In the soft silence after tea time with the Sistas, where memory and longing mix, I come face-to-face with the inheritance that has shaped me. My Great Grandfather with the red mustache has lingered in the periphery of my life—a whisper I barely remember, yet feel deeply, like a root reaching up from the earth to remind me of where I come from. His legacy, I’ve been told, is both my red hair and my clarity, and perhaps something deeper, a seed of audacity in the face of conformity.
This journey of mine began innocently, a desire to know myself and be authentic.. Yet in digging, I unearthed more than I expected, discovering truths I hadn’t realized I was hiding from. I see now how I have carried a shadow—a subtle, insidious need to know more, to be right, to rise above. Somewhere, in the quiet exchanges of our Sista Tea gatherings, I found the courage to lay this part of me bare. My insistence on knowing better wasn’t a power but a defense, a shield built out of fear that I was, somehow, unacceptable as I was.
And so, I see myself anew, a mutation within the family line. It is not arrogance but a quiet difference, a subtle shift away from the stories of scarcity and helplessness that have weighed down the shoulders of so many ancestors before me. My great-grandfather’s presence seems to beckon me to acknowledge my own strength without cloaking it in superiority.
I see now how I’ve housed voices not my own. Squatters, they had become, taking up room in my thoughts, influencing my words, guiding my hands. Ancestors with their wounds and unfinished stories, lodging themselves in my body, resting their burdens within my bones. They were good company in my righteous moments, feeding the embers of fear that I was indeed too different, too foreign even to myself.
And so, I did what I thought was impossible. I pushed them out, gently but firmly. Not in anger, but in a quiet claim of my own authority. I cut the cords, honoring where they have been, while freeing myself from what they have left behind. In their place, I took up my own space. This act of reclamation was not a defiance but an embrace of the deep and quiet authority that is mine.
As I breathe in this new chapter, I understand that my righteousness was merely a barrier against the vulnerability of accepting my difference. Now, I feel it loosening, falling away. I make peace with the space where knowing used to be, allowing humility to soften it, shaping my power into a gentle authority that need not be spoken to be known.
In letting go of needing to know more, I have come to know myself better. In the company of my Great Grandfather’s memory and the gentle presence of all those I have released, I find the courage to stand firmly, humbly, in the space I now call my own.
In this reclaimed space, I imagine learning to use technology wisely, to watch as the costs of things drop, as deflation draws prices down to their true value. The concept is not new to me, but I am learning to understand how migrating to a truer system can reveal as well as. provide for me in ways I can't even imagine right now. I feel so curious rather than righteous, I am healthily awaiting each new insight as I forge forward in more beneficial ways.
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