I wrote this while I was angry...

This is page 151 of my book

This is page 151 of my new book, Eyes On The Road—I was angry when I wrote this.

I was processing some resentment that I was holding about the way a friend had spoken about my writing. They said they were joking, but in the moment joke felt like a cheap disguise for their true feelings about my art. They apologized, and even though the conversation moved on, I never forgot what they said.

I spent months trying to talk myself out of what I was feeling—months later, as I sat and tried to write, I felt dumb for having such a strong emotional response to what had been said.

And still, I couldn’t shake the anger.

Silence makes space for clarity—it’s no wonder that my writing process is mostly comprised of staring blankly at empty google docs. The night that I wrote this, I used some tools that my therapist had given me and started to ask myself “why.”

Why did my friends’ comment anger me, even months later? They had apologized, and even made sincere efforts to engage with my writing and encourage me in my career since that conversation. Their encouragement didn’t feel fake, or forced. In fact, over the course of our friendship, I could clearly see that they had been way more supportive than discouraging.

As I continued to think, I realized that my anger was more deep-rooted than my friend’s offhand comments—I was angry because part of me believed what they were saying.

I come from a Black military family—my parents didn’t have the opportunity to pursue the kind of career that I’m building. They handled business and worked hard to take care of our family. I didn’t grow up around artists, or writers. I didn’t see a roadmap for the career that I’ve chosen until I was in my mid-to-late 20’s. I’m still learning to fully believe that the life I’m working towards is possible.

And so, when my friend joked about my craft and my career path, I didn’t just hear the joke—I heard my own uncertainty and insecurities confirmed, in real time. I heard a voice saying, “you’re right—you really can’t do this shit.”

My autism does not allow me to manage or process my emotions as quickly as neurotypical people—a hidden benefit is that it allows me to write about, and write through my emotions in a way that I don’t think would be possible for me if I was neurotypical.

And so, on the night that I wrote this page of my book, I processed, and eventually released some misguided anger. I decided that the jokes truly didn’t matter. I decided that even if my friend had meant what they said, I didn’t need to expend my energy “proving them wrong” when I could simply do what I’ve been called to do. I decided that instead of doubting my abilities, I would look at what I’ve already been able to accomplish as evidence that I am more than capable of doing everything that I set out to accomplish.

And I found myself drawn back to a Christine Caine quote that I heard for the first time on a Royce 5’9” song— “God doesn’t call the qualified, he qualifies the called.”

---

Thank you for reading—your support means the world to me! My new book, Eyes On The Road, is available for purchase via Thought Catalog and Amazon.