Self-Love Chronicles

You heard what they said. How could you forget? Those painful nasty words cut you deeply. “It’s just a joke,” they say conveniently. You take things too personally. You’re just imagining things. Sound familiar? You heard the snide remarks that were camouflaged as unsolicited advice. Their muffled laughter when you were down was undeniable. Your mistakes and missteps were the topic of brunch conversations. Your brightest moments were met with one-word emotionless halfcocked congratulatory texts. Whispers in the dark always seem to find their way back. They laughed nervously when you confronted them. They’re still around because it’s hard to let go of people who aren’t good for you and your mental health.

How do you find the courage to let go of people who continually gnaw at your self-worth? Damaging words have consequences, or at least they should. Setting and enforcing boundaries is an intimate act of self-love. Without boundaries, we’re just floating in the wind accepting whatever blows our way. You’re worth more than that. People who continually push the envelope should no longer have access to you. You know who they are.

A few years ago, I discovered a distant family member had made unsavory comments about me and my family. This person had a history of propping themselves up as a perpetual victim. If it weren’t about them they just simply weren’t happy or didn’t care at all. Often they were the author of confusion and confronting them usually made matters worse. I’ve helped this person out more times than I can count. It was exhausting maintaining a relationship with a person who only thought about themselves. Loving from a distance is an act of self-love as well.

Embrace the people in your life that continually show up. Water the relationships that bring out the best in you. May we each find the courage to protect our self-worth and energy this year. Self-love isn’t a fancy cliché it is a way of life.

Thoughts for the New Year

I blew a thick layer of dust off my writing desk well before dawn’s light. It’s been a long time; too long in fact. I’d always considered my writing desk a sanctuary of sorts. For months, I’d eluded that sanctuary. I ran my fingers along the edge of the desk as I processed my innermost thoughts. It was time to face the block that hampered me for months. Leading up to my daughter’s birth and several months after, I struggled to write anything meaningful. Each writing session ended in defeat, or so I thought.

I could hear my daughter’s coos from across the room. Her loving eyes were fixated on me. It was her genuine curiosity and gummy smile that fueled me— it gave me the reassurance I needed to continue my life’s work. Temporarily distracted by her newly discovered feet, I began to dig deep. What will this year represent? What do I want to accomplish? How will I impact my family?

Outside of my window, haze from the barrage of fireworks lingered in the desert sky. It’s become an unofficial symbol of a new year in the Valley of the Sun. Bright ideas, resolutions, and excitement for what was to come were certainly in the air. A new year brings a renewed focus and an unquenchable optimism that drives each of us to become the best version of ourselves. I no longer burden myself with an endless list of goals and aspirations. Several small compounded steps will ultimately get you where you want to go. I’ve chosen to keep life as simple as possible. Life is meant to be lived to the fullest without self-imposed pressures. It’s a beautiful experience despite its challenges. May we all reach the promised land of our deepest hopes and dreams.

Protecting Our Black Daughters

The heat is intense this time of the year in the valley. Although I’ve become accustomed to it, it still shocks my system from time to time. The summer months shift my routine a bit— it’s just too hot to do anything outside. Instead of long walks to clear my mind in the morning, I settle for intense rides on my peloton bike. This morning, I found myself in a reflective mood as I peddled. I recounted the events of the past few days; I couldn’t seem to shake Carlee Russell’s story. It’s been at the forefront of my mind. I tossed and turned the night before; I couldn’t stop thinking about it. I’m glad she’s been found safe, but there are many more who haven’t been brought home. It’s gut-wrenching.

In just a few short weeks, my beautiful little girl will be in my arms. My heart melts when I think of fatherhood. It’s an honor to father a little Black girl. I’ve done my best to prepare for this new journey. The elders in my life remind me that I’ll never quite be ready no matter what I do to prepare. Parenthood is an evolutionary experience. It’s surreal when I think about it sometimes. I often imagine playing with her. I wonder what our talks will be like as she grows up. There are days, like today when my joy is temporarily eclipsed by anxiety: the anxiety I bet most Black fathers feel when they think about the world their daughters will have to live in. When I think of what Black women face today, I feel a deep sense of anger and discomfort. I’m angry that our society does not care about our Black women and children.

I’ll do whatever it takes to protect my family; it’s a huge responsibility that I don’t take lightly. I’m not afraid to die for my family if it ever came to it. It’s our responsibility as men and fathers to do what we must to ensure the safety of our homes. This includes protecting our daughters from predators, dangerous family members, neighbors, and other forces that wish to harm to our daughters. We cannot afford to be asleep at the wheel.

On a daily basis, I’m confronted with social media posts from grief-stricken parents of missing Black girls who long for their return. Why must our world be so cruel and cold? As a father, I can’t fathom the thought of something happening to my little girl. Something has to change today. There are too many missing women and children out there. The world collectively doesn’t care about us, but we need to.

Line in the Sand

I find solace in quiet hours. I’m an early riser as well as a night owl; this has been the case for many years. I do my best work in these moments. There’s peace in the freedom of thought; I withhold judgment of myself. Tonight as I sit at my writing desk, I’ve set out to express my thoughts with intentionality and authenticity.

We’re in an interesting moment in history. Some would argue, the best of times. If our scope were solely on the advancement of technology, I would agree. However, we’re more complex than this. I often ponder what our world would be like today if social media hadn’t become so engrained in the culture. How would we process our deepest thoughts, intimate moments, and our life as a whole without the ability to share with great scale? Virility has become a drug. Attention-seeking behavior is the norm. Clicks and likes are the gold standard.

Has social media exposed a chink in our proverbial armor? Has our collective desire to be seen destroyed the development of critical thinking and authenticity? Where do we go from here as a world that’s deeply entrenched in cyberspace? Please understand, my intention is not to group all people within a single bucket. I’ve met so many wonderful people. To be able to share my writing with the world has been blissful. There are many people who use social media responsibly, but I’d be remiss to say the toxic aspects haven’t appeared to outweigh its benefits.

While social media has certainly expanded our ability to connect with others beyond our geographical boundaries amongst other positives, it has also introduced a host of issues that have changed the landscape of our world forever. Today it is too embedded in our society. I believe it has exposed and exploited our human weaknesses. What would our world be like if social media were to shut down for an entire year? In many regards, I believe it would introduce an opportunity for society to reset.

From tide pod challenges to eerily vulnerable moments shared with strangers, where should the line be drawn in the sand? I don’t believe much can be done now, we’re in too deep.

Today's Reading: There's Somethin' About Love: A Novel (Chapter 1)

In today’s reading, B.W. McKay reads Chapter 1 of There’s Somethin’ about Love: A Novel. To purchase a copy of the paperback or Kindle version please click here.

Moving at the Speed of Love

I opened the laptop to a blank page— the same blank page I’d unsuccessfully eluded for months. The backspace key had become my best friend as nothing I’d written felt good enough. To put it bluntly, I’ve been struggling with writing lately. My little girl has dominated my thoughts for months; I’m obsessed with her already. She’ll be making her debut soon. This period of my life has certainly been a gift that keeps on giving. From baby appointments to putting together my daughter’s rosey pink nursery: I’ve been floating on cloud nine. Life has been moving at the speed of love.

In my quiet time, I’ve been doing a lot of soul-searching. I’ve asked myself questions like: what will this new version of myself look like? Will I be a good father? Am I still a good writer? Have I been too hard on myself? It’s hard to focus when you can hardly catch your breath. It took the strength of Moses to string these words together. I’ve felt immense guilt when I think of all the days I hadn’t written a single meaningful word. My eyes are often drawn to the folder where my latest manuscript has been collecting a thick layer of dust. There’s a part of me that unrealistically believed nothing could slip, even in a transitory period of my life. I’ve fallen into this trap in the past.

I’ve written this piece for those who travel this road. Perhaps you’ve felt the same guilt recently. Maybe you haven’t been able to connect with your craft due to recent changes in your life. Transition, although beautiful, can still be tough to grapple with. I’ve been meditating on the word grace as of late. Grace is what we should extend to ourselves when we feel disconnected and unsure of how to move forward. If you’ve been hard on yourself lately, I kindly ask that you step back and give yourself permission to feel without judgment. When life moves at the speed of love, hold on and enjoy the ride. You’ll figure out how to move forward when the time is right. Enjoy the moment as it is. Everything will eventually fall into place.

Digging Deep Within: An Essay

I’ve been thinking a lot about my life as I do my best to prepare for the gift of fatherhood. As I sit here at my writing desk in the quiet of dawn, I’m processing my journey thus far. My life is beautiful today, but that certainly wasn’t always the case. There were some tough days along the way that I still think about from time to time. It’s interesting how such a joyous occasion could evoke such emotion.

For years I made excuses for the people I loved, even those who perpetually hurt me without remorse or an ounce of consideration. My church preached love without boundaries, reckless forgiveness, and reconciliation at the expense of your own well-being. I built my foundation on these damning principles. I thought it was my job to fix people. I shared the burden of my parents’ missteps. On the surface, it was hard to see they’d lost their way. The multiple evictions, fighting, and accusations of cheating rocked my family. When their toxicity finally bubbled to the surface, my world completely crumbled.

There wasn’t accountability, there was blaming. They fought each other with cannonballs as my sister and I watched from the battle-torn trenches. Caught in the crosshairs of their dysfunction, I felt powerless. Stone by stone, the walls of Jericho fell and all they could think about was themselves. My parents could no longer hide behind their thin veil of perfection.

What do you do when the very people who were supposed to protect you were also turning your life upside down? I vividly remember the pain I felt during our first eviction. I was in high school at the time. We were angrily told to get over it. My sister and I became the collateral damage in their shock and awe campaign. We hotel-hopped, moved around, and struggled to find our footing for years. The truth was buried in a minefield. Trust was breached forever. We were children living in a web of confusion that our parents created. They considered themselves victims in an ugly world, but who really suffered?

While I have consciously made the choice to forgive my parents, I have not forgotten. When I became a man, I confronted them about the hurtful things they’d done. For my own sake, I had to talk to them about it. They never took ownership, but this was the beginning of creating boundaries. Although you move on in life, you never forget. It’s time to start holding the people we love accountable. Enforcing boundaries is the ultimate act of self-love. Boundaries are everything to me.

As the man of my home, I don’t allow venomous energy to enter my home. We close the door on it. If I can’t trust you, we can’t have a relationship. If boundaries are violated there’s nothing left. If you perpetually curate confusion, I cannot build with you. I learned early that some of the most hurtful people can be some of the closest people to you. Perhaps you can relate? Maybe you’re experiencing this today. There’s hope. When I was a young man, I endured. Today, I’ve taken the power back. I’m reclaiming my time and you can too. The beauty in all this is we get to eventually create our own path. We have the power to choose who we will allow into our lives, and how beautiful our lives will become.

A Fight for Blackness

The grotesque attack on Blackness couldn’t be clearer. The anti-Black agenda will not rest until it devours every ounce of consciousness. These coordinated attacks via our legislative system are just the tip of the iceberg. Here we are yet again at another pivotal moment in history as Florida Governor, Ron DeSantis seeks to water down and erase our history. I’d like to enlighten Mr. DeSantis; there is no American history without Black history. Our struggle, impact, and contributions are deeply American despite their unwillingness to acknowledge the truth.

Politicians continue to prove their handlers and political aspirations are of the utmost importance. I believe DeSantis has his sights set on the White House. Trump set the stage perfectly for these reprobate clones, and as a result, we are likely to see more bills and policies openly aimed at the destruction of Black families.

As I write this essay, I struggle to understand why they’re afraid of diversity. Why do they continue to play these harmful games with our lives? How will long will they incubate hatred? I can only imagine how tiring that can be. Until America addresses its sin against Black people, there will never be peace. While it’s disheartening to watch what’s happening in Florida, I’m encouraged by our response. All over the nation, people have spoken out against these sinister policies.

The education of young Black people must begin in our homes. We are the custodians of our history. We must support Black educators who find themselves in the trenches as the battle for our children rages on. We must support Black authors and thought leaders who uplift and encourage the love of our Blackness. We are at war, make no mistake about it.

A Renaissance of Black Love

Remnants of sunlight desperately cling to my window. The moon and its cast of twinkling stars will soon grace the Lord’s canvas. This is when I do my best writing. There’s something uniquely alluring about being alone with my thoughts as a candle burns softly atop my coffee table. The scent of warm vanilla fills the room with tranquility as I dig deep into my soul to find the words to say. I desire to express myself to you this evening, Queen.

I long for the day you receive everything that has been taken from you. You’re tired, I can see it in your eyes. You’ve cried out in the darkness for far too long. You’ve yearned for our love, support and protection. How have we repaid you? With scraps? With broken promises? We’ve betrayed you with our deeds and lack of consideration. We’ve harmed you with our words. You’ve never deserved this. We fuss, fight and drift further apart. Like a ship without a sail in search of dry land, we’re lost without you. It’s evident. We’ll never see the promised land if we continue to forsake you. There is no heaven without you by our side. To sin against you, is to sin against ourselves. If it were not for a Black woman, we would not be here. The war between us must end. On the battlefield of love there are only casualties.

Black woman, you deserve nothing short of our best. We must protect you with our lives. We must honor you with every ounce of our being. We must lift you up and support your dreams just as you’ve supported ours. We must love you out loud. We must cancel those who wish to abuse you and profit on your pain. The next generation of men are watching us. I’m doing my part. I’ve devoted my life to it. It’s reflected in the way I honor the Black women in my life. I pray there would be a renaissance of Black love. Black love is life. Black love is everything.

More Life

The peaks above my home were hidden in a sea of puffy clouds and mist. Just beyond my courtyard, I watched a single bead of leftover rainwater trickle down the side of my favorite saguaro. Puddles of water found rest near my entryway. The birds frolicked through the air without a care. An unusually cool breeze nipped at my skin. The sound of laughter could be heard on the other side of the wash. A familiar hot air balloon drifted by in the sky adorning its beautiful array of desert hues. More specifically it was a collage of reds, yellows, and greens. These are the moments you live for. I began to question the point of rushing through life. Why do we often feel the need to be in a constant state of motion?

Late nights and early mornings have become a trend for me these days. My brazen attempts at getting a few more minutes of sleep each morning are often foiled by the sun. Its warm rays beam through the shutters onto my face without shame. There’s hardly ever a real need to rush, but I find myself at that crossroad time and time again. For the past few days, I’ve done nothing but watch movies and eat as if there were no tomorrow. There were no writing sessions or anything else of substance for that matter. For years I was of the belief that success required an unhealthy amount of obsession. I’ve read all the books. I’ve consumed all of the “guru” content and still felt unsettled. Driven by an insane desire to achieve more, my mental health suffered. I was a zombie. No matter what I published, I felt like a perpetual failure– nothing I’d write ever felt good enough.

A dark cloud of guilt would loom over me whenever I decided to step away from my craft, even if it were just for a moment to catch my breath. There are many people stuck in this trap. I’ve come to realize the folly of it all. You miss out on living by being consumed with chasing the proverbial pot at the end of the rainbow. There’s nothing wrong with desiring to become the best version of yourself, but you can’t forsake yourself in the process. I’ve been learning to embrace going with the flow more often in my life and it’s been nothing short of amazing.

Personally, this year won’t be about an insane amount of goals; this year will be about more living. There isn’t a pot of gold at the end of the rainbow when you’re running yourself into the ground, there’s only stress, discontentment, and pain. Today, I encourage you to re-evaluate what’s on your plate if you’ve been feeling pressured. Choose to live in the moment. Subscribe to more of what gives you joy. Dust off your hobbies and commit to finding yourself again. Make yourself a priority for a change, you’re worth it.