Recently, I had the extreme pleasure of attending the 2023 Motown Experience: Birth & Breastfeeding Conference hosted by the Black Mothers' Breastfeeding Association in Detroit, MI.
Ci Ci's blog
So, I don't know if you know That I've been at this social media, advocacy thing for a little minute now. Probably bout, what, like 4 or 5 years or something like that? However long ago it was, I found social media at a time that my body only knew one human as child... My Zion And I, somehow, had just began realizing the power of my voice. Well, from some time over there – To the moment that I write this. SO much has happened. I mean, I done spoke on a few national and international stages... Done sat in rooms that that motherfucker Imposta told me I didn't belong in... Hell, one time I even...
Never did I ever imagine that *I* would be standing in ANYbody's conference presenting ANYthing to some nurses. And here we are. This year's Association of Nurses in AIDS Care (ANAC) Conference was held in Tampa, Florida, November 17-19th and what a wonderful experience this was!
Tip: Can't nobody take your voice. It's yours. I mean, people always have the choice of ignoring you. But that doesn't mean shut up.
Are you stupid? Or are you dumb? What in the hell would possess you to breastfeed a new, precious, innocent life? Do you hate her or something?
This gone sound crazy. But I don't know how to be no woman. I mean, especially not good enough to teach another woman how to do it. I just be doing shit. ... trying on different versions of myself. ... trial and error. ... getting back up again. Hell. Till this day, I'm still on YouTube tryna figure out how to do my eye makeup and whatever. I don't do no hair. And I'm not all into the girly shit for real. So, what I'm supposed to teach somebody? God. You play all day. It's cool tho. I trust You. But look, all I know how to teach her is: How to squat on a public toilet. I gots that one. I will...
"Ciarra. Just sit your ass down and write." ... this is really how I be talking to myself. Cus I'm stubborn. And, apparently that soft shit don't work with me. You gotta get indignant. Yell a little bit. Not too much though. Cus imma cry. But I will always come up with an excuse. Look for another way to serve yet another person. So that by the time it's time to address what I need to do for me – I'm tired. And we all have to go to sleep. That's justifiable, right?! So whatever. I will ignore the clothes on the floor and instead pour into here. I will not respond to that call right now because...
I called Al-Anon. In tears. Ugly, snotty, gasping for air type ass tears. The lady on the other end of the line was patient as I struggled to ask for where the meetings be at. Knowing good, damned well I could have probably Googled the time and locations myself. But I just needed somebody to hear me. I needed someone to hear my pain and understand. I really wanted her to give me all of the solutions that had worked for other people. The ingredients to the magic potion. Or the words to the prayer. That makes a loved one stop using and abusing drugs. I mean, I ain’t ask her for all of this. But...
12 years, 10 months. Approximately 4,687.27 days. A few drug regimens. Stigmatizing traumas. A HIV- negative child. What feels like 1,000 and 1 doctor's appointments. 502 stabs to my left arm. Because that's where my good veins are at. Rejection. Lonely, tear-filled nights. And I'm STILL not a long-term survivor of HIV. Hell, and I've had it too damn long and am too experienced at this shit to be considered newly diagnosed. So here I sit. Somewhere in the middle. With the other people who have been living around a decade with this virus. A generation of people living and thriving with this...
I dunno. Yay February!?! These short 28 days of Black History! A time when the world tries to act like they actually give a damn about Black people.