Kiara Shanay Lee
Fear of commitment – who else has been there before?
You’re vibing, you get closer and closer and…you pull away. Fiercely and perhaps, with a vengeance.
But then, you pick things back up. You consider “what if?” and you let your mind wander. You dibble and dabble, but ultimately, you retreat yet again – to comfort and to safety.
Commitment seems like unknown, uncharted territory. Denying your true feelings – now that’s safe.
No, this is not a vignette of some salacious love story. In fact, I’m not talking about a romantic relationship at all. I’m talking about my relationship with my calling.
My name is Kiara. I like to write. It’s not just what I do, it’s what I absolutely love. I can write my feelings in a poem better than I could ever express otherwise. I have had some sort of poetry notebook since I was 10 years old. The one I had when I was 10 was a blue 3-ring binder stuffed with tattered notebook pages of short poems about any and everything. The only one I can remember was a haiku called “Dinner.”
Then, I went to middle school. I wrote for the school newspaper. I got to interview a firefighter on-site at the fire station and sit in the firetruck. I guess that was my first official shot at storytelling. And in high school, I was on the yearbook staff. At the end of my high school run, I started developing more confidence in my voice and my writing. I had strong opinions, too. My worldview only expanded during my college years.
In college, I became assistant opinion editor for the university newspaper during my sophomore year. I had my own column and every week, I wrote about controversial issues; mainly, I was advocating for the have-nots and the marginalized in my articles on a campus of mostly-wealthy and upper middle class students. Let’s just say everyone didn’t always like what I had to say, but even still, all but one of my weekly columns made the Top 10 in the paper every week. I found my footing as a writer. I grew tough skin for criticism, haters and naysayers. It was in the basement of a dorm building that following summer when I started my blog, TheBlackertheBerry, and wrote my first children’s book titled “Light-Skinned, Dark-Skinned or In Between?” a book about colorism and self-love. Among other opportunities in undergrad, I even got to write and direct my own play on colorism called “Under The Rug.”
My blog, filled with cultural critique and socially-conscious poetry, grew exponentially with followers. My colorism book and the community work I did that went along with educating people on colorism led me to be featured on CNN’s Black in America 5. I wrote another children’s book, but this time, I focused on parental incarceration. I continued writing. Life kept changing – moved to get my master’s degree, moved back to my hometown to get my PhD – but I still kept writing. I even served as editor of the writing center’s blog while teaching as a GTA (graduate teaching assistant) and conducting research for my PhD. I did a lot of writing and published a lot, both in print and online. My writing, my passion, was a steady train with no signs of stopping.
Then the pandemic came.
The train came to a screeching halt in a sense. Life changed as I knew it in a host of ways I won’t get into here. I struggled a great deal and it became harder and harder to write. At the same time, my identity was changing in some beautiful ways. Like the rose still blooming through the concrete, I knew that I wanted the writer in me to survive and thrive, despite the circumstances. At this point, I had started my official faculty career as a writing professor; I had been teaching in this capacity for a few years. I absolutely loved it, but I wanted something more in addition to it. I tried starting a writing ministry, but that didn’t quite fit me. I tried starting and re-starting theBlackertheBerry, but something in me had shifted since I started it almost 10 years prior. I started new blogs, but they didn’t quite encapsulate all that I wanted to do with my writing voice.
All the while, a little voice in my head was constantly nagging me. A sense of nostalgia and a yearning to go ‘back to basics’ continued to tug at my soul. A return to all the things I held so dearly in the past felt almost dream-like, unattainable. God was always whispering so subtly in my ear, telling me to go outside more, move my body more, sit with my mind more, write more and dream more. And while doing so, the revelation came to me about my writing, slowly but surely. I was already doing communication consulting through my micro-business The House of Psalm (named after my daughter, Psalm); it seemed only natural to expand it in a way that aligned with me and this ‘back to basics’ mindset – creating The House of Psalm Magazine. I’ve written and worked on the editorial end, and really have been since a child. I’ve always been in love with creativity and the creative process. I’ve always thrived on amplifying and learning from the stories of others. It seemed like the perfect fit to me.
But doubt always drowned out my aspiration.
“It’s not going to make a lot of money.”
“You don’t really have time.”
“The market is over-saturated.”
“No one is going to support it.”
These are all things I’ve told myself. So, to satiate my newfound revelation, I would strategize. I would write. I would dream. And then, I would shut it all down.
I’m in my mid-30s now.
I can’t afford to fail
I should just stick with consulting.
I would run from committing to my truth.
But then, in the quiet moments, I would find myself flirting with the possibility again. Consider my Google searches and my notebook scribbles receipts of my flirtatious activity – kind of like how cheaters get caught.
And there it was – I was living my life like a cheater of sorts, committing to one life publicly while privately indulging in something else I also enjoyed, but felt I could not openly bring to the fore in fear of judgement, of failure, of losing. I’m not a cheater in any sense of the word, but I felt like one. After some intentional reflection and some deep conversations with two of my best friends, I was inspired to take the leap.
I was inspired to settle down and stop playing about my calling.
I was inspired to follow my heart with great care.
And here we are, ya’ll, – the start of The House of Psalm Magazine.
Whether you’re a writer, a painter, an actress, or if you don’t consider any fancy titles for yourself – you are a creative. No matter who you are, to some degree, we all create and we all need space to take care of every part of ourselves. I hope The House of Psalm Magazine inspires you to take good care.
Dr. Kiara Shanay Lee | Editor in Chief, The House of Psalm Magazine
IG: @thehouseofpsalm @kiaraleewrites | kiara@thehouseofpsalm.com
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