“Go Tell It On The Mountain”

Courtesy of Neil Rosentech via Unsplash

You pick. You poke. You prod. I have noticed the change in you and I am of sound mind. I am a whole spirit. I still have my good heart and I thought you had yours, but you are unveiling a side to you that I have never known. And then, we have never been what we are now. Open. Honest. We have always walked on eggshells, scared to reveal our true selves to each other. Yet, there was love.

Yet —

There Was


I will admit, there are pieces of me I now feel should have remain caged, but then this bird would not sing. There would not be a tune to share and ears to hear it as it flows melodiously through the cloudsI am slowly moving forward. I am clearing a way for desperate dreams. I will not deny you the deepest parts of me if you will give me your word that you will keep them safe. And I do not think you will give me your word. I do not think you will trust yourself enough to understand what we went through. What I went through while being with you.

I do not need any more egocentric fools racing to bid on my sanity — how long will I have it? When will I break? I thought, because I want to believe in the good in you than evil, that you would fight to remain beautifulAnd not the type of beauty that’s plastered on magazine covers or as subjects of famous paintings, but the beauty that comes from waking up next to someone who spent thirty seconds gently rubbing your forehead and whispering to you until your eyes opened. Or the beauty that comes from watching a toddler take his first steps, giggling at the momentous achievement.

I wanted your beauty to last so that when I looked at you, I would remember what made me love you.

But like all things that need sweeping and clearing, it did not. We did not. And it started long ago when I confessed to sleeping with a woman. I did not take the time to understand how the newness of the news shaped you. Changed you. Cut you open and split you at the seams. From that day, nothing was the same. There was no going back.

You ran after God, sure that if you caught him, the pain that you felt would dissipate. Prayerful that if you caught him, that I would not be who I am versus who I was. You thought that if you could attack God fiercely and dig deep enough to learn all there is to know of him, that I would change. And there would be another woman and another and then you again. Because you had a part of me that no one else could get.

The mountain in me sloped intensely and I knew one day, you would get tired of risking your life to reach the top. I was selfish then. I wanted what I wanted and could get it without much effort. That is the downside to being young, manipulative, and weak. We do not realize the damage done to others until the same begins to happen to us. Someone said they saw you happy, that you asked of me in a way that sounded more like you wondering if I was finally happy too, rather than truly wanting to know of me — of my life.

I was happy to hear that you settled again. That you are still preaching, leading a flock to fields of endless dreams. You are still chasing God. All the while oblivious to the fact that you had Him in you the whole time.

If I ever see you again, years from today, moons from tomorrow, I would tell you to climb the mountain once more and take special care this time.

She’ll probably let you reach the top.

I’ve got a seed in the ground
That he’s blessing
No more stressing.
I’ve got a seed in the ground
And it’s growing
Now it’s showing.

This is my season, for grace for favor.
This is my season to reap what I have sown.

Originally published in A Cornered Gurl via Medium

The Freeing Of One’s Self

And The Love That Comes From It

Tre, Circa 1987. Age 7.

I recently came out as bisexual to a select few of my family members and friends (oh and um to Medium) and the weight that has been pressing on my heart is slowly lifting. To say that I have freed a huge portion of myself is an understatement. The love, respect, admiration, and acceptance that I have gained from these loved ones carries an intensity behind it that I cannot fully express. I am living during a time where it feels easiest to release, so releasing is proving best for me at this stage in life. I mentioned in “But, God Still Loves Me…” that I began telling my mom a tidbit of what I wanted to discuss and I shared everything deemed shareable with her today. I am a Writer. I like expressing myself through the written word more so than being an open conversationalist.

I wrote a short note in a blank card and gave it to her so that she could read it. My mom got to the third line and closed the card and said, “I am so happy to hear it from you, but I have always known. I began crying as she was mouthing these words to me. My mom did not miss a beat, I know my children. I just do.” I told her to read on, to see why it was so hard for me to just let go and open my mouth and say, “I am bisexual. I have known for as long I can remember…” A lot of the pent-up pain had to do with fear and not knowing how others would react, particularly, my father’s family. My mom is very matter-of-fact. She is also a person who, when time was not as kind, was violent and had a bit of a hot temper on her.

Change is a beautiful thing when one can watch it take place.

Delving into my opening up with her today lead us deeper into things that occurred of which I was not aware. A few years back, a close family member of ours broached upon the topic of my sexuality and called me derogatory and vulgar names in the presence of my mom. To make it simple and plain, I was labeled something I am not based on appearances and assumptions. My mom and my cousin used to argue and fight often so I thought it was just another ordeal conjured up from their past that they had not yet gotten over, however, my mom let it be known today that my cousin had said something out of line about me and she went ballistic. I remember receiving the phone call from my younger cousin to come and pick up my mother because all “hell had broken loose.” She never uttered a word to me in the car about the “why” of it all and I assumed she started the argument. The only thing she said was, “She crossed a line. I wasn’t having it. I left it alone.

“I have been praying and crying and asking the Lord to watch over you. I knew, I did not know how to tell you that I knew, but I have been fighting battles over your sexuality long before today. I will not have to anymore. Be free, baby.Loose yourself. It is the only way you will truly be happy.

START: Dreaming. Doing. Achieving.

It is jaw-dropping how we chain ourselves to blockades and keep our own selves from moving due to fear and the expectations of others. You placed yourself in a box for so long and for what, baby? Why?” To answer that question among others from my mother, my cousins, and close friends over the course of the last few days has been eye-opening. There was no doubt in my mind how my mother would take it — I never feared that part, the fear came from simply saying what I needed to and watching her reactionIt came from stepping out of the dark and into the light and how overwhelming that can be when things are no longer sheltered — when things change. When we lift up rugs and start unearthing the shit that has been swept under them for years, breakthroughs happen.

Breakthroughs are meant to happen.

My mom is so free with her words and thoughts. I have always envied that. She has no problem being open, honest, upfront, and forward and it has taken me years to gain a sense of backbone somewhat close to hers, so answering her questions today was a welcome reprieve. And then this happened, “So, are we going to go to a gay bar or a strip club together? I think that would be fun.”WhoaHold up, mom. Pump the brakes. I don’t bar it up and you know that. And, I damn sure don’t want to go to the strip club with my mom. But then I thought, “Well, why not? What is really holding me back from going out and enjoying a night out on the town with my mom? Truly enjoying a night out on the town…”

Not a thing. No thing. But, me. Myself. My Self.

Life has a way of breaking you down so that you can get up and when you get up, you better be ready to fight the rest of the way through. My mom is willing to go out with me to places unfamiliar to her, allow me to be free in my element, in the comforts of every realm that I love, without hiding it from her. Although I do not bar it upI do like being in environments where a simple release comes as soon you step through the door, a welcomingNo one is talking behind your back, snickering, pointing fingers, or charring you up with the flames in their eyes because of who you date or love. And if my mom wants to be with me while I continue on this journey of freeing myself, in time, I think I can be cool with that. But for right now, digesting it is taking place.

We never know what our parents think, how they feel, what battles they are fighting on our behalf. Had I not shared with my mom today, it would not have been brought to my attention that she too had been hurting because as a mom, she was fighting for her child regardless of who it was and how she felt about them, she was willing to be Mommy Bearprotect me, and continue to do so for her child. That is a love that knows no bounds. That is a love that cannot be defined — knows no singular description.

That is a love that allows me to be free.

Originally published in Other Doors via Medium.

You’ve made some changes in my head, 
I don’t feel the same
No more
Tell me it’s not make believe, 
This feeling that you’ve shown
To comfort me, my love while I’m alone

But, God Still Loves Me

My Tears Tell Me So

A caterpillar isn’t told when it’s time to free itself from its cocoon and fly, it simply knows. Photo Credit: Tremaine L. Loadholt

I have been carrying a weight so heavy, it is hard to bring forth its reveal without losing some parts of me in the process. I am the adult child of a Preacher. Not just a Preacher, but a Southern Black Episcopalian Preacher/Elder/Minister who came from a devout Southern Black Baptist family. I was taught who to be, how to be, and what to be while in the walls of my parents’ home until our home fell apart. I wanted to lose myself in the world because my world was no more.

Divorce to a twelve-year-old who had an intense bond with her father is crippling. I searched in many areas for bits of my fatherOur apartment did not smell the same. The floorboards did not creak the same. Breakfast was not breakfast without my father blessing the food. My mom lost the glimmer in her eyes, depression sunk in. I deposited all of my energy into books, into writing, into excelling in school, in both academia and athletics.

I was eight when I knew I liked both boys and girls. I did not need anyone to tell me the difference, I knew it. I knew I wanted a certain little girl to walk me home, hold my hand, and sit with me on my mother’s porch swing after schoolI was also aware without it ever being uttered, that in the eyes of my father, and his family that it would be “wrong.” never once thought that my mother would scold me or make me feel less than who I was. I feared the wrath of my father. I feared what he would say, not what he would do as he was not a violent man, but what he would say — how he would say it.

I am half her, my mother. Half of her blood lives in me which pulsates in every vein and reminds me to love people no matter what, Tremaine. God ate with prostitutes and thieves. You will never be fit to judge anyone, so don’t you dare.” She, the daughter of an Evangelist, but who rebelled in every way possible including conceiving while in her teens and while unmarried, taught me the most important lesson in life: You were made to love all God’s children, not just a select few. But, all.” And under her roof, that was the core. You better had adhered to it.

So, why now, at thirty-eight, am I still not completely, utterly, and totally out of the closet? I think of the backlash. Of how I will be treated by family, friends, and anyone I have connected with over the years, but what worries me most is how my father and his family will accept the news. I have played the scene out over and over and over again. And it all comes crashing down in front of me, leaving me dusty and despondent.

The reel is not new, the film crumples up and gets twisted and the movie has to be placed on pause. You do not have to say a thing until you are good and ready and when you are, if anyone treats you differently after knowing, they did not love you in the first place, and you don’t need them, Tre.” ©The Powerhouse

I know who I am. I know whose I am. But that does not obliterate the fear.

I am now employed by an organization that is big on diversity and inclusion. I have attended a church for the last three years that truly means, “Come as you are” when they deliver this message. I stand freely in the pews, losing myself in worship, crying because a part of me feels trapped. On Sundays, I feel the pain more and I know, at this stage, that God did not and cannot make mistakes.

I am loved. I can say that now without a flinch in my body. I am loved because of what people know, because of what they see and hear, however, how will this love change when who they know is not who they thought they knew? I never thought I would be a part-time anything, let alone, a part-time ME. I have cried enough tears to know that the well in my body is drying up. Freeing myself is another goal I aim to accomplish.

You were made to love all God’s children, not just a select few. But, all.”

I am bisexual. I knew this when my heart swelled up dreaming about that same little girl, thinking one day — she’d walk me home. I knew this long before I knew that I could triple jump, backflip, climb trees, build mud castles, etc. In the coming days, whatever strength I can muster up will probably be dedicated to removing a cloak. One that I hope I will never have to don again. But, I am afraid, however, that cannot always be my excuse. At some point, fear will have to step aside and I will have to step out.

Today, I began by telling my mother, “Mom, I have a lot on my heart, stuff that I’d like to share with you one day soon.” And knowing my mom, knowing her heart and how much we’ve been through and how long it took us to get to this point in life where our bond is unbreakable, I knew she’d say something to make me feel a bit lighter. She did. Whatever it is baby, you’re carrying it well. When you’re ready to talk, I’m ready to listen. And that is what I needed to hear. I will never know my father’s reaction if I do not tell him — biting the bullet on that one will be harder, but I have a good feeling that I will not have to do it alone.

Sweet, beautiful, soul-saving joy.”

Gospel — feels like home when you need one.

Originally published in Other Doors via Medium.