People

“Fear and anxiety are silent killers.” I read that somewhere today. It’s true. Picture it – A beautiful place, surrounded by beautiful people with joyful children laughing and playing. Feel the warmth from droves of people of various backgrounds, nationalities, and cultures interacting splendidly. We are bred to believe that people are inherently good, and these good people give People a good name.

Bad people? They are the ones that cause us to avert our eyes from the beauty we see, the joy we feel, and keep them stayed on the horrors around us. The bad ones shift our mindset from that of an optimist, to downright pessimism. We start to expect the worst and find ourselves wanting to hide away. They turn a world we once viewed as a vibrant rainbow of hope and opportunity, to one shrouded in darkness and paralyzing fear.

                            

That is what happened to me. I am a black woman and a bearer of black children. My thoughts may ring true for any woman with black children, whether they be biracial, or however we want to word it. (If they are mixed with even a little black, the dominant gene, they are considered black where I’m from.) These little black boys and little black girls grow up to become black men and black women. These precious gifts that we are given are a blessing and a burden at the same time.

I love the fact that my son’s skin is dark like chocolate. He’s chunky and funny, and I love watching him explore and experience life. I love that he looks like his daddy, not like me at all! But that same skin I admire so much, and pudgy little body that will (more than likely) turn into a large, grown man, can be seen as offensive and/or threatening to some; not all, but some.

I haven’t been able to enjoy watching him grow as much as I’d like from fear of knowing there are people in the world who want to destroy him.  Not because of anything he’s done, or will do. Simply because of hatred. That worries me. Not that my worries are more valid than any other mother’s worries. My worries bother me so because this country is viewed as the land of milk and honey, but more so for those unlike myself, the man I love, or my children.

So, what do I/we do? How do I/we find a way to cope under this newfound way of being, way of living? How do I/we get back to some sense of normalcy? A state where joyous moments are actually enjoyed for what they are without worry of the next bad thing to come? I sometimes wonder if God has forgotten about us.

Then one day, I closed my eyes and prayed to Him. I hadn’t done that in a while, not the right way. I prayed that He would take my fear and anxiety away from me. I was trapped and needed a way out, or I would die. I could feel it. He did it. He took my fears away, slowly. Well, I tried to hold on to them, but He placed (good) people in my life to remind me that I am not alone. There are other people like me, other mothers who may have started living in dread of their husbands and children leaving the house every day. There are people who don’t want to hurt us like my mind had grown to believe; but who pray for and support us, good people.

I have gradually started to see a few colors of that rainbow again. I am learning to revel in moments of joy and trust that everyone will be alright when my beloveds leave my sight – without worry, doubt or fear. Eventually, I will get back to seeing the beauty in the world like I used to, because of the good people. At least I hope so.

Hugs

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