My Mid-Twenties Are Ghetto: A Testimony in Progress
Words by Leeyan Redwood
Graphics by Levi LoCascio-Seward
They say weeping may endure for a night, but what if it’s been, like, 74 nights?
Asking for myself.
*cue the music*
What do you do when you’ve done all you can?
The melodic words of Donnie McClurkin have been in frequent rotation in the soundtrack to my mid-twenties. Do you really just stand? Because baby, my ankles and knees are swollen from carrying the weight of my emotions and my ever-growing midsection.
What do you do when you’ve given your all?
Donnie McClurkin and Mariah Carey got that question in common. Mariah would give her all to have just one more night with her former fine-ass, Irish-and-Black, baseball-playing boo, Derek Jeter. Me? I’d give my all to catch a fucking break. Just one. Is that too much to ask?
Spoiler alert: Sometimes, it might be.
In the past six months:
My car was stolen.
I was evicted by my evil-ass roommate.
My workload doubled while my pay shriveled.
My stretch marks and neck hairs have tripled (PCOS girlies stand up!).
And my best friend of nearly a decade? They confessed their deep-rooted jealousy and resentment toward me this whole time.
Let’s not forget this current white supremacist administration playing games with student loan forgiveness like it’s optional. And mind you—I’m broke. Jesus already handled my sins on the cross, so those loans can sit down and wait their turn.
And yet…
Somehow, with the world around me crumbling, I still find my way through my cluttered, half-unpacked new apartment to a bottle of chardonnay, some flower-shaped ice cubes, and my laptop to write this address.
There’s something about this mid-twenties slump that draws me to a biblical parallel—of course, the story of Job. Job got got. One of the Lord’s favorites caught some of life’s hardest Ls. Everything was stripped from him—the kind of losses that drive people to the edge. And yet, Job rejoiced in the Lord.
What a guy. Truly inspiring.
But can we talk about how Job might’ve felt during those moments? Not just the praise part, but the pain, too. The confusion. The anger. The silence. The quiet wondering of “why me?”
Because rejoicing in the Lord is a beautiful idea, but sometimes it feels just out of reach. Some nights the fight is harder than others. Right now? I’m in that fight. Fighting to smile. Fighting to hope. Fighting to fight.
Just because I carry this load well, doesn’t mean it isn’t drowning me.
I’ve never had the luxury of waiting to be rescued.
Some days, I wish I came from a family where money wasn’t always a worry. I’m fully aware that dollar bills don’t buy happiness, but a calm $20K would clear up most of my challenges listed above.
But also, (here comes the reflection):
I need grace—for my past mistakes, for my lack of planning, for the times I let survival take priority over strategy. I know my testimony is greater than the test, and might get me a Pulitzer someday—but Lord, can you just tell me when it gets better?
I’m struggling to just stand.
But maybe standing doesn't always look like strength. It isn't a simple vertical ascent. Maybe it looks like wiping your tears and blowing your nose just before your next mentoring session, hanging up the phone and resuming. Maybe it looks like pouring another glass of wine, whispering one more prayer, watching Jeopardy reruns, and calling your mom to talk about the NFL Draft.
Maybe standing looks like survival—messy, imperfect, beautiful survival.
Maybe it looks like this: Grabbing your laptop and getting your truth out because you understand that even in this season of suppression, you can still stand. Even if you need to wear stilettos of strength. Even if you're standing in crooked rooms. Even if you need to sit down every couple of minutes because your feet ache from the weight of everything you're carrying.
Standing is not about being unbroken. It's about breaking and choosing to reassemble yourself, piece by piece, with grace, with fury, with whatever fragments of hope you can gather.
So again I ask: What do you do when you’ve done all you can?
You stand.
And somehow, standing becomes survival.
And survival becomes testimony.
So I cue Donnie.
Pour the wine.
And whisper, Lord, this better come with a blessing and a book deal.