Category: Reflections, Healing, Self Worth

My Grandson Is Me Reincarnated

Reflections of me in my grandson.

Sometimes, when I look at Cameron, I see flashes of myself. Not just in his smile or the way his eyes take in the world, but in the rhythm of his life – how times seem to have looped back, giving me another chance to see my younger self, only this time with more love surrounding the story. 

I was born in 1971. 

Cameron came along in 2011. 

At 14, I was in high school, it was 1985, a mix of nerves, dreams, and figuring out who I was. Now, in 2025, he’s 14 and in high school too – going to football games, showing up for homecoming, finding his circle of friends, and slowly carving his place in the world.

His teachers guide him. His mama holds him down with love and wisdom. And I’m right here too, cheering, listening, reminding him of his light on the days when the world feels a little too heavy. 

It breaks my heart sometimes knowing his father has been absent for nearly a decade. No child should have to wonder why someone doesn’t show up. But even in that space, Cameron shines. He has what I didn’t have: a village that sees him, believes in him, and shows up for him.

So, yes, Cameron is me reincarnated. 

A reflection of who I was and who I wish I could have been. I am so grateful he’s got a Mama and a Muff (me) to remind him he’s never walking this life alone.

2009/2025

Life has a way of circling back, handing us pieces of ourselves in new form – softer, wiser, more hopeful. Watching Cameron grow reminds me that healing often shows up through those who come after us. They carry our laughter, our lessons, and even the parts we never got to express. 

I see in him a chance for better days, brighter memories, and deeper love. That’s what legacy is, not the pain we endured, but the strength we pass forward. 

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When I Was 33

My 3 and me, when I was 33. Pascagoula Walmart

Hey sister-friend,

I found myself reflecting on a chapter I rarely visit.

August 2004. I was early 30s.

A young wife. A mother of two toddlers, and a pre-teen trying to find their place in the world.

It was a time full of movement, love, and noise. So much noise.

But oddly, I don’t remember many specific details from that season; just the constant feeling of being needed.

Back then, my days were wrapped in them.

Feeding, chasing, teaching, soothing. Driving. Folding. Cooking. Cleaning.

There was no pause button. No self-care days. No “me time.”

I was living in a loop that I didn’t know how to step out of.

My marriage had its own rhythm, one that didn’t always match mine.

Some days, we were in sync. Other days, it felt like we were just trying to stay afloat together while parenting on fumes.

In the world outside my home?

Beyoncé had just gone solo. MySpace was buzzing. Flip phones clicked open.

But inside my world, I was learning to be a grown woman in real time, while raising three little humans.

I look back now and see her.

That 33 year old version of me.

Exhausted. Fierce. Tender.

Invisible and powerful all at once.

She didn’t get flowers. Or affirmations.

But she kept going.

If you’re in your own version of 33, whatever age that may be, this is just a reminder:

💛 You’re allowed to come up for air.

💛 You’re doing better than you think.

💛 Your future self is rooting for you.

Emotional Living, Not Factual Living

I’ve spent much of my life living by emotions, not facts.

Sometimes I think I’ve only understood the world through scenes from a movie. Real connection? I couldn’t tell you much about that, not from firsthand experience. I’ve never really bonded deeply, not in the way that feels grounding.

But in workspaces and parenting spaces, I became who I am. That’s where I found my rhythm, even when I didn’t know I was dancing. That’s where I found women, real women, who taught me what it meant to be a mother.

From 2008 on, Cindy, Trina, Karen, Dorothy, Sara, and Chris came into my life. We were single mothers raising daughters. That was our connection. We leaned on each other. We grew our children together while still growing ourselves.

Those women didn’t just show me motherhood, they walked it out in front of me, and I took notes with my life.

I tried different paths among them. I was always trying to find myself.

But I wasn’t really focused on me. I was focused on my daughters, making sure they made it further than I ever did.

From 2008 to 2012, I was “adulting” the best way I knew how.

I had community.

Mardi Gras balls. Museums. Zoos. Family moments. Parades. Church outings. Sleepovers.

I had a life.

Cyndi, now, feels like what Trina was to me for the past 40 plus years, familiar presence. A tether.

She has her circle of friends, and while I’m not always in that number, I’ve learned to be okay with that.

I’ve always struggled.

Could people could see something I couldn’t, that I wasn’t really pushing myself to grow. I never asked.

I figure that’s why it was easy for folks to throw me away. I carried so much, too much.

There were times that I was lost in the fog of it all.

And here I am, feeling stuck.

I’ve got to get out.

I whisper it every day:

Dear Lord, let me be not only awake… but aware.

Because for so long it was me and my girls.

Then me and Matthew.

Now… I just want it to be me.

It’s never really been just me.

But I want that now.

Dear Lord, guide me.

While I’m here, the truth is, I’m not really into books. Much of anything, really. I do things just to be doing something.

To seem relevant. To feel like I belong somewhere. I want to belong.

Sometimes I buy books just to say I have them. There’s one playing in my ear right now, something about reconstruction.

It’s like my little girl with her jumbo puzzle book for plane rides. Or my other little girl already prepared with her book before takeoff.

Is that what they got from me.

Hmph. I’m just now seeing that.

This is what emotional living looks like.

Not factual living.

But I’m learning.

I’m waking up.

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Breaking the Cycle: What I Thought Was Love, Was Survival

For much of my life, I mistook endurance for strength and acts of service for love. I didn’t grow up knowing what healthy looked like, so I learned to accept pain, imbalance, and emotional labor as the cost of being in relationship. But what I’ve come to realize is this: love should not leave you depleted.

I spent years in partnerships where rest was one-sided. Where I worked multiple jobs, carried the emotional and financial weight of the day, and still came home to someone announcing they were “off to take a nap.” As if I didn’t need one too.

There was a time I thought cooking daily meals, showing up in routines, and simply staying put was enough to define love. But love isn’t duty. It isn’t simply doing the same thing over and over again. And it surely isn’t one person doing the heavy lifting while the other calls it “support.”

That wasn’t love. That was survival – dressed up as loyalty, normalized through generations, and rooted in unhealed wounds.

But I’ve grown tired of mistaking dysfunction for familiarity. I’ve decided to break the cycle.

I no longer crave partnership for the sake of not being alone. I’m not interested in proving my worth through exhaustion. I’m not impressed by performative gestures that lack emotional presence.

What I want is peace.

Peace that doesn’t require performance.

Rest that doesn’t come with guilt.

Presence that doesn’t cost me my self-worth.

This is my new tradition – and I will not apologize for choosing it.

If you’re reading this and it resonates, you’re not alone. Peace is possible—and you’re worthy of it.