So this is the deal: I’ve spent fifty-nine years of my life under the wrong assumption. I’ve sequestered a large part of my life away in a self-imposed convent in order to protect my self from my mother and my own inner chaos. I’ve indulged in over-inflated righteousness, over-abundant self-sacrifice, and self-protecting humility that has kept me disconnected from my real self. Whether I’ve chosen this path out of fear or love or both really doesn’t matter.

I couldn’t save my mother and I was never really asked to. That is a fact. It is also a reality that I sequestered myself away from outside conventions and everyday interactions to protect myself from my own overwhelming inner world.

In spite of the multitude of all my mistakes, misunderstandings, and wrong assumptions, I have my women — and I love them. Their unbridled energy, raw human emotions, and uncompromising honesty offered the breath of fresh, sweet air that saved my soul. From all my failures, they are my white combs and sweet honey. Because I have an artist’s soul, I am creative and I have curly hair. Amen.