It is far easier believing in the worst parts of myself than the best. Despite the plaudits from my most trusted confidants and complete strangers, I struggled daily, believing in what I am and what I am here to do. I have resided and even quarantined in those dark spaces of the mind where light never visits. For decades, my most intimate thoughts drove me further away from light and love, ultimately colliding with the ruse that was my public persona. No one knows we are living a lie because we often lie to ourselves first to convince the rest of the world everything is okay. We wake up each day and don the mask of false pretenses simply to survive the incessant reminders that our lives could and should be better.
The lies start when we are young, forming a barrier of protection from a world that preys on the meek and vulnerable. Generations of boys are raised to believe their emotions are their enemies; consequently, they work tirelessly to suppress their feelings - fear, pain hurt, disappointment - in exchange for their masculinity. The biggest and most dangerous lie we teach our boys is that manhood is devoid of emotional vulnerability. This lie haunted men like my father, ultimately incapacitating his desire to be present in his son’s life. I wonder how much I may have suffered if I was to learn what it means to be a man from a man who was denied the freedom of emotional expression as a child. What limitations might I still be struggling with as a 34-year-old man if my home housed two parents instead of one?
And the lies continue into adolescence and young adulthood. During this period, the goal is to ensure safety from ridicule by fitting in and abiding by the rules of your social ecosystem. So, I did my absolute best concealing my individuality, all my idiosyncrasies, and my innate talents and tics. I essentially belabored the denial of my very essence, the core of who I am, simply to appease people who never truly knew me. But how could they when I was exhausting myself over never really being seen? I clamored for social acceptance while I never really accepted myself. “How you gonna win when you ain’t right within?” Twenty-two years from first hearing that question being posed, I’m finally coming to terms with Ms. Lauryn Hill’s call to take action.
Getting right within means it is time to stop accepting the lies about myself from myself. I spent the better half of age 33 reconnecting with all that I am and shedding away remnants of my former selves, every single last one of them. From the chubby elementary schoolboy who lived with so much shame about his body that he never took his shirt off in public. To the high school freshmen who donned cornrows and smoked blunts before dances without genuinely desiring to do either. To the twenty-something young man who couldn’t keep a job or a romantic relationship intact without self-sabotaging after 6-9 months. To the other side of a 30-year-old grown man whose bouts with unemployment and crippling depression nearly knocked him out for good not too long ago. I’ve let them all know they are loved and accepted.
Now, at 34, it is time I begin believing more deeply in the best of who I am and what I can offer this world. It is time I receive the plaudits and the praise because I could only welcome the defeating and debilitating thoughts bombarding my psyche for too many years. It is time I accept myself for myself, for my family, and for my freedom. Writing has given me the courage to create space for a harmonious coexistence between masculinity and vulnerability. Every time I write and decide to share, I’m reclaiming the best parts of who I am, those parts that I’ve hidden behind the mask for damn near 30 years. If I can own my flaws, I can also flaunt my strengths unashamed. Despite the atrocity that is 2020, my birthday wish for us is to continue pursuing our best selves with a persistent belief and unwavering confidence.