When I was a little girl I loved puzzles. It could be an actual puzzle from the dollar store, one on my brand new computer that my aunt and grandmother purchased for me, a word puzzle, connect-the-dots, even the one from Cracker Barrel that called me an ig-no-ra-mous if I left more than 3 pegs — anything that I had to figure out, I wanted to do it.Read More
I teach at a high school in the middle of the hood. 100% of our students are black, and 100% live in or are subjected to poverty on a daily basis. They face traumas that seem unreal, grown folk problems at 14, and reading scores that make my job nearly impossible to do. But there is one thing that stands out to me as the most uphill battle.
My babies don’t know who they are.Read More
“I am so sick of people saying they’re depressed! That mess is not real!”
That is an actual quote from someone that I had grown to respect as they spoke to my class. I sat, numb, because in my head there was an all-out war happening, and it wasn’t just two sides.
Nah, they don’t mean that.
Is that true? Am I overdoing it?
HOW DARE YOU SAY THAT FOOLISHNESS!
Breathe, Laquasha, breathe.Read More
I have always loved to write. I was one of those girls who begged their mother to buy those journals with the cheap locks from the Scholastic Book Fairs and I would put it in my Lisa Frank bag and carry it and my gel pens everywhere. Every. Where.Read More
Over the past few months I’ve read a few Op-Eds about millennials leaving churches but continuing to believe, or about what millennials need out of Christianity, or why we don’t participate in service like folk think we should. I’ve read it, rolled my eyes, and felt stuck between a rock and a hard place.Read More
November is over, thank God.
It was a helluva month for me, and although I made it through, I still feel it. I feel the remnants of what November showed me, and what I learned about myself for the millionth time in my 27 years of life.
I am not superwoman.Read More
I wrote the title of this piece then got on Facebook because I was afraid to tell the truth. Let me start from the beginning, though. Maybe it will help. Maybe you’ll understand. Maybe I’ll understand.
Seven years ago my hurt was given a name: depression. Two years later anxiety jumped on board. Monday I had a mental breakdown.Read More
My paternal grandmother is a Breast Cancer Survivor.
My paternal grandmother has Dementia.Read More
Every since I can remember, I have settled.
But not in everything. When it comes to my education, my career, the way I live, I go for the absolute best. But, when it comes to relationships, I find myself giving a whole lot and falling flat on my face each time.
I have terrible taste in men.Read More