life

Spit Your Truth

10/23/2016

I had a man tell me that if my ideals don't agree with his Facebook status, then I shouldn't comment. I had him tell me that my feminism is going to my head. I had him tell me that I need to tone it down, for the sake of myself and the men of which I'm letting down. I had this man, that has tagged me on Facebook posts many times before to solicit my personal opinion, tell me that my opinion doesn't matter. While I know he was merely in his feelings at the firmness of my opposing argument, thus saying whatever he felt would offend me, I didn't let his words deter me from speaking my truth.

As a woman of God, I have a duty to uphold my commitment to empower and inspires those around me. I have a responsibility to use my voice to incite internal change in myself and in others. And no matter how uncomfortable I make people in doing so, I refuse to be silenced. I refuse to keep my mouth closed to appease those who are uncomfortable with truth. With boldness. With bravery. 

See, the voice you have is meant to be used. It's meant to tell empowering stories of tragedy and triumph. It's meant to turn lifelessness to life lessons. It's meant to make daring declarations over doubtful situations. Your voice is meant to be heard, not silenced. 

You owe it to yourself to honor your truth. To share it as unapologetically as you so choose. To be the light in a room of darkness. To show your humanness through transparency and vulnerability. And to protect yourself against all the voices trying to silence yours. So the next time someone tries to shut you up for using your voice and expressing yourself; for fully utilizing your freedoms; for being the enlightened you that you've worked so hard to become, I urge you to continue. To continue to be bold and intentional in your search for self and purpose. To continue to be strategic in your storytelling. To continue to share the deepest parts of yourself. To continue to share facts and opine on topics that you're passionate about. To continue to uplift those around you, in spite of the attacks from those around them. To continue to shine bright and be graceful. To continue to write your disagreeing opinion on people's Facebook posts. To continue to allow your feminism to go to your head. To continue to be turned up and not toned down. 

Because Queen, no one can silence you or your beliefs—and they dang sure don't deserve the right to. 

So spit your truth. And use your voice. 

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#TEATIME

My Name, My Identity

10/20/2016

Zoey versus Zoe: a battle I’ve endured for a long 27 years. One that I sometimes chose to fight and other times chose to ignore. My name. My name was under constant (unintentional) scrutiny. During my earlier years it was something my parents stood up for, declaring wild intent for the selection of my name and its meaning. Dating back to my father’s experience with racism in the south, and his unwavering desire to educate his children about these very present racial injustices—despite us having been too young to understand. “Her name is Zoe,” they’d say with black strength in their voices. 

“Queen of praise” to some, “worthy of praise” to others, and “healer” to the Liberian family that danced around me in circles, Zoe ignited a sense of cultural pride that I only recently begun to explore.

“Her name is Zoe,” my prophyte would exclaim to those who called me “Zoey”. 

“They don’t call Moe, Moey,” I would always say to myself. Often times I’d be alone during these encounters. They’d happen in school, on job interviews, at new jobs. They’d happen in meetings, on phone calls, and in any other situation where someone had to read my name for themselves. It even happened when I introduced myself as “Zoe” and it was incorrectly reiterated. It would happen, most frequently, when no one else was around to defend my name like I was so used to. But see fighting for the sake of my name hadn’t been a battle worth fighting, to me. I let it go, and more times than not, answered. I ignored the historical implications of my African name and responded to the ignorance of those around me. Those who insisted on adding an extra syllable to an already simple name. 

Never did I think, though, that the mispronunciation of my name would somehow relate to the misunderstanding of my being; or that my cowardice to correct would be symbolic to the insecurities of my identity.

I noticed that in order to correct people I had to be confident in my right to correct them. I had to be confident in the meaning behind it. I had to be confident in the person baring it. After all, it is my name! And if they say it wrong, I have the right to tell them. I had to become sure of myself that the label I held on to —the one my parents so intentionally called me—was the only label I should be called, (along with Zoe Zoe, the affectionate rendition a soror came up with). 

See I learned many things about myself during the years of answering to the wrong name. As un-thought provoking as it may seem, my name was a piece of my being. Who I am. Why I was created. And what space I would occupy on this Earth. And in recognizing this, I learned that being called anything, for the sake of being called, is certainly not the way. My name, and being, has far too much purpose to succumb to whatever the masses choose to label me.

So with these thoughts sticking to my throat like a Popeye’s biscuit, I wish to express to you the following three things, as you continue on your own journey of self-discovery and self-appreciation.

1. Do not conform. Do not allow their labels to become your normal. Do not allow the mispronunciation of your name, or misunderstanding of your purpose, dictate what you call yourself. Do not abandon your being to make them comfortable. Do not throw away the person you’ve become, the one created by the Father and your parents, to fit what they have in mind for you. Because whether they know your name or not, you are powerful beyond measure, and you must hold true to your very raw, very authentic identity.

2. Be confident in your being. Be confident enough to correct them when they’re wrong. To remind them of who you are, so they can never forget it. To correct them as many times as it takes for it to stick. To know, that in doing so, you are reaffirming the brilliance and intentionality of your creation. 

3. Be powerful in your identification of self. Whatever your name may be, and whatever it may mean say it firmly and boldly. Recognize the power in your correction and the declaration you're making to yourself to share exactly who you are. Believing who you say you are, and not at all what they call you. Commit to being that woman every day of your life, and dedicate yourself to ensuring that those around you learn to embrace her, instead of a falsehood with the wrong name.

While I am loads more than my name, my name (obviously) plays a large role in my identity. And to allow people to strip that from me, as unintentional as it may be, is allowing them to strip away my being. I’ve learned to correct people when they’re wrong about me (and my name), not because I’m offended, but because I need them to recognize the power behind both my identity and my existence. Now that’s a battle worth fighting.

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Christ

Here's to Transformation

10/15/2016

Transformation is not easy. It's frightening, uncomfortable, and sometimes undesirable. "I don't wanna change!" we yell to our innermost selves as we pretend to be content with who we are. As we convince ourselves that we don't need to change—that much. 

Lots have changed in my life within the last month despite my opposition. I've adapted and chalked it up to this being my transformational season. A season that requires more sowing than reaping. During this time, one that I've learned to accept, I've vowed to draw nearer to God. I knew doing so would be the only way to ensure I make it out with my sanity and peace intact. 

I discarded my old study notebook and started a new one. It was gray and white, adorned with a scripture on the front. One of my best girlfriends gave it to me last Christmas. I hadn't opened it until today. I needed something fresh; something dedicated strictly to this transition. I needed this notebook to be an ode to this season, with absolutely nothing from the past included.

I grabbed the new notebook and my study Bible and got back in bed. I opened the notebook to a note from my friend. A note I'd never read before, yet was still as relevant today as it was when she wrote it.

"One night God spoke to me and said 'Don't worry, she will be fine'," I read as she wrote to express her concern for my trying season of 2015. My eyes watered as I thought of how powerful those words were in the moment of which she shared them, and the moment they were read. 'She will be fine,' sounded like a proclamation. They were the words I needed to say to myself but couldn't muster up the courage to. Not then, and not now.

God was absolutely right, though. No matter how much pain I was/am experiencing or how much uncertainty filled/fills my mind, I was fine then, and I will be fine now. 

But I don't share this to convince myself; I share this to convince you. To let you know that whatever you're enduring, you will be fine. That no matter how silent it may appear, you will be okay. That you can make it through. That you will make it through. That He is watching you closer than they are—whoever they are. That He is with you. That He is carrying you through every part of this phase. That this transformation is not to defeat you, but to promote you. That this very moment is to grow you into something bigger than you could've ever anticipated. To let you know that though it hurts now, it won't always hurt. It won't always be painful. It won't always be exhausting. 

So here's to your transformation. To the cleansing of your heart from bitterness and hatred. To forgiveness. To your pursuit of peace and the bold elimination of everything that disrupts it. To self-love and the many ways you chose to display that. To purity. To the process. 

Here's to the ending of one phase and the beginning of another. To lost friendships and the new ones arising. To the death of relationships and the clarity that will come from this separation. To leaving bad jobs. To leaving dead situations. To empowering yourself out of dark closets and padded rooms. 

Here's to loud complaints turning to loud prayers. To clouded judgment becoming divine discernment. To lost hope becoming renewed faith. To isolation becoming salvation. To opposition becoming obedience. To the positive shifts in your spiritual maturity and the great things that will come from it. 

Here's to the King creating in you the spirit He needs for you to fulfill your purpose. To the ways He's choosing to stretch you. To the fire He's bringing you through. To the way He's sharpening your story. To the way He's going to use you to tell it. To the lives you will touch. To the growth you will make. To the harvest you will reap. 

Here's to all the amazing things awaiting you on the other side of this transformation. I'll meet you there. 

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growth

Uncovering Worth: When Leaving is the Best Option

10/06/2016

It read: "My last day will be October 7, 2016." It was written in bold. It was more of a declaration than a resignation. It was the fulfillment of a promise I made myself. The period at the end of that statement was not only the end of the sentence but the end of playing their game. The 'come to work, smile like everything's okay, while really knowing I'm being disrespected, undervalued, and unappreciated' game. It was the only thing I could say to express the "I ain't stupid" feeling that grew within the several months leading up to this point.

The months where my boss would take 3 weeks vacation, but when I took a sick day I got scolded. The months where passive aggressive e-mails filled my inbox. The months where my growing to-do list kept me motivated, while everyone else complained about how much work to do. The months where my conversations of dissatisfaction and attempts at resolve fell upon deaf ears.

"My last day will be October 7, 2016," I excitedly typed. I dated it three weeks after it's original creation date, and held myself accountable for submitting it. I didn't know what was in store for my life, but I knew this wasn't it. I knew this couldn't be it—not anymore. I pressed send on the e-mail, with my resignation letter attached, and took a swig of wine from a brown paper bag. I was on my way to Canada, preparing to celebrate this leap of faith and pursuit of peace.

I returned on the following Monday to silence, eye rolls, and whispers. These people, that I dedicated my life to for a year and a half, felt offended that I decided to move on—after only a year and a half. They were upset that I wanted to advance in my career. They were mad that they shooed me away. Mad that their unethical behavior had rubbed me the wrong way and I refused to be a victim to it any longer. 

The fact of the matter is that people don't quit jobs, they quit bosses. They quit bad leaders. They quit boredom and the absence of meaningful work. They quit disloyalty and politics. They quit toxic energy and unhappiness.

I pride myself on peace and purpose; and while this job was exactly what I wanted to do when choosing a career path, the atmosphere was not what I had anticipated. I work hard, and I work well. But I also know that in any workplace, that's only half the battle.

I decided to submit my letter of resignation whether I had a position awaiting me or not. When I typed those words and bolded them, I meant them. And in submitting it, so many things were revealed; most importantly, so many lessons were learned.

Know your worth. This is relevant for the jobs I've begun applying to, and the one I was leaving. I wasn't being used to my fullest ability. I wasn't allowed the creative freedom I deserved. Sure, I was asked my opinion, on more than one occasion, but it was always dismissed. As if asking for my opinion was a formality. I was being led by a leader who had never managed a workforce before, and who, admittedly mentioned not wanting to manage one now. I was doing his work and my own with not as much as a thank you parting from his lips. From anyone's lips. I was trusted with more, without receiving the pay that compensated for that additional trust. I was tried and tested. I never felt entitled to any of it, but after a while, I knew I didn't deserve being discarded or dismissed. I knew I deserved better. And regardless of if the better was available now or not, I was determined to get it. I refused to expend another bit of energy in a place that didn't respect it. My worth was more precious than the pennies they were throwing at me.

Peace is more important. Having a job is important—it's critically important, actually—but my peace, that's more important. My obedience to God, even more important than peace. I owned that. I prided myself on that. I believe, and still do, that waking up each morning dreading life is not what life's about. While there will always be situations you'll have to bear the burden of—jobs, people, and circumstances you'd prefer to do without—there are also ones that have the power to pull you down. I refused to go down. Not for a job and not for a dollar. I realized when I stopped idolizing money I could free myself from the strongholds of it. Sure, financial freedom is a goal, but not one I'm willing to give up my peace for. Not one worth the better parts of my soul. Not one worth dying every day for.

I'm sure my unhappiness and spiritual disruption led Him to pull me from a place I had once thought He placed me in for the long haul. Perhaps it was simply to come to this moment. To realize that though I need a job, I don't need just any job. To recognize that my worth is defined in Him and that I deserve beyond what just anyone will give me. To really identify the true meaning of peace, and to take big steps to get it. Whatever it was—the reason I was pulled from this place I once enjoyed—I couldn't be any happier. I couldn't feel any more at peace about this decision. While struggle, a different kind of struggle, may be on the horizon, I sit in so much comfort knowing that I've created a peace I've always desired. Knowing that I stood up for the worth that took me a while to find. And now understanding more than ever, the importance of workplace worth.  

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life

Breaking the Curse of Perfectionism

10/03/2016

I cringe at the sight of misspellings and errors—though there are few. I jot down the wrong notes, avoid asking questions, and my memory often leads me astray. But, I do not like mistakes.

I despise being wrong, and the lengths I go to protect myself from that has become alarming. Parading in perfectionism and evading responsibility from anything that's less than, has become a coping mechanism. Remaining in comfortable places, rooted in common procedure, yet limiting growth, has become a safe space. One that prohibits the depths of me from evolving in the way prosperity demands.

See, perfectionism, as ironic as it seems, halts us from becoming greater. We've become so fearful of making mistakes that we don't step out when we're supposed to. We're worried about what things should look like, and when the right time actually is, that we never make the decisions we're supposed to make. We're waiting for perfection to knock at our doors, and refuse to do anything until it does. We refuse to act because of fear of mistakes, not acknowledging that it's the mistakes that help us grow.

But in this season—one that has already proven to be one of the most transformational of my life—I vow to be just that. Wrong. Full of error. Imperfect. I vow to embrace my incorrectness. To bask in my failures simply because I was willing to fail. Because I decided to no longer shelter myself behind perfectionism and comfortability. Because I've decided to stop getting close to the edge and not jumping. Not soaring. Because I decided that I want my faith to be stronger than my fear.

I'm choosing to jump off the ledge with a bag full of mistakes and learn from them in mid-air—or once I hit the ground. I'll gather my belongings at the bottom, and live to share them. To encourage others through them. To inspire myself in spite of them. 

The perfect time won't come unless you make it. The perfect pitch won't get written the first time. The perfect job won't come in the first interview. The perfect man won't come in your first relationship. Everything in this life develops through mistakes, and your fear of making them is what's keeping you locked in stagnancy.

Mistakes will happen. Some larger than others, but all dissatisfying. However mistakes are what force us to be better. They're what inform us of better options and how to make better decisions—next time. Perhaps it's time we stop letting the fear of making them control us.

Perfectionism forces us into molds we won't ever be able to uphold. We weren't created to be perfect; and we probably never will be. Embrace your imperfect selves. Celebrate the mistakes you've made. And hold yourself accountable for doing all that you said you would—whether the time is perfect, or not.

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