classy, bougie, Rezzy


lately, ive been in a tug of heart over what to include or not to include in my memoir.

vacillating between yes, no, possibly-so it goes back, back, back n forth.

i have researched and read up on the art of memoir to make certain that what i am going through is not something i need to continue working on.

you see, writing this memoir had me revisiting childhood trauma. as i went through a memory recall i found myself as a little girl.

overall my formative years were safe. however, at times, there was violence. in typical Native American trope fashion, it was also alcohol related.

my dad Robert and his sister Mary raised me all while struggling with their own childhood traumas and unresolved grief related to their residential boarding school experiences. unbeknownst to any of us, we were enduring generational trauma.

the onslaught and residual effects of childhood trauma created some of the most entangled relationships we did not understand. i write knowing that my little mom, aka as shi’bizhii in Diné bizaad, did her best despite the odds that were coming up ahead in her life the day i was born.

there is so much love within Indigenous families that i first begin my memoir with recollections of my formative years beginning in Los Angeles. what remains steadfast and true for me is this, the smell of the ocean is a sweet and soulful experience no matter where i am on Mother Earth.

secondly, my life’s journey, up to this time has been filled with obstacles. however, i also refused to allow that to keep me down or dictate and determine my lot in life. for all the moments of heartbreak and the heartaches that followed, i learned i was destined for greatness despite any odds, and the blessing my late grandmother, my nahlii lady had blessed me with, was everything i would need to get through whatever came my way.

thirdly, being born a CIS het woman has challenged me more the day i learned that two of my children were non-binary. up to that point, and even beyond, that journey has humbled me more than any other grief or loss i experienced. being a mother has taught me but my children taught me the most, and i will always be grateful for both of them. my life has been in high def once i woke from my own toxic internalized misogyny and the hyper masculinity associated with hetereopatriarchy.

lastly, my memoir as indigenista love, has been a lifelong journey. i have turned every stone and childhood memories, while beautiful, were also some of the most triggering memories i grew through. healing has become my life’s work and it was my children who helped me more than any conference workshop or research article.

growing through triggers and self actualizing how i was in my own way at times is what helped me write from a place of healed pain albeit the scar tissue.

as i begin my day i set my intentions of posting from a place of love and look forward to sharing how i was blessed more than could see even on my darkest days.

Categories Indigenous

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