Unpacking Your Sh*t

"Unpacking Your Sh*t”- Tiffany Shumeh Clemmings

Your group chat finally booked that girls’ trip that’s been long overdue. Half of y'all ain't going though! (Vanessa doesn't have a passport. Lisa's funds are low and Kelly was never going. She’s all talk). You on the other hand- need this get away. Romantic relationships, family and work have you down. Stuck. Stagnant. You don’t know what it is but this trip will definitely help that. Right? 

Friday at 4:40pm, you spend all your time looking like you’re “working” but you actually are watching the clock slowly move and waiting (impatiently) for 4:59pm.  You close your email and are fin’ta go.

Passport-check. Suitcase- check. Wheels up. You over packed that neon suitcase and you know it but you’re out! Snapchat and Instagram know you’ re on vacation too and by the end of the week ya followers are straight over ya constant "lit" content, drunk selfies, and snapchat twerk videos heavily inspired by 24- hour rum served at the resort.

You are back. You dread being here. Can’t you just move to Jamaica?! You seemed so happy there. The alarm is set and it's time to get ready for Monday. The week is beginning. Same sh*t over and over. You look over at your suitcase and here comes Wednesday and you are still picking out mix-matched items to wear for the week. Why haven't you unpacked?

Why is it so hard to unpack our sh*t?

As a recent graduate of SUNY Albany's MSW program, I know first-hand the difficulty of unpacking your sh*t. Professors ask case study questions and before you know it Amanda (white woman) is explaining to the class how her (insert whichever family member here) is going through (insert whatever social, emotional, substance difficulty here) and her family ain't never been the same since. Amanda is crying and its been five minutes and she hasn’t answered the question. Amanda, in all seriousness thank you for your vulnerability. But, frankly this isn’t the space for that.

Amanda, why are you talking about it in class? Have you spoken about that in alternate settings? But that’s all about privilege and part of the PWI (private white institution) experience.

What about the POC ( person of color) student that has been raised with a plethora of deeply ingrained cultural norms. Let’s call her Tiffany. Tiffany sits there wondering how this other student feels so comfortable expressing her sh*t to the class. Wasn’t Amanda raised like her?  First rule in being a POC, "Don't air your dirty laundry outside.”

When did this become a real thing? Why can we not discuss our inner emotional turbulence? Maybe during the middle of class is not appropriate (especially when you still haven’t answered the question Amanda!)  but when can you do this? I have dedicated my self to improving the lives of mothers/fathers, aunts/uncles, sisters/brothers, and all gender non-conforming POC. I owe it to all yall. I invite all that helped raise me to think of something different. To be proud of our culture but to interrogate certain codes unwritten rules that do more damage to us than good.

We don’t unpack our sh*t because its hard. We don’t unpack our sh*t because we were never allowed to. We would then have to face all the feelings that we spend every day suppressing in trips, relationships, shopping binges and sometimes illegal/legal substances. Who do we run to? Do they even care? 

This is the paradox, I faced when I began attending therapy in 2013. I was in a horrible relationship unsure of where I wanted my next career choices on to go. Every day was an internal battle against myself. “I literally want to cry right here and right now but I can't. I can't let my job know what's wrong. I can't let my family know what's wrong and I can't let my friends know what's wrong. Sh*t, I don't even know what's wrong. But crying like this is crazy and I need to relax. There are people out there with much worse.”

I would not allow myself to feel, I wouldn't let myselfcry (guiltlessly) and worse off I wouldn't allow anyone to see me for how I was really feeling. Acting is part of the suppression. Sometimes people tell me now that they wonder if I have bad days. I joke " I'm a great actress."  I really am. Years of laughing at uncomfortable race jokes because I'm a friendly minority. Years of hiding who I am. Years of being afraid to look weak. One day, I was tired of acting. I unpacked my sh*t.

You can too. You can wake up one morning and decide that you are tired of being happy and acting for everyone else.  I found my therapist. She opened her wide arms and emotionally hugged all the places I wouldn't allow others to.  Soon I had a therapist in Albany, too. She, another walking angel, helped me process my individuality. She helps me live in my truth unapologetically as I've been doing fully since 2015. All of these angels helped me.  Helped me unpack all this sh*t- because I simply could not do it alone.

They reinforced that I didn't have to walk around with pain, with shame, or guilt. I had a space to cry, to question, to refute, be stubborn and love and live and finally breathe. All without judgement.  Women of color who understood the brain, the soul ,and most importantly the heart.

 How do you unpack your sh*t? You just do it. You watch Brene Brown's TEDTalk on vulnerability.  Read bell hooks’ book, “ Sisters of the Yam”. You find a space. Spaces and you cry, you laugh , you reach out to others and you most importantly LOVE YOU. Love every inch of madness, confusion, heart break there is.

I love you. Especially to all my brown, POC, LBGTPOC. I Love you and you aren't alone. Crack open that suitcase and begin unpacking. There are all new adventures to be had. 

- Tiffany Shumeh Clemmings

The blue shirt- A pic of me literally in the midst of all the shit I was going thru.  Like in 2013, while I went thru all of my shit. Horrible relationship, low self esteem, confusion, pain and anger but somehow I found it in me to take this awesome pic at the beach. I wanted to appear free. I literally remember wishing all my problems would wash away in the sand. 

Literally four years later, I'm breathing living in my fucking truth.  Maroon shirt- the girl who learned that unpacking shit is okay. It's safe. I'm safe.  Thanks so much again Lorenda.  I literally went thru a therapeutic zone while writing this.  Thank you!

Lada: I met Tiffany in grad school. She is definitely one of the people who held me down on my worse days and celebrated with meon my best days. She always encouraged me to take care of my mental health and always unpack my shit. We're encouraged to do that in our profession but its also important to do that in our real lives too. Tiff, thank you so much for sharing your knowledge, life experience and humor with us.