Talking Drum

Big Hips

2012-02-14T10:52:00.000-08:00

Yesterday I was helping my 3 year old get dressed when she exclaimed, "I have big hips."

What?! I must have heard her wrong. "I have big hips" she repeated. My heart started racing. Where did she hear that?! It's not something I say. Or is it and I don't remember? I started to get sweaty and a little panicky. My mind was racing with thoughts of body image and sexism and I thought that I had a few more years before I had to deal with this.

"I have big hips, like Mya (a classmate)." Okay, so I know that she got this from school. What should I say to her? And then what do I do? Do I talk to her teacher, the school, to Mya's mom?

Hiccup . . . hiccup --I hear something from across the room and I'm pulled back to the present to hear my little girl hiccuping. "You have the hiccups like Mya?" I ask, "Yes Mommy."

I almost passed out with relief.

No, I'm not Dr. Phil by Tonya Ladipo

2012-01-19T10:56:00.000-08:00

I recently had a final session with a client where we reviewed their progress. They achieved the goals that they wanted to in therapy and we were discussing our work together.

"How was therapy for you?" I asked. Pause. Pause continues. I started to feel apprehensive. In my head I went over our sessions and our work together. I thought that it went well and that the client was getting what they needed. My thoughts were interrupted with, "Well, it's not what I thought it would be. I thought it would be like Dr. Phil."

"No, I'm not Dr. Phil" I replied.

Therapy is a unique profession in that it is not one that is familiar to those outside of it. When we think of doctors or teachers we have an understanding of what they do because we have all had some interaction or experience with them. But the experience of therapy is unknown to many and so people don't know what to expect when they come to see me.

While Dr. Phil may make for energetic television it is not a representation of therapy. I don't raise my voice with my clients, I don't get in their face, I don't sit in judgement of them, and I don't tell them what to do. Instead, I listen. I'm curious about who they are and how they came to be that way. I want to fully understand what they need and want and that's not something that can be done from a place of judgement.

After listening, I tell clients what I hear. This sounds like a simple concept but it's not something that people often encounter. I don't tell people what I think they want to hear, I tell them what I see and hear. This means that I point out contradictions and inconsistencies in what they say they want and what they are actually doing. It means that I speak about what is and not what we want it to be.

And then I give my ideas, suggestions, and thoughts about how to change their circumstances. Unlike what we see on television I don't yell at my clients calling them crazy, insane, or misguided. I offer understanding about why they do what they do. I offer confidence in their ability to change what they do. I offer suggestions about what to change and how to change it. And I offer support in making those concrete changes.

So no, I'm not Dr. Phil. I am a therapist who loves her work and thoroughly enjoys her clients and the work that we do together.

Continuing the work of 2011

2012-01-11T11:30:00.000-08:00

I didn't create a New Year's resolution. I don't like the idea of starting off the New Year with this grand idea or gesture of how I am going to change/improve/grow myself. Inevitably by March I struggle to remember what it was I was supposed to change.

Instead I thought that I would enter the New Year reflecting on 2011 and thinking about what I want for myself in 2012. Turns out that what I want for myself this year is not much different from what I wanted last year. That is not to say that I didn't accomplish some of what I wanted to last year but I haven't seen everything through. Some new ideas were planted, some need tweaking, and others need more attention.

The past few years have been busy with family life, work life, and the constant learning of balancing the two. This past fall felt like a reemergence of myself. In balancing work, family, and friends I wasn't giving as much time and attention to myself as I needed. I love being alone, really love it, and it's not something that I make enough time for. Time alone for me is essential. It's not just something that I enjoy but something that I truly need in order to feel grounded, content, and able to give to others.

As I began to carve out time alone I realized that I wanted more! The amount that I was giving myself was no longer sufficient. But where would I find the time? Then I recognized that there are many times that I am alone but don't appreciate the quiet time because I'm rushing to get things done. This is perfect alone time that I'm wasting! Instead of rushing through grocery shopping I've recognized it as the perfect weeknight getaway. After work and family responsibilities are tended to I meander through the grocery store doing nothing but being quiet and enjoying the moments to myself.

What, if anything, do you need to do more of to give yourself what you need?

Enough of the Bloody Images!

2011-10-21T12:38:00.000-07:00

Everywhere you turn there are news reports of the death of Muammar Gaddafi. What has been disturbing me for the past two days is the images of his dead body EVERYWHERE. I went to the store to buy a banana and the newspaper next to the bananas had a graphic image of Gaddafi's corpse. Later I went to get coffee. There were more newspapers and more images of his corpse. This morning I go online to read the news and there are multiple images of Gaddafi's dead body.

Why is this acceptable? And why is this considered journalism? The only reasons that news sources are doing this is to sensationalize a "victory" and to humiliate Gaddafi and his supporters. But what about everyone else? What about those simply wanting to read the news, why must we be subject to this? What about people who aren't even interested in the news but come across the images while walking down the street and passing a newsstand?

It's not that I want to stick my head in the sand and ignore the horrors of the world. I know that there are wars and pain and death. I believe that monsters exist. It is part of life and the world in which we live. However I do take issue with the barrage if images forced onto me so that editors can sell more papers.

What do you think?

More Black Woman's Syndrome by Lexx Brown-James

2011-09-28T07:47:00.000-07:00

I have discussed Black Woman’s Syndrome before. It’s the need that Black women have to take care of everything and everyone with little or no regard for themselves that is perpetuated by fear of failing someone, anyone, anything. I have discovered something else, how the myth of “strength” and “being strong” exacerbates the syndrome.

Clients tell me all the time - “I have to be strong”- which usually means that one has to put on a facade about being “okay” handling situations, not feeling sad, not being angry, or not being tired -- not having feelings. Black women are taught to shield their emotions, so on the outside they portray this stoic relentless woman who is able to accomplish all of her goals, her family’s goals, and her communities goals. She can cook a hot meal and crochet a baby gift all while looking good, maintaining a career, supporting her partner and raising children to be productive citizens of society.

So what are Black women doing to themselves? History has taught us about the real strength of The Black Woman. Persevering through genocide, maintaining family and dignity while being used as reproductive factories, whores, and mules. The Black Woman has shown she is strong, but when did becoming emotionless become a part of it? When did tears become signs of weakness and WHY does everything have to be “fine” all the time?

From theory I am reminded of Carol Gilligan who developed a model of morality for females. She has found for females there is a way we develop morally that is different from males. In the pre-conventional stage the goal is individual survival (selfishness). Then a transition occurs where the goal shifts from selfishness to the responsibility of others. Once the transition has taken root the female is in the conventional stage where she operates from the moral code that self-sacrifice is equated to goodness. This is where Black women with Black Women’s Syndrome are stuck. They self sacrifice themselves, their emotions, and their needs to be the good wife, mother, lover, worker, community member etc. It will take growth to move into Gilligan’s next stage. The transition from goodness to the truth that she is a person too.

The last stage, which may never be met, is called post-conventional where the goal is a principle of nonviolence: not hurting others and not hurting yourself. Here lies the cure to Black Women’s Syndrome, going through this innate transition to realize balance is key. I would take it a step further and state that it’s in shedding this facade of "okayness" and acknowledging our feelings of happiness, sadness, fear, and anger that make a Black woman a strong woman.

Quietly Anxious

2011-09-21T07:14:00.000-07:00

Many of my clients are 'superwomen', or at least they appear that way. They are Black, professional women who are often look put together even when they're wearing sweats. But their insides tell a different story. Inside they're churning with anxiety. Their mind is constantly racing, planning, and thinking; it's never still or quiet. Their stomach is uneasy and rarely settled. They routinely walk through the world holding their breath, and they don't even know it.

These women don't fit the image of an anxious woman. They are NOT frazzled, undone, or unfocused. On the contrary, they seem to have it all and be pulled together. The difference between the frazzled, anxious woman and the quietly anxious woman is the ability to contain the anxiety and hold it within themselves. But the anxiety is still very strong, very present, and it interferes with their lives. They are quietly anxious.

I know these women's struggles so well because they used to be mine. I used to be a ball of walking anxiety. I did not know what calm felt like. I didn't know what it was like to "be in the moment" rather than thinking 3 steps ahead, and I certainly didn't know that I was holding my breath all of the time.

Changing my anxiety and my relationship to my anxiety has been a fruitful process for me. It has helped me to become more aware of my needs, allowed me to be more focused in my relationships, and helped me to feel more secure in myself. When I began the process of changing my anxiety I had no idea that the benefits would be so far-reaching. I just knew that I wanted my stomach to stop aching with worry. The ball of anxiety left my stomach and a quiet calmness replaced it.

Are you quietly anxious? What do you want to replace the anxiety with?

Out of the Mouths of Babes by Lexx Brown-James

2011-09-06T14:21:00.001-07:00

In many communities of color there is a belief that “children should be seen and not heard.” I recently met with a 7 year old girl who turned this idea around with me. When I asked her about those who loved her she replied “Grandpa.” She proceeded to tell me how sick he was and that she was mad at her family members for not obeying his rules. She then told me how much she enjoyed pushing his wheel chair.

Then something unexpected happened. She looked up from her picture of a princess with eyes glazed with tears and said “I really miss him, it’s like I want to cry, but Ms. Lexx, the tears won’t come.” And with the quickness of a healthy 7 year old she was back to coloring, and I’m left impressed, astonished and saddened by the weight this vibrant child is holding that no one is paying attention to.

Yes, it could be that her family is grieving, but it is important to realize the impact on our little ones. They hear, see, and learn far more everyday then we as adults do and it gets covered up in Spongebob, Barbie, not wanting to eat vegetables or go to bed. But underneath their Spiderman or Disney princess pajamas these babes have feelings that need to be validated, explored, and most importantly expressed. The silent children, who are taught to be seen and not heard, learn to be adults who are seen and not heard. They learn the value of visualization versus communication and then end up not able to comprehend or express their own emotions.

Another great quote, “it takes village to raise a child” is true. But I have learned that someone in that village needs to be just for hearing the child. A person who is just there to listen, maybe it’s that grandparent or older adult, because they have learned the patience and appreciation over a lifetime. But nevertheless the person is there.

It saddens me to think about all the adults who never had a person take interest in their thoughts and feelings growing up and makes me even more determined when I think of those children of today who are invalidated and branded with diagnostic labels like ADHD or Oppositional Defiant Disorder. So many times we as people are told to just stop and listen. We all have heard that you learn more with your ears open and your mouths shut, but how often to do we apply that to our children?

As an aunt of 11, I am making it a personal mission to reach out more than on just on birthdays and holidays to the little ones in my life - to see how/what they are feeling, and most importantly to show them how much I love them just by listening.

Trying to Grow Old Gracefully

2011-08-09T10:21:00.000-07:00

Did you see the article about the 83-year old woman who got breast implements?!
http://www.thirdage.com/news/plastic-surgery-83-year-old-undergoes-breast-augmentation_08-08-2011

I'm in the process of learning to grow old gracefully. 'In the process' are the key words of that statement as I have not fully realized that statement. I don't look too hard at the wrinkles on my face, ignore the gray hairs that are starting to appear, and just this summer have I come to realize that I need to consistently move my body and exercise in order to fit into the clothes that I already own.

By the time that I'm 83 I hope that I have fully embodied the idea of growing old gracefully. Heck, I hope that I can be there by 65. At 83 I would rather see how far $8000 would get me traveling the world rather than increasing my cup size.

How about you?

NEW Workshop Next Friday 8/12

2011-08-01T13:28:00.000-07:00

I'm very excited about an upcoming workshop that we're offering next Friday August 12th! Lexx Brown-James is doing a two-hour workshop with couples who are interested in reigniting the flame in their relationship.

Pardon me while I brag a bit about my colleague but Lexx is not your ordinary speaker. She's dynamic, engaging, and has energy that seems to last for days. She's perfect to host a workshop about sex and intimacy. Lexx has a comfortable way about her that makes even the most reserved person want to talk.

People who come to the workshop will learn:

how to bring their partners ultimate pleasure
ways to tell their partners how to please them
how to view sex and intimacy in a new way (it's not just about the end result!)

Click here (http://events.constantcontact.com/register/event?llr=n7xf5hcab&oeidk=a07e4ezy3ma3d22888a) to register for the workshop!

????s E-mail us Info@TheLadipoGroup.com

Lexx's Hairstory

2011-07-14T07:27:00.000-07:00

At the age of 2 my mother gave me a relaxer. I did not have hair up until she game me the relaxer, I have no idea how it worked, but it did. Then growing up, in a predominantly, culture of power communicty I wore braids. My mother and I would drive one Saturday to the one black hair shop to have a woman braid my hair- a long, tedious, and semi-painful process. I wore braid for a majority part of my life. Taking hours to put in and take down. Then there was a period when I was too young to take care of my braids and my mother became severely ill. My braids then began to lock.

It wasn't until middle school- and moving to a primarily Black neighborhood- that I started to have my hair pressed. Playing sports avidly, you can imagine the toll this would take. Every Sunday it was pressing comb time only to have my hair start to curl by Tuesday due to the heat of the South and my playing sports daily. Then an aunt attempted to hot comb my hair and ended up burning my back after dropping the hot comb. I then tried to do it, again due to my mother's illness and inability to hold a comb, and burned a piece of my hair off.

Enter- Relaxers. It was not until high school that I was introduced to the wonderful world of weaves. I have all sorts of different weaves, short ones, curly ones, long ones, ones with color. I often chose a thick long half wig, wear my relaxed hair would only be out in the front. With this hair I noticed the attention. With longer hair I found men often found me attractive and wondered about my ethnicity. I would often saw I'm Black and this or that.

It wasn't until after college that I became natural. I stopped relaxers and started to appreciate the texture of my natural hair. I noticed the texture the first time my hair was wet after the 6 month due date of not getting my relaxer. The wavy texture that was soft and gorgeous was well worth the weaning off of the "creamy crack". And believe me it was weaning. I had headaches and holding out I was able to transition to having a head full of natural hair.

Now I enjoy the versatility of my natural hair. Even more so I feel that I have come to accept my beauty in all of its naturalness. I am a Black woman, with curly hair. I am versatile and beautiful and do not feel the need to change my beauty with made up ethnicity or faux pieces of silky straight hair.

I enjoy having hair that I can put my hands in, that smells like coconut, strawberries, mango,mint or whatever else I choose. I enjoy having GOOD HAIR. Because good hair is hair in healthy condition, it has nothing to do with the texture. And the best thing yet, is my journey is not over, maybe next. . . . locs. . . we'll see, that's the beauty of my natural hair- it's always fashionable, creative, versatile, and beautiful.

Yesterday I Cried

2011-07-12T10:51:00.000-07:00

In my 14 years of doing counseling, yesterday I did something that I have never done. I cried in a therapy session. A client Vanessa* was finally able to adopt a child. After years of struggling with infertility and then waiting for more years to adopt a child, she was finally going to be a mother, something that she had wanted for so long. And when Vanessa told me that she would be a mother soon, I cried tears of joy for her.

I surprised myself by "allowing" my tears to flow. I started my career working with victims of violent crimes, mainly incest, sexual assault, and attempted homicide. In those years I was trained not to shed tears at our clients stories. The theory was that we didn't want our clients to feel like they had to take care of their therapists. We worried that if we cried during a session they would see us as incompetent and unable to hear the horror of their stories. And so I learned to retain my composure and show emotion and compassion but never a tear.

Fast forward many years and I have my own practice and my own family all of which has changed how I do therapy. I am much more present in my life and in my relationships and in my therapy sessions. Being able to work with clients of my choosing, clients from my community, allows me to feel a more genuine connection to them.

When Vanessa said that she would have her baby in her arms by the end of the week I felt her joy, her relief, and her gratitude. I never cried when she was in despair with her infertility or enraged with the adoption process. I held those emotions with her but they were her feelings that I was holding. When she shared her news I had my own feelings of happiness and I cried my own tears for her joy.

* Note -- the client's name and other identifying information has been changed.

Tonya's Hairstory

2011-06-09T13:28:00.000-07:00

Like many little Black girls my age I had pressed and then relaxed hair as a child. My mom always used a hot comb that sat on the stove top and I would sit in our orange kitchen chair dreading the whole process. When I became of age, about 10 years old for my house, I was allowed to get my first relaxer. I was soooooo excited. This was a big moment for me. Finally, I thought it will be easy to comb my hair and washing it won't take forever.

I sat in a hairdresser's chair for the first time and was nervous and excited as they applied the lye. I started off smiling and ended up holding back tears. I didn't know that it was going to HURT. I recall my mother telling me that it would burn but I had not translated that to the actual pain that I felt that day sitting in the hairdresser's chair.

Hours later when the process was done, I had straight-ish hair. It was "as straight as we can get it" I was told. My instructions for the next few weeks were to avoid getting my hair wet and don't sweat. I was used to shower caps and umbrellas and plastic head wraps to keep my hair dry. I didn't like to sweat but there was that pesky problem of mandatory gym class that seemed to get in the way. But alas, I had what I always wanted, relaxed hair just like my mother.

In hindsight this was a strange thing as I was born in the 70's. All of my baby pictures are with me and my mother with a gigantic afro. I remember the black fist hair pick that she had (and may still have) for decades. But by the time my memory formed, my mother had relaxed hair.

I had relaxed hair all through high school and for one semester of college. Microbraids were in fashion so I thought that I would try that. My mother did not agree with this. She thought that I would have to cut off all of my hair and use fake hair. When she learned that I could keep my hair (aka not cut it) she tolerated, though still disliked, my decision.

By the end of college I was tired of the upkeep and maintenance of the braids. I was ready for a change. I was about to go into the world as a full adult and I knew that I was ready for, needed something different. I decided to cut my hair, all of it. Since I was a child my hair length hovered around my shoulders. I would have it trimmed but never cut. This was a big moment but I never doubted my decision. I knew that this was what I was supposed to do.

I brought a picture to a hair salon in Columbus, OH of a short hair cut that I wanted. The hairdresser talked to me for 20 minutes about cutting my hair, making sure that this was something that I really wanted to do. Perhaps we could just trim it and not cut it she suggested. I had spent the past two days taking out all of my microbraids so that I could cut my hair, I wasn't turning back. I took the scissors from her and cut a chunk of my hair. She then agreed to cut my hair.

My graduation from college was a few weeks later. I hadn't told my mother that I cut my hair. There was no maliciousness on my part just pure avoidance of not wanting to have her talk me out of cutting my hair (or me feeling guilty about cutting my hair when I LOVED my new do).

My mom came to campus and saw me walking out of the bookstore before I saw her. She yelled my name and then let out a shriek from across the street. Yelled so loudly that my head was not the only one that turned. My mother was born in the South and raised by a Southern mother. We did not yell, we certainly did not yell in public, and definitely not in front of a bunch of white folks. But that day my mother yelled.

"What did you do to your hair?!" "Are you depressed, why did you cut off all of your hair!?" She asked these two questions over and over and over again. It wasn't for several months, maybe even years that my mother would be able to look at my short afro without commenting on how long my hair used to be or that I cut it without consulting her.

In the years that followed I turned my short afro into coils and then into baby locks that grew down my back. People complimented my locks often, sometimes even daily. I loved my hair. I loved my locks. I loved the compliments. When I was pregnant everyone told me that my hair would fall out and become brittle. It became stronger, shiner, and grew faster than it ever had before.

But trying to get to my hair dresser as a new mother was challenging to say the least. There was the time, the expense, and figuring out child care. "Cut your hair" was a voice that whispered to me every now and again. I worried that I would miss my locks. I had grown and been attached to this hair for almost 9 years. "Cut your hair" came to me again. And finally in March 2009 I sat in my loctician's chair and told her that I was ready to cut my locks. "Are you sure?" she asked. "Yes, I'm ready" and so Kim cut my hair into another short afro, much like the one I had right after college. She cried as she cut my hair. I cried when I said goodbye to her, but I was smiling when she cut my hair.

This spring I cut my hair again. I told the barber to make it as short as the clippers would allow. When people ask why I cut my hair I tell them that I have two girls and I couldn't take care of three heads of hair. How true that is! But the other side of the story is that I don't want to take time from their childhood with my hair. I want to splash in the sprinkler with them and not worry about my hair. I want to go to the beach and not worry about my hair. I want to play in the rain and not worry about my hair. I want to be with and play with my children and not worry about my hair.

And so a funny thing happened yesterday when a friend asked me about cutting my girls' hair. I gasped with horror, of course I haven't cut their hair! Not only have I not cut their hair yet but I can't even imagine doing so. I told my friend that I would rather they dye their hair pink than cut their hair. They can cut their hair when they can go to the salon I told her. "So you'll let them cut their hair when they're old enough to ask to?" "No" I said, "they'll cut their hair when they're old enough to go to the salon and get it cut." I know that she thought that I was crazy given my short,short hair but that was the honest truth, I can't imagine cutting my girls' hair.

I have these very true and valid reasons for cutting and changing my hair over the years. I'll never return to a relaxer nor will I ever put lye in my daughters' heads. But cut their hair?! Some things will take more than a generation to change.

And so like most things regarding parenting, I now understand why my mom yelled.

Want to share your hairstory with us?

Time Alone, the Hard Way

2011-05-24T09:49:00.000-07:00

I have wanted, no needed, some alone time for a couple of weeks now. Last week I started to make plans to carve out a morning where I would be responsible for no one or no thing. A morning during Memorial Day weekend was my plan. It’s a three-day weekend and I would get what I needed without disrupting too many other people.

Two days ago I woke up feeling sick. I was exhausted, had a scratchy throat and I felt completely and utterly run down. “Great” I thought, “I have cleaning and laundry to do, a full schedule this week, and I’m getting ready for our Memorial Day cookout.” I don’t have time to be sick! I comforted myself with the fleeting thought that maybe it was just allergies and not true sickness. I drifted off to sleep for another hour. I was in and out of consciousness for the next couple of hours. Finally at 10:00am I told myself that I needed to get out of bed and start the day.

And then it hit me, this was my alone time. This was the time that I needed and wanted and had been looking forward to. Time without responsibility, time alone and with no distractions, truly some time to myself. I had not envisioned nor desired being sick in bed. I thought that I would go to a movie, out to brunch alone, or maybe go shoe shopping. I envisioned that my time alone would consist of me waking up, cooking breakfast, dressing the kids, and making sure that everyone was settled before taking a few hours for me. A very strategic and scripted time to myself.

I did not plan on the unplanned time to myself, time truly without responsibility or worry about others. What I did get was a full morning in bed as I didn’t get up until 11:00am. I fed and dressed myself without concern for feeding or dressing others. I then went back to sleep for an afternoon nap. And though I felt sick, I was alone. This was not the Sunday that I planned nor was it the time alone that I wanted but it certainly was what I needed.

I have known for a very long time that when you don’t listen to warnings the first, second, or third time, it will knock you upside the head until you do listen. Sunday was my smack.

I'm Disgusted by Psychology Today

2011-05-19T18:12:00.000-07:00

This is an open letter to Psychology Today:

I am disgusted by Psychology Today.

Racism is alive and well in our country and in our media, that's no surprise. The fact that a researcher, Satoshi Kanazawa used "science" (faulty science and research) to promote his own racist ideas and agenda is not a surprise either. I think what is most troubling about the fact that Psychology Today chose to post the blog was the stupidity of their decision.

It was stupid to publish something so offensive and blatantly racist. It was stupid to keep it on their website after initial protests. And it was just as stupid to remove the post but not apologize for publishing it in the first place. Stupidity disgusts me, I have no time or energy for it and what Psychology Today did was stupid.

After my disgust passed I was then embarrassed. I was embarrassed because we, The Ladipo Group, have a listing on Psychology Today. How I can I give them money when they publicly demean me, my business, and the people who we serve? Do I remove the listing? Write them a letter of protest? Do nothing?

Well, doing nothing is rarely an option for me. In fact, it often gets me in a lot of trouble. So why stop now. I decided not to remove my listing from Psychology Today because it is really hard for Black people to find Black therapists. Some of our clients find us through Psychology Today. If I remove our listing in protest to their racist and stupid actions, I actually end up hurting the people I am called to serve, my people, Black people.

Instead I decided to write them an open letter. A letter that I am sharing here. Any and all thoughts and comments are certainly appreciated!

Sistah Gurls by Lexx Brown-James

2011-05-19T10:59:00.000-07:00

In the May issue of Essence is dedicated to the importance of gilrfriends. You know those sistah gurls, ultimate homies, real chicks, and beloved support systems that women tend to have. She’s the friend who tells you that outfit doesn’t work, hates the person that hurt you with a passion and let’s you cry on her shoulder whenever. These are the women that are always there throughout new endeavors, failures, and successes. These are your sistah gurls.

Reading these testimonies of how women were able to rely on and receive support from other women brought tears to my eyes. I recall my network of sistahs, who no matter what, have my back, and I thought about where and who I would be without them. Then I thought about how much television makes us think that Black women are always at each other’s throats - literally - instead of being the backbone for a friend when they need to be. Shows, that I will not name but we all have heard of, feature star’s wives, housewives, or completely made up characters show Black women in fierce competition - all the time. These women are barely, if at all, able to support one another unless there is some type of gain. I would argue that sure, these people exist in real life, but they are not at the essence of Black women’s friendships.

I want to take this moment to ask: Who’s in your support circle? We have all heard that joke about the one friend who would be sitting next to you in jail when you mess up really badly. Who do you have surrounding you? There is a difference between a girlfriend, acquaintance, and frenemy. Who is swimming around in your waters of life? Your girlfriend is going to be the one that supports you when you can’t tread water anymore and feel like you’re drowning and you would be willing to do the same for her. The acquaintance is the one who is going to try to help, but save themselves first, even if that means letting your drown. The frenemy is going to act like they are there to help only to cut you and use and you as shark bait or a flotation device. And I know you are reading and saying “Really Lexx, it’s not that serious,” but I will say that it is.

There is nothing like knowing you have other strong women who have the same values you share behind you. The ones that will raise your children just like you would, take care of your home when you are unable, and finally take care of you when you have given your all to everyone else. I know hands down who these people are for me, and I am thankful to have them in my life, who are they for you? If you don’t have these people, have no fear, you can still heal from past friendship wounds and garner these relationships.

Heartache Truly Hurts by Tonya Ladipo

2011-04-11T11:51:00.000-07:00

Research has finally proven what many of us have known for years. Rejection hurts; it literally hurts. Researchers at the University of Michigan, Columbia University, and the University of Colorado found that our brains respond to physical pain and emotional hurt or rejection in much the same way (for more information see: http://www.kansascity.com/2011/04/09/2781537/heartache-actually-hurts-researchers.html).

Being rejected by friends, family, or lovers is heartbreaking. Our hearts hurt, we can't sleep or eat, and we find ourselves consumed with the memory and pain of the rejection. I often have clients tell me that they "should be over it by now" when referring to some form of heartbreak. Losing a love, even worse, being rejected by a love, is not something that we just "get over." When we break a bone or receive a devastating medical diagnosis we are often required to "take it easy", reduce unnecessary responsibilities, and take care of ourselves. Yet when our hearts are broken we think that we should just push on and not dwell on it.

If our brains receive signals that our heartbreak is a true and concrete pain, then maybe we should listen to our brains and treat it as such. What if we took care of our hearts and our selves when we were emotionally hurt? What if we consciously gave ourselves time to heal from our heartbreak rather than rushing on?

Many years ago I was in the midst of a break up. Now this wasn't the love of my life, nor was I his but I was sad and hurt and heartbroken. I left work early telling people that I was ill (my stomach really was tied in knots and I felt that I was in a lot of pain) and I headed to the movie theater. I watched two movies and laughed for hours. For a short window I was free from the pain and the hurt.

When I left the theater and went back into the world I was back to dealing with my sadness and pain. I went to work the next day, made sure that I downplayed the breakup to my friends, and continued to suffer with my sadness and pain. All these years later I remember that breakup not because it was the most significant one but because for a few hours in the midst of my sadness I allowed myself time to heal.

I wonder what I would have done differently for the duration of that heartache and for others if I had understood that my pain was indeed real and valid and that I needed to treat it as such. What would I have done differently if I let myself heal from my heartbreak rather than forging on?

What would you do differently?

Black Woman's Syndrome by Lexx Brown-James

2011-03-15T13:52:00.000-07:00

So, it’s 3.30a.m in the morning and as I type this I am pretty sure that everyone in this hemisphere is sleeping. Everyone, but me and people like me that is. As a Black woman I find that there never seems be enough time to do what is demanded, needed, expected and/or desired of us. I found that despite my day of doing all the necessary home chores, I kept ruminating on work I needed to complete. Did I finish this, email that, or jot down my idea for this? NO, I did not. I found that I tossed and turned –thinking- while everyone else, including the dog, began their cadence of sleep. So here I am at 3.45a.m typing a blog about how we as Black women often suffer from Black Woman’s Syndrome.

It’s not a real diagnosis - yet - but I do feel that Black women tend to take care of other’s needs beyond and above those of our own. For Black women everyone else always comes first. There’s the lover, the children, the immediate family, the job, the extended family, the community, friends, organizations and the list goes on. We juggle so many different balls in the air, we are often afraid if we lose one, all the rest will fall. Add that pressure to the sheer difficulty of being a minority in today’s society and it feels as if at times we are juggling chainsaws - if you mishandle the utensil you can cut off an appendage or even die, and then everything comes crashing down in a destructive mess.

It seems as if there is never a way to have everyone and everything taken care of so the Black woman can take care of herself. We say that we make time for us such as getting our hair/nails/eyebrows/etc. done; however, how often is that really for us versus our appearance and the affects that our appearance will have on others (i.e. family, lover, work)? When is there a time when we stop ruminating over what we have to do or who we have to take care of, so we can focus on just us?

I, frankly do not know the answer, hence it being 10 minutes to 4.00 a.m and I’m still awake. However I do believe that we have to do a better job of taking care of ourselves because if we don’t, how are we going to teach others how to take care of themselves? So I suggest taking the time to practice the “Step Up, Step Back Rule”.

It’s fine to STEP UP and assume responsibility for something, but also learn to STEP BACK by allowing someone else to take the next responsibility. Let your significant other cook (or order out), hire a maid service for the day, let someone else prepare the document and get the time needed to take care of you. Do something that makes you laugh until your insides hurt or is so relaxing you fall asleep. What about arranging a time where you can sit and read that book or watch that one movie you have been secretly coveting without feeling guilty? Learn to step back.

With all of that said [and as a person who tries her best to practice what she preaches] I am going to end this blog 2 minutes ‘til 4 a.m., take a STEP BACK by sending an email allowing someone to step up for an impending presentation and go practice some relaxation breathing techniques to quiet my mind and get some rest.

How about you?

Listening to Love by Tonya Ladipo

2011-03-12T11:54:00.000-08:00

Why is it that it is so easy to hear and accept criticism from people who do not care about us or worse are mean to us?

Many years ago an older, Black woman pulled me aside and very clearly told me not to listen to people who don’t love me. “But I don’t want to reject criticism outright . . . they may have a point . . . I don’t want to be defensive . . . blah - blah - blah” I told her. And again she said, “Tonya, don’t listen to people who don’t love you.”

So I mulled over her comment, not fully understanding how to embrace it, but knowing that I would have to. I am so appreciative to her for saying that to me. They are words of wisdom that I use with my friends, my clients, and I still use remind myself. Don't listen to people who don't love you.

People who love us are kind and generous to us. They lift us up and support us while always encouraging us to do and be better than we are. When they critique us they do it with love in their heart and concern for our feelings. When these people offer you feedback, listen!

People who are mean to us, take joy in our pain, and try to break us down are people who do not love us. Do not listen to them. Do not listen to people who do not love you. This is much easier said than done because we are so practiced at listening to the wrong people.

Consider keeping this phrase ("Only listen to people who love me") in your head for the next few weeks and see if you notice a difference within yourself.

Real Warriors Cry by Tonya Ladipo

2011-03-03T13:45:00.000-08:00

Warrior (n.) "a person who fights in battles and is known for having courage and skill" or "a person who shows or has shown great vigor or courage."

Many of my clients are warriors though they seldom see themselves this way. They fight many battles, sometimes externally and sometimes internally, and they often show great courage. People laugh at me when they're sitting in my office shedding tear after tear and I tell them that they are courageous. "What's courageous about this Tonya? I'm a mess and I'm sobbing."

Some how and some where in time being brave has come to mean not having emotions and never crying. This is completely false. Having courage means being scared of something and doing it anyway. To have no fear and no emotion is foolish, not strong or courageous. And so I believe that warriors are smart and strong and courageous. They know when to rest, when to prepare for battle, how to choose a battle, and when to leave a battle. Warriors understand that not all fights are theirs to fight. They know that they need to eat, sleep, and recharge before going into battle. Warriors embrace their emotions and use them as information and guidance both during and after battles.

A true warrior is strong, fierce, and has emotions. They even shed tears from time to time. Who are warriors in your life? Are you one?

Walking with Grace by Tonya Ladipo

2011-02-28T19:08:00.000-08:00

This evening I was on Fox 29's 5:00pm newscast. They contacted me to talk about mothers in the workplace and what is (or is not appropriate) to discuss. As soon as I have access to the link I will post it here. A brief review:

Be human and honest. If you have children then it makes sense to talk about them.
Don't let your children dominate workplace conversation. Be proud of them but talk about other things as well.
Be respectful of others and their passions. Your joys (children) may be significant to you, what is significant to your colleagues? Inquire about that with them.

As hard as I tried not to be nervous I must admit that I was nervous. As I was walking to the television station I stopped trying to push away the nervousness and I shifted my focus to another goal, having and being graceful in my nervousness.

Rather than the anxiety digging a permanent place in my stomach, focusing on grace allowed my nervousness more fluidity. It ebbed and flowed and allowed me a different perspective. I could focus and be present in the moment rather than worry about the many "what ifs" I allowed to float in my head. I could actually see and appreciate the museums on Independence Hall. I enjoyed being able to walk to the television station without being bundled up. I felt grounded and centered and graceful. It was a wonderful change. Now I need to figure out how to hold on to this . . .

Ch-ch-changes by Tonya Ladipo

2011-02-11T18:57:00.000-08:00

How is it that we can struggle with making changes that we know are good for us? We all have big and little things that we could do differently and it would significantly improve our lives.

So why is it that going to bed earlier, writing about our feelings, or seeing our friends more often is so hard to do? Does it feel selfish to do something that is good for you? Is it laziness that prevents us from making these changes? Do we feel unworthy of the goodness that would come from these changes?

Maybe. But another factor that is at play is the process of change. "What process?" you think, we should just be able to do what we need to do. Well not exactly. There is a process involved when it comes to making changes.

Fortunately for us, researchers have gone to great lengths to understand this process. Prochaska and DiClemente identify 6 stages of change. Pre-contemplation (aka "blissful ignorance") is the first stage. Not too much is happening at this point.

Next comes Contemplation where we're ambivalent and "sitting on the fence" about whether or not to make the change. Preparation follows where we start planning and testing the change.

The fourth stage, the action phase, lasts for several months and involves practicing the new behavior. The maintenance phase can last from several months to several years as we make an ongoing commitment to the new behavior. The final stage is Relapse where we result back to the old behavior.

Making a lasting change takes more than motivation and incentive. It takes thought, planning, practice, commitment, and yes, relapse. And then re-commitment. It's not that we're lazy, unworthy, or incapable of making the changes that we need to make. Instead we don't understand that making a change is a process in itself. The process takes time and energy.

So the next time you're beating yourself up for not making the change that you want to make, consider these 6 stages and see which one you're in. Having an understanding of this may help you move to the next stage!

What the "Tiger Mother" Got Right by Tonya Ladipo

2011-02-10T11:40:00.000-08:00

I've been inundated with commentary about what the "Tiger Mother" has done wrong. She's "mean", "hard" and "unloving" are a smattering of comments that I've read and heard.

But what about where she's right? Before I go any further let me be clear that I have not read "Battle Hymn of the Tiger Mother" by Amy Chua. I read the except posted in the Wall Street Journal, but I have not read the book. Based on what I read in the excerpt I think that Ms. Chua has some important things for parents to think about.

What's wrong with pushing children to excel and to be their best? Why can't we tell them things they don't want to hear? The last time I checked, that's what parenting was about -- loving your children by providing them boundaries, guidance, and encouragement, not telling your children that they can do whatever they want whenever they want. I think that some people confuse parenting with friendship. It's not. In fact being a parent means not being a friend to your child. They will hate you and say mean things to you -- if you're doing something right that is.

I really appreciate Amy Chua's ideas about pushing her children towards excellence and building their self-esteem through action and not just words. How often do we believe people telling us "you're so smart/pretty/wonderful"? Not often. We believe them when we see it in ourselves because of something we have said or done to feel smart/pretty/wonderful. I feel smart when I can solve a problem that was difficult for me. I don't feel smart because other people tell me that I'm smart.

Children are no different. Self-esteem comes from mastering a skill, doing something well and taking pride in it. Until children take part in something that they are good at, it is up to the adults around them to help them find experiences where they can be challenged, grow, and thrive from it. It means that our children will not always succeed. They will fail. And we will teach them to stand up, dust themselves off, and try again.

It means teaching our children how to succeed through commitment and practice. It also means teaching our children how to have grace in failure. The next generation will never learn this if they are constantly coddled and told how wonderful and excellent they are. Children will only become excellent when their parents expect excellence in them. Not perfection, not elitism but excellence in what they do and who they are.

Dance of Intimacy by Tonya Ladipo

2011-02-09T04:16:00.000-08:00

Recently I've worked with some clients who are struggling to be emotionally intimate and also maintain a separateness from their loved one. I've seen this struggle with friendships, intimate partnerships, and even in the parent-child relationship. So how is it that we can be so connected and intimate without losing ourselves in the other person?

As simple as it may seem, the first step is acknowledging the struggling. For some, having the understanding of their struggle can begin to unlock and release it. I recently had dinner with some girlfriends and we were discussing how to be present and connected with our children while at the same time prepare for them to leave and go into their own world.

Since the conversation I've experienced a shift in my relationship with my children. I have less worry and sadness about them "leaving" and instead find myself enjoying this dance of intimacy. I can be close and present with them but also separate and apart from them as is necessary and appropriate.

Other times more than acknowledgment of the struggle is needed. "Maria" and her boyfriend "Marcus" spend so much time together that it interferes with their other relationships. They say that they feel very close to each other and don't want anything to get in their way. I worked with them to help them see the benefits of having other relationships in their lives. In addition to fulfilling their needs, emotional closeness with others also helped their own partnership.

Marcus and Maria had to take deliberate measures to separate from each other while still feeling an emotional connection. First, they scheduled time away from each other on a regular basis. They could be with friends or spend time alone but they could not always be together.

Second, they created ways to "say goodbye" before these short periods of time apart and they also found ways to reconnect after the time apart. They practiced being separate, in a healthy way, while maintaining the closeness of their emotional and intimate relationship.

Finally, they made a commitment to each other and to themselves that they would support the other in developing and maintaining other relationships. When Maria wanted to stay home with Marcus rather than go to dinner with her friends, Marcus was very encouraging and supportive of her going out. He reminded her of the importance of her friends and that he would still be there for her when she returned.

What do you do to stay emotionally connected to people while also having some separateness from them?