NIPSEY HUSSLE'S DEATH HAS ME WONDERING, DO MOMS HIDE THEIR TRAUMA?
Nipsey Hussle Image c/o Lauren London’s Instagram
When you’re a mom it’s easy for trauma to get swept under the rug. Stuff can happen all around you— but at the end of the day when it’s you and your kids and dinner needs to be decided upon, buns need to be wiped and hair needs to be braided, nothing else—disheartening or not, can usually infiltrate that time.
But the news of Nipsey Hussle‘s death shook me to the core. I admit that I was not a super fan before he passed. I’m a 40-year-old mom of two children under the age of six, whose top playlist item is ‘Baby Shark.‘ But the devastating news penetrated my motherhood cocoon. I’ve been trying to make sense of why I’ve literally been glued to social media and obsessed with every detail released about his life, family, music, death, and dedication to our community ever since.
As a Black mom, I can only imagine the devastation that his longtime partner, Lauren London, must feel as she, like many other women unfortunately, are thrust into being a single mother—raising children in a place that killed their father. I remember briefly interviewing Lauren for a TV show, a while back. Her incredibly sweet, yet strong nature reminded me of friends that I’d grown up with. The sad reality that our men’s lives are often not protected is an ongoing narrative implanted into the hearts and minds of black women. It’s something that we’re constantly reminded about news story after story, and subconsciously always aware of—whether we’re in a relationship or not. The notion that our love could be snatched at any moment is not far fetched. And this time it literally hit close to home.
Taken in NYC a while back, but here are some of my girls, that I grew up with in L.A.
I spoke to a few of my other friends, who are also L.A. natives and moms of color. They said that they too were glued to the devastating news. Their reactions ranged from “I feel so unproductive and off this week,” and “This news has me sick,” to “I had to lie down” and “Why can’t we ever have something good?”
No doubt —our mix of sadness, anger, and curiosity stems mostly from the all too familiar, sickening narrative of a young Black man who finally elevates and does lots of good for his people—only to still get gunned down by (allegedly) those he was trying to help. Another Black husband, father, mentor, musician, activist and community leader—erased all too soon. But another part of me wonders how much of our feelings and our own brushes with trauma, extend beyond Nipsey Hussle’s story?
My girl, Felicia and I on a subway when we lived in Harlem (circa 2000)
The ability for us to hear, see and witness in real time the happenings and reactions to his tragic ending is unlike anything we had with Tupac or Biggie. Are we so keen on sitting front row to someone else’s trauma, because we don’t want to deal with the baggage of our own? Are we sweeping our own challenges under the rug— covering them up with the veil of work, motherhood, or simply trying to increase one’s social profile to actually stop and deal with our own issues? Or is it just one big ‘ole collaborative stew that’s spilled over—bubbling up the Black ancestral pain of slavery and the longtime pattern of black families being sliced and ripped apart— that never healed. Instead, now the pain masquerades as black on black crime, self-hatred, health issues, systemic racism and political corruption.
Yuck. I think that it all dials back to prioritizing self care, healing, and whether you’re a parent or not, making a commitment to do whatever it takes to unearth and make sense of all of the things that you’ve swept under the rug. It’s an important part of our collective healing, I’m learning.
When my sister unexpectedly died a few years ago, it happened in a pretty rough way. We lived nearby and I was alone the day that I found out the news. My family and I lived in Louisville, without any additional immediate family around, and hubs was on a business trip. My sister had a heart attack in her apartment and I found her days later. Looking back, I don’t think that anything could have prepared me for the sadness, shock and trauma of that day. But, I’ll never forget what got me through—picking up my daughter from preschool.
It’s crazy how tragedy amplifies gratitude. I remember rushing to embrace my daughter at preschool pickup. I took her home and we continued with our usual dinner, bath, book, bedtime routine. It was comforting to move forward with business as usual—but simultaneously totally bizarre. My sister was gone and I was completely shell-shocked. I had her phone and it was ringing off the hook. (I’ll never forget her Prince ringtone). My phone was also on fire with condolence calls. My daughter was almost three at the time, and I wasn’t quite sure how to explain her aunt’s death in that moment. (We eventually talked through it later.)
My daughter, sister and I in Louisville, KY, shortly before she transitioned
Over the weeks that followed, I took brief crying breaks in the shower and car, but between raising a toddler, hosting family, packing up my sister’s apartment, and preparing for her funeral, it was mostly go time. I never quite let it all out. I released many stored up tears at her funeral (which my daughter did not attend). But after that, it was back to full on mom mode.
While mourning may be both personal and individual, it all starts with acknowledging that trauma is present, and giving yourself permission to simply pause and unpack it. ( I think that this is the hardest part.) Then comes self awareness and acknowledging the feelings that ebb and flow. As a mother, I don’t want my children walking around with emotional residue as they get older— not making time to sift through it all. So, why did I take so long to make that a priority myself? I often find myself consumed with making sure that my children feel safe in a world that can sometime feel unstable. But we’ve got to allocate space to deal with our own trauma before we can protect others.
Scrolling though social media, it can be tempting to bottle up self-care into luxurious baths, indulgent brunches— or exotic getaways. But it can also mean taking that ass to therapy, learning how to meditate, or penciling in a few hours of kid-free alone time, every week—even if it’s just to sit somewhere and allow yourself to truly feel— and actually deal. It can be a challenging task to do consistently, but I am trying.
Me doing anti-gravity yoga— a great de-stressor