I went to school the day after my mom passed away.

It was Monday and I was waitlisted for this technical drawing class at Pasadena City College. A few months prior, I made the decision to go back to school in an attempt to get through a rough patch I had been in for a few years. I remember being hella broke, miserable and super unhappy at the time. I was in between jobs, trying to start a business, had a young kid, and had absolutely no clue what I wanted to do with my life.

I was trying to figure things out when I got the brilliant idea to go back to school. Before then, I hated school. The only reason I graduated was because they threatened to hold me back and the only reason I went to college was to get away from my family….but also to make them happy. Right after HS, I went to my Daddy’s alma mater, Texas Southern University, thinking I wanted to be a doctor like him. I figured it would bring us closer and we’d have something to finally bond over, so I majored in biology…which, if you know me, was a ridiculous fucking decision... Needless to say, the moment I saw them fine ass brothas on that yard it was over for me. My Daddy had my ass back on that plane by the summertime. When I got home, I made several attempts to try again, but it never worked out so eventually, I gave up.

I thought of school in that moment cuz I was running out of options and re-enrolling was my last resort. I figured at most I could get an art degree and become one of them super paid, highly sought-after LA creatives or something. Worst case I’d be able to use the financial aid money to pay for rent and the bills. Either way, I was into it! I enrolled, took my first class over the summer, and unlocked a whole new level of Tara I never knew existed!

Then my mom got sick.

Her health had been deteriorating up ’til that point, but this wasn’t new for us. Multiple sclerosis is literally a disease that slowly eats away at your immune system ’til there’s nothing left, so it had been killing her for years. I don’t wanna get into SUPER detail cuz this is lookin’ like a novel as it is, but she was diagnosed at a time when they weren’t familiar with the disease. It had only been in existence for short while, so they didn’t really didn’t know how to treat it. Basically, everything was experimental so sometimes shit got super scary. Because of that we dealt with long hospital stays and frequent “she doesn’t have long” chats from different specialists.

When she finally passed away, it just felt hella surreal. Again, Imma spare y’all the detail and my tears and get to the point. Also, I’m really hoping I actually upload this to the blog I started on my site during the time she passed, in which case you can go to the entry below this and read all about it if you’re interested. ;-)

I remember feeling the obvious sad, heavy, empty, “fa real God”, really pissed, somewhat understanding, but extremely selfish feelings. Rightfully so, I was having a complete outer-body experience after watching the actual angel who birthed and beautifully raise us take her last breath. I was absolutely sick!!!! So I gave it a day. I allowed myself to cry and do what was necessary, but I knew that in a couple of hours I would have to straighten up and put my big girl mom boots back on….after all, my baby needed me. And I knew that meant despite my world feeling like it was crashing and burning all around me, I still had to show up and figure my shit out.

Almost to the Point

See what I’m really good at y’all, is figuring my shit out. “Figuring out”, also means being a pro at concealing how I’m really feeling. I don’t like to be burden or bother anybody. I try not to complain even when life throws way too much shit at one time…One thing about me, is Imma mask my feelings. This is me. I have ALWAYS been that “one strong friend” in all of my friend groups who knows how to keep trucking regardless. I mean sure when I’m super bothered you could absolutely tell especially cuz I like to talk a lot, but when it comes to the personal struggles BAYBAY….my ass will suffer in silence.

And I know it’s not healthy.

I can’t pinpoint the exact reason why I do this. And honestly, I don’t even think I need to have one. I just know that sometimes things can get insanely heavy for me. I mean I’ve gotten much better at identifying my feelings so I can speak to them more now…and what I realized is that I don’t give myself a lot of time to process things. I’m talking about the heavy, painful traumatic shit. Maybe it’s because I’ve had to be strong for so many people for so long that I think it’s what’s expected of me. It’s easy for me to fake the funk…Most people don’t see the pep talks I give to myself before events, practicing my smile so I won’t give myself away. Or how excited I get when my son leaves for the weekend because I get to ugly cry freely, in a dark room with no interruptions. Y’all don’t see the missed meals or sleepless nights. The unfinished projects or the fact that I try to work myself into the ground when I’m feeling any sort of intense emotion.

The Point of this…

entire backstory was just to tell yall that a nigga is depressed. But not just me tho, it’s a gang of us out there that have the ability to live, laugh, love, smile and function normally to someone who’s looking from the outside in, when internally we’re really suffering in silence. The phrase “check on ya strong friends” has grown in popularity over the years, but what does it mean exactly? FINALLY THE POINT HAS BEEN REACHED!!!!!!!!! Today we’ll be diving into “High Functioning Depression” is, what it means, what it looks like, and ways you can show up for yourself and others,

If its for you then it’s yours. As always, sharing is caring!!!