I’ve been a long time coming. Unconsciously – for the most part – I chose a circuitous path to come back to myself. So, what or who informs the woman I am? Descended from slaves, this trauma still courses through my veins.
Thirteen years ago, burnout brought me to the mat. I had no idea then the immense impact that yoga would have upon my life – to the extent that I left my high profile, high intensity job of being an international peacekeeper traveling to dodgy locations – to becoming a yoga teacher.
From feminine crossfires in my hometown, Ubud, to further unyielding of Mother Nature in Indonesia, where earthquakes rocked Sulawesi causing tsunami warnings, to the exposure of ‘angry white men’ on the other side of the Atlantic Ocean, my head is spinning.
Today’s world is busting at the seams with all forms of idealistic visionaries trying to make our mark. Popular terms used to describe are entrepreneurs and influencers. Less attractive translates to hustlers on the Internet market scene trying to peddle wares of self-development, transformation and dream manifestation. What distinguishes one from the other?
Strong women and men don’t cry. As a result of my strong Jamaican-colonial upbringing, for a very long time, I saw ‘sucking it up’ as a proud display of strength. Crying was the domain of babies and weaklings, incapable of defending themselves.