Lately I’ve spent a lot of time thinking about people I’ve released along the path to self awareness. Not in a mournful or regretful fashion, but in a matter-of-fact and as honest as can be can be way that has allowed me to trace all of my hurt back to one common root; people pleasing. It’s true that people tend to mistake kindness for weakness but ultimately it is me I blame for making my sacred space so easily accessible to outside forces. Paying close attention to all of the ways I unintentionally taught others to treat me by continuously making myself available for them, expanding my energy and sacrificing my resources to help, has allowed me to understand why I kept on experiencing the same disappointments time after time. My logical brain can now grasp the mechanisms behind those dynamics. It’s not to say that I deserved to be taken for granted, violated or left out in the cold but I guess what I’m saying is that it does make sense. I’ve reached a sobering conclusion; being too kind is rather perilous. I’ve had to make peace with the fact that the majority of people I’ve let in both my physical space and my heart space during my adult life were energy drainers and takers who had been programmed by my fervent dedication to them to feel entitled to my efforts. The first friend I made in college was a California native named Paige. We were in different programs but converged during a Panafrican studies course at CSUN. I was a fish out of water. I knew no one at all and was not exactly proficient in English. I was enthusiastic about beginning my academic career and exploring Southern California but I lived off campus and meeting people wasn’t easy. Paige took an interest in me and my background. I thought she was funny and outgoing. We befriended each other and started spending a lot of time together on and off campus. She soon became family to me. Second year of college, the semester was just about to start but Paige was in between places. She needed a place to stay for a couple of months until she could move into her own apartment - the dorms were not a viable option for her and she had no family or close friend in Northridge. I was very lucky to have a one bedroom apartment and was living alone so I immediately agreed to have her stay with me for a little while. She was often at my place anyway. I had just stoked up the fridge when she moved in with me. It was full to the brim so it only made sense to dig into that. We lived off my groceries for a week or so after which she went grocery shopping on her own and began labeling her items. It rubbed me the wrong way but I didn’t make a big deal of it. I took note on how she decided to go about things. I had been raised in a very different context and attributed our habits and inclinations to that. One day, however, she took things a little too far. Back then, neither of us had a car so we’d regularly catch the bus together to get to campus. Not sure how much it is now but at the time the bus fare was $1.50. I had a dollar on me that morning but no extra change so I asked Paige to toss 50 cents my way. She did - reluctantly. Shortly after, she messaged me demanding that I return 50 cents to her. I laughed it off and ignored it. She couldn’t be serious… Well, she was. She insisted that she needed it. I was stunned by the boldness of her request considering I had been hosting her free of charge and sharing my food supply with her. I had been giving and giving without any expectations but that was just too hard to swallow. To say that she needed the 50 cents was an insult to our friendship and my intelligence. My perception of her was forever altered. Paige remained in my close circle throughout college but as time went by and life challenges arose, it became clearer to me that our friendship was one sided. Unflattering comments were consistently being thrown at me when in the company of other people. I was always the one to buy birthday presents, Christmas gifts and travel souvenirs. I’d be there to assist whenever she needed my help with assignments or creative projects but excuses were often made for her failure to show up or contribute in return. There was an omnipresent atmosphere of rivalry I didn’t feel comfortable with. She ended up having an unexpected pregnancy and gave birth to a beautiful boy while I dropped out of college to pursue artistic avenues. Long story short; we drifted apart. Paige isn’t the first or last to have repeatedly bit the hand that fed her. Clearly, I had more lessons to learn on that topic. Not too long after Paige stayed with me, I met Gary on a bus ride from Nordhoff St and Reseda Blvd to Reseda blvd & Balboa Blvd. He sat next to me and started chatted me up. We joked and instantly warmed up to each other. It was purely platonic. No sexual attraction of any kind. In fact, I couldn’t determine for certain what his sexual orientation was when we first connected. He was a manly man, but at the same time his feminine energy was palpable and I thought he could swing both ways. It really didn’t matter. Gary was hilarious, charming and sweet. He didn’t seem to have an agenda. We talked the entire ride only to realize we were getting off at the same bus stop. We exchanged contact information and met up again over food that same week. Gary reminded me so much of my bright high school literature bud and king of sarcasm Medhi. A sweetheart. The yin to my yang. The had very similar energies. The next time I heard from Gary, he was in the hospital at Cedar Sinai. He had been rushed there due to an invasive MRSA infection. I didn’t know what that was but was trying to understand how it had happened. That’s when I was first given a snap shot of Gary’s story. He was a recovering alcoholic who was staying at a sober living home near my apartment. He had left a toxic relationship and was trying to get back on his feet, doing what’s right, staying away from drama, and taking care of himself. He complained that the living conditions at the house were neither sanitary nor safe. Other tenants were sketchy characters. He didn’t trust them. He didn’t feel safe around them. He didn’t wish to stay there and attributed the infection to the lack of cleanliness. Gary didn’t have to say anymore; I immediately suggested that he move out of the sober home and come stay at my place. “You’re staying there Gary.” Is what I told him. “You only need to go back there to grab your stuff.” He relocated to my place as soon as he was discharged from the hospital. As usual; no compensation needed and no deadline. I told him to take the time he needed to recover from his illness and figure out his next move. Living with Gary was a breeze. He picked up after himself. He bought groceries. He cooked. He had an upbeat and graceful personality. He did all he could to contribute and would keep me in the loop as it related to job searches, entrepreneurial plans and other income generating strategies. We talked about my studies. I’d consult with him about guys stuff and he’d consult with me about girl stuff. I’d come home from campus and dinner would be just about ready. He’d greet me with big smile and get me excited about what he had decided to cook that day. We broke bread together and took care of one another. Gary was like an older cousin or big brother to me. He was a white American adult male in his thirties. I was in my early twenties and had been shipped to Northridge, straight from West Africa, but we found common grounds. He was going through a rough patch but was striving to keep his head above water and persevere in manifesting a whole new chapter. He had a mean sales pitch and would spent a great deal of time on his phone trying to close deals. He had this happy go lucky attitude which maintained that everything was terrific no matter what but I believe something deeply painful was concealed behind that cheerful  facade. Gary was quite sensitive and - although I couldn’t identify it back then - suffered from anxiety. I felt for him. I was clueless as to what severe anxiety looked or felt like but, in hindsight, all the physical symptoms were there. He wasn’t speaking on it but was struggling to cope with stress. I could sense he needed nurturing and was rather overwhelmed with worries about the future. I couldn’t necessarily relate to what he was going through but I supported him the best I could. We shared space for four ish months without friction or drama of any kind. We got along superbly well. Gary didn’t make me feel taken advantage of while he temporarily lived with me. He treated my home with care and got to meet my friends who also appreciated his presence. All in all, Gary wasn’t a burden to me. Again, Gary was family. Or so I thought. One day, he finally closed on a deal which awarded him a nice payout. As soon as he received the check, he started browsing Craigslist for a car. Us checking out local car listings and comparing different models is probably the last thing I remember us doing together. Gary bought himself a cool convertible. We celebrated that milestone. Out of the blue, he announced that he was headed to Palm Desert for a couple of days to chase after a business opportunity. I sent him off in his brand new convertible and he never looked back. We stayed in touch for a bit but he quickly grew vague and distant towards me. It was hard to keep up; his plans were constantly changing. Gary was a rolling stone with an effervescent personality - anything was possible. I had a full life, busy with classes, exams, new college friends, etc.  We grew apart. I reached out a couple of times without getting any feedbacks. I let it go, hoping he would find his way in life and remain sober. A couple of years later Gary popped up in my suggested Facebook profiles. That’s when I found out that he had moved to Nevada (I believe it was) and gotten married. Not being notified was hurtful but I decided to write him a congratulatory note to express my joy in finding out that he was doing so great and had tied the knot. He replied. He was shocked but stoked to hear from me after all that time. He apologized. A lot had happened. He didn’t mean to vanish. He wanted me to meet his wife. I accepted the apology but had mixed feelings. Parts of me felt our friendship had died. I didn’t ask for his phone number. I never wrote him again. He never followed up or acted on his statement. I basically sent him my blessings and that was it. Later that year, I met Kaya, marking the beginning of a relationship with great significance in my life. We were introduced to each other by mutual friends who thoughts we needed to connect. From the moment we said “hi” to each other we became two peas in a pod - inseparable. Kaya had just landed in LA and was staying with relatives but it was a full house; three generations lived under the same roof. Although she appreciated them very much, she had no privacy. Naturally, I invited Kaya to stay at my place in case the situation really wasn’t working for her. She took me up on that. Some of our best memories  were created during that time. We quickly got attached to each other and I loved her dearly. She was the first person I could be entirely myself with. Nothing was taboo. Nothing was too intimate, or too cringe. What was mine was hers. I essentially split my monthly allowance to account for her and her needs in the sense that if I were to get something for myself, I’d feel the urge to get it for her as well. Not because she asked, but because I wanted her to be included. It was so important to me that she felt welcome and comfortable. Nothing was really off limit; my food, my clothes… I trusted her fully. I was being fully sponsored by my parents therefore I was blessed with resources my college friends didn’t have. I felt Kaya, whom I perceived as brilliant and kind, deserved all the support she could get. I did everything in my power to lighten her load and she did everything she could to be of assistance to me when I needed help. It was a friendship which served as an anchor for many years and we got to share space several times over the course of our friendship. Kaya had ups and downs that reverberated into her relationships. I often felt I had to walk on eggshell around her, downplaying my joy and dimming my light to suit her comfortability level. Ultimately, some things transpired and caused us to drift apart. There were recurring breakdown in communication. For whatever reason, she really seemed to struggle with cheering for me during milestones and couldn’t show up for me during the most trying period of my life. Our friendship has been marked by hot and cold patterns with periods of estrangement. We are no longer in touch and sadly I do not see a path for reconciliation in the future - the will to med things is no longer there. Looking back, she was the only friend I’ve had in life who has ever resorted to violence against me due to a verbal disagreement. It is was put the first dent in our tumultuous friendship and also why our first attempt at living together came to a grinding halt. It ended awfully. I was incredibly hurt. It took some time but we eventually gravitated toward each other again and decided to repair the relationship. We did. We recovered from that terrible incident and put it behind us but that didn’t last for long; our friendship was punctuated by falling outs.  It’s not until this past week, when I fell ill, that I realized what had been happening in my twenties. I’ve spent my entire adult life subconsciously trying to resolve the oldest conflicts of my existence - those born and bred within the nuclear family unit. All of my romantic relationship had been a reenactment of the dynamics existing between myself and my primary caregivers, that I knew of. What I wasn’t aware of though was that all of my friendships were mimicking my relationships with my siblings. My brother was lovable, charming and funny, but not exactly dependable. He had anger issues. He was flighty and rather detached. There was no sense of duty to care, to truly step in, to be engaged. There was no protective instinct present and very little involvement in my life from a young age. My sister has been struggling with addiction since I was in high school and has been quite a disruptive force in my life. She has been fighting her demons for a long time and our relationship has greatly suffered because of it. She never really was able to set her own trauma and grief aside in order to show up for others. I longed for closeness with my siblings but it was never achieved. We dispersed as adults and all sort of fend for ourselves without leaning on each other. Lies and repeated betrayals have driven a wedge between us and we are at a point where no communication is taking place. I had to check my ego at the door and ask myself, in my heart of hearts, whether or not I desired to extend and olive branch and work at repairing the relationships with each of them. Taking a hard look at the past thirty years, I also had to ask myself what kind of value relationship like these were bringing into my life. Is there intentionality? Is there honesty? Is there respect? Is there acceptance? Is there genuine support? The truth is none of these tenets were being upheld and, although I have great love and compassion for my siblings, I have no tolerance for less than that. At this stage of my existential journey I firmly decline all that does not provide nourishment for my soul and fails to align with my highest purpose. I have no more room for people, places and things that aren’t conducive to my healing, my growth, my prosperity and overall wellbeing. Even if I want to go there, my soul won’t allow it. Despite how difficult it has been, and still is, I had to let my brother and sister go to honor my healing journey, respect myself and protect my peace of mind. I had to let them go to escape a hopelessly harmful pattern of constant rescuing, fixing and enabling. I had to let them go just like I had to do with Paige, Gary, Kaya, and Derrick to name a few. Who’s Derrick? Derrick is a cat I met in college. We were homies. He was a visual artist and a hip hop head. I was also heavy into hip hop back then. We talked about art and design a lot. He was a big black guy with a towering figure and a big bright smile - a friendly bear with a talent for drawing. He was interested in me and I knew it but I didn’t see us at all in a romantic context. The friend zone is where he would stay. Because he didn’t attempt to cross the line, I didn’t question his intentions. We got along just great and so long as he wasn’t overstepping boundaries, I thought there was no reason to be distant. Hah, what the hell did I know about boundaries… In the fall of 2012 I bought tickets to see Kendrick Lamar & TDE crew members Q, Jay Rock and Ab Soul perform at The Novo. I was a Kendrick fanatic - I don’t even have the words to describe just how obsessed I was with Kendrick’s music. He had just started touring and had not yet blown up the airwaves; there was no way I would miss that. Derrick was also a fan. Kaya was staying with me at the time but she didn’t care for Kendrick’s music at all so I offered my extra ticket to Derrick. On the evening of the show, he picked me up early as planned. He had brought a surprise: two marijuana edible cookies. At that point, I didn’t smoke at all but had tried edibles twice. One of these experiences had been fantastic while the other had been catastrophic. I told him about it and we both laughed at my expense but he thought I’d be fine. I thought so too. I wanted to give it another shot to amp my sonic experience and decided to take my chances. I buckled up and grabbed one of the two cookies after watching him swallow his. It wasn’t peer pressure at play or anything like that; I wanted to get lifted. Unaware of its potency I was first nervous to overdose myself and timidly chewed up about one half of it. We were driving from Northridge to DTLA in the evening so there was a good 40 minutes ride to the venue - at least. By the time we got to the parking structure, my naive and impatient self was surprised it had not kicked in yet so I just went ahead and swallowed the other half thinking I’d be alright. It was a grave mistake I was going to be regretting less than half an hour later. I was feeling incredible at first. A nice buzz developed as we made our way into the venue looking for the right spot to watch the performance. We squeezed our way through the crowd to reach the pit area which was starting to get packed. Having arrived at a decent time, we were able to get pretty close to the stage. The more people flooded the venue and the more I started to feel uneasy. I had not eaten a full meal for dinner. The pit area was crammed with folks who were pushing to get closer to the stage. It was hot and humid. Poor air flow. I felt suffocated. The lights went out and the show started but I became overwhelmed with the THC in my system. As soon as the artists hit the stage I started feeling really sick. It was too loud, too hot, too heavily populated. I started wobbling and both my legs gave up. Before I knew it, or could react, I was collapsing on the ground. It is the first time in my life that I fainted. I remember slowly coming back to my senses, confused, trying to recall what I had happened, feeling like I was floating. It was Derrick carrying me out of the crowd to a more open area. I sat down on the ground as he fetched me some water. We ended up witnessing the show from a corner of the venue. I spent the rest of the evening sitting down, unable to exert energy or truly enjoy myself. I was wiped out and dazed. I didn’t want my buddy to miss out on it so I just hung in there, trying to absorb the acts but I felt absolutely miserable. I wish I had not eaten the cookie and was pretty upset with myself for sabotaging the whole experience. I apologized to Derrick who was visibly irritated. He had eaten his cookie but wasn’t impacted in the same way I was. He was feeling fine but was annoyed that we had lost our viewing spots. We didn’t interact much for the rest of the show for he was standing up and I was sitting down. It was too loud anyway. I gave him space and rested until it was over and we could finally go home. On the way back though, he said very little. He was snappy and wasn’t showing much concern for my health. He was clearly frustrated with me and having an attitude. I wasn’t feeling sick anymore. I was just extremely depleted. In his eyes, I had ruined the show. By the time we exited the freeway, I had started to feel offended by his silent treatment and reminded him that I had not purposefully tried to make myself sick - I had made a bad judgment call. Derrick brushed me off. “The show was amazing and we were there. You could at least say thank you for the tickets” or something along those lines, is what I told him. We were on Roscoe Blvd, blocks away from my drop off location. We were about to hit a red light when he lost his composure and ordered me to get out of his vehicle. I vehemently refused, demanding that he drop me off where he picked me up and go pout somewhere else on his own time. It was late in the night and I wasn’t going to walk blocks in a poorly lit area by myself. That was out of the question. I was livid. He was furious too- now raging. He drove past my building, made a u-turn and pulled into the gas station at the nearest intersection, across the street from my building. He stretched his hand past my body and reached for the door handle, trying to push me out. I resisted and shut the door, yelling at him to calm his nerves. Three Latino boys my age or younger were filling up their tank and goofing around when they started noticing what was happening. Derrick got out of his car, circled the vehicle, open the door wide and dragged me out of the vehicle, tearing up my blouse. He tossed me onto the ground, grabbed my purse and sent it flying it in my direction. I was beside myself, crying, trying to cover up while collecting all of my things. My purse had spilled all over the floor in one of the most humiliating moment of my life. How could he react like this? I couldn’t understand. The boys didn’t intervene. They ceased to talked and simply watched. Derrick was twice as big as any of them. Despite being in twenties, he looked mature for his age and could have easily been thought to be thirty something years old. He jumped back in his car and stomped on the gas, fleeing the scene. I walked home and broke down telling Kaya what had happened. She comforted me and helped me get cleaned up but I lacked the maturity to process the episode and so did she. We ended up sort of laughing about it the next day, but it was just me swallowing my pride and carrying on. I ended up burying that incident somewhere deep in my memories and never spoke of Derrick again. I never heard from him either. He never apologized for putting his hands on me or leaving me on the street. Everybody makes mistakes, starting with myself. I’ve hurt other people’s feelings. I’ve done things I’m not proud of, things I wish I could take back. That said, loyalty to me has always been extremely important - almost to a fault. It doesn’t matter whether or not we are in good terms, if you are family, if you are what I consider a friend, I will vigorously defend your integrity and guard your interests. Behind close doors, I’ll say what I truly think and we’ll address our issues, but I will not stand for someone bad mouthing friends and family in my presence. Anyone I would open my heart to would get all that I have to give. I used to operate under the principle that I was happy to give my trust to anyone until that person gave me a reason not to trust them. I can’t afford to that anymore. After investing so much friendship that pulled me down, I’ve learned that trust is earned and built upon through a long established pattern of conscious reciprocal efforts. Today, as a wrap up my third decade on this beautiful planet and carry on with the hard work that is self purification, purging myself of anything and anyone that doesn’t serve my highest good, I am called to reflect on the nature of my relationships with some of the people who have played a role in my journey since I moved to California. It’s been real. It’s been riddled with heartaches and valuable lessons. I’m now ready to close a major life cycle and put the pain of the past behind me, where it belongs, taking only the wisdom it has birthed. Raising my vibrations and establishing firm boundaries has drawn the brightest lights  and softest hearts in my directions. I look at the current feminine and masculine energies in my life and my heart is so full. Time really is an illusion. It’s intention over duration - always. People I’ve only known for a few months or a few weeks have brought remarkable warmth, gentleness and peace into my sphere. I speak of people who are authentically themselves and genuinely of service; people who value the words coming out of their mouths and the impact of their actions. I really wanted to write an entry to honor the blessings that have shown up in my life in the form of kindred spirits. In doing so, I am sending a signal to the Universe to put more angels on my path and unite me with my soul family. Human beings are social animals. We need community. We need support. We need to feel heard and seen. We can’t do it all alone. I’m so very thankful for the relationships I am currently cultivating and making space for. I’m thankful that we manage to recognize, amplify and see each other so clearly. With these people, there is no competition or hostility. Instead we have vulnerability and wholeness. It’s only love. People who triangulate you into chaos, endanger your safety and wellbeing, or abandon ship are not friends. There shouldn’t be any power differential or confusion around a friend’s intention. To feel safe in existing as my truest self and be appreciated for it in all of my relationships is what I pray for.  It may last a lifetime, or a season, the importance isn’t the duration but the quality and depth of it. So long as it is rooted in love and acceptance, and that it is nourished with truth and balance, I welcome it wholeheartedly. Still. it is up to me to set protective boundaries so as to avoid feeling exploited, invalidated, unappreciated or disrespected in any way. Trauma bonding isn’t limited to romantic relationships, it also happens in the context of friendships and these friendships often end abruptly. I won’t be creating anymore monsters out of reckless people pleasing and poor spiritual hygiene. I’m a giver and that’s very unlikely to change but that’s a great thing. I am so proud of and deeply in love with the spirit that inhabits me. I do not seek to harden my heart or alter my core nature. However, moving forward, I’ll do a better job at screening those who have access to it. Not everyone is worthy and that’s okay. I’m grateful to those who value me; they’re the ones who matter.

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