I have been mentally constipated.  There is no pretty way to describe my ailment.  Words, ideas, feelings have been crammed in my head, seemingly fighting for space, keeping me up night after miserable night.  My brain has felt like a crowded interstate where each idea is trying to move forward, some changing lanes frequently, some speeding up and then slamming on brakes, some fresh ones steadily merging in from the on-ramp but struggling to get in the flow.  Each one trying to move but each one halted because there is simply too much traffic.

I started writing for myself – to give myself an outlet to express my emotions, work through my thoughts and life situations.  I then additionally began writing for you – anyone who would read my posts – because I felt that current stories about Black people too rarely told; and certainly not honestly depicted by the mainstream news outlets.  So, I wanted to give an authentic voice to how many of us really feel, and to what many of us say around tables when we are breaking-bread with each other.

But lately, it has just seemed to be too much:  too many personal life situations and too many Black-life situations, causing my mental gridlock – a miles long traffic jam.  While my closest relationships were shifting and bringing about new emotions daily; the country has shifted from being one that tried to keep racism and its racist tendencies closeted to one where racist incidents are filmed and reported every day, everywhere.  Before I can write about the teacher using the N word in class, another teacher has painted a bullet on a kid’s head, yet another has called slavery a good time for everyone, and another has used excessive force on a child.  Before I can write three sentences about one case of police brutality, another occurs.  And, well, a long time ago I, stopped trying to keep up with our Idiot-in-Chiefs racist’s droppings. It’s all just been too overwhelming.

Being Black has felt like too much lately.  Being a woman has felt like too much lately.  Being a woman who is shifting careers. – heck – being a woman who is SHIFTING – has felt like too much lately.  It take all my energy to just continue to make do and live, that it’s hard to muster any energy to then share my experiences or thoughts.

Hence, the mental constipation.

When there is so much, sometimes we don’t know where to begin.

So, no I am back at it – beginning again in the same way that I originally started – with being authentic and divulging exactly where I am right now – even if the best way to describe where I am is simultaneously nowhere specific and everywhere at the same time (scatter-brained).  Stuck in a traffic jam of my mental congestion.

I am here, however, inching along, moving – albeit slowly, with no real anxiety because I do know that I am on the right road, headed in the right direction.  Eventually the rush hour traffic will dwindle, the road will open up, and I will have my foot on the gas.