Let me be clear, I fully believe that compliance is a form of survival. For me, it was rooted in becoming something I didn’t want for myself. I always loved being from Harlem, but I wanted the Cosby Show version of Harlem, not the Franklin and Wagner Projects Harlem. Not the Harlem that made children adults overnight. I wanted to know that Harlem had so much beautiful history, which I couldn't see, although the Lenox Lounge and Apollo were physical structures with a lot less luster.
Being raised in multiple worlds, you quickly believe you are part of the ‘have nots’ and you want to have. I did not yet know, I was complete regardless of where I am from. When yearning for belonging, I quickly learned the language of compliance, of Eurocentric acceptance. This is where the contortion began. The building of the perfect kid. I was adorable, wasn’t I?
In 1980, there were no systems that would disallow my attendance at an Upper West Side elementary school. It was my mother’s persuasive voice and my quick-wittedness that got me ‘placed’ within predominantly white Jewish elementary school. This was far from where I actually lived. It was there, in the sterile halls of my elementary school, that I learned the need to code-switch.
Before becoming a store owner, my mother was an AT&T phone operator. She had a phone voice that seemed to deliver everything she wanted. From evading a bill collector to getting a friend to go out and dance, she was able to alter her voice and thereby her circumstances. I quickly learned that I too could manipulate my circumstances when I manipulated myself. I learned that being a smiling and dancing adorable light-skinned Black kid was a literal pass into a world some of my friends at home only saw on television. I learned how to comply with the narrative of what I was supposed to be so I could hang with the haves. I enjoyed the safety of buildings that stood erect and complete, of parents holding the hands of their skipping children. Even the dogs seemed to have an air of benefit. I didn’t know what stood behind this air of perfection, so I chased what seemed to be beautiful.
For too long, I extended myself into each world. I remained elusive in a world of Upper West Side ease and Harlem grind. It was as if I were a fixture to be used at any moment and ignored when no longer needed. As I grew and my identity solidified, I realized the woman developing in my mind had nowhere to live. I found myself sitting on sidewalks in the West Village after high school, envying those who clearly had the bravery to be themselves. Doc Marten boots, spiked hair, and pierced noses abound. A perfect kid outside and a raging woman on the inside screaming with no sound.
I sat on sidewalks with permed hair, braided down each side of my head. My favorite high-water sweatpants—this is long before the cool days of joggers—and Sally Jesse Raphael red glasses at the tip of my nose. I could not know who I was. I straddled between two worlds for so long. The straddling felt more natural than being myself. As the ‘real’ me kept trying to emerge, the alternate versions of me wrestled with her, reminding me ‘they’ had gotten me this far.
I remember the first time I heard about multiple personalities and wondered if I didn’t exhibit such a challenge. I knew that I didn’t have the psychological challenge, but I did feel as though there were versions of me wrestling within. None of them really won the battle to be number one. Each showed up just in time to usher me through the environment of the situation at hand. It was the coping mechanism I needed at the time.
My most excellent version of flex was when my family donned me, a ‘White Girl.’ I perfected such an eloquent use of language and tone that my family quickly put me on the phone when they needed something. I had surpassed my mother and her perfect pitch telephone voice. This became my normal speaking voice, winning acceptance in one realm and inciting mild bullying in another.
Maybe when you and I meet, we’ll talk more about soul manipulation. For now, let’s press fast forward to 1994. It was my second year of college. For the first time, I heard the word psychosomatic. I’ve always had a love of words, holding space like a bookmark in the pages of my life. I could not tell you at that moment why that word meant so much to me. It was like my future self told my current self, “You’ll need this girl. Just hold on.”
Another fast forward to 2019, and I realized that psychosomatics had a very real place in my life. At the time, I suffered from random physical ailments, from IBS (irritable bowel syndrome) to psoriasis, and eczema. While there were a few logical reasons for the psoriasis on my scalp, I couldn’t nail down the origins of all the other random illnesses I experienced. From changes in my diet to weight loss, gain, and all manner of changes in my habits. The ailments would dissipate for some time and then return with a vengeance regardless of my discipline or consistency. No rhyme, no reason, at least that’s what I thought. The reality was that I failed to live an authentic life. I lived a life that was so far outside of who I was that it caused me harm. Now let me be fully transparent, I lived a life that looked great on the exterior.
I lived the ‘American Dream’: one husband, two cars, two kids, two dogs, six figures, and a house with a picket fence. It was the quintessential life. I presented well—hair done, nails done—everything did, but nothing acknowledged the reality of me, the real Ja’Nohn. Over the course of a few years, I began to hear a voice within, beckoning me to shed the version of me that straddled worlds.
I learned that being a shell of oneself is a surefire way to make the body sick. The IBS, eczema, and psoriasis showed temporary improvement with topical ointments, but the lasting effects came when I got my mind right. Getting your mind right and aligning with your truest self is NOT an overnight process. You’re likely to burn things down, destroy a world you spent most of your life building. The perfect life becomes a cage made of diamonds, beautiful to others, but restrictive to you.
I divorced my husband, the man I knew since 11th grade. Yes, we even went to prom together. We worked hard to get to this level of existence. Two immigrant-raised, first-born kids with all the gumption to become ‘something.’ That quest led to our demise. I’ll write another day in detail on how aspiration outside of oneself will destroy a relationship. For today, we’re focusing on the reclamation of the soul.
I left the big 4 consulting firm where Partner was being dangled before me like the toxic crown jewel it was. Now don’t get me wrong, I believe being a Partner can be a beautiful position; however, corporate ladder climbing without a strong sense of self and why is toxic. I say that with my full chest.
So what’s left when you burn things to the ground?
Ritual: 5:00 a.m. - 8:00 a.m. was and still is all mine. Meditation, journaling, reading, yoga, anything that was devoted to the exploration that was important to me and me alone.
Play: Travel, roller skating, coloring, group meet-ups, dining alone.
Therapy: Years of honest conversation, unpacking, ownership, and action
Movement: Walking, yoga, boxing, jumping rope, skipping, anything that allowed my body to feel joy.
Soulful Skincare: Slow bathing, soaking, hot oil on my scalp. A literal rub from head to toe with my homemade body care.
It was slow; the unraveling, the undoing, the unlearning, and the awakening. I am still awakening to the beauty that is me. I am still unlocking divine wisdom within.
As I do this, my strength increases, and my sphere of influence radiates brighter with much less effort.
So many other humans, especially Black women in corporate America, complain of their hair falling out, skin that won’t comply, or stomach issues that seem to appear out of nowhere. Many Black women complain about the work that is killing them. That should sound eerily familiar. The idea of productivity as we measure it today has a messy but profound connection to slavery.
Insane levels of productivity, coupled with structural racism, sexism, and a healthy dose of stress, feels like a ripe environment for physical ailments. What does one do? My response is to protect the soul, establish boundaries, know thyself, and reconnect to soul-aligned goals with vigor.
Herein lies one facet of the Healed Body origin story. Through my journey, I learned I didn’t want to become a recluse, yelling at capitalism with my fists and jaws clenched. I wanted to live within this world because it holds so much beauty, but I also wanted to maintain the beauty that is within me. That is why I established a framework that allows the fullness of me to exist anywhere.
If you’re interested in existing in the fullness of your divine power, let’s talk . Even if we don’t chat soon, my hope is that you read and feel the energy by which this letter/essay is written. It is my heart made into words with the desire to reach a soul that needs to hear that it’s going to be okay.
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