The Compulsive Entrepreneur

My self-employed dad operated his own publishing company, Friends Publishers. The Pamlico Scoop was his self-published human interest newspaper that circulated across eastern NC. Selling advertisements to pay for publishing and himself, he seemingly made just enough money to scrounge by and rarely had a little extra to spare. Dad’s self employed status gave him a flexible schedule which was good because he was also the only parent who drove. My mom refused to drive so it meant that my dad was the only chauffeur to seven other family members. His schedule became a bit more restricted around monthly deadlines. He would lock himself in his office, ask not to be bothered, and crank out the design, layout, and everything else it took to publish the next edition. He’d then send the pages off to the printer and spent the week post-print making drops at grocery stores, gas stations and businesses from Elizabeth City on down to New Bern.

Although a pauper entrepreneur, my dad’s entrepreneurial lifestyle obviously made its’ impact. The apple wouldn’t fall far from the tree. Over time, I would discover that I was a compulsive entrepreneur. 

At 12, I wasn’t old enough yet to get a job so I needed to figure out a way to make money if I wanted to buy new clothes or go on field trips with my friends. Earning an allowance from my parents wasn’t an option. A lemonade stand became my very first business venture.

My childhood home stood on one of the busiest street corners in little Washington. It was prime location to set up shop with the best lemonade stand in town. My sisters and I promoted the stand with plenty of signs and word of mouth. We were excited to make a couple hundred dollars that summer selling lemonade in two different sizes and then expanding our offerings from just lemonade to a few baked goods as well. When summer ended, I traded in that business venture for one I could work year round. I cleaned houses and babysat and when I was finally legal working age, I got a job at my best friend's family’s dry cleaners. 

Fast forward to adulthood. I created three business all before turning 27- Broadway Babysitters Inc, a babysitting agency, Body By Hannah, LLC, my personal training business and Gotham Versatile Training Inc., a community of independent trainers and trainees and fitness facility management. All three businesses were successes.

I’ve described my entrepreneurial style as “jump into the deep end and figure out how to stay afloat”. And that’s still true to some extent. But, If I could go back, I wouldn't do things the same way. Although I learned by doing, I could have saved myself a lot of headache and heartache by seeking out mentors, finding the right resources earlier on, and hiring help I should have hired. 

The entrepreneurship blog series ahead will explore some of the lessons I’ve learned along the way and share the struggles I still face as a business owner. The successes, the failures, and the jaw dropping stories in between will hopefully help other entrepreneurs find their way a little bit easier and find incredible success of their own. 

If you’re thinking about starting a business or have started a small business and wish to grow, subscribe here to get exclusive content I’ll be sharing only to those interested! I’m not trying to spam those totally uninterested in this topic!

The story behind my first business, Broadway Babysitters Inc., coming soon!!……

(Un) Faithful: Good Grief

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I was working to accept the life I thought was real, wasn’t real. 

Desperately trying to make sense out of my husband’s betrayal, I needed to understand how it was possible that he actually loved me AND could do this to us.

The women I considered friends that had also deceived and betrayed me haunted me. 

How could I accept my new reality? I was married to a self proclaimed sex addict and his recovery program would now be a part of our life. 

Conflicting emotions hijacked my thoughts and ran in a loop. I couldn’t get them to stop. 


Read the first part of the story HERE

Read the second entry HERE


Lamentation: the passionate expression of grief or sorrow; weeping. 

In college, I was in a stage production of Euripides Greek tragedy, The Trojan Women. I was one of the four women in the play who lamented over the corpse of Hector throughout the entire play. All I actually remember from rehearsing and the production is that I softly sobbed, wailed, or whimpered for two hours straight and that lamenting was completely exhausting. This was the first time I experienced how rehearsing a theatrical production could affect your real life. The emotional toll of even pretending to lament took on my soul was very real. I became depressed and couldn’t wait for the show to wrap. 

Over the next couple of years, it would take me over sporadically- at home in bed, in the shower, during my neighborhood walks or while I was driving down the street. Lamenting forced me to express my grief. It was the kind of weeping that when you let all the air out, your face stays frozen in a tortuous way, trying its best to let out more sound, but it can’t, because you are completely out of air. Automatically you’re forced to gasp in more air only to let it out again in the same desperate sob. 

A Prescription for Sorrow 

STRONG BODY, STRONG MIND

My healthy habits around diet and exercise weren’t a complete match for grief. But, I’m confident it helped to cope with the stress and helped me stay more resilient as I walked through trying to figure it all out. I was addicted to the 20 minute post-workout, very real feeling of “I’m going to be okay/it’s all going to be okay” even though I knew that the feeling would too quickly fade. I did struggle with losing my appetite and lost weight I didn’t have to lose. I was very aware of it, and became intentional about nourishing my body with healthy foods the best I felt I could. My Yoga Teacher Training I was still immersed in was truly a blessing of timing. The patient, thoughtful practice I was learning kept my mind in a more rational and present place MOST of the time. 

Thank Jesus for wine. Not exactly the healthiest way to cope, I took the Proverbs advice to give “wine unto those that be of heavy heart” quite seriously and drank way too much of it most weeks. (Prov. 31:6)

THERAPY 

During the first few months of therapy I mostly listened to the therapist and my husband dig down to discover “the why”. Learning why he sought affirmation from women and used sex to cope, I hoped,  would bring a level of understanding. I hoped creating the simple awareness around “the why” alongside his new transparency would convince me he was now on a new path and we could move forward. As we uncovered and discovered, I was truly heartbroken for my husband and the stories he shared that seemed to be responsible for his own human brokenness. But then there were also therapy sessions where I held back screaming at him, “A lot of people have dealt with a lot more shit in their past than this and turn out to be decent human beings that don’t hurt other people!”  

What I shared with the therapist in our remaining minutes was how stuck I continued to feel. I asked for tools I could use to get past the triggers I’d experience through the week that were holding me hostage. 

“Triggered”. God. Who was I!? I now said things like “triggered”, and asked my husband questions like, “How was your SAA (Sex Addicts Anonymous) meeting?” and celebrated with him how many days sober he claimed. 

We stopped going to church because I was triggered. One of the “other women” sang in the choir there. When we heard she left the church and tried going back, it was all I could do to sit through a service without sobbing through it. After attending a wedding together, I refused to attend another until I knew I was ready. The vows were too painful for me to witness. I was triggered anytime we were around another young girl in a crop top or if anything slightly sexual was in a movie or on tv.  

The trouble of knowing the women your husband had sexual encounters with, is that your brain can paint a VERY clear picture of what probably happened. I couldn’t stop the stories my brain insisted on creating or from putting the pieces of the puzzle together. I had nightmares constantly over the next year and a half. Many included the other women just being present in the dream as I begged them to leave. In more disturbing dreams, I became violent with them. I’d twist their arm and just keep twisting it as hard as I could or I’d pull the hair out of their head, but they would just laugh and carry on like we were best of friends. I tried to commit suicide in one dream. Cutting myself deeper and deeper with a knife, I was frustrated that I could see the blood and feel the pain, but I was still here. So deeply disturbed by this, I shared this dream with the therapist hoping he’d tell me that this was totally normal and that it didn’t mean I REALLY wanted to die.

SELF, LESS

With my job as a personal trainer, coach, and studio manager, I get to pour into others each and every day. The more intentional I am about this, the happier I am. My business and the work involved gave me a place to forget the pain and the struggle for periods throughout the day. I cannot even begin to express how important this aspect of my life was for getting through the grief.

In the two months after my husband's confession, I had put a pause on finding a new building that would help me expand the fitness studio and allow for more growth. But as some of the shock of his revelation started to settle and we were deep into repair mode, I chose to press on. It gave me purpose byond trying to figure out how to repair myself and my marriage. I signed a lease on a new building and over the next year, while my personal life felt like it was falling apart, Body By Hannah grew by 100%, exactly. I found joy in pouring into my clients. I found joy in watching my trainer’s grow. I found joy in witnessing the impact our little fitness studio had in the community. The most powerful prescription for treating grief was “self, less; others, more”.

The Magic of Ibiza 

Just over a year and a half into our battle, I left for the tiny Spanish island, Ibiza, where I was instructing at a fitness retreat. I arrived a week earlier than the retreat I would instruct to attend another retreat on the island. I was eager to have some time by myself and hopefully figure out a way to move forward. I was still feeling completely, embarrassingly stuck. My therapist encouraged me week after week to “get off the fence, and jump in” and I swore that’s what I was doing!  

One of the visualization activities on my retreat was to write a letter to our future self. These letters were to be mailed to us a year from the date we wrote them. In my letter I painted a picture with words of a happy restored married. Our marriage was better than ever. 

In another activity, we were guided through a session of intense breathwork. Breathwork techniques are used to reduce stress, calm your mind, energize your body, bring clarity and inspiration, and allow you to go deeper into yourself. This particular session was very intense. Individual experience with breathwork is unique and varies. You may be moved to emotional tears, laughter, or you may just leave feeling energized.
Halfway through my own practice, I felt my fingers curl like I was clutching something tightly in my hands. As much as I tried, I couldn’t release my fingers. It was uncomfortable and frustrated me as I tried to extend my fingers out to stretch. My throat began to tighten up so intensely that I got scared.  I quit the practice early and laid there with tears streaming down the side of my temples. 

As a group we reflected on our unique experiences. When I shared mine, the instructor asked me if there was something I was having a hard time letting go of and said that it was interesting that my throat chakra seemed to seize up. She asked if there was maybe something I was having a hard time expressing or wasn’t saying that I needed to say?

My week at the camp was emotional and intense. But exploring that tiny magical island was the best therapy I could have asked for. I completely fell in love with Ibiza like I have no other place I’ve ever been. 

When I got back, I explained to our therapist in a one on one session that being away for those two weeks was the happiest and most care free I’ve felt in the past year and a half. He just shrugged and said, “Well that’s because you haven’t had your problem staring you in the face every day.” As our session went on and I explained for the zillionth time that I still felt very stuck with how to move forward in my marriage, he encouraged me to “try something different”. He was aware that up until this point I wouldn’t even let my mind consider the possibility of divorce because I thought it would make healing harder. He wanted me to picture myself in a life without my husband and in our next session we’d reflect. I hesitantly agreed to do this. On the drive home, for the first time in 18 months, I allowed myself to picture what my life would look like without my marriage. Immediately, an overwhelming sense of peace filled my every cell and I was giddy. I had the clarity I had been desperately seeking and it was crystal clear. That night, I told my husband our marriage was over. 

I didn’t know what lay ahead, but I knew what it was time to leave behind. Subconsciously I had kept tabs of the instinctual deception I sensed over the years. I responded by building up a concrete fortress around my heart to protect it and this fortress wasn’t cracking. The damage done was too great. I couldn’t find it in me to trust again the person who vowed to keep me the safest. I still didn’t trust his great self development, the new transparency, or that his recovery journey was genuine. It was time to let go of my fear of losing my person and our family. I needed to let go of my fear of being seen as a failure and the fear of being judged by others. It was time to walk away with peace that God is always faithful- knowing that “all things work together for good to them that love God, to them who are called according to his purpose.” (Romans 8:28)



(Un) Faithful: Gut Intuition

Intuition literally means learning from within. Most of us were not taught how to use this sense, but all of us know well that “gut” feeling. Learn to trust your inner feelings and it will become stronger. Avoid going against your better judgement or being talked into things that just don’t make sense
— Doe Zantamata

Read the first part of the story HERE


Let’s Go Back

I had to have had some clue, right? The scale of my husbands infidelity seemed so grande that surely I hadn’t been completely duped.

One of the biggest challenges I faced for being able to move forward was with myself. Part of my healing had to be the ability to trust my husband again, but how could I do that? Because now, I’d lost complete trust in myself! I questioned my ability to know what was real, what wasn’t real- what was TRUTH, and what wasn’t. To say I felt completely lost, is an understatement.

So, I started analyzing every part of our relationship…..from the beginning. 


As fiercely independent as I am, I am a sucker for love and have always dreamed of being a wife. It was at a New Orleans themed bar in the theatre district of Manhattan where I first met this handsome guy with piercing blue eyes and a cute dimple on his chin. He was playing the trumpet and singing. His incredible talent attracted me first. We flirted and danced between musical sets and although I wouldn’t say it was love at first sight, I was definitely intrigued by this guy. 

After that night, he travelled back upstate where he was spending the summer teaching at a music camp. Our relationship budded over long conversations on the phone. It was such a stark contrast to what dating had been like in NY in my early 20’s. He was super intelligent, had a playful sense of humor and actively practiced his faith. He directed a choir at a Catholic church in Harlem, had such a big heart for working with children and was passionate about social justice. He was a very working and successful performing artist. He really had so many wonderful qualities. We began dating.


Red Flags

He was very private with his phone and computer. Not even when we were married did I know his cell phone password (I know) and he always held his phone in a way where I couldn’t see it. There was an incident where I saw his computer browser history and even though we were dating it had Match.com on it and porn sites. When an ex girlfriends’ friend reached out to me claiming he was sending inappropriate messages, she attached facebook messages between the two. I pressed him on all of this. But, he was a master at having the perfect explanation or when appropriate, assuring me things would change. And quite possibly I was a master at denial.   

He was extremely charming, romantic, and would dote on me constantly. He had tons of friends who loved him. My friends loved him. Our relationship was mostly full of good times, adventure and what I felt was healthy challenges and growth. He was very communicative. He wrote me love letters. He showered me with attention and affection. He was very vocal over how proud he was of my accomplishments, how beautiful I was, etc. So to reason away these red flags was easier than it should have been. I was SURE he loved me. What I experienced day in and day out was this reality. So when anything uncomfortable came up, I pushed it away as me being “crazy” because it just didn’t make more sense than the way he treated our relationship daily. I really didn’t understand what it was to trust my instincts- to go with my gut.

We got married. 


Fast forward…...

Our third year into marriage we moved to Cleveland, TN. He took a job at a Christian University and I started to rebuild my personal training business from scratch again. I was excited to be changing up the pace from NYC and to really feel like we were building a life together. We bought our first house, we got cars, and I finally got a dog! We were making friends in the community and loved to entertain, so on many occasions we hosted dinners and hangs. We were adjusting well.

We were happy. 


<< BREAKING NEWS >>

“Ashley Madison, an online service that facilitates extramarital affairs, has been hacked. The breach has resulted in the leak of personal information attached to more than 30 million accounts, including those of 10,000 American government officials, a handful of celebrities, a few clergymen and, apparently, very few real female profiles”

I received a call that week from someone very close to my husband. She told me that out of curiosity, she looked up names on the database that had been leaked. In that database was my husband's name and Chattanooga, TN assigned to it. I felt sick. My face was hot. There had to be some mistake. 

I called my husband who was between lessons. Shaking, I filled him in on the call I had just received.

“Hannah, I’m cancelling the rest of my lessons and coming home so we can talk about this right now.” he responded. 

His explanation was that before we ever dated, he set up an online profile out of sheer curiosity but never actually met anyone on Ashley Madison. He didn’t know why it said Chattanooga. Even though I felt disgusted that he would even be curious about a website like AM, I chose once again to push away that gut feeling and believe his word. I mean, this was my husband who woke up with me at 5am in the morning even though he didn’t have to get up until 8, just to make me breakfast and spend time with me before our busy days. He wasn’t capable of something like this! 


In retrospect, I realized this instance was the ultimate turning point in my heart. Something was off. I began to feel more and more distant from my husband.  A hug from him made me recoil. Everything he said and did seemed like such a show. I began to work on figuring out why I felt like I was struggling to connect with him emotionally and physically.

I know…..you would think I’d obviously connect the red flags and my disconnect, but ya’ll, I just didn’t. I thought something was wrong with me. I picked up the Meaning of Marriage to read through for the second time and poured myself into making myself better and making the marriage better. I told him I was going to go to therapy to figure out why I was feeling so emotionally detached, and he encouraged me to go. Yeah, he encouraged me to go figure out what was wrong with me

After the bombshell of his confession, part of my reckoning was admitting I clearly saw these red flags early in our dating and I saw them in our marriage, but still questioned what I knew. The gut intuition was always speaking to me but I was persuaded away from them, against my better judgement. I realized that although I pushed these feelings down, they never actually disappeared. They lived in my subconscious and spent their time building up a wall between my heart and my husband, brick by brick…..for protection. For this marriage to be restored, I was going to have to allow God to tear down this wall of protection I’d built up and let Him restore trust in both my husband AND in myself.  

Over the next 18 months, this became my steadfast prayer as I poured myself into The Word, self help books, my yoga practice (where I learned to quiet the noise and listen), and sought guidance from trusted friends. I was completely determined to experience healing and save our marriage.

READ PART THREE

(Un) Faithful

Forward

For a long time I thought I would never share this story. It was too painful and I only cared about moving on from it. I felt shame and also a responsibility to protect the privacy of others. But this story belongs to me too, and the one thing I wished more than anything when I was going through the deep muck that ultimately led to my divorce, was to know just one other person that had a similar story. I wanted to be able to talk to one person that truly understood what my heart was going through and help me navigate.

Deep was the pain and grief I experienced during this season of my life. But, it uncovered a beautiful resiliency within that I never knew existed. I hope my story can inspire hope in someone else and let them know that they are not alone. I’m sharing my story in parts, in a series, over time. It is written how I experienced it- as I experienced it. 

Just Before

I had just landed in NYC from TN for a little work trip that I had extended to be able to spend time with my besties. My cell phone rings in my cab from the airport to Brooklyn where I was staying and it’s my husband on the other line.

“Hannah, did you just call me?”

“No, hunny, I didn’t”, I replied.

“That’s so strange. Hannah, I’m really freaked out right now because YOUR number just called me and when I picked up the phone, it was a robot voice that said they knew about me and his wife and if I hung up the phone, his first call would be to you to tell you everything.”

Long silent pause.

“Hannah. I’m sitting on the couch watching a Ken Burns documentary on the Civil War and sewing patches on my trumpet case. I’m really disturbed by this.”

A pit in my stomach stabbed deep. My gut ached. I pushed it away.

“Well,” I said, “Maybe it’s a student playing a really awful prank on you? Listen hunny, I don’t want you to worry about it. This is really strange but I’m not worried about it, so you shouldn’t be either.”

After a few more exchanges we hung up the phone and I continued to let what he told me sink in. I knew that strange call would at very least, store itself in the back of my mind. There were already a couple of other strange happenings stored back there from over the past 7+ years but that was just me being crazy. To this day, I have absolutely no clue who placed that call.

Over the next couple of days, he was atypically quiet. I was always in close touch with him throughout the day. Something wasn’t right. I called him and told him I was thinking about rebooking my flight to come home a day earlier. We weren’t exactly made of money and this normally would have gotten a push back response from him to not spend the extra money. But, I also needed to see a vacant commercial building in town before it got snatched up by another interested lessee. I was planning to expand my personal training studio and had been searching town for the perfect location. He gave me no pushback about getting a flight home a day early, so I booked it.

Crashing Down

I flew home the next day and asked him to meet me at the building I was interested in leasing so he could give me input. I noticed he seemed a little quiet and didn’t share my same excitement about the building, but I was also so distracted by the quick decision I needed to make regarding the building that I didn’t give it much thought. He left before me and headed to the house. I stayed behind with a few more questions I needed answered by the owner of the building.

When I got home, he wasn’t downstairs and I called out for him.

“I’m upstairs.” he said in a small voice.

I slowly walked up to the second floor and saw him sitting on one of our chairs with an incredible look of concern on his face.

“What’s wrong?” My heart sank immediately. This was obviously bad news.

Silence.

“What’s wrong?”

Silence.

“What’s wrong! Tell me what’s wrong!”

“Hannah, I’m sick.” he said. 

My head was spinning. He recently had a melanoma removed from his skin. Did he have cancer? Was he dying? What was that genetic heart condition that ran in his family that his mom kept telling him he needed to get genetic testing for? Was it that?

“What do you mean you’re sick?”

He didn’t speak.

“What is wrong!?”

“Hannah, I did a lot of research while you were gone and I think what I have is a sex addiction. I think I might be a sex addict and I’ve taken it too far. I’ve been unfaithful.”

“You’ve been unfaithful?” I repeated.

“Yes”, he said.

“With who?” I asked. I felt like all of the blood in my body had suddenly drained out of me and was puddled around my feet.

“More than one,” he explained.

“Multiple women? Who?” I was dizzy with confusion and could barely speak.

The next few minutes was a complete bombshell. The women he began to name were women I considered good friends. At each name I felt the knife twist deeper and deeper. Two of these women I spent time with regularly. We had them in our home for dinner many times. They were personal clients of mine at the studio. I invested time in supporting their health goals and building them up as strong women.

He confessed to a threesome with one of these girls and her best friend who I also met on many occasions. He admitted to sex with a women I didn’t know while he was on a trip for a gig. It was all so overwhelming.

After the confession he was quick to tell me that he had called our church Rector over the weekend and confided in him and was seeking counsel. He wanted to get better and he wanted our marriage to survive this. He told me that he had already reached out to a couple of therapists to try to get an appointment and his first SAA (Sex Addict Anonymous) meeting was Saturday. I understood now why he had been so distant those past few days I was in NY. He had been hard at work preparing his confession and getting things in order. He told me he understood if I needed him to leave- that he had somewhere to stay. I’m sure he repeatedly told me how sorry he was, but I honestly can’t remember that. I was too overwhelmed with trying to digest this new information.

“I need to take a walk.” I thought I would vomit.

I walked out of the house and as I began to walk around the neighborhood, I completely broke down. I crumbled to the ground hidden behind some trees and sobbed the deepest sob I’d ever sobbed. I was devastated. 

What Now?

I’m not an expert in zodiac signs but as a Taurus, I’ve always related to characteristics of a Taurus. Taurus are fiercely loyal. They are trustworthy and devoted. I can look back as far as elementary school and see the importance loyalty and trust have played in my friendships. I am the most loyal friend you will ever have and I’ve realized I have that expectation from others. This can be seen as part of the stubborn nature of Taurus. When someone proves themself disloyal, I can completely cut them out of my life. Rarely is there room for reconciliation. The damage has been done. Trust has been lost.

I always imagined that if I were to learn of a cheating partner, there would be no question. So long. Farewell. Auf Wiedersehen. BYE Felicia.

But marriages are complicated. And guided by my faith, I really meant those vows I spoke on our wedding day. He was my person- we were a family. The most important person in my world had betrayed me at the deepest level and shattered our marriage, and yet, my reaction surprised me. 

My immediate decisions following this discovery had everything to do with (I believe) that at this point, I’d read through The Meaning of Marriage three times. A book full of biblical principles and teachings on marriage, I was striving to model my marriage after it. An interesting side note is that I had asked my husband to read the book multiple times in the past, to no avail. One night, in bed, I just started reading excerpts from the book that I thought would be valuable help to strengthen our marriage.

I was also 10 months into my yoga teacher training where my learning was deep in becoming less reactive and staying patient, present, curious, and thoughtful. 

I walked back into the house and I told him I didn’t think it was a good idea for him to leave the house but he needed to stay upstairs in another room. I needed some time to process what I had just learned. 

For the next week he pretty much quarantined himself upstairs unless he needed to get food.  I would go upstairs from time to time to ask him questions I needed answers to.

“Where was I when this was happening?”, “How long did this go on?”. Every answer stabbed deeply but I needed the answers.

A couple days later, he shared that he found a therapist and that the therapist really wanted me to join the sessions if I would. He felt it was important if we wanted to save our marriage. I agreed. I wanted more than anything to be whole again with my husband. I wanted more than anything for the hurt and the pain to go away and for us to be happy. And so began our 18 month long work in therapy and in the home to heal and move forward.


READ PART TWO

R.I.P. DMX

When I was in high school, I bought a bootleg DMX CD from a flea market. I was so excited to take it home and listen to it. It was 2001 and his song “Party Up (Up In Here)” was a commercial hit, playing on the radio regularly. It was rare for me to buy CD’s because money was hard earned when I was a teenager but I loved DMX’s unique gruff voice and wanted to hear more.

I took that CD home and threw it in the player that afternoon and listened to song after song. My parents room was right next to mine and unbeknownst to me, my dad was taking a nap. The only thing that ever played at the house or on my dads car radio during trips to and from school, around town and on road trips was classical music and Rush Limbaugh. And I’m serious……nothing else.

So, DMX was obviously not my fathers cup of tea and when he heard the language blaring out of the speakers he was more than just a little bit bothered. I can’t remember if he knocked or just charged into the room but I clearly remember him lecturing me with deep disappointment that I would listen to “something like that”….”trash”. And then, I’m sure I got a sermon because I felt so guilty about buying the CD, that I actually broke it in half and threw it in the trash. After all, I didn’t want to disappoint my dad and I certainly didn’t want to disappoint GOD!

Looking back, I wonder if my dad had any curiosity about who DMX was and why his daughter wanted to listen to his music? And whether or not he should, instead of have a guttural reaction to what he heard coming out of the stereo, let her get an “unconventional” education from the stories DMX was sharing through his music.

DMX was born to teenage parents. His artist father left at an early age and his mother, along with a steady stream of boyfriends, beat and abused him throughout his childhood. He slept on the floor with roaches and mice. At 7, his aunt got him drunk. At 14, DMX started living on the streets. The first crime he committed was stealing a purse that netted him $1000. He used that money to buy his dog a leather collar and leash and himself a pair of shoes. DMX was a product of this traumatic childhood and a system that failed him and his family before that. It’s no doubt that it’s the trauma that led to the many demons he so aggressively fought throughout his life. Throughout it all- his faith was an important part and he never stopped trying to be a better person. His lyrics are often rooted deep in faith.

His music sheds light into the perpetual socioeconomic struggles disproportionately present in African American communities. They are his stories and the similar stories of struggle his African American brothers and sisters fight to overcome day in and day out. His music is an education for white America if we stop and listen.

DMX, under a new lens, I’m re-listening and re-learning through your music. I want to do better. I’m on a mission to be part of the solution and no longer part of the problem that ignorance allows.

R.I.P DMX……..

WHO WE BE

Uhh, yeah
Another one of those - this is for my nigga Q - down to earth joints
Rest in peace baby, you're not for me dawg

They don't knooow, who we beee
They don't knooow, who we beee

That's how many that don't know, they knew I could do it!
This goes out to my nigga Q - rest in peace baby
They still ain't ready...

What they don't know is!
The bullshit, the drama (uhh), the guns, the armour (what?)
The city, the farmer, the babies, the mama (what?!)
The projects, the drugs (uhh!), the children, the thugs
(Uhh!) The tears, the hugs, the love, the slugs (c'mon!)
The funerals, the wakes, the churches, the coffins (uhh!)
The heartbroken mothers, it happens, too often (why?!)
The problems, the things, we use, to solve 'em (what?!)
Yonkers, the Bronx (uhh!), Brooklyn, Harlem (c'mon!)
The hurt, the pain, the dirt, the rain (uhh!)
The jerk, the fame, the work, the game (uhh!)
The friends, the foes, the Benz, the hoes (what?!)
The studios, the shows, comes, and it goes (c'mon!)
The jealousy, the envy, the phony, the friendly (uh-huh!)
The one that gave 'em the slugs, the one that put 'em in me
(Whoo!) The snakes, the grass, too long, to see (uhh, uhh!)
The lawnmower, sittin, right next, to the tree (c'mon!)

What we seeing is!
The streets, the cops, the system, harrassment (uh-huh)
The options, get shot, go to jail, or getcha ass kicked
(Aight) The lawyers, the part, they are, of the puzzle (uh-huh)
The release, the warning, "Try not, to get in trouble" (damn!)
The snitches, the odds (uhh), probation, parole (what?!)
The new charge, the bail, the warrant, the hole (damn!)
The cell, the bus, the ride, up North (uh-huh)
The greens, the boots, the yard, these hearts (uhh!)
The fightin, the stabbin, the pullin, the grabbin (what?!)
The riot squad with the captain, nobody knows what happened
(What?!) The two years in a box, revenge, the plots (uhh!)
The twenty-three hours that's locked, the one hour that's not
(Uhh!) The silence, the dark, the mind, so fragile (aight!)
The wish, that the streets, would have took you, when they had you
(Damn) The days, the months, the years, dispair
One night on my knees, here it comes, the prayer

This here is all about!
My wife, my kids (uh-huh), the life that I live (uh-huh)
Through the night, I was his (uh-huh), it was right, but I did
(Uh-huh) My ups, and downs (uhh), my slips, my falls (uhh)
My trials and tribulations (uhh), my heart, my balls (uhh)
My mother, my father, I love 'em, I hate 'em (uhh!)
Wish God, I didn't have 'em, but I'm glad that he made 'em
(Uhh!) The roaches, the rats, the strays, the cats (what, what?!)
The guns, knives and bats, everytime we scrap
The hustlin, the dealin, the robbin, the stealin (uhh!)
The shit, hit the ceilin, little boy, with no feelin's
(Damn) The frustration, rage, trapped inside a cage
Got beatin's 'til the age, I carried a twelve gauge
(Aight!) Somebody stop me (please!), somebody come and get me
(What?!) Little did I know, that the Lord was ridin with me
The dark, the light (uhh), my heart (uhh), the fight (uhh)
The wrong (uhh!), the right (uhh!), it's gone (uhh!), aight?

Man listen
These motherfuckers don't know, who we are!
They don't know
They couldn't possibly fuckin know dawg
That's from the heart