Speaker 1: I was laying in a hospital bed. I felt like the walls were closing in on me. My doctor was trying to talk to me and I could not hear him. People were near me and I could not feel them. My eyes were blurry and I could not see. All I could feel was the rhythm of my heartbeat. It was beating so fast and so irregularly that I almost could not catch my breath to speak. This was the day that I was diagnosed with non-small cell lung cancer. You couldn't have told me at 25 years old I would be facing such a difficult fate. My doctors confused without the typical markers of a lung cancer patient, how could I be facing such a difficult diagnosis? But on that day, my heartbeat was trying to communicate a message to me that my body had been trying to tell me for a long time, that I had failed to take care of myself. As a public school educator, I thought that it was my responsibility to devote all of my time and talents to the community that I was serving. I would spend extra time attending the extracurriculars of my students, volunteering for committees so that I could be an advocate and a voice for the families that I served, all the while not finding balance for myself and taking care of my needs. And on that day, my heartbeat was the reminder that I needed to put myself first. Fast forward, I am now in cancer treatment. I'm thinking, I got this, I'm going to chemotherapy, still volunteering on all the committees and it's still going to work. Meanwhile, that heartbeat, it was still beating irregularly because I was still not prioritizing my care. And I thought as a black woman, I have to work twice as hard as my peers to show that I am capable. And then taking a step back would show that maybe I wasn't strong enough to do the work. So I kept pushing until one day I could not get up. I was trying to get ready for work and my body lay there lifeless. I told myself, get up. But all I could do was lay there and feel that same rhythm of my heartbeat. And that was the reminder I needed to put myself first. And I am not alone. According to a study from the University of Pennsylvania, one in two black women face chronic illness due to stress. Imagine if one out of two black women that you know cannot control the rhythm of their heartbeat every day and then have to show up to work or other spaces that they occupy and wonder if people think that they are not competent or do not belong there. That is the experience of one of my friends. Fast forward, I am now in one to two years in remission. And I'm catching up. Thank you. I am one to two years in remission and I'm catching up with my girlfriends. And one of them tells me that they've just been diagnosed with a chronic illness. They're on three different medications and they are simply tired. Now I'm thinking it's my job to tell her you've got to prioritize your care. Take time for yourself. But she tells me taking time does not put food on her table, clothes on her back, or pay for that health care that she needs to prioritize her care. And once again, I am reminded that for many, especially black women, self-care is considered a luxury and not essential for our survival. Fast forward, we are now in the COVID-19 pandemic. And though we have navigated this difficult time together, for many people, we are still we have learned to prioritize language around self-care. We started to talk about boundaries between work and home, prioritizing time with friends and family. Meanwhile, according to a study by the Brookings Institute, black women are still three times more likely to leave the job due to stress since the pandemic. Imagine if tomorrow all the black women you knew were no longer in the spaces that they occupy, simply because they are tired of being hyper-visible and invisible all at the same time. That is the experience of another one of my friends. We were catching up since the isolation of the pandemic, and she tells me she quit her job. Now, I look at her in shock because I'm like, I know she takes care of more than just herself, but also her family. But she tells me that a paycheck is not worth her sanity, and she is tired of being expected to show up to be all things to all people. Meanwhile, those same people didn't see her for who she was. And you know what? She was right. For her, leaving the job was that thing that allowed her to slow her heartbeat down. And while we don't want people to leave the spaces, we have to find that thing that allows us to slow our heartbeat down. For me, it was finding five minutes. Five minutes to slow my heartbeat, clear my mind, and shed all the anxiety I was experiencing every day. In five minutes, you probably spend more time scrolling social media, getting your kids ready or any of the other to-do things on your list every day. In five minutes, I was able to calm my mind and spirit and set myself up for the day. And that was the start to re-centering myself for my self-care journey. And from there, I went back to therapy to bounce my ideas off of someone else who could help give me clarity about what I was experiencing. And then I took the trip, y'all. Took the vacation so that I could see what the world had for me beyond my go, go, go of my everyday existence. For you, it might be something else. An online mental health podcast, a fitness class, whatever it is, you've got to find that thing that slows your heartbeat down and allows you to put yourself first. As a poet, I have often prioritized the stories of other people before my own. So I took this as a challenge to reflect on my own journey. My village taught me how to be great, showed me how to turn my talents into gold, challenged me to mold better daily. But I was not prepared for what the future would hold. See, I was taught how to outwork, outsmart, outthink, thought that if I just worked harder and planned better that I would go further. But see, my body only knew how to outpaint itself, how to explain itself, how to hide behind the S on my chest, how to delay tending to my mental health. But see, disguising wounds for too long only callous, and my triage only delayed my failure, my body sacrificed for future promises. But see, my survival cannot depend upon the gold watch, my rest not reliant upon your permission, my body not dependent upon your conception of time. See my body taught me how to be great, showed me how to sustain my talents like water. And when I learned to put myself first, I became prepared for what the future would hold. See this is your permission to put yourself first. Thank you.