I feel honored to participate in this year's One Minute for Mental Health campaign as part of Mental Health Awareness Month!

Anyone who knows me personally or follows my work knows how much mental health is a central part of my life. I feel fortunate to have the opportunity to share that message within this platform.

Thank you to Lizzie Schooler and Reggie Wideman for the opportunity to talk about something many of us grapple with and encounter daily: feeling like we have to say we're OK when we're far from it.

Please feel free to share your thoughts below. Let's talk about it!

On Cis Men, My Father, and Self-Regulation

As a cisgender man who has learned and continues to learn ways to self-regulate and practice mindfulness in a world that constantly attacks my intersectionality, let me say that I am EXHAUSTED with dealing with cisgender men who refuse to learn how to self-regulate and the apologists in their lives who coddle them and defend their toxicity. Where? At work, in the community, everywhere. I’m exhausted with this nonsense. And I’m exhausted because I’ve been dealing with this and fighting against how effortless it is to fall into this toxic and dangerous societally structured complacency my entire life in what feels like a losing battle.

I grew up with a father with no self-regulation skills who could not take in feedback or differing perspectives outside his own. He couldn’t take someone holding him accountable for his actions. He was not in touch with his feelings, emotions, or mental states, and we all suffered. My mother indulged him and defended his actions too many times, leaving my siblings and me to live in a home with a man who was constantly angry and lashing out at all of us at volume twenty over things as simple as taking out the trash. I left home at 16 because I was tired of dealing with his energy and constant threats of violence over every little thing. I’ve spent my entire adult life deprogramming myself so that I would not be a man like my father, only to find myself in a profession that gives me nothing but “opportunities” to protect and support people who have to work and live with men like my father.

And so many of y’all are like my father in how oblivious or uncaring you are about how harmful your unhealthiness is to those around you in all aspects of your life.

I’m tired of it, y’all. I'm tired of conversing with men who push back against the notion of being healthier and place the burden of their mental and emotional well-being on everyone else in their lives. I’m tired of cis men talking down to me or treating me like I’m “not man enough” because I lead with empathy and concern, even if I’m calling them in over their actions and impacts while they continue scaring everyone in their lives at least once a day. And I'm tired of how often these conversations and situations have white cis men at the center of the storm, placing themselves in the victim role while victimizing others.

We need legitimate accountability like yesterday for all cis men, melanin or none. And that accountability has to start with cis men holding themselves and other cis men accountable, followed by a dismantling of the codependence and ingrained toxicity of people who defend cis men's unwillingness to be more mentally and emotionally healthy as acceptable and “not a big deal” even when it puts them in danger.

Cis men: it is not OK to lash out at everyone and everything because you're having a "bad day" or had an interaction this morning that didn't stroke your ego or align with your narrow worldview of whose voice and opinions matter.

Cis men: it is not OK to escalate your voice and physical actions to threatening and possibly violent levels over any conversation or situation that doesn't go your way or leaves you feeling like you're being undervalued or your thoughts are disregarded. People have the right to disagree with you, not place you at the center of the universe, and expect you to be able to deal with not always getting your way or work to find some compromise. Do you know how many people and communities feel disregarded, undervalued, erased, and invisible and don't proceed to intimidate, scare, harm, or kill others? You need to get in touch with your emotional and mental centers just like everybody else.

Cis men: it is not OK for others to have to constantly share space with you, walking on eggshells because they feel that they have to be vigilant and tuned into trying to soothe and regulate you because you're unwilling to do this for yourself, and not burden others with your unwillingness to take care of your emotional and mental stability.

Cis men: you are not "victims of a changing world." If anything, you've been victimized by societal norms and familial systems from an archaic time that has bred you to believe that your behavior and unwillingness to regulate your anxiety, anger, and frustration in even the most mundane situations is somehow acceptably masculine and that being in touch with your mental and emotional health and well-being is considered the opposite. You've been victimized by the ingrained generational patriarchal belief that you don't have to change and that the evolving world should bend to your needs. But the victimhood in these matters ends there. It is up to you to learn and unlearn so that you can regulate, self-soothe, and not threaten others because cis men who don't have these skills threaten so many intersections and communities. At this point, the overwhelming number of cis men who have harmed or killed others because of the toxic societally accepted "norms" of masculinity is too astounding to ignore.

And if the cis man I'm describing is your husband, partner, father, son, or close friend? You owe it to them and yourself to stop defending their vitriol, hold them accountable, and unpack your codependence so you can be healthier too.

It doesn’t have to be this way today and cannot continue being this way in the future.

Little cis boys deserve better modeling and support around being mentally and emotionally healthier than their fathers, grandfathers, and uncles.

We all deserve this.

On Normalizing a New Normal

Normalize walking away from people and relationships that do not energize, elevate, comfort, or support you, your trauma, and your healing how you need them to.

Normalize walking away from people and relationships that let it be known, blatantly or subtly, that your focusing on your health and well-being is somehow an affront to their toxicity and how they want to use your shoulders to carry their trauma.

Normalize the understanding that blood may be thicker than water, but they are both liquids with the power to drown you, body and soul, and you deserve to remain undrowned.

Normalize that there is a thin line between codependence and helping and supporting those you love and that the line is so thin because, for many of us, it is a taut thread of generational and societal trauma that our families and friends are scared to tug on lest it unravels and leave us to face our traumas raw and unfiltered.

Normalize embodying that you are enough and deserve to rest, heal, and be surrounded by supportive people who care about you and your needs.

Normalize that all of the above-mentioned are not selfish thoughts.

Normalize a new normal.

We all deserve that.

Both And

Sometimes I have to remind myself that many of the people in the United States pushing for gun safety and banning Critical Race Theory while attacking trans and queer communities are people who have allowed their trauma and familial and community influences to hurt them on a deep level. And hurt people hurt people. I have to make sure I'm considering that hateful views and bigotry are ingrained and learned behaviors often fostered in people from a young age by their families and communities. I must be cognizant of the trauma we all carry and how that trauma manifests as malicious weapons, especially for those with power, privilege, and positionality. I must acknowledge how white supremacist ideologies and societal norms influence how people overtly and covertly wield hate.

But I never have to remind myself that none of the above are excuses or passes for people to be sh—-y, hateful, and harmful to others.

It's both and.

Yeah, hurt people tend to hurt others, especially when they have the power and opportunity to do so. But just because you're unwilling to confront and unpack your generational and societal trauma and familial influences doesn't mean you get to place the burden of your hurt on those your skewed beliefs deem appropriate to oppress.

I can hold out hope for your healing and still hold you accountable for the harm you cause. I can acknowledge your trauma and expect you to work on your sh— and improve.

I will simultaneously check you and ask somebody to pray for your soul.

It's both and.

Why?

Because even if you're a hate-filled human being, you're still human. You're still worthy of love and care, even if you think me and my people aren't. You're still worthy of healing and support, even if you think other communities aren't.

Even though you may hate my people and me, I don't hate you. Even though you hate people and communities who have done you no harm, I don’t hate you. Why? I'm practicing living in health and joy. Practicing hate to respond to the hatred of harmful people stuck in their trauma does nothing for anyone. No person who has lived in a cycle of trauma and hate has ever been joyful about life.

I ain’t got time for that. Life is short.

Real talk? I hope you get to that place at some point in your life where your hate and trauma aren't your driving forces for the sake of everyone your unresolved pain harms. I hope you get to the point where you can be accountable for your words and actions and acknowledge your pain and the pain you create.

In the meantime, I'mma ask one of my religious homies to pray for your soul while praying for me to have the serenity not to want to lay hands on you while you sport your MAGA hat and act like you’re disappointed in me because I checked yo’ ass and you thought I was "one of the good ones."

Hey, I’m human.

Both and.

2022: A (Personal) Year in Review

Image Description: A wooden table is adorned with green, yellow, and blue lights. The words “Happy New Year” are spelled out with Scrabble tiles. The year 2023 is displayed below them, each number carved out of white wood.

Sitting in my home on the last evening of 2022, I can't help but take a moment to step back and look at the year that was. 2022 was…interesting. Up, down, surreal, and interesting. For me, 2022 was not only my 40th year on Earth but one big ass learning experience.

2022 was a year of me trying to find my creative spark again while grappling with swallowing the hard pill of why my spark was gone.

2022 was the year that I began taking my mental and emotional health more seriously and learning how to process generational and personal trauma.

2022 was the year I started my lifelong journey of addressing codependence in my personal and professional lives.

2022 was the year I began learning about and recognizing how much harm codependence has caused me in relation to family members and co-workers who have not addressed their codependence.

2022 was the year that I decided to take a hiatus from being an in-house anti-racism trainer and facilitator for companies and organizations.

2022 was also the year that I decided to make that hiatus permanent once I realized how much better I felt not doing anti-racism work as an in-house employee with no autonomy or support.

2022 was the year that I had to sit with myself and mull over if I wanted to work in human resources anymore after realizing how my codependence was interconnected with how angry and powerless I've felt as an HR "professional."

2022 was the year that I began figuring out what being an empathetic, human-centered, boundary-oriented HR "professional" looked like and putting these lessons and ideas into action.

2022 was the year that becoming the HR "professional" I need to be to maintain my mental and emotional health and well-being was met with more jeers than cheers, not just from other HR "professionals" but many people in power in organizations I worked for.

2022 was the year that vitriolic emails, comments, and messages from HR "professionals" expressing their anger with me holding the field of Human Resources accountable for the harm that it perpetuates and upholds outweighed the "hate mail" I received from every other field.

2022 was the year that more Global Majority HR "professionals" and HR "professionals" of color tried to silence me, chastise me, and tell me to leave the field of HR "if I don't like it" than Global Majority folx from any other profession and occupation.

2022 was the year that white "professionals" got angry with me when I would no longer engage in "debates" with them or accept connection requests from them on LinkedIn and my social media channels. How angry did they get? So angry that a group of them collectively reported everything I posted for three weeks, intending to get me banned from multiple platforms for "hate speech." And they almost succeeded, too, with me having to have numerous discussions and go through various appeals with LinkedIn and Instagram safety personnel.

That's a lot of sh--, ain't it?

Real talk? Sure, all of the above happened this year. But I find myself on December 31 healthier than I have ever been. I'm happier. I've had more joy between sorrow and pain this year than I have in years, and that joy has outweighed the pain more than ever. Nothing's perfect. There's still a lot of work to continue doing to take care of myself and to continue healing. But even amid the healing and work ahead, I'm the best version of me I've ever been.

Sometimes you need a year of transformation and intention-setting to set up the next stage of your life. For me, 2022 was that year. If you're going to have a transformational year, having it be your fortieth year on Earth ain't a bad time for it to happen, y'know?

I hope that if you're reading this and 2022 was a struggle for you, there is a light at the end of that tunnel and hope on the horizon. I know it's not always easy to find that hope, to embrace joy amid pain, but I wish you nothing but forward progress in 2023. I hope you can do what you need to process the trauma and pain of 2022 and the years past and begin a new journey of health and joy in the coming year. And whatever your journey looks like, I hope you have people to help you when you stumble on the path because I know from experience that the path is full of rocky terrain.

Out with the old. In with the new. Auld Lang Syne. Drink responsibly—all that jazz. Make it home safe.

Here's to (hopefully) less B.S. and more joy, growth, and the energy to live as authentically as we can in a beautiful, ugly world.

Adios, 2022. Salud, 2023.