Embodying Sovereignty
The book birthing process is truly underway, and it's not without its tender spots. Both fertile soils and growing pains.
Sacrifice and offerings while midwifing the person you are being called to be, while grieving what you once knew to be true about the world, your relationships, and yourself, is hard. I can’t tell you whether it’s a combination of all the different transits, or something finally coming together for me amid the track changes of the book.
What I can tell you is that I didn’t think that folks would respond the way that they did to a longer form offering. Particularly one with a higher price tag. Juju Bae, who you should definitely tap into if you aren’t already, spoke about it on YouTube live about how so many practitioners, spiritualists, and healers often undercharge for their services. Not because of a lack of faith or courage, but because we don’t want to price anyone out who really needs support. That has been one of my guiding principles, especially coming from the social-justice and community organizing scene of my college days, since that era of my life.
What a lot of us, especially Black folks, are realizing is that in these times, we have to ensure that we honor ourselves fully by allowing ourselves to receive just as much as we give. This was and is a core vibe of the sibling project of AIT, Who Heals the Healer. Ironically enough, it’s on a bit of a hiatus, as while I continue to want to pass that baton to someone who has full capacity so that I may be received in that container, that person or crew of people hasn’t fully manifested yet. (I’m open to suggestions on that, by the way, as I see that theme reappearing often.)
In any case, the synergy between these two works, which were started in the fever dream that was 2018, complete with going into debt, scraping together some funds, to launch the conference and series of the same name, and alongside teaching AIT and a mini-residency, taught me valuable lessons on the perception of my work. Because of that era, I still get people eight years later who think that all of those projects were fully-funded because of the level of care and personal investment that I had placed into them. In hindsight, it was worth it several times over, because it started the road that the book appeared on. But it also makes it a bit harder to fundraise or be supported monetarily, even though my pitch is strong. That perception of high-quality sustained work, or being a strong, hyper-independent Black woman that doesn’t need help, is a distortion that I cannot afford to let stand.
I realize now that this time was laying the groundwork for the speed at which folks would say yes to me bringing back a course. Loudly so. Because I had been sowing seeds and tending to that soil for a very long time, with success that went beyond a dollar amount. Now, as I’m navigating being accessible and sustaining myself, I think back to any and every time I didn’t allow myself to receive more support. Structure. Care.
Not because I didn’t want it - but because I put it off. Thought that I would get to it later. Well, take a dead-end job laying you off, add abundant time, take away other excuses, and what do you get? Spaciousness. Room to breathe life into both yourself and how you want to move through the new (old) world. In this liminal space, I found a reminder from 2018 me, and her word of the year. I was attending the Allied Media Conference as a part of a thoughtfully designed contingent of organizers, called Bridges to the Brave. There was a workshop where we took polaroids and made ourselves into a pocket tarot card. My was titled, Embodied, and read:
Your first altar is your body. In what ways are you adorning it? Cleansing it? Consider what offerings and blessings are required of yourself, by yourself, and radiate outwards.
I share this reflection to name that the process of becoming and birthing the me that I need to be is moving me towards accepting support and resources in spots that are still tender. Tender because we know all too well what it’s like to be ignored, dismissed, overlooked, or excluded. In this moment of my life where every literal dollar counts, I realize that I’ve already tapped into what so many of my ancestors before me have done - made a road when there weren’t any to be found. Started pre-schools, owned stores, tended the railroads, moved across oceans, served as granny midwives, owned juke joints, and found ways to rebuild when trouble came.
So while I may grieve the support that I did not receive, and pour one out for the version of myself that didn’t ask for help, joy in the mourning comes through knowing that it will be alright. The sacrifice here is a way of being that can’t exist where I’m going.
If you’re reading this and want to explore ancestral healing in the container that I have reimagined, you’ll want to move quickly! Hope to see you there.
