Thankful for Queen Bey

IF it’s one thing Queen Bey teaches us in her last Rendition of “The Lion King” it’s that forgivness is key. That’s a sentiment that we preach today far more than we practice. It’s harder to let go of hurt than it is to revel in the pain. Yet if our hearts knew forgiveness as easily as it knew shame or guilt, Love would be far more easy to come by.

Let me tell you a story.

A couple of months ago I asked my family to get together for a family meeting. I wanted to see if anyone was willing to donate their creative time to me, to help make my (and theirs!) dreams come true. I also don’t like to meet new people, so this was all the perfect plan in my mind. Get my sister to be my creative director, get my brother to be my graphic designer. You know, a family shot.

We were going to get together to eat, chat a bit and then ease into my well worked on presentation. As a disclaimer, I did ask my Dad to try to keep my family at a temperamental 5, for if you knew my family you knew we were always somewhere around 8 and 9 in tone and shouting level. He told me he would keep them all in check. I began with an introduction for the pitch, as most pitches began and to my dismay, before I even finished my full idea my brother instantly started to speak over me as if I wasn’t talking at all. “Oh my God, how long do we have to listen to this.” Can you believe it? I couldn’t. How dare he. It was the one time I asked for the floor and he couldn’t give it to me. It was enough to drive me mad. In fact, it did drive me mad.

I showed up the next day posing as “Frank” the character I thought I’d be sharing with my family to invest in. See the idea was simple, I had only wanted to build a following with content that focused on Frank interactions, honest interactions and advice. I’ll admit, it wasn’t pretty the day I “unleashed Frank”. I tussled with my sister. For she used to be such a tough woman, and America’s rules had halted her fire. I brutally crushed my talkative brother with a game of Russian roulette and wits whilst in the car on the way to my house. He was always the loudest, talking about something that made absolutely no sense. I shut that down quickly. I called my mother out her name 🤦🏾‍♀️, she’s always such a pushover and allows people to run all over her. Am I proud of these actions? No! I was acting crazy. But I told them I was a world class actor and no one believed me. I had to show them, they just needed to see me in action.

What happened next will really do you in. They locked me in a mental institution. Well, what did I expect? You act crazy, you get involuntarily committed to an institution. Not once, but twice, under the guise that my Dad was taking me to buy food. Cruel fate tempted by my costly krptonite. The lying probably hurt me the most; who can’t just speak to someone they claim they love honestly? Why was it such an issue that I did it? Why would it end with me here.

Yet I digress, the food in the mental institution wasn’t awful. Not many selections if you committed to a diet of just grilled items, rather than the daily specials they offered. The conversation was lively, testimonies of anger and confusion of how family members put these folks in mental lockdown hell. The people, in true need of more than just therapy. I met this one lady who thought she was God. She didn’t act like God, she acted like a hype man for 8 hours out the day and then a melancholy younger sister the other 8. Once we were in a group, and she got upset because I dared to debate the fact that Hogwarts was in Great Britain. According to google it was in Scotland, but again, I digress. Who was I to argue with this woman who so apparently needed a friend.

I saw myself in this 43-year-old woman who didn’t know which way was up or down. In fact, I saw myself and my own temperament in several of the patients and the point I was so vividly trying to prove just didn’t matter anymore. I wanted to be home in time for thanksgiving. I wanted my family to know I wasn’t crazy. I didn’t deserve this. I wanted some real food, dammit.

So I finally was released back into the wild, and have been trying rather hard to get reacquainted with life as I know it. It’s as if some pure, innocent part of me has laid to rest, and will never return. I’m having a difficult time speaking to my family, even being in the same room as them. Speaking to my boyfriend, having intimate time alone with him, playing with my daughter; life has been tainted in a way that I have to fight my way back from.

It starts with forgiveness. It starts with speaking frankly, yes, but doing so with love in our hearts. If Beyoncé taught me anything it’s that we are all cut from the same cloth. A part of each other. Sometimes, when family shows support through worry, judgement, concern and just plain rudeness, it’s because this is how they’ve been showed to support. We cannot hold each other accountable because we love each other differently, just how we would like to communicate that love; and how we would like love to be reciprocated.

Queen Bey teaches patience, love, honor, loyalty. That jealousy and hate, will only drive us deeper into negative oppression. We don’t choose who God puts in our lives, but it’s our job to love them unconditionally anyway. The way they are. The way anyone deserves to be loved. I love my family. Hell, I love everyone. My heart is an abundance of love and I can’t help but leak it all over the place. No matter how much they will never understand who I am. Or where I’m trying to go. Love knows no bounds. I love you family, keep loving me like you do.

And Bey, keep healing through music. Your work, is working girl. So werk it, girl!