While You’ve Been Out Evolving . . .

I came across a man’s “prepare to be dumped” post which lamented what women will be doing to their partners once they returned back home 🥴. My church girl heart cackled at every comment. My time was thoroughly wasted! 🤣

At the time of this writing, FORTY-THOUSAND women of all ages are waking up to the final day of the “Woman Evolve” conference in Texas. They are pumped and primed. They have prayed and purged. They will soon prepare to return home.

I’m one of ya aunties from the #WomanThouArtLoosed and #NoMoreSheets era. Here’s a quick recap to make it make sense in case you’ve been under a rock or not caring what black women were doing in their spiritual lives.

The curator and grand-daddy of Christian women’s conferences, Bishop TD Jakes, is the father of the “Woman Thou Art Loose” movement. At its peak we were driving up to a much less congested Atlanta area in the early 2000’s experiencing days that bled into nights worth of events. He was pulling any and everybody to come and pour into some of the most powerful yet ignored sectors of our society—an audience made up of predominantly black and brown women. You had some white sisters sprinkled in there but it was mostly the sistahs saving up their hard earned coins to come and get a word for their next season.

Bishop Jakes’ daughter, Sarah Jakes Roberts, I’m sure used to be backstage watching her daddy preach. She now wears the mantle and we are seeing an evolution in Christendom taking place. We all know her story. A young teen mom with a child on her hip, behind stage watching her daddy move thousands of women (with the infallible help of the Holy Spirit) through messages of hope and perseverance. He spoke to our pain like no other. While Oprah at the time was rationalizing our problems, TD Jakes was that spiritual surgeon who went deep into our hearts and left us realizing that no matter what we looked like on the outside, if our insides wasn’t right it would all be for naught. Bishop Jakes would soon embed things like financial workshops and mental health professionals in the later years. By this time the body of Christ was realizing that faith and fear did co-exist even as it did in the lives of so many men and women’s stories in God’s
Word. By the end of the conference we were ready! Ready to conquer. Ready to reclaim. Ready to receive all that God had in store for us.

And then we got back to reality.

Husbands and partners sent us one way but we came back “different”. Them no more sheets turned into very cold sheets.😩 Children didn’t recognize their mommas. She was doing too much. Friends who didn’t attend, now relegated to the backseat; all the while watching the “conference besties” speak in conference codes. 🙄😒 Church members and ministry friends could not quite decide whether they would like this new/old member. 👀 From my First Lady perch I’ve seen it all, heard it all, yes even participated in some of it in this thing called Christ-like living. So let these next few words from a “been there, done that” sister sit with you for a minute.

When you get back, the world will meet you still unchanged. A whole globe has been turning while your bubble in Texas cocooned you in a spiritual flow. You’re the one who has experienced a quickening in your spirit—not them. The non-theologian in me recalls that in Exodus 32 Moses “was so long in coming down from the mountain”
that the people had taken matters
into their own hands building a whole golden calf. Now ma’am, while your family won’t be using up all your gold jewelry to create some random idol, they will still be carrying on with life and expecting you to slide right back into your routines. Your colleagues and your boss may or may not even know you’re a Christian much less that you took a trip that’s potentially set to turn your whole life right side up. And get ready for this one—that same church you’ve sat in for years and years may not be ready to see this new you walk through the doors next Sunday. The caveat of a global pandemic has left many a believer in spiritual limbo. This conference might have flipped the script for you—but for your fellow parishioner, their life has not been met with a similar experience.

You have changed. They have not.

In these next few days and weeks and months after returning, I’m encouraging you to pace yourself. Our faith in Jesus is a race that’s made for each runner to experience in their own lanes. We are in a marathon and what we learn along the way is not to be used to trip anybody up or cause us to leave so much dust behind, so much so that folks behind us can’t even see.

Be patient with the rest of us who didn’t go. We see you on social media. You’re glowing Sis! We love that for you. We’ve seen the posts and the reels and some of us might be low key jealous. Back in my day, we had no social media so we just came back, debriefed and went on about our business. But nowadays we are there even when we’re not. So be patient. We were not there to sit and experience it with you. Give us a moment to digest the fact that you’re coming back exponentially changed. Give us a moment to recognize that you’re moving differently.

Some of us won’t like it. We want our friend, momma, woman, and colleague back! We want the one who used to *insert old behavior* but now she call herself *insert new behavior*. And while an explanation is not due to everybody it is due to some bodies.

So come on back to us all glowed and growed up. Your spirit is at peace. You’ve got some decisions to make. We may not understand it all but if you give us a try and spoon feed us a lil’, we just might surprise you. Right this minute one of my evolve friends has voluntold me into a book club for 2024. I am not going to tell her no. I’ve been praying for a faith community that looks different from my norm—where I’m just a participant—not an expert. I am actually excited to receive the overflow from what she’s coming back with!

To all my evolving sisters, come on back down from your weekend on the mountain. We can’t wait to have you back home sharing on what God has imparted to you. Some will receive—others will not. 🤷🏾‍♀️.

No worries. Such is life. The rest of us are here for it! 😘

Paid it All AND Forgiven!

I recently caught my therapist up on my weekly happenings and nearly forgot to mention that I’d recently received word that my (PLSF) student loans were forgiven. In the moment of finding out, I was elated and recognized that a year’s worth of back and forth, missing signatures, blank forms had finally met the designated and preferred ending. A special shouts out to my gal-friends who encouraged me to keep at it and to fight through the bureaucratic BS. Nothing like a girls trip to get you all the way right!

Sitting with my therapist recounting this, I got teary eyed thinking of being an undocumented Haitian girl with parents who had no legacy beyond an “1804 Revolution” to gift me with. I’d earned a local scholarship that I would later find out did not pay for my books–nor my dorm. I’d also learned that there would be no Pell Grants to offset the difference. Apparently, parents making $3.50 an hour was not a priority for the Feds; so the student loans became that safety net. I wanted to live on campus. My college campus was 15 minutes away from home but I wanted to live, scratch that, I NEEDED to live on campus. Student loans helped with that. My mom would have my one Publix brown paper bag ready each week with my fave (but expensive) breakfast items. My Little Ceasar’s job paid a few coins. My dad would come through with $600 (half of what I needed) to pay for my 1983 Toyota Corolla. Student loans handled the rest. I can go on and on with how them student loan coins came through for the clutch!

I’m not from much of anything by this world’s standards. I’m not “generations” of anything in this country. I did not come from parents who could afford to donate to anybody’s college fund. There were no college affiliations, no Greek affiliations, no cotillions to give me give me a leg up. Student loans did that. There’s a faction in this country that would demonize the self-advocacy for getting these loans paid off. Cheeps, *sucks teeth like a Haitian woman*, yours truly nearly got caught up in the guilt trip until I realized that my reality is not theirs. This leg up that they have, I could not possibly dream to attain back then and can barely fathom in this moment. Folks sitting on generational stacks on stacks just waiting for their children to make that move. Tax dodging shelters set up all in the name of benefiting the grands and great grands. I had nunna dat. Me nor a whole heap of us out here who are praying to the same Jesus they’re praying to, praying for a forgiveness of both sins AND student loans. Never mind I’m a whole social worker who was out here for years in people’s homes, in challenging communities, doing the Lord’s work in spirit and in truth! If forgiveness should not come for this then I don’t know what should.

While I recognize that my circumstances of being a whole dedicated Public Servant for half of my professional life is not the same for the next person, I’m guessing my therapist just wanted me to sit in the moment a bit longer than I did. To honor my late mother’s role in making sure that I got what I needed to the best of her ability. To honor my father’s sacrifices to get me to the point that I did. And to remember that student loans paved the way all the way to forgiveness.

Permission To Say No

We watched law enforcement officers express fear, anger and tears as they recounted the trauma they experienced at the hands of tyrants on January 6th. No one discounted their very real and very traumatic experiences.

A black female athlete, a survivor of sexual trauma, product of the foster care system, a child whose mother struggled with addiction, a child whose father has never been present in her life—the ONE day in the history of histories where she says she simply cannot—we take to our soap boxes and question her ability to withstand the pressure.

To be clear, the opinions of sports fans, current/former athletes, even Monday morning quarterbacks and wannabe coaches—they all have space to be explored and entertained. After all, athletes are expected to push through pain and endure the pressure. It is what sets apart the best from the best. It is what makes Olympians a cut above the rest.

Fam, when do we allow even athletes, super humans that they are to tap out? When do we give permission for them folks to just step aside and make their mental health a priority?

I know zilch about the life of an athlete. I never dribbled a ball or bat anything outside the park outside of my SAT scores in high school. This nerd girl only worked the muscle between her ears. I’ve never had any skins in any game.

I do humbly submit my thoughts as the person (aka psychotherapist) who has sat across many an athlete, professional and otherwise, who have taken their public masks off long enough to show their true selves.

Until we are able to first acknowledge athletes (heck! anybody we have uber high expectations of) as human beings first, we will fail to give even ourselves permission to just be. In a world where grit is glorified and resilience is revered, we lose sight of our fellow man’s humanity.

Simone Biles once said in an interview that she’d get up at night while in a foster home to seek out her brother’s room. Her fear was that she’d get up one morning and her siblings would be moved elsewhere. She’s accepted the mantle of being the one to remind USA Gymnastics of its dark and sordid treatment of female athletes. Talk about pressure!

In a world that’s always “on”, give people the permission to take a moment, a break a pause . . .

Costa Rica: Carara National Park

Young Traveler intent on finding a new discovery in Carara National Park.

The Carara National Park which in indigenous Huetar language means “River of lizards”, has the only transition forest in the Central Pacific.  It means that species, flora and fauna of both dry and humid forests meet up in this one area.  Even as you walk through the forest, you’ll experience humidity in one hour and this coolness and dryness in the next.  

Young Traveler is into all things nature and animal related and so where he goes, we adults must go.  Now, I am an island girl who has lost her way living the city girl life.  A quick visit on Trip Advisor’s app, proved helpful as I knew that I’d have to find Mauricio a guide of sorts who is very familiar with this forest.  Mauricio explained that the pandemic pretty much cancelled his livelihood for this past year and a half and things are slowly getting back to normal. He quoted us $40 for his time and was every so patient as we walked through one of God’s manifold creations.  For those who are not into the outdoors, I’d also recommend just taking some time to explore a trail even if it’s for about an hour. 

Our nearly 3 mile trek took us deep into a place where among other species spider monkeys, Northern Ghost Bat, to Jesus Christ Lizard (yeah look that one up).  Mauricio was patient in explaining plant life to people like me who think everything looks like palm trees.  Young Traveler was engrossed in it all, using his binoculars or Mauricio’s larger version of one to capture the things that the human eye would never see.  We got to take some pretty good videos using his apparatus and captured animals up close.  The locals take a walk through this forest like you or I would walk through our local mall.  When asked about the casualness of their time spent in this natural wonder, Maurico explained “They are used to being in this space, they walk and forget to walk as if in nature.” Mauricio explains that to walk in nature is to walk quietly, almost in reverence for what you find yourself surrounded in. 

Prepping for any outdoor activities includes bug spray, cortizone gel, water, wipes and sunscreen. I packed like Dora would and threw in a raincoat, extra shoes in the car and anything that would make me feel halfway decent after a trip through a muggy forest. While I enjoy a great day outdoors, I also enjoy regaining some semblance of physical decency when it’s done.  So I’d advise you to bring along the “extra” things you can throw in the car to freshen up on your way to the next adventure. 

Middle aged people tip:  Wear compression socks and a good sports bra. You’ll thank me later.

Costa Rica: Adventures With Travel Savvy Kids

Young Traveler and his mom on one of Mistico Park’s six Hanging Bridges.

I’d like to take a moment to say that in traveling, me, Delphine Gervais, is the last person who will jump out or jump into anything.  The only risk I’m taking is figuring out whether I have to choose between traveling with my my Ipad and Macbook Pro.  I usually end of bringing both. So when you consider traveling as a parent or companion with an under 18 year old in the  mix–there is no greater risk you will be taking while “pon di road” with the “likkle” ones. As a villager who ‘parents’ other people’s children sporadically in their lifetime, I do not take it for granted that traveling with children can be like wrangling cats for a Macy’s Day parade.  I’m that passenger who unrepentantly thanks the Holy Trinity that I didn’t forget my noise cancelling headphones.  When you and your toddler come round the corner with the huge bags and strollers, I offer a silent petitions to be football fields away from you on the plane.  I’m also the onlooker who side eyes your teens for leaving random pieces of trash throughout the airport like the walking crumbs they are.

Mind you I’m just as guilty as they come when it comes to childhood traveling memories. I have vague memories of toddler Delphine barfing up her innards on a plane trip to from St. Maarten to Haiti.   I also remember my parents digging through a suitcase for a change of clothes.  I’m sure they were done with me at that point, counting up the years towards age 18.  Bless their young parents’ hearts.

On this trip, Young Traveler has taught me a lot about myself in terms of traveling with children as well as what it would take to prepare any child for traveling internationally.  So I’ll use the privilege of my pen to share my unsolicited thoughts on what I think it would be necessary to get you and your chirrens ready for the world of international traveling.  To be sure, domestic traveling might have some overlaps but there is something to be said about preparing to stamp the passports of children for the global world they live in.

Teach them to be empathetic

My teeth gnashing reaches level 100 when I am a witness to children who center themselves as the beginning, middle and end of everything that goes on in life with little to no consideration of others.  Self-centered children grow up to be classmates/colleagues who shove others aside in the quest for success or partners who do more harm than good to loved ones.  They also make terrible travelers.  When entering other countries, you want your child to walk a mile in the shoes of others.  People from other countries already have presumptions about American travelers.  They call us everything but a child of God including words like pompous, difficult and arrogant.  Those of African heritage might get a pass, but nobody cares about skin color if you cannot be a decent human being. Normalize the art of waiting in line, the potential of being asked to do something that they’re not accustomed to, and honoring the requests of people in authority.  Sir and ma’am, if your child thinks you are the only authority figure in this whole wide world, then you’re not ready to travel.  Go back to the drawing board and read this when you’ve got your kid(s) ready to listen to other people.  Nobody got time to be dealing with a bratty kid in these not so friendly skies.  

Teach them to take risks

So you know I already said a mouthful about my scaredy cat tendencies.  I’ve processed this as part of my journey towards self-insight and you’ve got my Haitian mother to blame for most of my inhibitions. God bless the lady, but Sis did not think swimming and going to the prom were a necessary part of my childhood; the first of which my dad tried to teach and the second he overruled her.  So I’m not a swimmer–but love the ocean and I went to prom and have vague memories of it.  All of this to say that allowing your children room to breathe on their own on the road towards independence is a must. We want to encourage individual thinking, trying new things, and exploring on their own while under the watchful gaze and guiding arms of parents/caregivers. 

Teach them to be mindful

You want to be able to know that when you’re up and down in these people’s countries that they’re not constantly glued to their electronic attachments.  I’m on team “zero electronics” unless it is for learning and at dedicated times of the day.  This “pacifier on a plug” generation spends more time watching other people live out their lives rather than living their own. I’m the kid who grew up never knowing what the 8:30pm and on TV series looked like, so don’t mind my off-road ranting. Your child needs to know that personal safety is everyone’s responsibility whether you’re the six year old watching the bags while mommy feeds the baby or the 16 year old who has to make a run for the bathroom with the younger kids.  Everybody needs to remain alert and mindful of their surroundings.  I read somewhere that two people tried to separate a mother from her 17 year old daughter while returning back home from abroad.  Airport officials believe it might have been a sex-trafficking attempt.  Granted, bad things can happen to anyone, anywhere but children’s level of awareness of self and of self in relation to others should not be taken lightly. 

Teach them to talk

I cannot speak enough about raising children who are comfortable in their own skin while also being comfortable in the presence of others.  This is where I pause to bash the myth of introverts.  As the lifelong president of the Southeastern United States Chapter of Introverts Worldwide, (no such thing but I am in my head), I do hereby remind people that being an introvert does not mean I am rude or insensitive.  It simply means that I find rest in solace and am intentional in how I regroup to face the world that stretches all my senses to its limits–hence this  two week vacation to Costa Rica.  So you telling me your child is an introvert because “they don’t speak to people” is balderdash.  Not speaking to people outside of the family on a long extended stay will wear you out by the end of day two.  Mind you everything has to be considered from a developmental perspective.  The social worker in me is gravely concerned for children whose social skills remain lacking in the area of exchanging thoughts and ideas with people in particular who they might share little in common with .  Children can be great communicators regardless of their varying abilities.  Traveling internationally means trying out new things, eating new foods, and being curious about their surroundings.  Who wants to spend money on a kid who prefers to stay indoors watching Netflix all day?  Could have done that at grandma’s house.

Raising children with a global perspective starts with traveling to different places locally and abroad.  It starts with trying a meal that is not of one’s culture.  Of learning words that do not come naturally but are spoken elsewhere by another child in the world. 

Costa Rica: My Why

Self disclosure:  I’m an introvert by nature, not to be confused with shy.  Reserved, yes.  Discreet, yes.  Private, yes. “Straight with no chasers” because life is too short for surface level pleasantries, yes. What introverts are NOT: mean, uncaring or boujie/boughie/boujee–however way ya’ll wanna spell it.  We get misidentified on multiple levels because in a fast-paced world of social media influencers, our constant values of intimacy are typically misconceived as outdated and past its prime. I find my ability to connect with people as meaningful and it means that it can come at a great expense to my mental energy.  People can be exhausting ya’ll!  Saying this as a therapist might seem sacrilegious but anyone in the healing professions understand that it is heavy lifting that takes place on a regular. So when I crash, I crash.  I find that writing is my best mode of communication even as I strive to maintain healthy relationships while I forge forward with new ones. 

Sidebar: If you have not fostered or cultivated a new relationship or two in this post-pandemic world, you are missing out! Sucks to be anyone who is in a bubble and has not done one thing new and daring during this pandemic. 

This travel blog is for me as much as it is to express my lifelong love of sharing what I’ve learned, if only to make things easier for the person headed down this path/experience at some point in life.  For any who have read my previous blogs on losing a parent, I’ve been encouraged to know that you yourself were able to find it a blessing years later as you went through your own valley experience of grief and loss. Writing about my trip just makes sense. Even if you don’t make it to Costa Rica, you’re going to make it someplace new where the human experience will always bring us closer than we think we are.

Wanderlust, that “strong desire to travel”, is built in the most introverted/extroverted of souls.  We long to be in a space where new experiences greet us; where our five senses are re-introduced to our “sixth sense”.  That part of our soul that can only be filled with “God thangs”. God’s creation begs for us to witness Him in its fullest glory.  Nature is where we come from.  Nature is where we will return.  Our souls are restless at best and long to commune with nature.  This past year and a half has opened up the world in ways that we never knew could be possible.  We sought fresh air.  We got comfortable in the silence. We slowed down long enough to hear the raucous noise in our heads–and then we sought ways to soothe ourselves.  For me it was the early days of being on my patio.  Watching the squirrels run across the cable lines wondering where the lizards were going as they too scurried by.  I hopped on to a Chrystal Evans Hurst Youtube video and joined hundreds of women daily on making sense of the off kilter world we all found ourselves in.  I want to continue duplicating that in my world and this vacation was an extension of that mission.

I could not fit you into the suitcases but while I sit on this lounge chair pool side, listening to the birds do their thing, looking up to watch the butterflies flitter about even as some weird bug is buzzing in my ear–I’m hoping you take a moment to inhale/exhale.  Plug up that meditation app, crack open your journal, take that walk/run, read something that feeds your soul and start your day with this quick read.

Costa Rica: Travel Day

Welcome to Costa Rica!

Travel day is the usual.  I’m always on time.  I have my Haitian father to thank for that.  I’ve been rising and riding to airports at the crack of dawn before “post-911” airport rules and the behavior has stuck.  Running through airports is not a good look on me.  I’m one who follows directions so I can’t speak about mistakes made–cause there were none. Well maybe me trying to help the lady who didn’t read her directions at home and chose to remain flustered even after I made attempts to normalize the new travel rules. She just was not having it, asked way too many questions and nearly made me miss my spot in line for my Einstein bagel.

Word to the “wanna be wise” though: read, read, read! And read again. 

I was the first to fly in and the long lines to connect with Costa Rican airport officials was mad long.  That being said, for the most part no one complained.  This pandemic has generally tempered people’s dispositions.  I got the sense that people were just happy to have made it across the miles and the fact that we were all here meant we were much closer to some much needed time away.  My driver met me outside.  Ya’ll, I had a sign with my name on it.  He took me into the city’s traffic jammed streets and we spent the time reflecting on our commonalities–him a white man from Holland, me a Haitian girl from St. Maarten.  Google the connection. Trust me, it’ll make sense.  

Aluminum roofs stood next to tiled ones, cement homes, bars and gates from the poor to the wealthy–everyone had some fence or gate marking out their property.  My driver said it is the norm here; not for security issues but to remind folks of what hard work looks like and how it’s reflected in ensuring that everyone knows where their land ends and begins.  The people, he said, are easy going and enjoy tourism because it’s a mutually beneficial system.  There is no sense of resentment towards foreigners here in Costa Rica.  We bring money, they make money–everybody’s happy.  Regarding COVID-19, the expectations are to wear a mask in public places, wash your hands at the establishments’ doors and use hand sanitizer as often as possible as much as possible.  I’m vaccinated and my driver was too so we mutually agreed to do our own thing.  Him no mask–me with my mask partially on.  

The winding roads became less populated with cars as we went further up the mountains to our home away from home in Atenas.  I was struck by how lush the mountains were. For those who have traveled to Hawaii, or in and around Gatlinburg, TN or Asheville, NC think that but exponentially more richer in view. I grew up with mountains on the island so being somewhere outside of “flat land Florida” was such a pleasure to repeatedly experience. For the car sick folks, keep some gum in your mouth and water nearby if you’re a passenger.  Between the ears popping and the bile . . . Whew! But I made it though!

The rental home is on a private, gated property.  A gardener and his family live there and the pool and grounds are cared for by him, an added layer of security for sure.  The home faced the mountains with a large veranda that provided some of the best views of the country’s landscapes.  I got a quick tour and was left to my own devices.  A quick bite of chicken empanada and coconut water held me down for a few hours as I waited for my travel buddy to arrive.

As car sick as I was walking through the doors, I knew that this trip was worth the May/June grind that I found myself in, front loading what needed to take place to walk away from my practice (for the most part) and other obligations in life. I knew that #PuraVida was just one self care decision away.

Costa Rica Here I Come!

Stamps and Self Care Go Together

My friend Anse and her son RJ, also known in this blog series as “Young Traveler”.

This trip has been more than a notion.  It is more than likely the need that I did not think I needed. WFH as a therapist went from solo practice to now being a group practice owner managing a five member team, not including myself.  With my head to the screen and my shoulders hunched over I’ve met with countless clients in a season like no other in recent history. I’ve also stretched myself in ways as an entrepreneur, initially working in and now (as my accountant prefers to remind me) working on my business. Other personal life shifts (of the physical, conscious and emotional kind) have left me feeling both rewarded and spent.  I had no time to celebrate the wins, barely enough time to manage the losses–because as Haitians say, behind every mountain there was another mountain that needed slaying. So yeah . . . this trip came at just the right time.  

A dear friend of mine who experienced the loss of her husband in the fall of 2019 was also going through some major shifts of her own.  Those who have typically experienced the loss of a loved one can generally attest that you’ve got the anniversary to experience as a first major milestone. The first of everything without a loved is always tough.  So imagine a 2020 first year anniversary.

Yeah, sigh . . . exactly.

My friend’s plans: To travel internationally for one month.  She’d do it on her own with her nine year old son. Or so she thought.  I’ve got no doubts that my friend could do this, after all she’s got frequent flyer miles and stamps to prove it.  But we, her friends, knew that even in this new season as a widow, some things you just don’t do alone at least not for the first time. 

My plans: To travel with her so her family won’t talk about how bad her friends are for “letting” her travel alone. That really isn’t the case in this instance but Haitian children got a lot of unaddressed projections we will be dealing with for the rest of our earthly lives. Pray for us.

Haitian parents be on some other type of mess when they see you come through with friends in your life. They start off with the “you have no friends, your brother/sister is your friend”; then they graduate to “why can’t you be like this friend?”; then they complete the degree in Haitian Parenting Shade & Pettiness, with the “I knew this friend was good for you!” As parents they need to know that when they are dead and gone, these so-called friends are going to hold it down as their appointed emissaries left on earth. After all, wasn’t it their idea for you to have friends anyway? *Insert deferential side eye*.

Yours truly committed to this two weeks worth of “sacrifice”, that Jesus ultimately calls true religion–looking out for immigrants widows and orphans.  I’m batting 3 to 0 on this one. Besides, friends don’t let friends travel alone!  Not this one anyway. Costa Rica made the short list and plans were made to keep making memories along the way.

Ya’ll. Costa Rica is not an island.  It was news to me! Don’t judge my public school education. They’d already taken geography out the requirements by the time middle school rolled around. You can actually drive straight to the United States, non-stop if you’d prefer. If you’ve got about 2 weeks worth of free time that is. I opted for a JetBlue 2.5 hour flight out of Fort Lauderdale airport instead.  This lush, green country with over 800 miles of coastline between the Pacific and Caribbean coasts boasts seven provinces.  Our home base was in Alajuela.  The Ticos (men) and Ticas (women) in this country live among 4.5 million of their brethren and claim one of the highest life expectancies in the world.  That’s enough of Google. Do your own homework from here on out.

You gain two hours of time, morning light is around 5:15am, and dark is around 5:30pm/6pm.  There is a five months dry season and an “Indian” summer here. Summer storms and showers are the norm on any given day.  The mountainous regions meet the low hanging clouds.  It’s the first thing you notice on your drive from San Jose’s Airport. Shouts out to my hubster for dropping me off at the airport with a tight hug and a prayer.

Side bar: Get you man who is happy in your happiness and doesn’t hate on your shine. Traveling as one half of the Gervais Crew is not new to us and I love how he can be somewhere living his entire best life while I’m somewhere living mine equally. We believe in equity in all things in this marriage and that means being apart to remain together. When all is said and done, absence truly makes for fonder hearts.

My upcoming blog entries about this trip will highlight the randomness of traveling and the sights and sounds of what I’ve experienced while here in Costa Rica.

Travel Warning: Costa Rica is not playing with ya’ll! So all you anti-maskers who don’t like to wash your hands—stay home. Visit your backyard for vacation.

A King Has Fallen

My inner child welcomed and celebrated the Kingdom of Wakanda. A fantastical place where onyx-hued men and women lived and breathed in freedom.

Where women fought alongside their men as fellow warriors and the love of science and math was the norm rather than the exception.

In 2016, Prince T’Challa made his first appearance in Captain America Civil War (the year of Boseman’s diagnosis).

In January, 2018, we the citizens of Wakanda in full regalia celebrated our blackness like no other time in the history of movies. We adorned ourselves in wardrobes worthy of our ancestors and our heritage.

We saw ourselves in the reality of our blackness and greatness and not the as what white washed archeologists have persisted in having us think we have been over the centuries.

We knew this Wakanda story-telling was but the tip of the spear in that AFRICAN people across the ages contributed greatly to humanity; understanding now more than ever it is the biggest kept secret of mankind.

We flexed and crossed our arms in solidarity as only true citizens of Wakanda should. Fists closed across our chests in strength and power. Chins elevated with piercing eyes that spoke volumes. We are here. We are not going anywhere. We are not just woke, we are alive and breathing. And now more than ever—WE SEE YOU.

Chadwick Boseman’s pastor said he prayed for this role for years. Boseman had a choice to either sit aside in the midst of his cancer diagnosis or press forward.

We are thankful that he chose the latter.

We are thankful for him and so many others who reach that bump in the road of suffering and elect to march on. We are thankful for him and so many others who regard our bodies as something to be obedient to our mind and our willpower.

I imagine Boseman’s strength was renewed daily to carry on the mantle of his earthly assignment. To bring forth movies where we saw ourselves not as a stooped down sojourner in a land that didn’t belong to us but rather as a cocky, intelligent, self-confident black man in a land that didn’t belong to us—but should.

I imagine he mounted up on eagle wings for each challenge that came his way. Each cancer treatment each doctor’s report met with prayers and fortitude. I imagine he continued to run to keep weariness at bay and walked because he refused to faint.

I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again. It is okay to grieve the loss of someone you’ve never met. It is what makes you human.

All of Wakanda grieves today. Our king has fallen.

COVID-19 And Your Mental Health

At the onset, we were dancing at DJ parties, hobnobbing with the rich and famous and getting a peek into their homes. The second week we were hopped up lol-ing on ‘Rona memes. In the third week, kids were back in school and the “we are not okay” parent posts started up. Then the Zoom conference hilarities began. It was kosher until the micro managers of our world figured out how to track attendees. Then they realized you were badmouthing them on the chat. It was all fun and games until.

Now we are all entrenched in the regimens of this unfamiliar existence in homes that might not allow for six feet of anything. Playing musical chairs with where each person’s home office is going to be for the day. Poor wifi connections stretched to the gills. Smart TVs and tablets vying for the ‘innanet’ juice. Let’s not talk about who’s essential and whose not!

Meanwhile you’ve began to see mobile hospitals being built and mass graves being dug. Your once stoic and even keeled medical professional friends are calling you whispering words of dire warning. They are also posting (to sometimes deaf ears and blind eyes) that we all stay our [insert expletive] in the house. Some of us listen. Most of us don’t.

Now they’re saying black folks are dying like they’ve never died before. Suddenly, someone telling us a group of people (our own peoples) are at a higher risk than others serves as the cold water to our face. It is sobering and sad. We can’t seem to catch a break. Newsflash! Wakanda does not exist and there is no Vibranium coming to save us!

I took a reluctant trip to the grocery store this week. Walked in twice because I’d forgotten something the first go round. Walked back out and saw a line of folks stretched to the end of the building. It struck me then, yep this is for real. I found myself breathing a bit more erratic. Suddenly my mask felt like somebody’s hand over my face. I had to just give myself a minute and practice what I’m always preaching to my clients. Breathe girl. Greater is He that is within me. Breathe. Breathe. Breath work and affirmations. I’m also willing to bet some toilet paper and bleach there are others shook to their core; using both healthy and “suspect” coping skills to just get through in this season. Netflix, wine and weed will only go so far good people.

I’ve gotten calls from a local EAP personnel asking if I was still open for business. “Delphine, right now it’s calm but we anticipate that folks are going to be calling you,” he said. They’ve already started. Some of you find it hard to admit that right about now you don’t like your kids. Some of you realize the farce of the marriage you kept together with spit and social media posts is coming unglued. Some of you are just now coming to grips with the darkness of your mind and it scares you to admit that you are not happy with yourself. Some of you have experienced death at your door. You are quarantined in your home while your husband of many years or the father you barely knew, lay dying in a hospital. Alone.

Black folks this message rightchea is JUST FOR YOU. Don’t let other cultures beat you to the doctors and the therapists. Your body aching? If the bush teas and Mucinex hasn’t made it better, seek medical attention. You’re dying by large numbers in this season. You are also dying quietly in your mind.

Here’s what myself and many of my mental health colleagues would like for you to remember:

• You are not alone.
• You don’t have to do any of this alone.
• We are in this together.
• Someone is willing to hear you speak your truth.
• There is no shame in admitting you’re coming undone.
• Jesus and therapy are not mutually exclusive.

Seek a qualified mental health professional. Do not be afraid to tell the insurance company that you want someone who looks like you, knows of your culture, speaks your language or has a particular skill set. Therapists are not created equal. We each have our niche and we each identify with specific skill sets. The insurance companies have our demographics on file. You are the consumer. Ask for what you want. Don’t stutter.