Roots & Hope

Soulful Reflections on Faith, Healing, and Young Adulting

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Since Feb. 2016, I’ve encouraged myself and others on this honest blog, Roots and Hope. I love to share my heart about faith, mental health, & young adulting.
  • True Life: My Blue Jeans Don’t Fit Me

    True Life: My Blue Jeans Don’t Fit Me

    I have almost never owned a pair of properly fitting jeans. I only remember one magic pair that I had from Beyoncé’s House of Deréon line (throwback!). Besides that memory, my jeans always make the laundry list of no-no’s. They’re either:

    • Too long that they scrunch up around my ankles
    • Too short that said ankles are unintentionally exposed, which is the worst when I’m ashy
    • Too big that belts are miracle workers (plus, if I sit down, they give me that “baggy crotch” look)
    • Or, too tight that my eczema-prone legs itch out of anger

    I only wish that universally fitting jeans were a reality, like in Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants. While in the fitting room, I usually try on about ten jeans before settling for anything functional. At least they keep my legs warm. 

    I am still optimistic that one day, I’ll find cute, comfortable, and ride-or-die denim.

    Yet, I’m trying to learn what all fits me as a person too. To walk in my own light, be fulfilled by God’s love, and experience more in life than functioning in insecurity.

    May you experience the love of Christ, though it is too great to understand fully. Then you will be made complete with all the fullness of life and power that comes from God.
    Ephesians 3:19 NLT

    I want to refuse to settle for comparison. To confront even loneliness as an opportunity for self-discovery. 

    What if I began to accept the unique qualities about myself that I’ve been ashamed to wear? Even if they’re not everyone else’s style, my nerdiness, my quiet, my vulnerability, my excitement, my kindness, my skin, my hair, and all my likes and dislikes fit me. My story fits me alone.

    Perhaps, God can even use the weaknesses that stain me like mustard on a white Tee.

    We now have this light shining in our hearts, but we ourselves are like fragile clay jars containing this great treasure. This makes it clear that our great power is from God, not from ourselves.
    2 Corinthians 4:7 NLT

    What fits you?

    P.S. If you have a go-to store for magic jeans, please help me! 😂

     

  • Faith over FOMO: Social Media Hiatus

    Faith over FOMO: Social Media Hiatus

    I am at a bonfire for young adults at my church. Minutes before, I drove down McNichols, speaking to God as if he were somehow chilling in the passenger seat with 80 degrees of sunshine pouring on his face. I pleaded that he would help me to conquer anxiety and be myself.

    I am sitting in my green lawn chair with a cup holder that was made too shallow. Deep in my thoughts, I wonder if my prayer was inadequate. My eyes are brown magnifying glasses. They see the glitches, the imperfections on the surface of my skin and inside the substance of what I have to offer. Beyond me, everyone else looks like more – the sum of adequacy: cool, unawkward, funny, enough.

    My hands are trembling. Eating while anxious is an art. I learned that on my first date ever. I am sitting here, lifting my fork slowly to eat seasoned side-dishes of rice and green beans. I don’t look at my phone. I’ve never been good at hiding my anxiety at social events by gazing at a screen. Besides, I’m not on social media anyway. Though I am sitting here, I am exhausted from running miles in my mind. Does anyone notice?

    It turns out that you do. You help me.

    I drink a sip of water and I turn my head. I open my mouth and I speak. I ask the people near me genuine questions. I offer a bit of honesty about myself. I smile. I speak some more. I play. I observe. I listen. I survive.

    I leave the bonfire, grateful that you, my Dad, will never leave me cold. That you’ll help an anxious, people-loving introvert, like me, through any situation.

    You notice me and choose to know me. That is sufficient. It turns out that everything is going to be okay.

    °°°

    In a panic, I deactivated my Instagram account and logged out of Facebook. Just a few hours earlier, I had shared photos from a successful day with my kids at work. I was so proud to help them write poetry and share their experiences. One of my students also surprised me after researching my name and finding a humorous, heartwarming definition.

    Overwhelmed with happiness, I spent a few minutes crafting a meaningful Instagram caption and uploading my Android-quality pics. Pure as my Instagram post may have seemed, it was an incomplete story. While I was excited about my kids, I was equally hungry to be validated. To earn more likes than I received. To read affirming comments about the work that I am choosing to do. I was eager to grasp fulfillment from moments I didn’t know how to celebrate without digital praise.

    To intensify things, I imagined that some scrollers saw my photos and rolled their eyes. “Why is she bragging?”, they must have thought. Fear and insecurity-ridden, I ultimately deleted my post and anxiously resolved to peace out of social media, yet again.

    It has been two weeks since I “unplugged” after doing so multiple times before. In retrospect, my boundaries with social media were still unhealthy. I realized that I was choosing to use my sacred, unpromised time unwisely. More than I seeked God, I seeked approval from people. More than I meditated on my blessings and passions, I compared myself. I consumed “likes” like they were my daily bread, even though they were just empty calories.

    Sometimes, I fear that I am missing out on so many inspirational posts, funny memes, milestone announcements, news updates, and of course, opportunities to showcase glimpses of my life. Presently though, my mental, emotional, and spiritual health take precedence over all those possibilities. I am being intentional about writing more, especially in my gratitude journal, embracing vulnerability while facing some fears, and learning to truly center my relationship with God. With time, I will prayerfully consider how to best re-engage social media. For now, I’ll miss out.

  • Black Girl, Shine

    Black Girl, Shine

    I am learning how to accept

    that taking up space

    in the rooms that I enter

    can be nourishing

    and generous

    and okay.

    I am learning how to practice

    the balance between

    honoring my gift of listening

    and offering others

    my rumble of laughter

    with rambles of reflections

    about dreams, annoyances, and mundane things.

    And I am learning how to respect

    both the beauty of being still

    and the radiance of moving and dancing through life,

    not hungry for any permission.

  • Happiness

    Happiness

    Happiness has a home inside me

    And feels like laughter lounging on the couch of my stomach,

    Peace reclining on the rocking chair of my porch,

    Pain hidden in the forgotten drawer of batteries, receipts, and ketchup packets,

    Youthfulness jumping underneath my skin, defying time.

  • Poem (Untitled)

    Poem (Untitled)

    My birth certificate claims that I was just a ‘90s kid,

    Born in the middle of a freezing Detroit night.

    But didn’t it know that my heart already had a beat?

    Back when afros sheened with Black, unashamed glory,

    Back when dancers moved on magical platforms

    that elevated them to skyscraper heights,

    Back when Stevie Wonder crafted masterpieces

    With the ease of stick figures,

    Back when Minnie Riperton sang lullabies that magically awakened,

    Back when Al Green cooked steaming grits with his voice,

    Back when Marvin Gaye wrote an anthology,

    Unbounded by the limits of time,

    Back when Earth, Wind, and Fire inhaled life into their art,

    I promise you,

    I was alive.

  • If Anxiety Were Alive

    If Anxiety Were Alive

    Anxiety is the older chatty woman

    who sits next to you on the plane.

    She didn’t check any baggage,

    or even bring a carry-on.

    She only carries an agenda with names.

     

    Anxiety talks over the flight attendant’s famous speech

    just to talk at you.

    She could care less about reminding you

    to first put on your oxygen mask

    And breathe

    before helping anyone else.

     

    Anxiety sits beside you

    and isn’t shy about interrupting your book or postponing your nap.

    She interviews you about your dreams and hopes,

    only to respond with worst case scenarios.

    She brags that she has made a living off of keeping people safe and comfortable.

     

    Anxiety is the older chatty woman

    Who sits next to you on the plane,

    Whose words almost leave you with more baggage than you had before,

    Whose words almost stop you from soaring off the ground,

    Whose words almost convince you that the wings lifting you are not enough,

    but she, anxiety, never succeeds at ending your journey.

     

    With words that sound smart but hold nothing,

    She only talks on and on.

  • 5 Reasons Why I Love Going to Therapy

    5 Reasons Why I Love Going to Therapy

    I first went to therapy on a short-term basis as a sophomore in college. Since February 2017, I have consistently been going to therapy to seek help with facing anxiety and depression. As Mental Health Month comes to a close, I am excited to share these 5 reasons why therapy is a blessing in my life:

    1. I am learning how to be kinder to myself. Growing up, being an academic high-achiever defined me. I found validation on my report cards, test scores, and award certificates. Even though I was a shy kid, classmates knew me because I was “smart”. My intelligence felt like my only area of confidence. I struggled whenever I fell short of perfection. As an adult, it’s still been a process to accept that I’m loved and loveable even though I’m imperfect. Therapy has taught me a lot about recognizing and overcoming shame. It is still teaching me to speak more kindly to myself after experiencing moments that feel like setbacks.
    2. I can talk to a non-judgmental professional. I am more of a listener than a talker. In therapy, I get to talk about myself a lot, which is sometimes uncomfortable. However, it is encouraging to have a supportive professional ask me reflective questions, commend me for being vulnerable, share useful tools, and guide me toward becoming more confident.
    3. I get homework (action steps to take in between sessions). My therapist incorporates books into her counseling approach. As an enthusiastic reader, I love reading books that are designed for personal growth. Most recently, I read Boundaries by Dr. Henry Cloud and Dr. John Townsend. That book was amazing! I am both nervous and eager to start setting healthier boundaries in my life. Along with book recommendations, my homework might include journaling about a specific prompt, taking a small step toward facing a fear, or creating an inspiring music playlist.
    4. I found a therapist who is a great match for me. It is difficult to embrace vulnerability and grow with a therapist that isn’t right for you. I found my current therapist by using the database on Psychology Today’s website. On there, you can tailor your search for therapists by filtering for preferences, like cultural background, location, insurance coverage, and areas of specialty. I appreciate that my therapist is a Black woman who understands more about my identity. She also incorporates spirituality and faith into her work, which is a major part of my journey. In the past, I have worked with a couple of other therapists who have also positively impacted my life. Some of them didn’t share my cultural background, but all offered something that helped me progress at the time.
    5. I am choosing to do something healthy and empowering for myself. Therapy is one of the avenues that is gradually helping me to love and treat myself better. It is something that I chose to do for myself despite initial fears about what people would think of me. It is helping me to be my best self, show up more freely and authentically, and love others better as a result.

    If you are thinking about giving therapy a try, please know that you are not alone! I am learning about more and more people of many backgrounds who are getting professional help. It is nothing short of brave.

    Lastly, if you are a Black woman, here are a few resources that have helped me:

  • The Beauty of a Good Day

    The Beauty of a Good Day

    Good days remind me that the hard days eventually pass away.

    Don’t give up.

  • Social Anxiety: Telling Myself a New Story

    Social Anxiety: Telling Myself a New Story

    “Because true belonging only happens when we present our authentic, imperfect selves to the world, our sense of belonging can never be greater than our level of self-acceptance.” -Brene Brown

    I am on an incredibly difficult journey of learning to accept myself. These past few days have been mentally and emotionally overwhelming. I am trying to dig myself out of shame. To accept grace and kindness although I am imperfect and dealing with long-term struggles. Battles that show up, blow up my mind, and knock the peace out of me.

    It feels embarrassing for me to admit, but social anxiety is like a beast in my life. It doesn’t stop me from leaving the house and taking care of my responsibilities. It doesn’t prevent me from showing up to events and special occasions. It doesn’t diminish my deep-seated desire to love and connect with others freely.

    Yet, social anxiety succeeds at keeping me from being present and enjoying life as much as I could. It hinders me from feeling secure in my relationships with family and friends. It drives me to ruminate on every “stupid” or “awkward” thing I said or did, didn’t say or didn’t do, during a social gathering or ordinary conversation for days after. This fight in my mind ensures that experienced wallflower stays on my resume. And, what feels even worst is holding back tears in the presence of others, hoping that no one notices the negative thoughts choking me.

    It is inexplicably frustrating to struggle with something over and over again. To read the inspiring books. To put myself out there. To pray. And to keep trying, over and over, only to still be triggered, yet again. It exhausts me. It hurts in a way that I am afraid to keep “bothering” my support system about.

    I am convinced that there is no way I would have made this far…no way I would still be persevering without something bigger keeping me through every battle. For the love of God, I don’t have to be flawless. I can show up as myself without worrying about what my creator thinks of me. How magnificent would life be if I responded to every invitation, knowing that I already have the approval that matters most? An approval I could never earn.

    Lately, I’ve been reminded to tell myself a new story that will propel me forward. So, here’s a piece of what I have to say.

    “My name is Jessica. I love people, and I am facing a tough battle with social anxiety, a long-time fear of what others think of me. I am still here, and I am still learning how to overcome. One day, my struggle will become the story that helps someone else. This pain won’t last forever, and it isn’t a waste of time.”

  • What Avengers: Endgame Reminded Me About Life

    What Avengers: Endgame Reminded Me About Life

    Last night, I left work with a mission: “See Avengers: Endgame“. I Google mapped the nearest reclining-seat movie theater with a suitable showtime. After a twenty-five minute drive in moderate rain, I made it!

    I am not a superhero/comic-book fanatic and know-it-all. Not even close. Over the past couple of years though, I’ve seen a nice chunk of the Marvel films. The hype for this movie was too overwhelming though! I couldn’t wait any longer to see what it would be  about.

    Feeling fancy and stuffed from my hand-delivered pizza, I easily sat through the three-hour movie. Without giving too much away, I thought Endgame was amazing. The non-stop “grab your attention” story line, the acting, and time-travel (one of my favorite sci-fi phenomena) were all great elements. Above everything though, Endgame brought me to tears in my cushioned seat. It compelled me to reflect on my humanity. Here are a couple of my reflections:

    • I can be alone and feel alive. I came as a party of 1 to the movies. I often go on solo movie trips, but this time around, I felt so happy. It was nice to just take myself on a date and see really good cinema. I laughed hard, I jumped (don’t ask me why), and I cried (I wiped my tears with pizza-greased napkins). It’s possible to feel present and real in the company of loved ones and just as much so in solitude, in the background of strangers’ lives. Both types of moments can be sacred.
    • I won’t be alive forever. Duh, but I weirdly thought about my grandma who passed away when I was two years old. I thought about how she went to concerts, she saw great movies, and she fully experienced so much. She once felt hot leather on her driver’s seat during a summer’s day. She had her heart broken before, I can imagine. She enjoyed the taste of her favorite meal as a girl in Arkansas. Her life’s material was made of many ordinary, yet purposeful moments. Endgame reminded me that I won’t always be here, but I matter today, and long after. That the ordinary moments no one else sees can still feel extraordinary. That this earth will have felt the walk of my shoes, regardless.

    Even if you’re not a Marvel or superhero fan, give Endgame a try. It might make you think about a thing or two and feel quietly, yet superbly alive.