I was quite shaken up, this past weekend, to learn about the death of a South African rap superstar. This young man was gunned down at the tender age of 35, leaving behind a grieving family and a distraught fan base. Had the circumstance been a less morbid one, I would crack a joke here because what I know about rap music is equivalent to my 3-year-old’s knowledge of Quantum Physics. In fact, I can’t even name any of this artist’s songs (I’m a 40-year-old mother of 5 ok). But the loss of this young talent shook me.

I found myself engrossed in the details of his life and his untimely death as I scroll through social media posts, devouring any piece of information that I could find. I honestly couldn’t help myself – it was like a really bad accident scene where you want to look away, but you can’t.

By Saturday evening, after consuming hours of video footage (yes, I went there, smh) and articles, social media tributes and Tik Tok speculation videos, I decided that I had seen enough.

The scrolling needed to stop.

It was affecting my mental health and it, quite honestly, left me feeling a little bit triggered. Can you relate? Have you ever wandered down a social media rabbit hole, and came out on the other side a little bit more depressed and hopeless? Well, that’s exactly how I felt. #realtalk

After putting my phone down, I tried to evaluate where my headspace was at. I could immediately acknowledge that my social media binge had opened me up to a spirit of heaviness.

It reminded me of a picture that I once saw, that likened the windows of a building, to eyes.

I mean, think about it. The Bible says that the eyes are the windows to the soul.

How many times have you heard people say things like: “I’ll never forget what I saw”; “What I saw next has haunted me” or “I’ll never forget the look on her face” etc. These are all statements proving that what the eye sees, the mind/heart remembers.

I sometimes find myself completely aghast at some of the things I see on social media.

I mean, don’t worry, I’m safe. I’ve totally shut the “front door” (my heart) to the evil things of this world, so it cannot affect me. Right? I just want to see. I don’t want to partake.

I’m safe.

But, here’s the thing, if I’m still peering at it through windows, because I have FOMO and want a first-hand account, am I really that safe?

We forget that, while the door shuts out the physical danger, peering through windows causes spiritual and psychological trauma. And, one could argue, therein lies the real danger. The windows control how much light/darkness enters the home.

And anyways, while a front door is important, a burglar probably won’t use the door to access a building.

It made me think: What am I peering at through my windows? Is it edifying me? Is it stealing my peace and joy? Is it adding truth to my life or is it making me familiar with a lie?  Is it leaving me in a better condition, or worse?

If what you consume (read/watch) every day can be seen as an investment, what type of earnings/profit/outcome are you expecting to reap in return?

The truth is that, while social media may have a lot of wonderful perks, we sometimes just don’t have the necessary control functions needed to put our phones down. We sometimes just can’t look away.

But, here’s the thing: when we choose to focus on God, He empowers us in our weakness. God promises to give us strength when it’s hard to do the right thing. He says that he will empower us when we stumble and will renew our hope when we find ourselves in a pit of despair. I mean, that is the wonderful reward we reap from investing our time into Him!

And while I can’t promise you that I will give up scrolling through social feeds entirely, I am definitely more intent on fixating my eyes on Him and not on the things of this world.

He makes it easier to look away.

“He gives strength to the weary and increases the power of the weak. Even youths grow tired and weary, and young men stumble and fall; but those who hope in the Lord will renew their strength. They will soar on wings like eagles; they will run and not grow weary, they will walk and not be faint.” — Isaiah 40:29-31

Invisible labour. What’s that, you ask? Well, that is when you take on a mental load and then wonder why you are so exhausted at the end of the day, when you’ve barely left your office chair. It is the cognitive effort involved in managing every aspect of your life.

As women, we tend to take on a lot of responsibility (more than men, in most cases). For us, mental load involves planning, making decisions, making appointments, remembering and staying on top of tasks, and executing those tasks – all while doing the rest of the things that we do, as moms and wives!

I often tell my husband that my “mental bag” is full. That’s a hint to say that I can’t answer those “what must the boys wear today” or “what time is the event” questions because I have a bunch of other things going on and I’m feeling overwhelmed. You’ll be surprised at how capable people are at finding out the answer to questions, without your help!

Taking on a “mental load” can look something like this:

1. Answering questions (emails/texts) but not counting it as part of your “to do” list while simultaneously trying to get through your actual “to do” list! That split focus can definitely feel like invisible labour, because you’re giving attention to a gazillion things at the same time.

TIP: Try to set aside allocated time to respond to texts and emails and (here’s the hard part) don’t look at your phone while you’re completing other tasks. Easier said than done, I know.

2. Thinking of all the things you need to do and then feeling completely overwhelmed by it all. Your overwhelm adds an extra 20kg’s to your mental luggage, and it’s totally avoidable!

TIP: Instead of just thinking about it, add those things to your “to do” list (no matter how small the task seems) so that you can park it somewhere other than in your already overwhelmed brain.

3. Taking on responsibility because it seems easy enough and you are able to manage it, but you don’t factor in the time it will take to research, plan, do follow-ups and, eventually, execute. All of those things can add to your mental load, if not accounted for.

TIP: Before saying yes, consider the time it will take to complete the tasks, and THEN decide if you want to take on that responsibility. It’s okay to say no sometimes. Your peace is more important than your yes.

Do you find yourself lugging around this invisible luggage called “mental load”?

Earlier this week I was pleasantly surprised when a quick Instagram poll resulted in so many of my Insta-friends sharing their favourite childhood ‘struggle meals’ with me. Now for those not in the know, a ‘struggle meal’ is a dish put together with very few basic ingredients. It’s designed to fill you up (and keep you fuller for longer), on a budget.

Some of the cheap meal combos that I enjoyed while growing up includes an egg and mince situationship that maybe doesn’t make sense but, trust me, it’s delish. Other favourites were curried eggs (literally, a curry, with boiled eggs as the star of the show) and another staple dish included tinned fish… with basically anything.

Now, mind you, my granny (the preparer of said dishes) would not be impressed that I’m calling it a ‘struggle meal’ but, truth be told, these were the type of meals that she would put together with whatever she found in her cupboard.

Her ‘struggle dishes’ were grand slammers – always tasty, always filling and always enough – and they were one of the best parts of my childhood! I love talking about it. But I get that people don’t often want to talk about their childhood… much less so if they experienced lack during that time.

And anyways, Instagram is for the fancy. People SAY they want “real” but they actually go to Insta for inspiration, not reflection.

So I was quite surprised as I read through messages from people explaining (with great detail and gusto) their fave childhood recipes. It was like I had a front-row seat to one of their fondest childhood memories.

What stuck out most for me was that we did not remember the ‘struggle meal’ with contempt or regret. In some cases, that meal was spoken about with a weird sort of victory – almost as if we were trying to determine which meal was the most cost-effective and tasty.

Talking about our childhood challenges created a camaraderie, as we share our favourite weird-cheap-meal combos (you can tell me nothing about mince and eggs – tis a masterpiece!) with laughing emojis showing just how pleased we were to introduce each other to this new concept.

The ‘struggle meal’ chats also created an opportunity to remember the loved ones who prepared these meals for us. Shout out to the “OGs” of the kitchen who whipped up a plate of biscuits out of thin air! They were the ones who made sure that there was a meal on the table when there were very few options available in the pantry.

While we probably equate a ‘struggle meal’ to disparity or lack, it is actually the manifestation of love revealed to us over and over – each meal prepared with care in the midst of a challenge.

Someone loved us enough to figure it out. That’s wealth right there.

And, if you think about it, this is actually the tie that binds us: our humanness – our ability to love and to give love. That is our great human connection – the common thread of humanity. It’s what makes us all the same.

Whether you grew up eating meals that are fit for a king, or meals that were scraped together by miracle – we needed food to fuel our body, but our true sustenance was love.

Today is International Women’s Day – a day dedicated to spreading awareness around the challenges that we face as females. And while I 100% stand by the campaign to end gender bias and gender inequality, I think that we also need to remember that internalised sexism is a real thing. Yes, I said “internalised sexism”.

What does that look like, you ask?

Definition: “Internalised sexism is a form of sexist behaviors and attitudes enacted by women toward themselves or other women and girls.”

Girls not supporting girls.

For a long time we have been exposed to patriarchal messages that tell us that we are not as capable and strong as men. And with fewer seats at the table for women, we have had to fight each other to increase our standing among men. They’ve turned us against each other.

Unfortunately, this has translated into other areas of our lives.

I mean, school girls physically fight each other for male attention on the playground. Office politics are usually driven by gossip stories passed around from one female to another (usually about another female). And, if we are truly honest we will admit that most relationship breakdowns within a family are woman-to-woman.

As women, we are sometimes our own worst enemy. We degrade each other with misinformed gossip stories, form cliques to show each other that “you can’t sit with us” and we even find it easier to respect a hardworking man, than a hardworking woman.

We are quick to pass judgement but, at the same, we are SO good at masking it… so much so, that we leave each other confused about whether or not we are really and truly supported.

Internalised misogyny is hidden or camouflaged as “female drama” and we are yet again lead to falsely believe that sexism is the practices of men alone. They’ve turned us against each other and then accuse us of being emotional and “dramatic.”

So what do we do to change this?

Well, you can’t change what you won’t acknowledge. It is so important to be aware of your thoughts and behaviors towards other women AND ALSO TO YOURSELF.

We struggle to celebrate ourselves and others because we believe that there is not enough happy for all of us – and this is fed by the “no seat at the table for women” lie that we were told for a long time.

It ends with us.

If there is no seat at the table, bring your own chair. And one for a friend too. Amplify other women. Share skills/knowledge/info. Give credit where credit is due. Applaud successes wholeheartedly. Cut the gossip and backbiting. Stand up for your sister, in a testosterone filled boardroom. Don’t giggle at sexist jokes. Advocate. Mentor. Respect. Defend. Empowered women empower women!

We are allies… partners… sisters… friends. We are not enemies.

What if I told you guys that I won my high school’s beauty pageant, back in 1999. Would it cause you to view me differently, I mean, knowing that I am an award winning model and all?

Hehehe. I know, weird flex. Who brags about winning a teeny bopper beauty pageant more than 20 years ago. (Me, apparently.) But hey in my defense, my humble brag is a result of a cringey photo that I stumbled upon the other day.

The photo reminded me of my teenage years that were riddled with self-doubt and body issues. (So that’s, like, all the normal stuff). In fact, entering that beauty pageant was a feat on its own. I only entered because I come from a family of supermodels who all won their respective high school beauty pageants. It was tradition. And even though I was sans the supermodel gene, I felt it my duty to to carry on with this self-imposed family custom.

Psycho? Hahahahahha. Kinda.

Anyways, as I reminisce about this super cringey high school beauty pageant, I couldn’t help but think about my ouma.

Gearing up for the pageant, my ouma was my biggest (secret) cheerleader.

Yeah “(secret) cheerleader” because even though she feigned interest when it came to my childish wants and needs, she often magically made a plan to make it all happen.

I remember rehearsing pageant dance sequences (that required actual dancing… the shock, the horror) at home, and having her glance over at me time and again, probably wondering why her granddaughter had decided to blacken the family name with horrendous dance moves.

But hey, regardless of my lack of dance moves though, my ouma was the one who ran around making sure I had all the items needed for the pageant. (It was the year 1999. A year of ‘spaghetti strap tops’ and ‘pedal pusher pants’ like the cool Gwen Stefani stans that we were.) As always, my ouma bent over backwards to make sure that her children had what they needed.

I mean, there was no way that I would win this thing. Well, that’s what I had thought. I didn’t enter it to win, anyways. I entered it to fulfill family tradition. Mos.

But my ouma made sure that I was as prepped as a winner should be. Even if it meant giving her last few coins to buy the necessities.

At the end of the night, when the judges called my name as the winner, a bunch of thoughts crossed my mind, in this sequence:

“Yayyyy number 5 won!” 

“Oh wait, I’m number 5.” 

*pause for confusion* 

“I think they made a mistake”

At this point I said “huh, ME?!” outloud. 

“Okay Luchae walk to the front of the stage and don’t make eye contact with the other girls.” 

“Oh look… my whole family is standing and screaming like actual lunatics.”

“Why is Ma sitting down? Wait… is she…. crying?”

And… yeah… at that moment, I realised that I had won it for her. Winning this (very small, probably unimportant) beauty pageant wasn’t important to me. But seeing my granny reap the fruit of her labor made it all worth it in the end.

If she were around today she’d see that her (secret) cheerleading motivated and empowered me to make a success of my life. Her sacrifices paved the way for my successes. Her selfless giving enabled me to do things that she probably only dreamt of doing. I miss her.

I hope I can be that for someone else one day… you know? A (secret) cheerleader, like my ouma was for me.