Life of a Hybrid

 

Hello everyone! My hope is that your day, week, and month are going well. I did not think I would be back before the New Year. Yet, my penchant for thinking, which leads to having more to say, is unpredictable. For those thoughts to end up here, even more so.

In the presence of death, life transforms.

When Grandpa passed away in 2011, a multitude of events were taking place. Stability (in the form of a new long-term position) was sought. I was in a relationship that had aspirations for marriage.

I traveled to witness Grandpa's homegoing and to support Grandma. I entertained the idea of moving back, since by then, it had been just over a year since I lost my full-time job due to a franchisee takeover. I worked temporary assignments here and there, but I longed for the stability I had previously. My partner was willing to move with me. 

Side Note: I don’t think he would have liked it, since he’s from a fast-paced environment. Mississippi is ... well, if you know, you know.

I didn’t get the opportunity to mourn him. I was too busy trying to get my life together, and as years passed, be the dependable anchor to hold up my household.

Luckily, in those days, I had Grandma to converse with. We would reminisce over memories.

When Grandma passed away, there was a repeat of the same dynamic at my Grandpa’s funeral. I was expected to be the strength while everyone else crumbled.

When Grandma was alive, she checked on me. She was the only one in my biological family who consistently checked on me.

With both of them gone (the people who raised me like their own), there was also this silence. It was to be expected, although I prayed that it wouldn’t be business as usual.

It made me sad, particularly in the case of my mother. This could have been the gateway for us to get to know each other (as we are now) and support each other.

Whether she wants to recognize this or not, although she gave birth to me, Grandma was Mama. I can’t rewrite history and the impact her mother and father had on my life to make her feel better. I’m sorry it causes her pain, but she did the right thing by leaving me in their care all those years ago. She was still very young and figuring things out.

Grandma’s death solidified the change in me. A change in what makes a family.

The shift started years ago. People I connected with through the Internet were there for me more than those by blood.

They didn’t automatically label me as stuck-up when I listened more than I spoke.

They didn’t classify me as uppity when I cared more about my education than being popular or social.

They didn’t judge me when I dared to ask questions about religious texts that did not make sense.

They didn’t bully my appearance or the way I talked.

These people, most of whom are my friends to this day, were there without being asked. They showed up without judgment. They cared for me and loved me without conditions. This invited me not to be as guarded and to expand my thinking on what and who family truly is.

To have someone converse with me without immediately asking for my emotional, mental, and physical resources was a blessing.

For so long, I did not believe I would ever find the essence of family. It took decades for me to release the pipe dream of my relationship with my mother. It hurt to let that go, but it hurt more to keep it alive. 

Connection is not something that should be chased. It should be organic, reciprocal.

When I was younger, I believed that if I were always there for people around me, then it would be returned to me tenfold. I was softer then. I could not fathom that people would use others, uncaring of how they were affected. The only example I had at that time was my grandparents, and they never did that to each other.

Unreciprocal connections take a toll on you mentally, emotionally, and spiritually.

In blood connections. In romantic relationships. In friendships.

Yes, there is being busy with life. There is also observing another person’s behavior for inconsistencies.

Over the years, I’ve sat back and observed whether the effort I put into someone “claiming to be a friend” has been returned.

See, I don’t use the term “friend” or “family” loosely, yet there are many people who call me their friend.

My Grandma’s death served as a magnifying glass. Since then, I’ve taken the steps to minimize or completely remove myself from situations and connections where my mind, heart, and soul don’t feel fulfilled by the exchange.

I only exert the effort that is exerted in return.

The moves that I make are not from a negative space. They come from a space of empathic replenishment. They emerge from a receptacle of overall growth. Furthermore, it blossoms from my increased love of self.

I don’t hold on to anyone who shows me they want to leave. I don’t take it to heart. Perhaps we are going in different directions in life. Nostalgia cannot always hold things together.

I believe that people can still love and have respect for each other, yet realize that a connection isn’t working. At least, that is how maturity is supposed to be.

I am aware enough to know that not everyone has done their Shadow Work: to deal with the wounds in their ego that manifest in unleashing harm.

It’s easier to make the other person the villain than to look at the one in the mirror.

I have been on my Shadow Work journey, publicly and privately, for many years. There are so many things I handle differently now, and I wish I had those tools in the past.

However, if I hadn’t experienced the massive disruptions to my life, I would not have gained the mindset and skills to pivot.

I have written in this blog for almost two decades. I’ve made disastrous choices, beliefs, and their outcomes.

I dare say that blogging (cue Yahoo 360) served as one’s reality reel before TikTok. 

Unlike those who desire to profit from making the same mistakes (if that’s your hustle, do you), I write because I like doing so. It’s a visual capsule showing my growth along the way. Sure, I could easily make private or delete posts from years ago, but that would take away from my humanity and feed others’ false narratives that I’m perfect.

I am grateful to those who continue visiting. 

I hope that anything I write, even the harrowing bits, provides guidance. Whether it’s hope to get out of a bad situation, an example of what not to do, or being brave enough to embrace being different.

It’s still shocking, as we head into 2026, that individuality and being a free thinker are still under attack today, as they were in my youth. How have we come so far only to just come this far?

That’s another topic for another day.

If I post again in 2025, see you later.

If not, cheers to 2026!