As I reflect on this Sunday morning, I remember making promises to myself that “I can do anything I put my mind to” and that “I can be anything in the world” at the age of 8 years old.

Kid dreaming is something very different.

The American Dream. We love to hear stories about some sort of struggle turned to success. It breathes life into our hope and tears our stress.

-jsadop

Infamous question – What do you want to be when you grow up? I wanted to be a veterinarian. Today as I write this sitting in Starbucks, cold and rainy, third day into March, after a Sunday church service – I am a Social Worker.

This morning – I cannot lie – emotions hit me of those back when I was 8 years old, then 13 years old, again when I was 18 years old, 21 years old, 25 years old – to now as I sit, 30 years old. So much time has passed.

I had dreams. Here’s a short time line: 8 years old

A Veterinarian - I quickly realize that this was not about playing with puppies and I would have to possibly perform some kind of surgery.  No thanks. 13 years old.

An Actress - I always had this "fear" of speaking in front of people but fell in love with theatre.  I love theatre.  Went to college to pursue theatre.  Then the day came and when I was told that I would never make it because to pursue this career I would have to move to California or New York and wait my turn.   Man!  I wish I could remember who told me this.  18 years old.

A Neonatal Nurse - I am not going to lie.  Anatomy kicked my tail.  Failed this class twice.  A "f" the first time and then a "d" the second.   I had to wait a year to retake it.  What a waste of time.  And before you judge; Yes, I studied.   I just could not get it.  I close my eyes because tears flood my vision and I could no longer see past my ocean.  When I opened my eyes, I found myself in the student center speaking to a career counselor about my future.  It felt like prison.  Words cannot explain. 21 years old.

A Social Worker – “I just want to help people.” These are the words I said to the career counselor but these are not the words I meant. ‘I just want to help people‘, came out as if I was making a plea, surrendering myself, making a deal just to get out of prison. ‘I just want to help people’, was my last resort because I could not even help myself at this point. So instead of saying “I just want someone to help me”, I avoided another set up for failure and turned to something I do best – deflecting – “it’s ok, I’m fine.” – I just want to help people because helping myself became too hard and frankly, I’m done with it. It’s time to graduate, after 5 1/2 years, with a Bachelors degree in Social Work. 25 years old.

This Sunday morning, I found myself in tears again. I had dreams that are different from the reality that I am living. My career, my finances, my degree, my location, my family, my car, my time, my skin care, my cooking skills, my friends, my weight, my environment, my smile, my love, my stance, my closet, my confidence, my lipstick. I sat on the edge of my bed and cried. Here we are again. Too familiar with your cedar brick walls. Your daily routine. Your staleness. So many tears. Too many actually. I just start drawing wet circles on the ground with my toe. I became that distracted in my tears. I have failed myself. Yes, I will say that and NO you cannot tell me “Oh sweetie, don’t be so hard on yourself. You’re doing great. None of that stuff matters. Everything isn’t as it seems”. Like no (lol), you do not have permission. I have failed myself and it shows. I’ve wasted so much of my time and it is crazy. I have failed that little girl and she knows it. And now. Now, I need to mourn because it is now time to kiss and bury the failure. It is time to say, I have failed and it has been a hard time letting go. It has been hard facing the reality that it did not work out the way it should have and move on. It is time to let that dream go and make peace with my present.

I open my eyes to get ready for church. I get dressed and look in the mirror. Fix hair and eyes. “Sis. I give you permission to mourn, but we will mourn in red lips, because this will be the last time you will be in this space, so we are leaving with grace. Red lips with red nails. We mourn in red.” So as I wear my red lips in mourning this morning, I want to leave you with this….

It’s time to let go. Mourning takes place during a loss. It is needed to break the barrier and to release the build up. Do not be afraid to admit failure and do not be afraid to move on. Do it honestly and do it gracefully. I’m doing it too and it took me way to long to do so.

Today, I mourn, but in red. 30 years old.