And I just want to say, my body is feeling it, and I’m sure, will be feeling it well into the night and most of this coming week, but it was so worth it!
I intend to make this a weekly thing; retraining my body toward skating and picking up another source of exercise.
I enjoyed every moment of it, and I am so happy I shook off the fear and jumped back into something I truly love.
I may be getting older, but I won’t let aging sideline me!
Happy Sunday, beautiful people!
here you are; a warm welcome,
renewed spirit, confident and
secure — a peace I didn’t know
I needed.
my heart wells up with joy
at the thought of your growth —
how amazing you are, and
the similarities sitting in
your heart — so much like your
mother but clearly your
own self.
I stand in awe of you.
I remember when you
were born, how happy
your parents were, and I
lived for the updated photos,
stories, and time spent with
my little cousin who had a
smile that could shame the sun.
so far away, always so far
away — yet near enough to
dwell in my mind — take up
space I had no problem lending.
you are a glorious, strong force
in a world of terror and pain.
you pick up everything
whenever you’re ready,
relocate to places with
half-hearted moons and
split-tongue warriors with
gray eyes.
we all live vicariously through
you — we may not say it but
we think it.
free spirit — unafraid to make
moves when moves need to
be made, and on this, your
day of birth, I want you to know
that I love you to
the full-bodied moon and
back again.
there will be pregnant pauses
for the rest of my day as I
share time with my thoughts
to appreciate your existence.
happy birthday, Victoria.
God gift you years upon
years upon years more.
©2023 Tremaine L. Loadholt
On Tuesday, February 07, 2023, my little cousin (Chrissy’s daughter) celebrated another year on this Earth, and I wrote this for her. Thank you for reading, and for listening, too. Originally published in A Cornered Gurl via Medium.
aging in the year of dying
the dog is going blind
to her, as I fade into the
darkness of our hallway, I’m
a blot–an image she isn’t
sure is me
she’s smart–she waits
in the living room where light
lingers and only moves
when she sees me re-emerge
from the belly of
our home
I step back into her view
with a smile on my face
and greet her as If I
haven’t seen her before
I know what it feels like
to see something clearly
again
I am a purposed woman. I know I have a purpose. I am inclined to believe we all have a purpose. However, I struggle to recognize, grasp, and embrace exactly what my purpose is. I know my strengths. I know my weaknesses. I can tell you all the things that make me uncomfortable and put me in deep states of anxiousness, yet I can’t quite place a finger on a solitary thing to cause me to erupt more than something else. I have faults and flaws — upswings and downswings — brave moments and fearful ones. I am a walking contradiction who lives down the street from super-inflated candidness wrapped in a slice of humility.
The seasons blur. I cannot find my way through spring shifted from winter second-removed from autumn or passed down by summer. Every season carries its own pain and its own special directness as they enter my realm. Who should I be now? What should I learn today? Where will any of this lead me four to five years from now?
It is the tail-end of spring and the birds sing their joyous songs just outside my window — a congregation of like minds willing to harmonize their thoughts and feelings.
When a bird sings, it is lending its heart to you.
I tell myself this . . . that birdsong is God’s feathered creatures sharing their heart. Am I a great keeper of it? Can they trust me with it? I am not a bird person, per se, but I enjoy listening to their musical offerings. I carry their songs with me throughout the day. Sometimes, they are the only thing that can lift me out of a frigid mood — warm my soul. These days, I’ll take what I can get.
If I am not willing to point out what I do well, who will? Without boasting or sounding arrogant, I remind myself occasionally, “You are an incredible words-worker. You can create anything using words.” And I can. I have. I hope to continue to do so as each year passes, but the world is shifting from what it used to be, and I fear many of us no longer want to sit with words. We want to be spoonfed by two-minute reels of one’s forty-year timeline or audiobook everything, including the Bible. We want the diet version of a memoir and the cliff notes to epic poetry and . . . I fear I will move out of my league with this new normal.
But, I have a mean gift of gab. I can land a poetic punch or comedic comeback in a heartbeat and not blink an eye. One thing I love most about working from home is sharing with my co-workers via Teams. At roughly about 11:10 a.m. every workday, one of my Workforce Managers will tag me in a Teams group chat casually blaming me for the call queue increasing because I took a break. I, of course, upon returning from break, will see my name tagged with the statement of blame and our tit for tat in comedic exchanges will begin.
Several co-workers will say in the chat, “I wait for this every morning! It’s one of the reasons I’m excited to log on!” or “Y’all two are so funny. This is better than my soaps.” I have to admit, on some days, this same Workforce Manager will give me a run for my money via a verbal comedic lashing, and I’ll humbly bow out. If I had to guess, though, I’d say we’re neck and neck.
But these exchanges and how good they make my co-workers feel are reminders of what I have done and can do with the English language.
When I am at my highest level of confidence, I can motivate others to be better versions of themselves. It is not finger-pointing, and it is most definitely not, “Look at what I did — you can do it, too!” It is more like me simply listening to them, knowing what they can do and how often they have overcome obstacles to get where they are in life, and reminding them of this. It is me sounding a bullhorn in their ear that they have the power to be exactly who they wish to be. They must recognize it.
I take what I say to them and turn it back on to myself as well. I am not a stranger to self-reflection or honing in on integrity. We all have a little of something in us others want — they may even need it, and most times, it makes them happy for us to share whatever that little something is.
Knowing all that I know about myself and how I operate, I still struggle with believing completely in myself — with feeling as though I can be more — do more; provide more for my life. I have goals I would still like to meet and I aspire to be a better version of myself, too, but the weight of the world and some of my negative thoughts can create a conflict within me, and I play tug of war with myself.
Although I’ve been down the road of my life and have seen my many accomplishments, there is always this nagging voice poking its way into my thoughts if ever I stumble upon a new idea. It creepily says, “Are you sure you can do this?” And sometimes it gets rude with its statement and spits a, “But you’ve already failed at this before” at me, and I stutter-step with my next moves. It is up to me to continue to pour positive energy into this being of mine as I grow older — as I seek opportunities out there I know are meant for me.
Originally published in CRY Magazine via Medium.
The cataracts have fully-formed, her hearing is sub-par, the cystic tumor on her back, right paw coupled with her age aren’t the best candidates for surgery, yet she continues to give me joy and affection on the roughest of days; she always forgets her pain for me.
A Cornered Gurl 
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