Thank you, next.

I stayed with someone for 8 years because I thought I couldn’t do better.

I think this is my first time really sharing that statement...almost 8 years to the day after we broke up.



I won’t go into extreme details about the story of pre-2011 Sioban because it’s not necessary for the message, and those who know, know. All the bad things he was I found out about who he was came out after we broke up, but I knew way before that we weren’t supposed to be together. Did I love him? Yes. I can say this now because I asked myself that a few time over these last 8 years. Seeing if I was delusional or imagined my feelings. But no. There was a time I couldn’t imagine that the person I woke up to wasn’t the person I’d call my husband, the father to my children, and my soulmate. He gave me butterflies (or that was the beginning of a stress ulcer developing but that’s neither here nor there now). I was 100% in love with this man.

However, I’ve been in love with a few men that don’t deserve the permanency they have in my story.




Anywho. Back to the original statement. I stayed because I thought I couldn’t do better. I have been 5’9 since I was 11. I used to get called the Jolly Green Giant by my friends (my family is West Indian so I didn’t consider this bullying because insults are our love language). I was always chubby, and doofy, and just happy to be there. My step dad and grandpa raised me so I always been like one of the boys. I always had a lot of friends and was never considered an outcast. I was always the homie. All my friends were getting attention from boys and had boyfriends, and I have always been the one talking about basketball and cracking jokes with them when we chilled. I never felt a way about it until him…. He made me feel beautiful in a way I never knew I needed. He made me feel feminine. He made me feel sexy. He made me feel… He loved and cared and supported for me in a way I never imagined, and when he tatted my initials and our anniversary on his wrist, that pretty much was a marriage license to me.

But there was always something off. Parts of his life that didn’t add up. Things he kept hidden from me because he was "insecure" about them. Things I’d never bring up to my friends because they’d judge him *coughmecough* and wonder why I didn't confront him (the answer: cause avoidance is a hell of a drug). I felt uneasy, but why question it? This man was in love with me. No one had ever thought I was this beautiful before.. I still wasn’t getting attention like that but I didn’t need or want it. I had him. If i left, I’d be back to square one. Single, feeling unattractive (cause I know I'm pretty but being attractive is where shit was murky for me), and giving up steady raw sex (don’t act fake… this is a safe space). Marriage and a family were the ultimate goal for me and I was pretty much there. Why would I shake shit up?

Let me give you the cliff notes version. He cheated. I found out. We broke up for 10 months and he tried his hardest to get back. We did, but like Drake said, nothing was the same. Insecurity came rushing in. I searched his phone. Found things. Ignored them. I paid OUR bills on a 36k a year salary and I’m not sure how (don’t ever question the magic of black women). The support in all forms was gone. He proposed. Found more things in his phone, one of which was what I believe was a women texting him to come to the hospital cause her friend was in labor with the birth of his twins. Got the courage to confront him. He tried to leave the argument. I blocked his exit. He choked me (and not in the goo… never mind). And as I lay there being choked, on the bed we talked about our future children’s names (thank you to ortho tricyclen for holding a bitch down), my grandmother on the other side of the door, none the wiser to what was going on, I didn’t think “Omg he is going to kill me” “Fuck this nigga” or “How am I going to hide the marks?”....

I thought “Damn, I’m probably gonna have to leave him soon”.

This passive ass answer. The lack of emotion. The lack of definitiveness, even if it was temporary, is the thing that is the most traumatic about that experience to me.

Eventually, I met a man (by chance) who also made me feel beautiful. The attraction I felt for him was strong. We didn’t date while I was with my ex, but he indirectly gave me the confidence to leave. To realize that I don’t have to settle because I am scared. God used him as a vessel.

Spoiler alert, we ain't work.




It’s so easy to stay in a routine. A comfort zone. To stay in a place that FEELS like home but only because we were to lazy or scared to move. People, places, and things aren’t always permanent. When I moved (like physically, not metaphorically), I had so many condiments that expired that I never used up because I wanted to make them last as long as I could. This little stupid thing made me realize in a huge way that I keep thing longer than I should because I value making them last instead of enjoying them while I can. I was mad at myself for not seeing the lesson sooner (and that my damn Cafe Du Monde beignet mix never got used).

Leaving my ex fiance changed my life. I became myself. I honestly can’t even remember much of that relationship or who I was during those years because I wasn’t me. Now, when I am with someone, it is out of want or love, not fear. I am still nowhere near a relationship but I learned so much about myself. Including the fact that I am still the person who stays longer than my soul wants. I do a lot of things out of obligation versus motivation. I am loyal to a fault. However, I am making steps to change that. Leaving TED... Leaving NY…

And now leaving Deliberate Epiphanies.

I love writing but I started to not love writing for this blog. I wasn’t even attached to the name. But people felt attached. People asked me about it regularly. People felt moved by it. I wanted to connect with people via my writing, and I already had this so “Why would I shake shit up?” (see what I did there?). But my own project wasn’t inspiring me, and I don’t want to bring that energy into 2019.

Thank you to everyone who took this journey with me. Y’all were my inspiration to keep going and are my motivation to realize that there I can do more than a few posts on here when I remembered to write. I love y'all and I promise this isn’t an ending, but a beautiful beginning.

(Feel like there should be another "Thank you, next" reference but I don’t want to force it).





Xoxo,
Sio

I ain't never scared.... (ok maybe just a little)

[12/4/17 3:37pm]

Mommy: What do you want for your birthday/Christmas?

Me: Oh, I been so busy with everything going on I haven’t thought about it… Give me a bit girllll….lol

[12/4/17 4:43pm]

Mommy: He’s gone. Come to the hospital.

I don’t deal with death well. I never have. I got exposed to it too early. Early, as in being in the womb.

At 1 month in the womb when my dad took his last breath.

At 6 when my godmother died of leukemia.

At 7 with my cousin Heather.

At 8 with my great grandmother.

At 20 with my grannie Sheila.

At 25 with My grandad.

The thought of death literally gives me anxiety attacks.  Want to see me cry at the drop of a dime? ...(it’s actually not that hard)... Mention someone I love dying. I didn’t think I could be hit harder than at 30 when my grandfather passed away. I got the news in a hotel room in San Francisco. I was over 3000 miles from him and literally gasping for breathe on the floor that I couldn’t say goodbye to the most important man who has ever been in my life. After that, I was so hurt by that, I have had a slight disdain for San Fransisco. Every time I came back, I was reminded of one of the worst moments of my life. However, God has a petty sense of humor, and death has brought me back to San Francisco... to live.

My uncle was a gentle giant. He was sweet, was extremely active in the church, served in the army, and loved his whole family immensely. You saw his eyes smile before anything else, that was one of my favorite things about him. He was very composed and far from wild. He was very reserved, and if it wasn’t for us sharing a last name, you’d wonder how he was related to my loud ass. Hence why, we weren’t extremely close. We didn’t talk everyday, or have special “uncle and niece” outings. We were almost polar opposites. He had just come back from Antigua, just finished a regular uneventful Sunday dinner with my family, updating on family business that were left out of phone check-ins.... when he had a stroke in front of my family. A stroke that his body couldn't handle. A stroke that after 3 weeks in a coma... after 3 weeks of constant pleas to God from praying grandmothers, aunts, uncles, and friends, took him to our Lord. When I got to the hospital, I was actually composed. I comforted my aunt. I helped my mom make arrangements with the hospital staff. I was shocked at myself for my composure. I lowkey started to feel bad I was doing OK actually. 

Then I got home.

Alone.

And in the dead of the night, sitting up in the dark, worrying about my mom and aunts and grandma, I imagined that smile that started at his eyes, and my whole chest spazzed.

I lost it. I cried for hours. I almost went to the hospital because I had cried so I made myself dizzy and hit my head on the corner of a wall. I was sure I had a concussion and sat on the floor of my apartment at 4am, but prayed I was OK because I couldn’t bring myself to the hospital and stress my family out anymore that night. I didn't even tell them (or anyone) about that night... 

But why? I loved my uncle dearly and I missed him terribly, but why was this taking such a toll on me?

Then it hit me. My uncle was 57. My mom is 56. Shit, I am 32 and I STILL don’t know how all those years passed so quickly, so I know another 25 is gonna be here in no time. And in the grand scheme of things, all those ages don’t mean shit. When it’s your time to go, you can be 9 or 99, all that matters is the love you’ve given while here and the legacy you leave when you’re body is gone.

So, I asked myself, if I died today, what have I left? And I didn’t like the answer. 

I have regular moments of imposter syndrome that's so crippling sometimes, I have anxiety to answer emails because I don’t want to sound dumb. I have literally stopped doing work because I wasn't sure if I COULD do the work. I have such bad fear of embarrassment at times, that I avoid events or phone calls *coughormencough*. My self doubt is crippling. It’s a constant fight I face, and if we are being quite honest, I don’t win very often. Then I remember one of the last things my uncle said to my mom about getting rich. “It’s too late for us, we have to rely on the kids now”. 

 

I didn’t want to be alive saying it was “too late” for me, for anything. I decided that my Jesus year… 33.... I was going to make sure of that. I went out my comfort zone numerous times. I went on the trips, I started the podcast, I spoke on the panels, *coughIsentthenudescough*. I did the things that scared me shit less, and those things brought me to the scariest thing of all. An amazing new job at a company I admired, across the country and away from everything I love and hold dear. I cried... no bawled... throughout the whole process because this is the fear I didn’t see coming. This was multiple fears wrapped into one. I couldn’t deal.

But this is exactly what I signed up for. What I said I would push myself to overcome. This is why I am sitting in a hotel room in San Francisco (my furniture isn’t here yet), writing this as a new California resident. I remember being in bed, and I BEGGED God for Her favor. How could I be so ungrateful to question it because it didn't match my vision? It breaks my heart a little every hour to know the people I love the most are over 3,000 miles away from me. And my biggest fear is, God forbid, something happening to them and our last contact was a text or funny meme. That they didn't know how much I cared. That I'll never get to annoy them anymore and vice versa. I have to constantly fight writing 4 pages letter every hour in group chat, telling them I love them and how amazing they are and risk sounding crazier than they already think I am… but I had to go. I had to change how fear dictated my life. I had to change the answer to "what I am leaving behind?". I had to make sure that I never said “it’s too late for me”.

2018 was one of the most emotional, most trying, best years of my life. It owes me nothing and I owe it all to my uncle.

I pray every day that you are on this earth, you are doing something that you would be proud to leave behind. You aren’t letting fear navigate your path.

And when I die, I hope my legacy is I tried, no matter how imperfect (or scared) I was. And of course, Love.
xoxo, Sio

Happy Homegoing Uncle Clyde.

We don't go to the east side....

What do communities on the social, economic and environmental margins have in common? For one thing, they tend to be on the east sides of cities. In this short TED Talk about a surprising insight, anthropologist and venture capitalist Stephen DeBerry explains how both environmental and man-made factors have led to disparity by design in cities from East Palo Alto, California to East Jerusalem and beyond -- and suggests some elegant solutions to fix it.

Giving BLACK...

August 28th is Giving Black Day, a day created by the Young Black and Giving Back Institute to celebrate and elevate Young Black Philanthropist. Hundreds of nonprofit leaders and donors will come together on this day to raise funds for charitable causes and spread awareness on the importance of diversity in philanthropy.

COOL Kids, an non-profit I have worked with for years, will celebrate Giving Black Day with a fundraiser and school supply drive to benefit District 3 Harlem Public School students. Our goal is to raise $2,500 and collect school supplies for 100 students. Join us in Harlem for to help hit our goal, and share a drink with fellow philanthropists at the COOL Kids happy hour.

For a complete list of school supplies and more information about District 3 Harlem Schools visit www.coolkidsny.org.

*Turns up pre-45 Kanye's first album*

The hood prodigy (and one of my best friends) @__DaveyJones looking to help one deserving person in the US return to complete a 4-yr degree after taking time off for whatever reason - to start a family, work full-time, a slip in grades, or simply because college wasn't the right decision at that time. 

Here's what she'll cover to jumpstart your process: - Application & transcript request fees for up to 5 programs of interest - Upon acceptance, choice of tuition deposit or textbook assistance (up to $200) - Mentorship via regular check-ins throughout the application process.

"Application" deadline is Friday 9/21. Send her your real, raw story - no gimmicks - at info@thepeoplesmentor.com. All inquiries/apps will be strictly confidential. Tell a friend to tell a friend to tell an auntie/uncle. 

Happy matriculating!

You better keep that Same Energy....

So, what I thought I would never do, has happened. I am letting people on how truly a mess I am.

I started a podcast with some of my homeboys. It was just supposed to be me helping my friend get his comedy off the ground cause he is so funny and witty, and somehow it became a group chat with microphones that we decided to call Same Energy Podcast.

Two episodes so far on the most random of things from Life cereal to Gatorade to R. Kelly, to Insecure. And for those who dont know where our intro is from...

Sorry to those who have yelled at me to tell me I didn't tell them, I actually still haven't processed I am doing it. Follow our IG and Twitter too.

Also, please dont judge me.

You know you need to create to be a creative.... right?

(Spoiler alert - I forgot)

Most of you know what I do for work, and our big work conference happened in April, and I really haven't recovered from it. Sometimes I think I am on the autism spectrum because one disruption to my routine and I am no good. NONE. I then trained for the BK half marathon and took more trips than I was supposed to (or technically could afford), and have just genuinely been out of wack....



But also, I haven't felt inspired. I didn't have the usual motivation. And if I didn't have it, how was I supposed to sit here and write to you all? I would always rather be absent than inauthentic. And yes, I know the Zig Ziglar quote, (its in the "about this blog" section of the website for God's sake). I tried to force feed myself inspiration and nothing hit. I reread the fave books, and some additional ones, I worked out, I prayed (more like begged God to give me some sort of spark). And though the trips were amazing, I hoped they would clear my head for space, but they actually just made things worse. I wouldn't call it depression, but literally just a stagnant rut. I was ready to give up and just accept that being a "creative" really wasn't my thing and be happy with my 9 to 5.

Then it hit me. I wasn't actually creating.


I have a handicap... Perfection. Not saying I achieve it but if it doesn't at least SEEM perfect to me, I am discouraged and usually dismiss the idea. But a few days of not writing emails and updating this blog because I wasn't inspired, turned into weeks, that turned into months. Then I realized, it wasn't just emails. I wasn't writing at all except for work or to talk shit with my friends. I tried to even journal because I remembered one time doing a birth chart reading with mysticxlisptick and she said to me "Write. Writing is your sanity. It's what saves your life." But I still wan't moved. I tried everything to force my motivation to get these emails out to you. What else could I do? So, I hit my homegirl, who is an amazing writer, to ask her advice. And she said something that slapped me in my face.

"You are one of my favorite writers. I don't know if I have ever told you that, but you are."


I didn't start this site for me. I love helping people. It's a gift and a curse but it literally is what moves me. As much as I try to do things for me, genuinely being able to empower people makes me happy. I started small, engaging my twitter more and not just retweeting and talking to my friends. I wrote when I had an idea. I didn't wait for the whole story came to me, or was in the perfect setting to write. I just jotted little by little in my ever note. And even then, I still was thinking about abandoning Deliberate Epiphanies, cause I still wasn't sure.  Then God sent a little little nudge (as She has done a few times) via a text from Tracy G. "Love you babygirl. Have you been updating Deliberate Epiphany?"

I became this person, who I love, because I stopped being scared of fucking up. So I all that to say... We back OKURRRRRRR.

#WCW

I've wanted to do this for a little bit and what better time than the present? Yes, I love a clichè.

This coming March I'm highlighting dope women of color. I celebrate the ones I know regularly, and would love to hear about the ones you stan for too. I especially would love to hear about those who have businesses. So submit your #DeliberateWC so everyone can see their magic.

Thicker than a snicker...

A long time ago, someone send me a picture of Candice Kelly and said they thought it was me...

(this was the exact picture - y'all think every pretty thick girl is me but I digress)

She was gorgeous and had some great styles so I followed her. Today, 2.5 years later, I finally looked at her actual blog (yes, I know I'm basura) and it was worth it. Very simple but talks about fashion and her life and dealing with body positivity.  Sounds interesting? Here you go...

Call me crazy, but at least you call me...

I have been telling everyone about Therapy for Black Girls website like its my fashion nova code. It's this dope website that "is an online space dedicated to encouraging the mental wellness of Black women and girls."

Like... Thank you.

They give you access to black female therapists in your area (if you are - or know - one, please go sign-up to be on the directory) and have an amazing podcasts dedicated to different topics. It's been a great resource.