Non-Fiction – Page 7 – A Cornered Gurl

Every Day, I Am Growing into Who I Want To Be

01/07/202301/15/2023trE

And I love this woman so much

Woman finding comfort. Photo by Thought Catalog on Unsplash — Photo by Thought Catalog on Unsplash

I buy a few things that give me peace; fuzzy socks, The Light We Carry by Michelle Obama, amber, sandalwood, and lavender-scented candles, and sink into the first days of the new year losing pain and heartache, yet honoring grief.

A mourner does not need to discuss their mourning.

I take down the Christmas decorations before the 1st can whisper “goodbye,” and I feel complete relief. The space I missed is free of red and green colors and thistles from an aging artificial tree.

I have found my way into a friend’s heart who is a crush — who has found herself attached, too. She doesn’t want to be. I can tell. But here the two of us are — wading through unknown waters. And while I’ve been writing about and focused on her for a year and six months, she is succumbing.

I have a penchant for falling silent when I am angered. I do this to review what I should say — think about how I should approach the subject. She is the opposite — what comes to her at that moment is spouted and sprayed in your direction without warning.

A day chanced upon us and a rebuttal of hers had silenced me, which she’d recognized immediately when I did not return a response. My behavior placed her in a space to understand my silence as a warning — to embrace it as the moment of calm before a storm.

Others were witnesses — knowing her slight, she acknowledged my silence and advised them she needed to step away to check on me. Funny thing is, I’d been distracted. I moved to silence to take care of something else, but she now knows what triggers me — what causes me to shell up for just a bit before I make my presence known again.

Her birthday is coming up, and I made simple purchases; some things to brighten up her day. Nothing major. I love gift-giving on a budget. I love seeing the lives in my life circle the sun again.

I await the day I will share these with her.

Reflection has become my go-to maneuver for comfort

At this stage in my life, I reflect more. I find a comfortable space, sit back, read, then connect the stories of the books I have read with moments and events in my life.

It is an odd practice, yes, but it brings me the sustainability I have been seeking.

The dog, who is also aging, jumps into my lap and fetal-positions herself without my consent, and I allow her this peaceful display. I sip my choice of decaffeinated coffee and close my eyes.

“When will I move past the past?” “When will I allow myself permission to feel love again?” “How can I discern love and admiration from lust and temptation?”

I reflect to ensure I can still determine what is best for me. I reflect to ensure I can admit wrong and accept defeat. I reflect to ensure I will conquer my demons before they can stifle me into the pits of total despair.

Tradition no longer stimulates me

As I read through various posts on Instagram and WordPress, I noticed people who I follow sharing the vibes they wanted and the foods they intended to have for New Year’s Day. I tilted my head and whispered to myself, “I no longer crave tradition.”

I detest black-eyed peas, and I already had collard greens for Christmas. Cabbage had not been a craving, so I did not cook it, either. Instead, on the first day of the new year, I made barbecued chicken wings, steamed asparagus, and roasted red potatoes.

I did not invite a man to be the first person to walk through my door. I did not do laundry the day before or take the garbage out, either.

These things I did on the actual holiday, itself. I did them because I can — because they needed to be done — because when I did them; I wanted to.

Unbound to tradition or superstition, I still awakened with God-issued breath in my lungs on Monday, January 02, 2023.

I am growing as a plant-mom, and this warms my heart

I love my plants. I have a peace lily named Dora, a croton named Lyric, and a crossbreed aloe vera succulent named Jupiter.

I have shared a story or two where I mentioned them before, but I document their progress. I construct videos/reels via Instagram, and I share photos as well.

It is a thing of beauty to watch life take place before my eyes.

I am a witness to inescapable barriers of constant growth with these three, and it warms my heart.

I love this woman so much

Every day, I am growing into who I want to be, and the peace that comes along with this is indescribable. I no longer wait for anyone’s approval as it pertains to things I want to do for myself.

I do not seek anyone’s opinion on what I believe is best for me and my life.

I no longer search for love in the hearts of those who have not yet found it for themselves. Sometimes, this can be a hard one. With the crush, she’s here . . . I know she’s here, but deep down, I also know there is the impending possibility we will only be able to be friends. And for me, that is okay, too.

I cater to myself more fondly and with a passion, I could not conjure up for at least three years.

I love myself in the totality of the word “love”, and I imagine great things for my mind, body, and soul for the future ahead.

I am not the same person I used to be, and for this, I am eternally grateful.

Originally published in A Cornered Gurl via Medium.

The Transition to Microlocs and My Hair Journey in Phases

12/19/202201/01/2023trE

Phase I: The beginning of microlocs and the end of 2022

A collage of the beginning of my microlocs transition. From the afro blowout to the grid, then plaits/braids, cornrows, and the finished product. Photo Credit: Tremaine L. Loadholt & Akua Montgomery

I have wanted to dive into microlocs for at least three years, however, my stylist does not specialize in this genre of haircare. She can and will care for natural hair or hair in its natural state, but she cannot install, treat, coil, loc, or twist hair.

And since this is a journey I no longer wanted to place on hold to continue to be loyal to my stylist, I mentioned not having anyone to install my locs to my cousin, Akua, and my cousin stormed in to rescue me.

Ending 2022 this way is the best gift I can give myself, considering the bullshit this year brought my way. Now, I will sound off loudly and proudly, and on my terms.

Microlocs are an offshoot of dreadlocks. As the name suggests, they are tinier and a good option for anyone who wants to achieve a dreadlock look but would prefer to cut out the bulk. Deciding to get microlocs is a journey, with phases for each stage of hair growth. — Emilie Branch

Micro means exactly what the prefix states: small (exceptionally small). One does not simply jump from permed and chemically enhanced hair directly to natural hair or locs — the path is usually one many women (and some men) fight with themselves about.

I spent three months growing my permed hair out at the roots. There were no haircuts, no trimming, and no flat-ironing or processing of my hair of any kind. I was preparing for the arduous task of caring for my hair differently — naturally.

The questions I have heard many people ask when transitioning to locs are: “Will this work for me?” “Am I truly ready for this transition?” “How will I treat my hair afterward?” and “Will the loctician I find be the best match for me and my hair?”

I have asked myself every question mentioned above. I have tortured myself over these questions and wondered every single time I leaned into the thought of locking my hair . . . can I endure this?

I can. I did. I will. The photo you see above is a collage of a few snapshots taken by both me and my cousin on the first two days of this journey.

Stepping into a new phase of haircare

On Saturday, December 10, 2022, I began the transition to microlocs. Not only will this be a special day for me, but it is also one that my cousin and I will share, as she is the person who used her creative skills to make this happen.

What we, as Black women, do with our hair can invigorate us and start an entire movement with others. Most of us can be incredibly versatile with our hair and launch our crowns into various new styles that speak to who we are before we open our mouths.

I spent 8 hours (with 2 breaks) at her house sitting stoically in one of her dining room chairs as she began the grid pattern for my locs. The grid pattern is key because once this is parted and designed; there is no changing it. I knew I wanted clean, fine boxes in rows for my grid pattern. Knowing this, my cousin followed suit.

Microlocs grid pattern. Photo Credit: Akua Montgomery and Tremaine L. Loadholt

We completed all sections of my hair except one side in the back, which we finished on Sunday, December 11, 2022. This session took 5 hours (with 1 break).

I sat patiently, yearning to see each phase as my cousin completed it. She took photos so that there would be memories of this process. After she braided my hair into sections and the pattern was done, we moved toward cornrowing my hair to protect it.

Since I have had permed/processed hair almost all my life, growing out a permanent, chemically enhanced state takes longer than one can imagine. With that being said, in some sections, my ends would not plait completely to the end or stay braided. So, my cousin cornrowed each section, leaving the back out, but rubberbanded them to protect the ends.

Starter microlocs cornrowed protective state. Photo Credit: Akua Montgomery and Tremaine L. Loadholt

And with the entire process completed and positioned, it is now my job to leave my hair alone for the next 6 weeks (or possibly more) to allow it to loc and take on its own look.

This is the part that is causing so much anxiety within me. I am eager to get to the fully microlocked stage; to flaunt my hair and lean into the beauty it possesses in a natural state.

But this is a process. This is a journey. There are paths that must be followed, adhered to, walked accordingly, and I am here for all of this!

Get it in a protective hairstyle and do not! Do not! Do not touch it until it’s washed and re-twisted. — Miss Kay Cee

2022, you have tried to knock me down, but I won’t stay down

I refused to allow this year to defeat me. From the very beginning, it has been one form of grief to another and another and another, and toward the end of this year, Jernee’s health began failing. At 14 years of age, this is to be expected.

We are now dealing with the decline of her kidneys, and I am moving through this loss as best as I can — the loss of a healthy, young, and in mostly good health dog. That part of our lives together is leaving — nearly gone, but I refuse to allow 2022 to take away the joyous occasions waiting in the wings for us.

We have many more memories to make — she still has a good amount of energy. And with my hair in starter locs, graying to perfection, and altered to the state I have envisioned for it for years, I am more confident in myself. I believe this will help me deal with the changes in Jernee, with my career, and whatever else God will pitch my way.

The finished product the next morning, Monday, December 12, 2022. Photo Credit: Tremaine L. Loadholt

I decided not to let fear, loyalty, history, and complacency get the best of me toward the end of this year. And as time passes, I will continue to break out and break through some cruel happenings because . . . I am resilient, and I want so much for myself and for others, too.

Marking this event daily on my calendar as each day ends gives me so much joy. A smile crosses my face as I “X” out each day to signify another day’s end with starter locs that will eventually become microlocs.

The transition will probably not be a smooth one, but I am ready

This transition may not end up being all shits and giggles — laughs and happiness, but I am ready to endure it all. The gritty, the ugly stages, the OMG! what is my hair doing stages, and the OKAY! now, we’re getting somewhere stage.

I want to see what my hair can do. I also want to see what I will do as my hair sashays into a new phase.

Some people name their hair. I think this is a solid idea and can further build a connection between me and my hair as well . . . let’s be honest, we will both evolve during this process.

I will bring you along to share my story. This is the first installment of four articles devoted to my microlocs journey.

Ajá and I welcome you as we move from 2022 into the new year of 2023.

Originally published in An Injustice via Medium.

Meeting Family for the First Time

12/04/202212/04/2022trE

Musical Selection: Kindred the Family Soul|All My People

I’ve known them for over two years and have never seen them

Photo of my plants: Dora, Jupiter, and our newcomer, Lyric. Photo collage credit: Tremaine L. Loadholt

On Saturday, December 03, 2022, I had the lovely opportunity to meet part of my work family. Yes, I said, “family.” I mean it. I’ve shared some harsh and intense days in radiology scheduling with these individuals.

We have a hard job — one that attempts to pummel us daily, but we all band together to provide support, guidance, understanding, and love to each other. I spend the bulk of my weekdays with them virtually (we work from home) and some of my Saturdays. These are my people. My family.

I have no shame in saying it. None at all.

Our direct supervisor has been trying to plan an outing for us to meet for what seems like forever, but this time, it happened. And I could not be happier.

BBQ can bring people together

One day, amidst a crazy scheduling day of the week, we all received an email including a poll on where we’d like to go and a selection of dates for when we’d like to meet.

Most of us chose yesterday and a city that is halfway between Winston-Salem and Charlotte, North Carolina. Our supervisor mentioned the barbeque spot, The Smoke Pit, and we were “all in for the win!”

This was my first outing to a restaurant to sit down and eat since before the pandemic began.

I was anxious. I was terrified. I almost backed out. But I am glad I did not.

My plate of food. Burned ends, fried okra, macaroni-n-cheese, and cornbread. Photo Credit: Tremaine L. Loadholt

When I arrived, only one of my team members was there. She was still sitting in her truck. I had questioned the restaurant staff about our party and no one had been inside or seated yet.

Anxiety continued to mount.

I knew everyone was on the way, but try telling that to my nerves. I decided not to pace in front of the establishment and walked over to my team member’s truck.

She had stated in our group’s text message she had already been there parked in the car lot. She was easy to spot.

We went in, grabbed a table, and waited for everyone else to arrive.

There is nothing like good food to usher in a good time. As you can see, the meal I had was not only picture-worthy, but it was satisfying as well.

Barbecue can do that. It has the power to bring people together.

Original abstract artwork by Lindilu Q, she’s also on Instagram. Photo collage by Tremaine L. Loadholt

Sharing smiles, games, and enjoying each other’s presence

Aside from the delicious food, there was a numbers game that included original paintings by one of my co-workers as gifts.

We did about three rounds of this game, and I took four different paintings home. I am going to give two of them to my mother (not pictured above).

We shared stories that involved incidents at work, how we feel about our new phone system, and missing supervisors and co-workers who have left us for other opportunities.

Our presence in this space drew attention from other customers, but we did not care. We had not seen each other or had congregated on this level in over two years, and having a blast was on the agenda.

A definite blast was had.

I conquered my fear, and it was worth it

For a little over two years, I had not sat down in a restaurant among other patrons to eat and enjoy a meal or conversation with anyone. I have placed orders with various eateries I love, selected the option for delivery or pickup, and casually went about my life.

I had a small meeting with one of my co-workers at a favorite coffee spot of mine nearly three months ago. Besides us, there were probably four to five other people in that small space. I also met up with Sherry Kappel for lunch at a spot that served patrons (and their dogs) outside a few months back as well. Neither was as overwhelming as this event nor did they send my nerves into overdrive.

This experience was a leap into something I now know I can do — I faced my fear of heading back into the “wild.”

And being with a group of people who I laugh, cry, and vent with every single workday was more than worth it.

Our supervisor not only paid for the holiday meet-up but also gave each of us a Croton houseplant (I’ve named mine “Lyric”), Christmas candy, and positive affirmations (at least 30 of them in a decorative jar). She showered us with love, just as she does every single day.

Sometimes family doesn’t have to have the same blood coursing through their veins as you. Sometimes family is who you choose and who chooses you.

Kindred the Family Soul, All My People

Originally published in A Cornered Gurl via Medium.

Introduce Yourself: Introducing Guest Author Ashton Smith — The PBS Blog

11/27/2022trE

Today is a special edition of Introduce Yourself. Please help me to welcome Ashton Smith to The PBS Blog! Ashton is an amazing young woman from Fort Worth, Texas, with a powerful story. She’s a world-medal award-winning swimmer, author, and corporate speaker. She is legally blind in one eye and has difficulty seeing out of […]
Introduce Yourself: Introducing Guest Author Ashton Smith — The PBS Blog

I read this article above and was overcome with emotion. I would be lying if I said I was surprised because capitalism and the ability to take from others what’s rightfully theirs or prevent others from making sustainable income is the primal American way. But I am saddened, deeply saddened by Ashton’s story, and I abhor the entities/organizations/people who have placed her in this position.

But I know and feel as though, better days are coming for her.

Read her story via Yecheilyah‘s blog. It’s truly worth it.

Threaded Chapters

11/20/202211/27/2022trE

I will miss her sunshiny presence, but I am happy she will have a new beginning

My neighbor is moving. It appears I say that phrase now more than I care to. Since the rent has increased in my apartment complex for many of us by $115.00 to $250.00 (depending on the type of unit you are leasing), the choice to leave is easier than the choice to stay. Some have found their new homes in cities right outside ours — shifting from one county to the next.

They are doing this, from the outside looking in, without fear — without a pressing feeling to remain planted where they are — without wondering what they will do in the next town.

She lives (lived) across the breezeway — directly from my unit on the third floor. She is soft-spoken, sweet, and very much a talker. She cannot remember Jernee’s name, and oddly enough, I have not been able to remember hers. But I have “Yes, ma’amed” and “No ma’amed” her for nearly five years and I do not want her to move.

And this is a dilemma of mine — fear of change — of adjusting to the differences that lie ahead. My therapist says, “You just have to run straight through it, Tre. It may not be as bad as you think it will be.” And I know she’s right — I know she has seen more than I have — I pay her for her expertise and the connection we have built over the last three years.

Back to my neighbor. I will miss her sunshiny presence, but I am happy she will have a new beginning. She is excited about the move — about the city where she will be living. She found a place for senior citizens that will cost her $275.00 less than what she was paying at our apartment complex.

And as she told me this a couple of weeks ago to prepare me for the move, I couldn’t help but say, “Look at God. He found a place for you that isn’t too far, and is also less expensive.”

She smiled at me and said, “And He will do the same for you, too.”

And while I believe her, I both want to leave this place and I don’t want to leave this place, and if I do, the mountains are calling me — they are calling me home to them.

Everyone is moving, the community will not be the same

This scares me — what keeps me inside most days and away from new people who do not exchange “Hellos” and “How are yous?” They are too busy walking briskly to the mailbox or shoving themselves into their cars to recognize one’s presence. They have some business to attend to, and you are not it — you’re a blip in their time zone, a speck to be brushed away at the right moment.

You could pass out in the middle of the street, and the one thing they would probably focus on as important is the color of your shoes or, even worse; the color of your skin.

The people in my building talk — we share our workdays with each other, our experiences. The people across from us and next to our building — it is the same. We have built up our community and look out for one another, and with all the new people moving in, I see less of this, and it hurts me — hurts me truly to my core.

I foresee it being more of a selfish thing, as they fill the vacant units to the brim with people simply looking for a place to stay and not a place in which to live. (Let that sink in for a moment.)

We are losing our elders. We are losing the single mothers who look forward to you wrangling their kids along for them. We are losing men willing to shovel your hatchback compact vehicle out of your parking space after an overnight snowfall.

And I am not settling well with this at all. But I guess I will have to, and soon.

She’s not gone just yet, but she will be

She tells me she is paying rent at her current place and the new place because her lease is not up until January. The catch is, if she did not jump on signing the lease with the senior citizens’ spot, she was going to lose her unit there. Her sons can help her these last two months — they will help her.

I say, as pleasantly as I can, “I understand that. You had to get to it while the getting was good.” She smiles and shakes her head in agreement. She then tells me, “So, I’ll be back. You’ll see me coming in and out — cleaning up — getting the place in order. I’m not gone just yet.”

And a small piece of my heart releases the strain it automatically pressed upon me.

I always wonder who my next neighbor will be when someone moves. Will they be kind? Will they be considerate? Will they understand we live in an apartment building and not their own home with a backyard and all their customized trimmings?

We live in threaded chapters, turning the pages of each other’s books

When the day comes that she says her last goodbye, I want to have a housewarming gift for her — something she will look upon and remember me and Jernee. I am having a hard time figuring out what that should be, but I know I will select the right thing at the right time.

We live in threaded chapters — connected by time and space and community. Some of us are more apt to pick up each other’s books and turn the pages and learn something about each person as we move forward.

And as I look up from my laptop, I see another moving truck back in. Two people exit and then pull up the truck’s door. The bed of the truck is empty.

I think to myself, “Who is moving now” and I close my blinds and shake my head.

And just like that, I have another book to read.

Originally published in A Cornered Gurl via Medium.

A Cornered Gurl (via Medium) is Back!

09/26/202211/01/2022trE

Remember when I talked about bringing my own table because others have refused to let me sit at theirs as a writer/editor/creative thinker? Well, It has been a year and five months, and I am getting the care I need for an eye disease (keratoconus), and I will soon be introduced to scleral contacts that will help sharpen my vision. It was time for me to bring A Cornered Gurl back to amplify the voices of others, so I did.

We are also on Instagram, too. I am sharing this with my WordPress family, just in case, some of you are interested in becoming writers for ACG.

ACG (Reboot) Publication Cover. Created with Canva.

A Cornered Gurl is Back

And I have missed it so much!

Being that I am getting the care I need for keratoconus and will soon be introduced to scleral contacts to enhance my vision, I felt it best to get started again here in A Cornered Gurl. I have truly missed it.

This will be our clean slate. A chance for ACG to move forward for the remainder of 2022, and walk into 2023 with an exhilarating presence and a resounding, WE ARE BACK pumping through our veins and leaving our mouths.

I have had a fair share of writers ask me from time to time if I would ever get ACG up and running again, and I thought (at those times) that I would not be able to do so. This publication is too much of my heart, soul, and mind for me not to pick it back up and lend your words the love and space they need.

It is time.

A few things have changed, but not many. There is a new logo and a new publication cover, but the heart of ACG is still the same.

What is the theme?

A Cornered Gurl: We want the REAL you. A Cornered Gurl is a space for writers to “come as they are” and truly be who they are.

What will I publish?

•Heartwork (to include fiction (1,200 words max), non-fiction (1,200 words max), & poetry) •Tales of the South •Our Story (Stories about who you & and your family are) •Micropoetry •Challenges

When will I publish content?

Mondays, Fridays, and Sundays by 7:00 pm, US ET/EDT. A total of 8–9 pieces will be published on those days.

For those of you who were here for ACG’s start back in 2017 as a standalone publication for my work only to watch it transition to include other writers as well in 2019, I hope you will join me once again.

If you wish to become a writer for A Cornered Gurl, please adhere to the submission guidelines and follow through accordingly.

I cannot wait to begin this journey with you again.

This is your time to “come as you are,” and truly be who you are. At A Cornered Gurl, We want the REAL you. Always.