The Gift of Acceptance

Thank you for the kind responses to my last reflections on my mother’s life. I greatly appreciate each of you for being a part of this virtual transformative learning circle wherever you may be in the world. My hope is that by sharing my learnings (and unlearnings) I am supporting the reflective process of our beloved community. To quote the late author, scholar and Black Feminist bell hooks “Beloved community is formed not by the eradication of difference but by its affirmation, by each of us claiming the identities and cultural legacies that shape who we are and how we live in the world.” I am grateful for the gift of our community and look forward to what we will learn together in 2022.

In today’s reflection, I would like us to consider the Gift of Acceptance.

The Gift of Acceptance

There are certain things we learn solely for the sake of survival. Yet, we reach a point when we will have to acknowledge that we survived it. All of it. And then, we look around to ask “What’s next? What is the gift I give as I continue to live [bars]? However, before we can give anything, we must accept everything.

Acceptance is one of the final stage of the grieving/mourning process for a reason. According to, when we engage in acceptance we:

…see that we cannot maintain the past intact. It has been forever changed and we must readjust. We must learn to reorganize roles, re-assign them to others or take them on ourselves. Finding acceptance may be just having more good days than bad ones. As we begin to live again and enjoy our life, we often feel that in doing so, we are betraying our loved one. We can never replace what has been lost, but we can make new connections, new meaningful relationships, new inter-dependencies. Instead of denying our feelings, we listen to our needs; we move, we change, we grow, we evolve. We may start to reach out to others and become involved in their lives. We invest in our friendships and in our relationship with ourselves. We begin to live again, but we cannot do so until we have given grief its time.

The 5 Stages of Grief –

Personally and professionally, I have had to learn that it does not matter if other people do not understand my grief or what I am mourning. It is my job to fully acknowledge what I am feeling because only I know every nook and cranny of my experiences…from my point of view. That point of view may be skewed for a whole host of reasons, but acceptance— pure acceptance, doesn’t require accuracy.

Acceptance is simply compassionate acknowledgment. It doesn’t mean giving up or giving in. Acceptance is a part of nature. It’s breath. It’s blinking. It’s cool air brushing over our skin. It is a different kind of O.K., an Omnipresent Knowing of what is and was at the time, before envisioning something new for the future.

There is no regret in acceptance. No hatred or confusion. Anxiety cannot exist in the presence of acceptance. Acceptance is not powerless, it is power-filled.

As we come to the close of 2021, I would like to humbly request that you give yourself the Gift of Acceptance: Accept all of who you are, what you have and have not done and why you did or did not do it. Accept your quirks. Accept the changes in your body. Accept your survival. Accept the unspeakable. Accept your gifts. Accept your shortcomings. Accept what was once unacceptable. Accept that you are loved and lovable. Accept the Gift of Acceptance.

I pray that you accept your purpose. Then when you are ready, accept the challenge to create something far more acceptable in your eyes (while creating it from your heart and soul).

Wishing you and your loved ones a joyous holiday season and I look forward to reconnecting with you in 2022!!!

In Solidarity.

The Next Divine Assignment

My mother’s time on this plane is dwindling. She is seeing herself, her flesh anyway, transition. All the things that have mattered to her all of her living days–how she looked on the outside to others–no longer matters. It never did. That was not why she was brought here. However, all of the fear…ALL of the fear has been right there at the surface of her life blocking her view of who she truly is.

My mom, as is the case with each of us, did not come to this world filled with fear. Fear was force fed into her and she fought and fought as long as she could against it (sometimes even climbing trees as a child to hide away from it). However, when her purpose, joy and talents were constantly undermined; this beautiful spirit succumbed to fear and fight. She could no longer access that thing hidden deep down in her soul that others could not see and only she and the Divine cultivated. 

While white supremacy, misogynoir and abusive relationships choked the very life out of her dreams, she poured what she could salvage into her children (living and nonliving). There is something to be said about a mother who does her best to defy the odds to give her kids the power to dream. 

As is the case of a dream built on top, through and out of hellish experiences; nightmares are inevitable. Trying to pass on the power to dream when all you have lived is a nightmare becomes a tainted process filled with possibilities complicated by destruction. Constant contradictions of hands that attempt to pat the pain away, while choking the disobedience out of you. Words that speak scriptures to build you up, while using the words of the oppressor to tear you down. 

The seeds from the tree re-cycle and develop the next generation of Fruits of Contradictions. 

My mama tried to give us everything she did not have, yet it was filtered through everything that almost completely destroyed her spirit. 


Shame and Fear may have double teamed this woman all of her life. However, that same Shame & Fear is slowly being peeled away from her. A person who never knew freedom via living out her full potential in this life will begin to see just how majestic she always was and will finally understand why there were so many who beat that majesty, misdirected that majesty, and lied that majesty away from her. 

My Mama wrote for the Los Angeles Herald Dispatch back in the early 70’s

Although this post is deeply personal, I hope that it will resonate with you.

I understand now that the Mother Wound (or any other wound from an adult caretaker in our lives) is a generational severing from Love and our Purpose. What we may have experienced as hate, abuse, fear, confusion, and anxiety, goes well beyond generations of A Dream Deferred. The wounds were designed by the enemy of our Ancestors’ Dreams (Us) to destroy the power and purpose of each subsequent generation.


Our parents, parents, parents, parents lived the surreal so we can experience and continue to foster the power of The Marvelous, A Surrealist’s Joy, The Majesty of Purposed Moments.

So to those of us who are healing the wounds that were never ours to bare: May we redirect our steps, our minds, our spirits and our actions back to what is beyond fear, hate and anguish. May we and the generations we create and/or influence live out more Empowered Imaginations of what can and will be. 

To My Mama: Thank you. I love you. I forgive you. I forgive myself. I promise I will do better. Your creativity will continue to influence dreams through the hands of your next generations. Those people lied to you, Mama: Joy, Love and Liberation were always your birthright. As you prepare for your next Divine Assignment, I pray you know all the Joy, Love and Liberation that you did not feel in this broken society. You and your contemporaries deserved so much better than what was forced upon you. I hope your spirit knows now that the God you gave us was the God who has never and will never leave you. May you and all the elders who are experiencing these times be at peace.

It is well, Mama. And so are you.

Lovingly your kid,