The Secret That Eats Its Keeper

               I purposely chose a title that was ominous and dark, hoping to set the mood for the seriousness, attention and urgency that I hope this blog ignites in each reader. I would like to talk openly and honestly about an unspoken ill that plagues communities of color. This problem is not limited to only people of color; I’m sure it has far reaching impact on other communities as well. But I cannot speak intimately of their experiences.

                Unfortunately our society does not promote intimate and personal levels of communication for men, whether it be with other men or with the women in our lives. Our conversations safely skim the surface levels of our lives. Our highs and our lows are relegated to snapshots and highlights. Rarely do we delve deeper. We are content to know and share just enough. Emotional and introspective conversation is uncommon and therefore uncomfortable.  Vulnerable and honest conversations are reserved for life’s highest and lowest moments: weddings, funerals, births and retirements.

                This is not an indictment of the general shallowness of male communication skills. It is merely an attempt to expose what I feel may be a featured cause for the true point of this blog: mental health. According to the Health and Human Services Office of Minority Health, African Americans are 20% more likely to experience serious mental health problems than the general population. Common mental health disorders among African Americans include: Major depression, ADHD, PTSD, suicide and anxiety. But, only about one-quarter of African Americans seek mental health care, compared to 40% of whites.

                Why the disparity? There are a myriad of reasons.  The negative social stigma of mental health issues, the economic burden of mental health services and access to services are just a few. In a Psychology Today article, Monnica T. Williams Ph.D., sheds some light on why people of color fail to seek mental health solutions.

“In places like Los Angeles and New York, everyone and their pet has a therapist, yet even among the wealthy and elite, many African Americans continue to hold stigmatizing beliefs about mental illness.”

“Many African Americans with mental disorders are unaware that they have a diagnosable illness at all, and are even less aware that effective psychological treatments exist for their specific problem. Because of the taboo surrounding open discussion about mental illness, African Americans often have little knowledge of mental health problems and their treatments.”

                I have had my own personal battles with mental health and without the love and support of my wife and son, my family and friends I am not sure what the narrative may have been. I was fortunate. I was lucky. I had been seeing a counselor and I also had developed relationships with friends that I loved, respected and trusted as my brothers that gave me the opportunity to share my dark thoughts and seek the professional and medical help I needed.

                Mental health issues are not easy to detect. They can be hidden behind the shroud of smiles and “normalcy” needed to keep the secret. They can be masked and misdirected as “he’s just tired,” “he’s having a bad day” or “work/home is just crazy right now.” So to not notice that someone you care about is suffering through mental health hardships is not a measure of how much you do or do not care for him. But we also must be comfortable with the conversation. Ask the questions that need to be asked. “Are you OK?” “Is there something you want to talk about?” “How are you doing…no really, how are YOU doing?”

                Since addressing my own mental health, I have come to learn that a few of my friends that I have known for years have also had their battles with mental health. It’s an odd duality to feel relieved that I am not alone in my struggles but to also be made aware of my ignorance to my friend’s struggles. This is why it became important for me to share this. To shed light on the fact that you may or may not know someone that needs you. They may be desperately waiting for someone to ask them “Is everything OK, do you need to talk?”
              The strength of the oak tree depends on the soil that the acorn lays in. Our boys and young men need to be taught to be comfortable and confident with their emotions. We need to make sure they understand that being sensitive and vulnerable and seeking help and guidance in times of uncertainty is part of their journey into manhood. The strongest tree in the forest is the one that bends and sways with the winds of the storm. The tree that stands rigid and stiff against the wind is snapped and torn from its roots.

               Also, it’s important to acknowledge that mental health is an ongoing pursuit just like your general physical health. Just as we watch what we eat, do our best to exercise and enjoy our vices in moderation, we need to pay attention to our thoughts and emotions. It is time that we make our mental health a part of the dinner table conversation, the man cave conversation and the conversation with our medical professionals. As men of color we need to be more comfortable with sharing our minds and our hearts with those that we love and trust. The truest treasure is that which is shared with those you love, not concealed and locked away in a vault constructed of our insecurities.

Tie A Knot

                

           I miss us. I miss the comfort and familiarity. The security and love. The support and guidance. The laughter and celebration. The tears and sympathy. I miss us. I miss our community. I miss knowing that my family stretched far beyond the four walls of my home. By no means am I minimizing the love and importance of my immediate family, but acknowledging my longing for when the branches and limbs and roots of the family tree felt closer. Geographically and emotionally. I had grandparents and aunts and uncles and cousins in close proximity. If they weren’t in close proximity then they were usually substituted by the various family friends and friends of friends that became my interwoven tribe of love and support.

            When did it change? When did the ties that bind go from being braided ropes that kept us anchored to our rich history and community to thin threads that strain to hold fast against time, convenience, distance and our focus on our individual pursuits? Please let me be clear, this is not an indictment against you personally. Consider it a moment to catch your breath, look in the mirror and reflect on who you are and who we are.

I feel on some level we are all guilty of quietly letting our community, our tribe, our family shrink to the smallest most manageable nuclear units. We focused on things that made our situation better. Better school districts, better homes, better neighborhoods, better employment opportunities. We committed our energy and our attention to pursuing these things. Sincerely hoping to make our lives and the lives of those we loved better. But did we? How much of who we are was lost or sacrificed in pursuit of who we wanted to be?

Just think back to when you were a child. Don’t think about the social-economic landscape or the political atmosphere or the civil and human rights hardships. Think of how full your heart was because of how close you were to your friends and family. Today if we want our children to play with their cousins we have to perform the quantum mathematics of comparing schedules and setting a date in the distant future of when they can get together. For a child to spend the night at a relative's or friend’s house seems to require emergency contact forms and medical waivers instead of a simple phone call between the parents.  Going shopping with grandma or fishing with grandpa has been packaged into semi-annual holiday trips instead of just dropping by on the weekend.

I want my son to have the same treasure chest full of memories that I have. Memories of people and places and events that shaped me. Whenever I see my godmother she tells the story of how when we lived in the projects of Newark how I would come upstairs to her apartment. I would walk in and head straight to the refrigerator to see what she had to drink or to eat. I was comfortable and connected. (Yes I was also a little greedy). But her home was my home. There were no lines drawn or rules established that made me consider that I could or should act any better, or worse, than I would in my own home.
Think back to that time you met one of your distant cousins. So distant that even grandma had to pause and think before she could explain how you were related. But those details were unimportant anyway, they were family. If they were in the backyard eating your uncle's famous ribs off the grill, sitting on the couch watching the game, or laughing and talking in the kitchen; they were family because one of your patriarchs or matriarchs said they were. You treated that new family member the same as you treated the cousin you knew from diapers to diplomas.

Yes the world has changed. The internet and media has opened our eyes to so many more pitfalls, dangers and ominous possibilities. It would be irresponsible for us not to recognize these and do more to protect our loved ones from harm. I guess I’m just stuck reminiscing. Wishing that we could all pursue our own definitions of comfort, happiness, success and accomplishment but still having a firm grip on the people and places and experiences that gave us our first firm footholds in our climb of the mountain we call life.

So why did I write this? Was it a melancholy report on our current situation? No, that wasn’t my intention. My intention was to shed some light into a dark corner, to provoke some thought and conversation. I have a challenge. I hope you chose to accept it. Reconnect. Reconnect with your cousin that you only call on her birthday. Reconnect with your grandma who you only check on every other Sunday. Reconnect with your brothers and sisters and laugh at each other’s stories. Then share the warmth and joy and strength of those connections with your children. The ropes of our tribe need to be mended and strengthened. Tie a knot and hang on. It's too important to just let go.

Throwback Thursday Is Here...

I miss the R&B groups of the late 80s and 90s. They combined great music from producers that knew how to highlight and expose the talents of the artists with artist that blended their talents into timeless classics. Most of the groups didn’t have singers that could survive as an established soloist. But as part of a group, their sound blended perfectly.

Now everyone wants to be a solo act. I don’t know how or why the industry took such a dramatic shift and the R&B group faded away like a dinosaur. But imagine if some of these artists (a term I use loosely) got together and collaborated, without relying on a featured hip hop artist to carry the song for radio and club play. I love hip hop but at one point in the early 2000s I swore Ja Rule was on every song, then it was Lil’ Wayne and now it’s Drake or Nicki Minaj.

Think about it. How many soloist really have the talent to carry an album and release something with more than 2 decent songs in today’s music industry? I can only think of a few. I’d prefer to see Omarion, Chris Brown, Mario, Tory Lanez and Trey Songz perform as a super group than to have them release song after song that sound like remakes of their last radio release.

Just think of all the talent that we had to listen to in the late 80s and 90s when it came strictly to groups. I am probably biased but I consider it a really special time in R&B music. Besides the 60s and early 70s reign of Motown, I can’t think of a better time period of R&B music. Here’s the roster of “some” of the talent we had out there.

Boyz II Men	Color Me Badd	Xscape	Jodeci
New Edition	After 7	Silk	DeBarge
Guy	Ready For The World	H-Town	BBD
Troop	SWV	Blackstreet	Soul II Soul
Mint Condition	TLC	Shai	Tony Toni Tone
Force MDs	En Vogue	Zhane	Brownstone
Hi Five	Jade	Total	Changing Faces

So yes it’s Throwback Thursday and I’m sitting at my desk at work, digging in the digital crates on my mobile phone’s music app and enjoying the music I grew up with. Just wanted to share my thoughts with you. Anxious to hear your feedback. Peace!

The Power of Words

The Power of Words

                The other day I was driving and listening to Jimmy Evans. I have been trying to navigate through some pretty dark waters, waters that I am responsible for polluting, and I was guided to listen to him and his messages about love, marriage and positive and productive relationships. (Thanks Val)

One of his videos hit me right between the eyes, actually several did but one in particular resonated with me because I like to think of myself as a writer. He was talking about how what we say can have a profound effect on others. How the words we speak can build, give birth and nurture or tear down, stifle and destroy.

I have used my words poorly over the past few years. I love to write. It unlocks and taps into a part of me that I really believe is my gift from God. But it also allows me to escape, to disappear and to avoid life. I have used my words, spoken and written, to conjure realities that gave me a false sense of security, a false sense of connection and a false sense of self-worth. I see now that my words and the actions that accompanied them were creating and giving birth to a mask, to a false reality while it was also tearing down and destroying my connection to loved ones, to friends, to God and to myself.

I am on a new journey. I am dedicating my energy to being more genuine with my words and also making sure that my actions match those words. I want to be the best husband, father, friend, son, brother and man that I can be. But none of those things are realistic goals if I can’t first be the best Jermal I can be. I am not writing this to recruit cheerleaders, to search for sympathy or to initiate a dialogue among those that read it. I am simply writing it because my words will be the seeds of my actions. These words are words that I will measure myself against. These words are just the beginning…