because for now I wish to remain anonymous. I also asked her if there was any chance that she could forget that she found me....she laughed.

[::] I mentioned yesterday that someone tried to dissuade me from getting a PhD. I understand. My best friend just had this conversation with me before I left home last year. (Hi H!) And I get where it comes from. Believe me I think about it. I even think about it in terms of the impact that it will have on my understanding of my community...the longer you're away, the farther removed you become...but I also believe that you can take the girl outta the hood, but you can't take the hood outta the girl, so there's hope ;o) What it comes down to for me is that while I think there's a good chance that I would regret not getting one, I know I will not regret getting it. I also know that it's now-ish or never. It takes something to be in school, and once I leave I never want to come back. I don't mean that I don't want to learn anything else, just that I want to learn it on my own terms. I'm also ready to have kids, yes, that means I made a decision to have children, and that they are welcome at any time from now, this moment, to 2012ish. This was a monumental decision in our household ;o) Grad school would be as good a time as any to have them. What meeting with the current nursing PhD student did do for me was get me thinking about a different kind of PhD. That is, to expand my thinking from only earning a PhD in nursing, to considering public health, social policy, sociology, anthropology, etc. I wanted a nursing PhD because I feel like nursing needs more people to bring interdisciplinary ideas to it, but I am also ADAMANT that my PhD is about *me* as much as it is about funding and other people's ideas, so that's something I've been looking into. It's exciting to have the opportunities opened up a little in my mind.

[::] Midwife-to-be asked, in the comments, about doing a study on why more women of color don't have children at home [in this country] and whether it would be offensive (in my opinion) if a white woman were to conduct such a study and whether it would be useful. The short answer is *I* don't think it would be offensive, but do you? Why or why not? Yes, it's irritating to me, that we're always being researched on by others because there aren't enough of us to go around, and it doesn't seem like there's a real push to change this...but offensive is probably a stretch. (And there's the fact that those who are available simply might not be interested in doing this work, and you are...) Compassion, honesty with yourself and the women, awareness about their lives, clear expectations about what they should expect/might get/not get out of it...etc are what I suggest you proceed with....anyone else want to weigh in on this?

[::] Lastly, I want to set something straight: I never said that midwives should never work outside their race and class. What I suggested was a withdrawal of care to see what the community itself would/could come up with. I ALSO said that if one considers herself a member of said community, then I don't expect them to withdraw. I said I do not want to be served by providers to felt like it was their obligation to bring me the care, without considering teaching me how to care for myself so that I wouldn't be dependent on them. I also clarified that this was about me and my community, and that what I wanted was more midwives of color from communities like mine available to provide care. It is not that I do not believe white women should provide care to black women, and it's so sad to see it reduced down to that by others. But what I do believe is that a black impoverished community could benefit from black midwives who come from their environments. I stand by what I said then, and now, 100%.

Brain Spasm

Stewing in old stuff. Racing with new stuff. Too jumbled to write down, really.

Gave the man the week off from dish duty because I felt like he should have a "break" of some kind, like I do. (I do the cookin, he does the cleanin - every time X 7 years and 5o more to come) But I really do HATE washing dishes. Ugh.

Read a chapter of Rock My Soul at the book store today while having coffee, then met with a PhD student from my school to discuss getting a PhD, which was interesting because she pretty calmly discouraged me from doing so...

So much going on.

I'm practicing my knots (for suturing)...which is a kind of cool thing to do as my mind is racing...

Drawing Parallels

I've been thinking about why it's so hard for other people to understand the centralness of race in my life. I was up last night thinking about parallels. Immediately fat came to mind, because fat is also something that I think about daily. It's like this. When you're fat, you think of the world differently...an amusement park takes on a different meaning...will you fit in the ride? Will your seatbelt on the airplane fit? Will you weigh more the recommended maximum for a particular ride? Just how wet will I get if I ride the white water raft ride? Are my clothes going to be completely soaked and therefore clinging to me...how long before I'm dry again? What about the restraunt seats...is there going to be enough space between the bench and the table, or are my breasts going to be in my plate? Sure, I want to go shopping, but going to the mall really isn't as fun if you can only fit the clothes in Lane Bryant or Torrid or Ashley Stewart or Avenue...and of course they NEVER EVER put all of these stores in one mall, or even two of them...so yeah, I'll come but I'm thinking about how long I can stand to watch you try on clothes as I spend all my time in accessories or shoes. And when I'm trying on the shoes I'm wondering if the heel can support my weight and not make me break my ankle. And when we do go to "my" store, I'm paying extra attention to patterns and colors, less I walk out of the store with something that makes me look pregnant (cause for some reason they love, love, love to put bows, and flowers and back ties on "plus size" clothes.) And when I'm on my 5th "lifestyle change" of the year, every time I go out to eat I gotta make sure they have something suitable for whatever the rules of such life style change are. Then every commercial is some skinny ass woman telling me how she lost her hips or breasts or gut or bowels by using the next big thing, and I should call to get some for myself. I could go on and on and on, the point is I think fat people think about these things so often that they might not even realize just how much they think about them. It's a part of their identity.

Here's another: when a woman is going through infertility, all she ever thinks about is infertility. every commercial is a pregnancy test, a pampers commercial, thermometers, a baby story, a fake family selling a car, a cleaning company, grape juice. She reads books about it, she talks about it, cries about it, writes about it. Wants to kind somebody else, anybody else, who's going through it so she doesn't bother those who don't understand with her stress about it. She can pretend that it only has a small impact on her life, but the relaity is that it's probably her whole life in that moment. It affects her interactions with other women, other people. It places her in the realm of "other." It's a part of her identity.

There are many facets of identity that, I think, manifest this way. Sure you're a person with a complex personality, but there are always salient aspects of identity. Women whose conversations/lives center around their children. Or their professions. Whose identities are shaped by motherhood...or midwifery. At our best we attempt to address all of the parts of ourselves...doing the work to identify on multiple layered levels...ie: I am not only someone's partner, a midwife, a mother...I am also a writer, a dancer, a knitter, a woman, transgender, gay, queer, lesbian, none of these, all of these. Bit even when I am tuning it to all that/who I am, there are some things with which I more strongly identify...when I'm

A Day of Rest

The man and I

Homesick

Creepin up on me.

Today is my brother's 13th birthday.

Happy Birthday, boonness.

We're a Christmas family.

The next few days will be hard.

Tonight I'm watchin Beloved again because it's new on the free movies channel.

I Realize

In the comments of my post about stress and race and health disparities, dark daughta said this:

"I'm going back up to read some more. But I wanted to stop here for a quick sec:"maybe the reality is that they don’t want to"It's hard to ground in the reality that white domination IS about giving certain people a disproportionte amount of stress so that others may experience joy and well being.People of colour and poor people carry the burden so that white people and affluent people don't have to.That's the point of this sick little game we call domination.This is a screaming affair when we think that all the helping professions are peopled overwhelmingly with white people and with affluent people.This is the reason why things don't seem to get any better. This is the reason why it seems like such an awful struggle for those who try to make change from within these power structures.Most governing structures aren't designed to make change. They're designed to uphold it while maintaining the appearance that they are trying to make things better.So, they do their "research", they write their documents, their papers, they publish what they've "found". But that's as far as it goes because that's as far as it's supposed to go.This is where the dance happens. People with good hearts and some politics who understand that there is power inside certain helping structures, inside certain service professions try to utilize these papers to make change.But it's like trying to shoe horn a whales fin into a man's shoe. One wasn't meant to fit into the other. It just isn't supposed to happen.It's a ritual dance. An energy absorbing dance. An emotion screaming, hair pulling out dance.And when it gets to be enough, when the crying and struggling and hoping for some sort of substantial change inside any given system or profession gets to be enough for those who struggle, when enough is enough, they say you're burnt out.They never say, the system was designed in such a way so as to wear your resolve down, to grind you down until nothing remains and until you blame yourself for not being smart enough, strategic enough, enough of a player of the game. It's your fault you, not the system buckled.Don't buckle. But I think you realize what you're dealing with as you study midwifery, no?"

What you’re talking about is what I call one of my conspiracy theories. I do realize it…what I’m up against…the situation as it stands. I realize it’s not supposed to get better…it’s not supposed to change…it is my opinion that this is why we have committees in institutions, to keep track of how much “progress” is being made so that if at any point there is a threat of changing the balance, it can be stopped dead in its tracks. I realize that the illusion is that by working hard and playing by the rules (most times :O) things will begin to change. I realize that the master’s tools are not supposed to be able to dismantle the master’s house. I would love to create change by stepping completely out of the preset world of academic midwifery…in my dreams I am a homebirth midwife warrior who works with teenage women in my community…not just to catch their babies…but to talk…to listen…to teach…to learn…to live out my days surrounded by life and death and love…and then I would go to those places where the academics gather and say whatever it is I need them to hear and then turn around and walk right back out…home to my family, where I’m home schooling 5 kids with the man, and peeling yams, and then locking myself into a room of my own to write until I fall asleep with the pen in my hand until the phone rings and it’s LaCreshia on the other end saying can you come now? But alas, I am not that girl, that woman, just yet…and truthfully, maybe never. Right now I am still enchanted by a real size paycheck that will pay everything on time and leave a little for world travel…by owning a home of my own…by king crab and good steak…because I’m tired of quiet hours and no smoking and cars that break down and loans and ramen noodles. It’s a step up from roaches and slum lords and section 8, but, still, it aint. Even if I believe that you can never escape your class because it’s learned and it’s your teeth, and your speak, and the way you hold your silverware, your book…wait, if you’re holding a book at all…I still want it…because I’m tired of not having it. I want to know what it’s like to paint my walls without fear. To pick out my own refrigerator. To buy what I like when I like, even if I do see the lack of discipline it encourages.

Even in my frustration at myself for whatever I feel like I don’t do…I still realize that the system, this country, has failed me. Better, that it was never for me in the first place. That all I was ever meant to do was work for it, for them, until I could no longer work or lost my mind. I know that I’m supposed to break my back for it, and then be grateful that I was allowed to do so. And, I realize that what I’m doing can be considered just that. I realize it, and it hurts. I’m trying not to buckle, but it’s hard. I’m trying to play the game, but I’m tired. I’m trying to do the dance, but it’s not my kind of beat. And it becomes more and more obvious as time goes on, which is why midwifery in this place is so hard.

Yes, I realize what I’m dealing with, dark daughta, and it keeps me up at night. I am supposed to want all of this because that’s what it means to be a first generation college student. I’m supposed to want it because they never had it…because our car was always worth more than the house we lived in…because the schools never intended to prepare me for it… I am supposed to want it because I’ve just paid $100,000 to have it. And most days I do want it.

But there are days. Days when I think…but this isn’t even what you want…this isn’t what’s going to help the people you keep saying you want to help. How many black girls are gonna make it to the schools I’ll end up teaching at? Already they tell me my research interests won’t earn any funding, and until I have position in hand, I should read/write about this instead, because this is where the money is…so, really, what do I think I’m doing? It’s all swirling and I’ve been struggling with what to do and when to do it and why. About whether I really can make change from the inside, or if I really do have to do the work of creating a way of midwifing that speaks to me, specifically...and if I'm willing to give up the security of academia to do so.