#TEATIME

My Glass of Lemonade

4/25/2016

My glass of lemonade was made from lemons of insecurity and feelings of worthlessness, portrayed in rushed relationships and heartbreak. I was never enough for any of them, but I gave all that I had and some of what I didn't to get there. To be more. To appear to have it all. I acted better; whole. I was a fraud, yelling to them what I deserved but not really meaning it. Wanting them to justify it. Seeing if they actually bought the crap that came from my mouth. Their response to it all would show me whether or not I did deserve it. Whether or not I was worth the love I so desperately wanted to receive. I felt worthless. But as long as they seen something more than what I saw, I was okay. I was solidified. I was validated.

It's sweetened with the sugar of sexual immorality. Sounds of 'Jupiter Love' filled the room, as lust disguised my insecurities for the moment. The grips of your hand made me feel wanted. Loved. Desired. I didn't think enough of myself. Enough of my story. I had to lay down with you to get it. For you to see all I offered. I had to give myself to you to get a return. I wanted to show you, so you could feel what I wanted you to believe: that I could be everything. And that if that was the only piece of me you wanted, I'd give it to you just to show you I had it. To show me you'd want it. To show me you'd want me. It was never the number, it was the purpose. It was the excuses I made to justify the behavior. It was controlling the game and still misusing it. Still, somehow reducing myself to a pawn.

It's stirred with frustration and upsets. The ugly realization that with all I gave away, I still didn't have the sense of self-worth I longed for. Disappointment overcame me, years later, when I realized none of that ever mattered. When I recognized that my body wasn't a true portal for love or expressions of it. For worth or the recognition of it. That you could never make me feel how I deserved to. That even after all that, I felt just as alone and worthless as I felt before. Only this time, with less of myself.

It's watered down with the ice of broken hearts and shattered pieces. Pieces I no longer wanted part of me. Pieces that I needed part of me. Pieces that I desperately gathered and put together for the next man. The next man I needed to justify my existence. The next man who would take my breath away with their kiss, and peel my skin back to its core the same way he did my clothes. I wanted my soul exposed. Instead, it was just my bare breasts, again. 

Pieces as rugged as my attitude. That shattered at the resurfacing images of ex-girlfriends and the moment you stormed out of my best friend's house for the first and last time. I remember our last text exchange. I remember the last time we kissed. I remember the last time I felt loved. I had to pick up the pieces then, too. A few are still out of place. 

My glass of lemonade was made of moments of not being enough, not having enough and quite possibly not wanting enough. You told me I was everything; he told me I was nothing; I've been in conflict ever since. I have you all whispering in my ear - some sweet nothings and some insults. I hadn't found a voice of my own. I had to find a voice of my own. I sought validation in the men I dated that couldn't even validate themselves. Men that weren't really men. Men that I gave the power to authenticate me or destroy me. Men that have destroyed me. Men that have created a mess of what was left of the heart pieces I glued back together. Men who, still to this day, don't know the power I gave them. Men that didn't deserve that power. 

My glass of lemonade is stirred with the spoon of salvation and redemption. The forgiveness Christ died on the cross for. The salvation I needed to soul search. To find myself. To create myself. To become myself. Hitting the sides of the glass as loudly as God hit me in 2012. Reminiscent to the subtle introduction in 2008; our first encounter. The first time I realized He cared for me. Years later, He was still there for me. He wanted me, more than any of the men, without having given Him anything. He needed me. Not for Himself, but for me. I needed me. You needed me. 

I used two straws; one for Christ's love for me and one for the love I should have had for myself. I used them both to digest the true essence of who I was. To taste what those ingredients had made. To capture it all, and swallow it in a way only God's peace and love could make possible to stomach. My lemonade, so sweet yet so bitter. So fearful, yet now, so triumphant. 

My glass of lemonade was made of hot mess, disappointment and victory. Because we all have lemons. Some we've picked ourselves and some life has thrown at us. But we all haven't made lemonade. Some of us let those lemons sit on the ground and clutter our space. We let them rot in our foyers and bedrooms. We let them take up space in our homes and hearts. In our spirits. Some of us haven't yet learned the importance of taking what we've been given to create what we want. What we need. We haven't yet learned how to make sweetness from our situations.

My glass of lemonade is filled to the brim with insecurities, bad decisions, and city bus trips across town.  But it is my glass of lemonade to drink. Mine to devour. Mine to fall in love with. If not for the taste of its individual ingredients, then for its final product. 

Cheers. 
---

This post is obviously inspired by Beyonce's recent album. Her vulnerability - whether about her marriage or her mother's - was captivating. Her creativity, genius. And her reminder that we all have the ability to make lemonade of our own lemons, life-changing. To every man I gave a piece of my body or my heart, thank you for contributing to this lemonade. 

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#TEATIME

Sometimes I Wanna Be Twenty-Six

4/22/2016

Balance takes work. Between working full-time, eating right, going to the gym, attacking more work after work, cooking, taking care of home, studying, and consistently being fed (spiritually and intellectually) it's hard. It's tiring.I'm tired.

I've been so dedicated to becoming a balanced woman that I've forgotten how to be a twenty-six year old woman. A woman whose imperfections don't cause anxiety. A woman whose responsibilities come second to a night out or a week's worth of happy hours. A woman whose own criticism doesn't drive her crazy. Somewhere in the midst of building a brand and the woman I was created to be - simultaneously - I forgot how to be the woman I am. This twenty-six year old woman.

I don't always want to be balanced. Sometimes I just want to be twenty-six.  I want to make twenty-six year old mistakes with my twenty-six year old friends. Sometimes I want to use my twenty-six year old good for twenty-six year old evil. Sometimes I want to sleep all day and not feel bad. Not feel lazy. Not feel like I wasted a day, even if I may have. 

Sometimes I want to be okay being weak. I want to be comfortable doing nothing. I want to be cured with wine and laughter. Sometimes I want to spend my paychecks before I get them, and make ridiculous decisions that my children could laugh at. Twenty-six year old decisions that at twenty-seven I will laugh at. 

Sometimes I don't want to be fed; I don't want to do more. Sometimes I just want to be the twenty-six year old that I am, full of f*ck ups, simplicity and an occasional f-bomb. 

I don't always want to have it all together; sometimes I want to fall apart and not worry about who I need to be strong for. Sometimes I don't want to "stay focused" or "keep pushing". Sometimes I want to stop everything, and just be twenty-six.

And as I continue working to be a balanced woman while becoming who I was created to be, I need to remind myself that part of that balance is embracing my present. My very twenty-six year old present. Because I just want to be twenty-six. I owe it to myself to be twenty-six. 

You do, too. Even if your twenty-six is thirty-four or forty-one.  

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faith

Power in Weakness

4/03/2016

Weakness. A feeling we've all encountered. Perhaps one we've all tried to ignore. It's managed to tie up our most internal selves and shove us in a closet. It's forced us to parade around with a smile as if nothing is wrong while tears secretly decorate our work slacks. It silences us with our fear of vulnerability. As if our innermost selves aren't screaming from inside the closet our weakness locked us in. As if we don't go home, snatch off our bras, turn off our phones and cry ourselves to sleep. 

Weakness. It comes in the form of the weeping that's endured for the night. The form of wishing our days away. The form of physical pain and ailments. The form of fatigue. The form of uneaten meals and sorrow at a table full of laughter. The form of wine glasses overflowing and marijuana ashes at the bottom of plastic cups. 

Weakness. It stops us in our tracks. Halts our progress. Brings us crashing to our knees. 

But on our knees is where we belong. It's where our weakness is made most powerful. Because there is power in our weakness. There's freedom and liberation in all that we endure. In our weakest moments, God is strongest. In our muffled cries, God's grace is unleashed. In our silent screams, God's mercy is bestowed upon us. In our weakness, God's power is made perfect. 

It is through our weakness that we get closest to God's perfect power. It is in darkness that we seek light most diligently. That we work hardest to get near God. In our time of sheer fatigue, unimaginable pain, and unignorable turmoil, we tend to pray the loudest. The hardest. The most consistent. In our weakness, we surrender. And in our surrender we are transformed; we are made whole.

Because there is peace in our surrender and there is power in our weakness.

So do not worry for one second about being weak, for God's strength will soon overcome you. And that weakness will prove to be your strongest moment. Your most liberating experience. Your most powerful testimony.  

"But he said to me, 'My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.' Therefore I will boast all the more gladly of my weaknesses, so that the power of Christ may rest upon me." (2 Corinthians 12:9) 

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