Art has the ability to communicate emotions and reflect our inner selves. Throughout history, there have been artists who have marked entire eras, and each of us has or will come across an art piece that makes us feel understood. Here are some exhibitions that I have felt connected to, accompanied by my interpretation.
“Can’t Help Myself” by Sun Yuan & Penguin Yu is a perfect example of what it feels like to have anxiety. Can’t Help Myself means “to be unable to control one’s actions or stop oneself from doing something” and this artwork shows how no matter how hard we work, our effort may not be worth it in the end. It highlights the struggles of people trying to get ahead in life, only for the system to keep them from achieving it.”Can’t Help Myself” conveys a feeling of suffocation and leaves the viewer hyperventilating. It’s certainly a work that empathizes with the viewer and stirs emotions within us.
“Dear” by Sun Yuan & Penguin Yu conveys a sense of desperation and tension through the rapidly churning hose, symbolizing toxic relationships. It’s an adrenaline-pumping exhibition that causes discomfort in the viewers.
“Untitled” by Shilpa Gupta is a mobile gate that swings from side to side and breaks down walls, exemplifying the feeling of ruining something by doing what we are supposed to do. This exhibit shows how people fulfill their roles and fail in the process, even without meaning to. It’s a reminder that no matter how hard we try to be perfect, we may not always succeed.
“My Bed” by Tracey Emin conveys the struggle of depression, leaving one unable to move or do the activities they love. This piece displays the internal struggle we go through during depressive episodes and is a great representation of it.
Art is subjective, and we all have artworks that move us. These exhibitions are the ones that make my heart beat faster, and I enjoy sharing them with others.
Women’s History Month has been celebrated in the United States since 1987, when it was declared a national observance by Congress. It grew out of International Women’s Day, which has been celebrated since 1911, and the Women’s Rights Movement of the 1960s and 1970s. Just as feminism itself continues to evolve over time, so too has Women’s History Month. Over the years, it has grown to become an opportunity to recognize and celebrate the achievements and contributions of women throughout history, while also highlighting ongoing challenges and advocating for gender equality.
We’ve seen a lot of progress since Women’s History Month first began, whether in terms of women’s financial security or the growing prominence of female-led entrepreneurship and philanthropy. Every year, we see new movements emerge or take higher priority in the conversation. As we look back on Women’s History Month 2023, it is important to take stock of the most notable trends that emerged this year. By highlighting these developments, we can continue to promote greater awareness and progress toward gender equality and women’s empowerment.
Intersectionality
One of the biggest shifts in conversations around gender in recent years has been the more proactive efforts to include and uplift people who have been previously left out of mainstream feminist movements. The rise of intersectional feminism recognizes the unique experiences and struggles of women based on factors such as race, ethnicity, class, sexuality, and ability. From the recent rollback of legal protections around reproductive justice to renewed gender binary rhetoric, there have been a number of challenges over the past few years that highlight the need for intersectional inclusivity and support. Freedom shouldn’t be limited to borders or the actions of any single group, so it is vital that measures are taken to amplify the voices and experiences of all women, particularly those who have been historically marginalized and excluded from mainstream feminism.
Mental Health & Wellness
Also apparent this year is the growing emphasis on women’s mental health and wellness. Due to the ongoing challenges brought on by the COVID-19 pandemic, the last few years have highlighted how impactful and far reaching the issue of mental health can be, including several high profile cases of burnout. Additionally, there is greater awareness of the unique challenges that women face in terms of mental health, such as higher rates of anxiety and depression, as well as the impact of systemic oppression on women’s well-being. To address these issues, there is a growing trend to promote self-care and self-compassion among women, as well as to advocate for policies and programs that support women’s mental health and access to mental health care.
In addition, organizations should continue to consider putting mental health on a par with physical health. Implementing policies that recognize and support women’s mental health care can have a profound impact on women’s well-being and quality of life. By taking into account the unique challenges and experiences that women face, such policies can ensure that women have access to appropriate and effective mental health care services. This can help address and prevent issues such as depression, anxiety, and trauma, which disproportionately affect women. Additionally, policies that prioritize women’s mental health can help reduce stigma and discrimination, and empower women to seek help and support while promoting gender equality. Ultimately, recognizing and supporting women’s mental health care is not only a matter of social justice and human rights, but also a crucial step towards creating a healthier and more equitable society for all.
Leadership & Representation
In 2023, there has been a continued focus on women’s leadership and representation in various fields, including politics, business, and the arts. Though women only account for 23% of senior leadership roles globally, there remain opportunities to promote more women into leadership roles due to high rates of retirement among current leadership and the fallout from the Great Resignation. Many companies are implementing women’s leadership development programs to tackle internal biases and ensure female leaders are properly equipped for the challenges of senior roles. There is also a growing recognition of the importance of mentorship and networking for women, particularly those from underrepresented groups, to help support their career growth and advancement.
Yet, mentors and leadership training alone aren’t enough to make meaningful change: women’s leadership development programs only work if they are coupled with broader efforts to advance women and a layer of accountability for management. Also, while mentorship can provide valuable career guidance for women in several industries and foster greater diversity in the process, it is equally important for women to find “career investors” and sponsors who not only provide career advice, but use their leadership status to advocate for them and provide opportunities to highlight their potential.
Looking Back, Looking Forward
While Women’s History Month 2023 has come to close, that doesn’t mean that the conversation surrounding gender equality and women’s empowerment should be over. Along with serving as an opportunity to celebrate the accomplishments of great women throughout history, Women’s History Month is a chance to look at how much more still needs to be done and how each of us, daily, are contributing to that work. Whether by promoting intersectionality, supporting women’s mental health and wellness, or supporting women’s promotion to leadership roles, there is plenty we can do to promote gender equity throughout 2023 and beyond.
He was silent as an infant. He never cooed or babbled and even his cries were quiet. He struggled with feeding; the bottle simply too much for his mouth. His little head jerking and twisting as he desperately tried to get his mouth securely around the bottle nipple. The formula ended up all over both of us until he grew frustrated and stopped trying, and instead began to cry softly.
I’ll never forget the sanitizing smells of the many doctor’s offices we visited. The bright lights above, buzzing as they highlighted us, waiting to be called back to see specialists. Tests were run and diagnoses were given. It was as if these people with medical backgrounds and degrees were handing us the missing puzzle pieces we so desperately needed. The pieces began to fit together and we slowly began to understand our child a little better.
The days were filled with appointments, therapies, IEP meetings, and staying in contact with his special needs teacher. The nights were filled with deafening silence as I laid awake, worrying about what our next step would be and how our son would handle everything as he grew; how we would handle everything as his parents.
He had a crooked smile that he grew to hate. People would tell him to smile for a picture and he would do his best. They would take the picture and then turn to me, “Why does he smile like that?” My heart would sink. I found him sitting in front of the mirror in his room one day. He would watch himself smile, then stop, then smile again. I realized he was practicing his smile.
A smile.
It’s something most of us never really think about much. We don’t have to practice and we certainly don’t have to think about it when we’re smiling for a picture.
People began to notice the change in his smile. He had perfected his crooked smile with determination and practice.
Now, he smiles all the time. It’s a contagious smile.
If a boy with cerebral palsy can perfect a crooked smile with practice, think of what you can accomplish if you set your mind to it.
What is your crooked smile?
Loss is my best friend.
She sits with me, shares my morning tea, and lays down with me at night.
So much time has been wasted asking why she’s here.
Because of her, I no longer am waiting on others to make me whole.
As I get swept away in blissful fragments of yesterday.
She pulls me back into the present.
And reminds me that grieving is my greatest lesson.
Missing pieces for so long. Questioning why you even questioned. Missing pieces. Never knew why my hair wouldn’t tame. Never knew why my skin was a shade darker than theirs. Never knew why my reflection was the opposite. Missing pieces. Remembering a picture of you, it was splitting halves. Or was it in my dreams? Do I get the voice from you or the dark eyes? Do I get the feelings of emptiness from you? So many questions with no response. Always thought you left because you had no love. Now feeling you left because you questioned your worth.
Still, I sometimes talk of you with disdain. Wondering why you still don’t want to reach. It’s those days when the world seems unusually cruel or my days unusually hard, that I look in the mirror and see you, wanting to put the pieces back together.
My life has been without you, but I still carry you.
Written by your daughter.
We have all heard stories about individuals who are stuck in unhealthy relationships and are staying or have stayed for extended lengths of time despite the level of toxicity experienced. It is easy to judge this situation when you are on the outside looking in, but when you are in it or have gone through it, you know there is a myriad of reasons which make it hard to break free. Unfortunately, I have experienced this type of toxic relationship, and I can attest to how difficult it is to get out of it.
“Trauma Bond”, is a trending term, one you have most likely heard, that defines a type of relationship where one is attached to a person who causes traumatic experiences. I have done my own research and realized there are scientific explanations that delve into how we get stuck in these types of relationships or situationships, and why it’s so hard to get out of them.
There are many informational pieces written on the subject. There are even some online quizzes you can take to see what might be going on in your relationship. But, I believe it is the strong emotional attachment that keeps us locked in. From my experience, I can say it is easy to move on with our partners after a horrible fight, or string of bad actions when there is hope that things might change. The aftermath always includes what seems like a sincere apology, followed by actions that seem like changes in behavior. This is where hope comes in. It’s the small moments of peace in between the bad that keep us around. We love the people who are hurting us, and time after time we trade our own peace for the hope that there might be an actual shift in behavior.
Unfortunately for the ones who have been through this, we know that eventually, there is the realization that we are stuck in a horrible cycle that is never going to truly end. It’s the good days in between the bad that are so appealing. This is why we stay. Hopefully, for all of our sakes, we finally wisen up to see that we are out of chances and patience and actually end these relationships which cause us so much pain.
The first step is realizing what kind of situation you are in and the second step is accepting it. Denying all the red flags and pretending the situation away is the action that keeps us all in it in the first place. The next step is reaching out for support. I found that there was a lot of shame involved when I was stuck in a trauma bond situation. I did not want to share my story because I felt stupid. I was ashamed of what I had put up with. But the more I reached out for help, the more I realized how common these situations are. Knowing there is support and seeking help can be the one thing that gives one the strength they need to break free.
Lastly, I realized, after being on the other side of things, that these people who lure us in are skilled at what they do. There is a pattern of behavior they use to get us locked in. They know exactly what they’re doing and exactly how to keep us around. So that shame I mentioned before, has to be released. You must move forward and replace the feeling of shame with the feeling that you have gained wisdom. I believe it is likely we will not repeat the same relationship patterns if we choose to take a good look at them, accept them for what they were, and decide we will never end up there again.
Andrea Serrano Villaverde’s upbringing in a cloudy region taught her to find the bright side of things, which has been a significant asset throughout her career. Her French mother’s saying “impossible n’est pas français”(impossible is not French) has stayed with Andrea and gave her an early aptitude for creative problem-solving.
In the final stretch of high school, Andrea Serrano Villaverde decided to change her career path after watching a video on the internet titled “The Power of Words” from Purple Feather. She realized that the way a message is conveyed can have a profound impact on people’s lives.
As an Art Director, Andrea has a unique perspective on the creative process, believing that conventional boundaries must be broken to create something new. This unconventional approach has led to a successful career working with major brands such as Coca-Cola, American Express, and Mercedes-Benz, among others, at top-level agencies like MRM, Ogilvy, or Publicis. Additionally, she has had the privilege of participating in award-winning campaigns and serving as a jury member at international advertising festivals around the globe.
She is a high-energy individual who juggles multiple projects and clients simultaneously, thriving under pressure to deliver high-quality work on time. She prioritizes staying curious and open-minded, seeking new ideas and perspectives to inform her work. Collaboration and communication are key to her process, ensuring that everyone is aligned and working towards the same goal.
Looking to the future, Andrea eagerly looks forward to connecting with other professionals in the advertising industry, learning from their experiences, and collaborating to push the boundaries of what is possible. She hopes to make a positive impact on the world, inspiring others to think creatively and pursue their goals with enthusiasm and drive.
Definitely, Andrea Serrano Villaverde is a talented Art Director whose creative approach has made her a force to be reckoned with in the advertising industry.
The last couple of years have not been the best for me emotionally. At the beginning of 2021 I lost two very special people in my life which sadly flung me into a very dark place. I never expected to lose both my beloved uncle and younger brother in the same month.
I was understandably broken when my uncle passed away, but losing my younger brother knocked the life right out of me.
I’m still not able to tell the story of my brother’s death without tearing up. Believe it or not, it’s still very fresh for me even after two years, but writing this article serves a very therapeutic purpose.
On Jan 31, 2021, I found my brother in his car, hours after he left the house to go to the grocery store. He wasn’t moving, so I wasn’t sure if he was sleeping or listening to music. I was confused and watched him for a few seconds before I ran towards the car door. The door was locked, so I ran inside where my brother and I lived with our elderly mother, to get the spare set. I opened the door and tried to “wake” him up. Nothing worked. I ran into the house and asked my mom to call 911.
The operator told me to get him out of the car immediately and administer first aid. It took all my strength to drag my 6-foot brother out of the car (I am a measly 5’1”). I lay him on the driveway and started to apply pressure to his chest. He didn’t cough, or even flinch.
Within seconds two police cars, and an ambulance showed up at the house. The paramedics administered CPR for what seemed like an eternity, and then wheeled him into the ambulance. After the they drove off, a couple of police officers came into the house and told me and my mom that the paramedics will take my brother to the hospital as there were more resources on site.
Two hours later, my mother received a call from the hospital, and the attending doctor said that they couldn’t revive him and that he was gone. He suffered a blood clot in his leg that traveled to his lungs. It killed him instantly.
I couldn’t believe what I had heard. I was hysterical, but I had to compose myself as my eight-year-old nephew (my brother’s son) was staying with us. I don’t know how I did it, but I was able to put a smile on my face and act like nothing happened. I called my nephew’s mom moments later and told her what happened, and she said that she would like to be the one to tell my nephew about my brother’s passing. So I was careful about what I said. I simply told my nephew that his dad wasn’t feeling well and he went to the hospital.
My brother’s sudden death hurled me into a deep depressed state. I missed his presence in the house. I missed knowing that he was there. I missed his laugh. Our stupid conversations. And surprisingly, I really missed cooking for him.
Every Sunday I would meal prep for everyone – my mom, brother, nephew and myself. It was overwhelmingly exhausting, but everyone, especially my brother always appreciated my dishes. He would even call me from work and tell me much he liked what I made.
After my brother died, I had absolutely no desire to go near the kitchen. It became a place of grief. It felt weird only cooking for my mom and I. I was so accustomed to creating elaborate dishes for everyone, now I didn’t even want to eat.
I suffered with nausea for many months. I couldn’t stomach food, and lost a lot of weight. It took me months before I got my appetite back.
Once I was able to eat again, I went back into the kitchen after willfully avoiding it. The transition was pretty smooth as we were in lockdown at that time, and staying at home was highly enforced.
Not having normal access to the outside world made it easier for me to cook all my meals. I live in an area that doesn’t have many restaurants, so if I wanted to eat, I had to cook.
I started meal prepping on Sundays again. It took me a while to gauge how much to cook. I was making large portions of food, and I had to learn to pull back and cook less.
I suffered a minor setback when I made meatloaf for the first time after my brother died. He absolutely loved meatloaf, and I felt guilty for making it. I actually cried after it came out of the oven.
Once I got over the anguish of cooking again, I started to enjoy it. I liked finding recipes online and making delicious meals. I became adventurous and started making everything from Vietnamese food to dim sum. I made anything I wanted and craved. I have a sweet tooth, so I made plenty of baked goods like cookies, brownies and cakes. I enjoyed my food so much, that I insisted on cooking or baking whenever I had company over.
Now, whenever I want to relax and unwind, I think of baking.
I learned through this tragic ordeal that my love language is acts of service. I love preparing and sharing meals with my friends and family. My only wish is that my brother was here to try my dishes. My only consolation is knowing that at least he was able to enjoy my food when he was with us.
Vibrant. Ripe. Full of Nourishment. A bountiful fruit that endures punishment. Used and discarded. Its additional benefits are often disregarded. It has been forced to part ways with its family tree. Picked and peeled as they fall like leaves. Without considering how it feels. Left on the ground to be pounded and stomped on. Knowing that is not where it belongs. Banana Peel. You hold so much yummy goodness inside. Hold that with pride. When you are chosen what a precious moment. You are open to whatever comes next. Even if it happens to be neglect. You deserve more respect and appreciation. You are patient. I know how you feel. The joy and the pain are the same. It is so surreal. You feel the blues and get bruised. Like us, you need to heal. In this borrowed time, remind yourself you are valued and you are loved. Just like you, we come from above. We also have our own individual layers and unique flavors. We just need to learn to savor every moment. Feeling vibrant, ripe, or rotten? Remember you are never forgotten.
July came and went as fast as I had changed.
Ever so stoic little miss giving up on love
Found something that changed her mind
Found a spark
Found a light
Found a monetary happiness that felt everlasting
You were just in town in passing
But You chose me,
If you could go back
Would you wish for me again?
I still remember
The glimmer of ember
In the middle of September
How I foolishly decried
Every warning sign
And created a solace
Out of a temporary shelter
With a familiar stranger
I watched as you left my grasp
And watched as I slowly left your mind
as you changed your mind
About who you thought I was
Time passed, and the distance between us became apparent
Evident
Permanent
As I foolishly and selfishly yearned to keep you closer
But didn’t I know
That love doesn’t grow in captivity
Didn’t I know
that loving you was beyond my capability?
Even then
I miss you
I.
Over a decade back, I lost my mom. The blow of her cancer diagnosis at 64-years-old, of those first few months of navigating cancer’s protective environments, clinical trials, chemotherapy, transfusions, knowing that there would be a definite day in the future in which my mom would not exist in the flesh, was crushing. The difference, I learned, between a cancer diagnosis and a clean bill of health, is that with cancer, death is certain. Without it, you can go on pretending tomorrow will come.
Eternity is not our legacy. The people we love will die. We will die, too. We know this, and yet we spend most of our lives forgetting. When we’re vibrant and healthy, we feel immortal. It’s often not until someone we love – or ourselves – flirt with death, that we begin to understand the depth of our attachment and fixation on staying alive.
It’s said that a dying person often knows they are about to depart; they sense the end. Although I knew my mom was going to die, it was still a shock when I sat beside her motionless body that bright Sunday afternoon in May so many years back, and the paramedic said, “I am sorry for your loss.” It felt as if the earth under my feet had vanished. The night before, at dinner, she had seemed somewhat distant as she picked at her salad, but I didn’t anticipate death was less than 24-hours away.
As her coffin, its oak finish gleaming, was lowered into the ground, it was clear she was not coming back. For weeks after her funeral, I struggled thinking about her motionless body confined underground, while we were all above, moving about. I visited her grave in the cemetery weekly, sitting beside her remains, remembering her low, throaty voice, her whole-hearted laugh, the outrageous things she said (which were typically what everyone in a room or conversation were thinking), and shared tidbits of my life with her – sometimes aloud, sometimes silently. I wanted to believe her soul was beyond the grave, but in those early days of after, I didn’t feel her presence. I fixated on her icy hands and slightly ajar eyes, which looked off in the distance as she lay dead in her bed. I wondered what she had seen in those last moments.
This is what I know now: time moves you forward; it lets you heal. You never forget, but the depth of your pain diminishes. New chapters of your life unfold, and you keep living.
II.
My parents loved sunshine, beach, and the ocean. Growing up, we vacationed on islands: Jamaica, St. Maarten, Aruba, and Puerto Rico, which became our monthly getaway. My mom named me after a little girl with blond flowy ringlets she met at the beach before I was born. Back when we lived in New York, my mom was famous for sitting out on our porch, taking in the sun while she read a book or a magazine, and now, so many years later, my father loves to sunbathe daily, reading the Wall Street Journal or closing his eyes to bask in the heat. When my parents relocated to Florida from the east coast, a year before my mom’s cancer diagnosis, they were elated to leave winters behind and live in perpetual summer. I like to think of them in the glow of the sun, where things seem easier, freer, where the darkness of cancer and heart failure is overpowered by light. I like to think that my mom saw something beyond the sun that pulled her closer, reassured her leaving earth was going to be okay, that she would become part of the glow, and spread the light. Perhaps it’s the same image my dad sees now during his daily dose of sunshine.
III.
As I witness my father’s health decline, I’m once again reminded of our inevitable journey. I reason with myself: would I want him to live forever, to be stuck here indefinitely? Selfishly, yes. My father was once so full of life, strong but soft, patient, a continual calming presence who was loved by so many who crossed his path personally and professionally. “One of the good guys,” my mom used to say, before she jabbed him in the ribs with her mischievous grin and reminded him, “good guys finish last.” Now, in heart failure, he moves slower, talks slower, forgets details, and when I gently remind him, he nods. “Oh, right,” he says. He’s 91 – or 91.5 as he likes to tell me.
My mother, ten years his junior, passed at 70-years old. Her illness came all at once: she was healthy, and then a routine blood test uncovered that she was in the throes of terminal cancer. My dad’s health issues have been more gradual, a steady stream of blows to his heart. Since my mother’s passing, I’ve reinvented his life by dragging him to dozens of ultramarathons near and far, hundreds of Indy movies which he always humors me through, planned Paris trips to visit family, and a succession of dinners with my friends. In my attempt to heal from my mother’s passing, I was determined to make his life better, to ensure the days he had on earth were full of joy and adventure.
I’m aware my dad can only wind up for so many more days. Watching him diminish, my heart is perpetually breaking. But I’ve learned to keep my fear and dread of his departure to myself. I clung to my mother’s staying alive, and in retrospect, I understand that it was unfair. I believe that the people we love hold on for us until we are ready to release them. My dad is not quite ready to go; I know he still enjoys going out for dinner, watching his westerns on cable, reading the Wall Street Journal daily, and spending time with me. But I will not cling this time. I will not get in the way.
IV.
In Experiments in Truth, Ram Dass talks about the impending death of his guru, Neem Karoli Baba, whom he called Maharajji. Maharajji’s followers pleaded for him to stay alive, not to leave, to which he replied, “Don’t be silly; where would I go?”, implying that who we are in the flesh is just one of our incarnations. Spiritually, it’s a heart-warming concept to believe that while our form may leave earth, our soul continues to exist and take on new forms. But when you want to call your deceased loved one, the sentiment is not always gratifying.
V.
My dad has begun to pull out old photographs of my mom, his children and grandchildren, adventures he and I have had over the last decade, and put them in frames which he lines up along a kitchen counter. At first, to me, it was clutter, but witnessing the collection grow each week, now, it fills me with hope. He’s still here. At a certain point, our lives are not about where we will go and what we will do, but where we have been, and who we spent our days and years with. The pictures along the counter remind me to live and capture it all, because one day, those memories will be what I wake up for each day, and the last thing I contemplate before I go to sleep at night.
VI.
If I were to write the fiction version of my parent’s story, the space beyond the sun would look something like a lost and found – a repository of memories and images of who my parents once were, of who they were becoming over the years and decades. It would host the versions of themselves they abandoned along their routes to take care of children, tend to their own aging parents, manage their careers and all the left turns that comprise a lifetime. In the story version, with so much time and space after everything had come and gone, they would have the opportunity to breathe new life into any of those old renderings of themselves they chose, become again who they were at stages of their lives and explore new routes, unencumbered by age and sickness.
When they were done reminiscing and reinventing, I’d have them settle into their lounge chairs, facing the sun, basking in golden light beside one another, content to take in the view from the other side.
One time, someone told me that I was so lucky to, “Have life all figured out and put together.” I laughed out loud because I knew how far from the truth that statement was. For a moment I was taken aback and surprised that anyone would ever even think that. But why? How could anyone ever think that? I wondered. Couldn’t they see me crumbling behind the smiles I hid behind? I pondered over these questions for so long and settled on the fact that no one could ever really know who I am. For so long I used this as an excuse to dismiss my own part in creating that facade. How could they have known when I was pretending all along?
Until I realized that all anyone ever saw were pictures of the perfect moments in my life. There were times that arguments between my partner and I were extremely volatile, and yet, we would pull ourselves together and rush out the door to post captions like, “Beautiful day with my favs,” just hours later. There were moments when I would reveal the truth of my relationship to close friends, and even they were shocked. “We just saw you the other day. Y’all looked so happy,” they would say with a look of confusion planted on their faces.
The truth is, that I have let this go on for so long because I wanted to live up to all of the model families that I saw when I scrolled through Instagram. You know the ones. The PERFECT looking family who were high school sweethearts and who have the most beautiful children and who are #lifegoals. I wanted to be THAT family. And it’s not that I am blind to the fact that we all have problems, I know they do too. I know sometimes that’s all an act. I mean HELLO, I am admitting my guilt in taking part in the same sort of deception myself. There’s no real way of knowing what’s really going on behind closed doors. But, deep down, I also know that’s real for some couples. And I desperately wanted that family, that love story, the “perfect” appearance for myself.
But, I wanted it so much that I sacrificed my own peace, and I let someone cross lines that should’ve been hard no’s for me. All of that just to obtain that image. And because I didn’t want everyone to see me as a failure.
Here’s what I am working towards embracing today. The ACTUAL truth. Relationships are complicated for everyone. Societal standards for the most part are outdated. Parental structures can be both non-traditional and still healthy. I do not have to have a partner to be an amazing mother. And, I have monumentally changed as a person since the last go around. What I am now acknowledging is my tendency to be an actual human. One who has many moments of uncertainty, and an endless list of imperfections. One who has patterns with bad relationships that need to be healed. And I’m learning that I haven’t failed this time around either. I have seen it through the best way I knew how. I have given it my all. I have upheld my vows. At the end of the day, I have been willing to see that change, growth, and some sense of perfection is possible. But, I can’t be the only one willing to put in the effort or initiate positive changes in a relationship just to maintain an image. And for those reasons, I’ve realized that it’s okay to move on for the sake of my own peace.
So, I have another category I am dipping my toes in. I’m not sure what the ideal Instagram aesthetic is for the imperfect, traumatized, unpolished feed, but I’m embracing it nonetheless. That’s the shadow work. That’s where the healing is. I’m meeting myself where I’m at, and hey, maybe I’ll have a few of you that walk with me in this too.
It’s no secret that divorce or a severe breakup causes emotional distress. This stress can carry on long after the separation process is over. Rebuilding one’s life is not considered to be a positive or painless task. My personal experience has taught me how to change my perspective and shift my focus. I’ve experienced several positive outcomes as a result of my divorce.
Most people I know are intimidated by the idea of therapy. I had reservations myself about working with a therapist. I expected to feel judged once I began to open up about my issues, which made me anxious. Going through divorce became so heavy that I had no choice but to seek help. A friend of mine recommended that I try remote therapy sessions. The idea of attending therapy from home felt much less intimidating. I was surprised to learn how many online options I had available. Setting up the first appointment was simple, and my new therapist was far from judgmental. With each session, I began feeling better.
Talking to my therapist provided the advice I needed to get through my divorce. Not only did we discuss the stress divorce caused, but we also discussed other issues I had been avoiding. An added benefit was noticing that my sessions were helping me to develop into a better person.
After ending a long-term relationship, the pressures of being on your own can be daunting. I have accepted that I prefer being in a relationship over a single lifestyle. But, I have surprised myself with what I have been able to overcome and accomplish on my own. Life throws challenges our way daily. In a relationship, we feel comfortable sharing the burden of those challenges. But over time, we begin to lose our sense of independence. In the span of a year I have overcome many challenges I would have never attempted before. I am more confident and know I am more resilient than I expected.
Relationships can be beautiful, fulfilling, and beneficial. Unfortunately, we can get stuck in a relationship that weighs us down with a lot of tension and anxiety. Chronic stress can have many detrimental effects on our mental and physical well-being. Issues like anxiety and depression can begin to develop and heighten stress levels. But long-term stress can lead to many negative impacts on our health.
Being on your own gives you space to focus energy on easing stressors in your life. Negative or controlling partners are often the main source of stress. Stress levels will drop when you not worrying about this type of behavior causing issues. Being put down on a regular basis has a significant effect on one’s self-confidence. This time alone can help you discover positive qualities within yourself and put to rest any doubts a negative partner may have established in your mind.
Unhappy relationships can cause us to develop into more subdued versions of ourselves. If a relationship isn’t a good fit, we sometimes alter our personalities to try and make things work. When a relationship ends, we can explore who we are on a deeper level. It’s the perfect time to try new hobbies and rediscover our individuality. Once you know what makes you happy, it is easier to decide how you want to shape your life moving forward.
Going through this process has given me a whole new perspective. I realized how much of my natural personality I was suppressing to try and please my partner. It is refreshing to see these parts of me that have laid dormant for so long. Seeing myself in this new light has given me a newfound sense of happiness in my life.
It’s no question that divorce takes a toll on one’s mental health and stamina. At the beginning of my divorce, sitting around feeling sorry for myself became a habit. Depression took over for a while, and it was difficult to pull myself out of it. Sometimes the issue is not knowing how to move forward. Feeling numb or experiencing the “Where do I go from here” phase is a common sentiment after a breakup. Before my divorce process started, I was pretty content with my life. I realize now that I had stopped developing goals for myself or pursuing personal growth. The first step was establishing an idea of who I wanted to be and realigning myself until I became that person.
It is easy to fall into a complacent state of mind once we have found our comfort zone within a relationship. Ending a serious relationship is not the method I would recommend for shaking things up in your life. But, going through this process did highlight a few changes I could make to improve myself. I knew I needed to shake my depression, but my negative mindset inhibited any progress I was trying to make. My healing process required various alterations of my mindset and daily habits. Creating a routine around going to the gym and attending my therapy sessions was a good starting point. I took the time to learn how our eating habits affect our mental and physical health. This information led me to alter my eating habits as well. Stretching myself and trying new things was scary. But whenever I overcame my fear or found a new hobby that made me happy, it gave me a new sense of confidence.
There’s no question that if I had found a viable way to keep my marriage together, I would have chosen that route. But, I am grateful for the beneficial impacts that have only enriched my life. Hopefully, these can be a starting place for you too.
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The content provided in this article is provided for information purposes only and is not a substitute for professional advice, including professional medical advice and consultation.
My mother often asks me: ‘when is Alagie coming back? I miss to see him around’
Other times she insist; ‘When Alagie returns we could go for lunch together, just the three of us’. Truth is, I miss my babe too and enjoy his company.
You see, Alagie is my fiancé but he lives in West-Africa and I live in Europe. I became a master in waiting and dealing with missing my bae.
Alagie learns my mother tongue bit by bit. Though fluent in English and a seasoned traveller he cannot enter my country without speaking the language. There must be proof he is Western enough in form of tests upon tests. In return I learn how to say ‘I’m at peace’ in a language so foreign that ‘saying I’m at peace’ is not even an expression in my native language. But I am at peace thanks to Alagie and the many blessings I received during our journey.
Because it is a journey. We didn’t realise the resistance from my government we would get on that sunny afternoon in March last year when we discussed Chronicles from the Land of the Happiest People on Earth by Wole Soyinka over mint tea and French fries. The first time we locked our eyes, our smiles and shared our lips, was the beginning of many travels back and forth between our continents. It was eye opening to set foot in a country so alien to me, so different in all aspects. A comparison between our two countries is impossible but it changed my life forever for the better.
His country, the land of ‘teranga’ (meaning a culture of hospitality), has welcomed me with open arms. When I think of my second country I think of jollof rice, sun beaming on my face, the sea hitting the rocks. Sipping on cool ‘bissap’ (a local drink made of mint, sugar and hibiscus) and seeing kids play football on the beach. Women carrying babies on their back at the market. The smell of smoked fish. I see my fiancé’s face smiling, with a little gap between his teeth, which is regarded as a beauty mark in his tribe. His auntie embraces me in her fisherman home. The world is at peace for now.
In his country my white skin makes be a ‘toubab’ (a foreigner) but they see me as their family. My family sees Alagie as their new found son and my friends regard him as their friend. My country, however, is hostile to our cosmopolitan love affair. The people are not our issue, it’s the government. A government should serve it’s people. Here the government asks Alagie whether he was tortured because of the marks on his shins. Alagie laughs it off. The scars on his shins are from playing football without shin protection. The truth is that he is only here as a student who fell in love with a white lady.
We believe in people not in bureaucracy. We want to live in Europe so we can flourish together and be able to help his country to develop. Europe needs people like Alagie and me. Young people with fresh ideas and who are willing to built bridges between different cultures. Europe is not a museum, it’s a living, tiny organism in the universe. To give you an idea; Europe can fit five times in the continent of Africa. We in the West might not realise but we need Africa as much as Africa needs us. We need to accept that our future looks radically different from our past.
That’s why we are waiting. Waiting for the results of the language test Alagie took for the second time because his accent was too thick. Waiting for the civil servant to check all of our documents, including a collage of pictures, screenshots of Whatsapp-messages and flight tickets, so we can finally live our life together. We are building a home of love out of a house of paper. It’s been already six months and it will take probably another three months.
Time is moving slow when you’re not with your loved one. So I draw and I write to deal with my impatience. I already have a cupboard full of little paintings, poems and other memories. We keep faith. I burn a candle every Wednesday. In my heart I take Alagie wherever I go. We call and send cute pictures of our daily rituals. We inhibit our time apart. Because we believe it was destiny that brought us together that sunny afternoon in March last year.
My mother had a vision, a sort of dream, of my future as a grown woman. She saw me walking on the beach with white sand between my toes and palms waving. The waves rolling in. My hand holding the hand of my future husband. Between us a child drawing letters in the sand with its little index finger. We live in a blue house with a white gate and a cat and a dog. I hope and believe this vision will become reality.