#TEATIME

Where's Our Protection?

5/06/2018

"I don't appreciate you talking about my girlfriend," he said as he aggressively approached us about what he felt was disrespect toward his white girlfriend. 

He was black.

His girlfriend had been staring at us for about seven minutes now. Watching us laugh, giggle, and tell jokes to each other. It made her noticeably uncomfortable because in mid-joke she began pointing at us and whispering. I hadn't paid much attention to her, but my line sister saw her gestures and mentioned it to me.

"This girl over here is pointing at us. Maybe I know her," she questioned. I looked at her and doubted the possibility of them knowing each other. She seemed much younger than us and looked completely unfamiliar. We continued our conversation.

A few minutes later there we were, staring in the face of an upset black man who approached us about his white girlfriend who seemingly had an issue that we were enjoying ourselves in her predominantly white space.

We hadn't said anything to her, or anything disrespectful about her. My line sister explained that. He didn't care. In fact, it seemed like he was more irate that we didn't back down and submit to his anger the first time. As though he thought him approaching us would've rendered an apology that he and his girlfriend thought they deserved.

"No one was talking about your girlfriend, sir. She was pointing at us and we couldn't figure out why," my line sister responded. "Goodbye," I added. 

We stood our ground. Confident. Secure. Not displaying anything close to how threatened we felt.

"I'm from Jamaica Queens, we don't get down like that," he continued.
"What is that supposed to mean?" I inquired.
"I went to Cornell!" he exclaimed as if that explained why he was still in our face defending an offense that never happened.

We were both confused by the direction of the conversation. Was he seeking validation? Was he trying to impress us? Did he want us to submit to him because he thought his attendance at an ivy league institution made us feel inferior? Was he trying to repair his ego?

"And?" we both replied, cackling at the hilarity of what the situation turned into—a black man vying for approval from the white folks around him, or perhaps from the two black women he apparently hated: us. Shouting his resume as if people were going to put down their margaritas and give him a hand clap. As if that part of his resume was impressive enough for us to back down; for two accomplished black women to awe over his achievement of getting into (but not graduating from) Cornell.

His white girlfriend approached us to simmer the situation.

"I didn't send him over here," she said to two unamused black women who simply wanted them both to disappear from our presence. 

"Sure you didn't. Your white fragility is what inspired this man to approach two black women because for some reason we made you uncomfortable." My line sister decided to read her her rights. She looked dumbfounded as she struggled to find words to say to a response she clearly hadn't expected.

"Just go away," we responded.

Surprisingly that wasn't the last, nor the worst, of our interaction. As we shooed them both away, we dedicated the following 2 minutes to settling back into ourselves. We debriefed and moved forward.

Unfortunately, he couldn't do the same.  He returned to shout more insults at us as if he had felt defeated that we didn't cower the first time he spoke. He blurted out every ill thing he thought of black women.

"You're from the projects!"
"That's why y'all don't got no men."
"Nobody wants y'all!"
"This is why people hate black people."

"You're still mad?" I asked, taking him even further over the edge.

"I'm a f*cking millionaire," he responded. "But your shirt is wrinkled," I reminded him. 

"I'm better than y'all. We're better than y'all!" he angrily shouted. 

"But you came up to us," my line sister emphasized.  

He stormed away, forgetting that he approached us in the first place; upset that she reminded him.

My anger immediately turned to disgust as he displayed an undeniable hatred for blackness—both ours and his own. Neither of us had ever seen this man in our lives, but suddenly, in a fit of rage, he knew everything about our lives. Because we were assertive black women unamused by his anger, we had to be from the projects. Because we were enjoying our black womanhood with each other, we must have been single. Because we made it a point to ensure he knew that we were unbothered by his girlfriend's white fragility, we were the reason people hate black folk. Because we wouldn't submit, nobody wanted us.

How convenient for him to spew every bit of hatred toward us, simply because his girlfriend was uncomfortable with our presence. How impressive he must've thought he was to be in a predominantly white space, being disrespectful to two black women he had never met in his life. How strong he must've felt to have protected his girlfriend from two black women who were minding their own business. 

Black men: When black women share their disdain for black men who date white women, it's very seldom about their dating preference, and more so about the frequency of which black men forget they're black men. The fact that, your white partner's whiteness somehow makes you feel like you have the same privilege. That your closeness to whiteness, somehow makes you more powerful. More desirable. Like they have a different level of respect for you, than they do the rest of us. That at some point in your relationship, your loyalty and alliance lies in their whiteness, more than your own blackness.

While that may not be everyone's tale—I'm sure there are plenty black men who are very keen to (and dare I say, love) their blackness despite who they date—it certainly seemed to be the story of this man who dedicated at least 10 minutes to disrespecting two black women who were relishing in self-love and sisterhood.

In that moment, I experienced a man who needed validation from the white people surrounding him, not by being a good person, but by attacking the very black bodies those same white people despise. Spouting out stereotypes about black women that were untrue and irrelevant to our existence in that space.

All of a sudden, two strong black women that he had never met, were worthless stereotypes to him.

But what was most disheartening was while we were being shouted at by a black man who may have needed more black love growing up, there was another black man who stood about a foot away from us who said and did nothing. He watched from the sidelines as we were being disrespected and didn't offer a single "chill out man" "relax" or "are y'all okay." He offered no sympathy or condolence. He simply watched the interaction with no ounce of emotional tie to any of us.

It's baffling to me that our black girl joy made his white girlfriend so uncomfortable. That her discomfort made him so upset. But it was more appalling that the black man standing next to us cared nothing about our safety, as black women, to even intervene. Our peace is endangered. Our joy is threatening. And our mere existence is discarded time and time again.

While this may have been the first time for me, plenty of black women have been on the other end of similar situations. I've heard personal testaments to how ruthless and flippant black men have been to black women. I've read articles of the abuse that occurs when black women threaten the black male ego. And I am completely exhausted with all of it.

The burden of protecting, providing for, loving, nurturing, and healing black men is constantly placed on the shoulders of black women, however when the same is needed for us, black men are absent—or in this case, silent. Why is it that we are constantly asked to better our black male counterparts, but we're not afforded the same luxury. Our entire existence is so upsetting to white people and black men, that the only people we have to fend for us, is us. How unsettling it is to know that no matter where we go, we are among the most hated beings in the world.

It's a chilling reality, yet when we speak about it we're man bashing. When we share our lived experiences we're spreading hate. When we worry and question the lack of love we feel from our black brothers, we're trying to destroy the black family. People are more bothered by our expression of those experiences than they are at the fact that they're happening to us.

I usually have uplifting things to say in moments like this. Part of me wants to encourage us (black women) to continue to stick together in times like these. I want to remind us that there will be moments where no one is on our side, and in those moments all we have is each other. I want to inspire us all to love on each other. To not mind our business when it comes to us, but to stand in the gaps for each other. To advocate and support each other. To enjoy, and honor, and respect each other. To nurture, and heal, and protect each other—because no one else will.

And the other part of me is just pissed. I'm pissed to have experienced such hatred from a black man who was pushed out of a black woman. I am so disturbed by the lack of support and protection by the other black man who, no matter how much he tries to dilute it, may one day have a black daughter. I am bothered by the countless other stories I've heard from women who've experienced something similar. And I am disgusted at the countless black men who feel their behavior is okay at best, and commendable at worst. 

There is absolutely nothing I can say to mask the disgust and offense I felt in my heart last night. I am hurt and disappointed at the carelessness black men have for black womanhood. I am saddened by the reality that black women can't even exist without being disrespected, berated, harassed, bothered and/or threatened. And I am curious to know how long it'll take for black men to stand by us as fervently and lovingly as we do them.

I guess I'll see that next lifetime.

Note: if you're a black man who was offended by this post, perhaps you're one of the ones that need to do better to honor and support black women. Instead of taking offense to our lived experiences, you should assess the ways in which you tear us down—by thought, word, or deed—and work to eradicate the self-hate you promote. To those who are already doing their due diligence, I respect and love you. To the black men in my corner who have asked for his picture and offered to school him the right way: thank you. Despite what anyone says, we need you. And while the current climate doesn't want us to relish in our togetherness, I will always acknowledge that fact. 

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life

Lessons from Yoga

4/17/2018

Last week I tried something completely new in honor of my girl’s birthday: hot yoga. Now, I’ve done yoga a few times before, in the comfort of my living room, while using the Yoga App on my 4G Apple TV. Entering the studio, I was no expert but I was certainly no stranger to yoga poses, nor the 90+ degree heat - I take biweekly trips to the sauna because I’m a summer baby, and heat is life. But, I’d be lying if I said my inexperience didn’t lend to some nervousness walking in.

As we entered the studio I was delighted by its temperature and the encouraging presence of the instructor. It wasn’t as stuffy as I had originally thought it would be; in fact, the heat was refreshing. I grabbed a mat, some blocks that I never used before, and a cushion to alleviate some of the anticipated pain from my knees being on the hard floor; It was do or die at this point.

We began with warming up using easier poses, and quickly snuck off into the land of intermediate yoga. I could’ve sworn this was a beginner’s class. About 20 minutes in I was dripping in sweat and had to put my glasses to the side because they were slipping off. At certain points in the session, Instructor Josh spoke inspiration ever so softly while walking around the room making sure our form was right. One of his themes for the night was that we are already equipped with exactly what we need for where we are in life. 

This is an idea that I firmly stand on, and even wrote about (you can read it here). Josh spent a lot of time reminding us that the expertise of those in the room won’t be ours, and that’s okay. That, we ought to settle in contentment for exactly where we are. That we ought not complain or be dissatisfied with our place in life, but rejoice that we are constantly growing and will one day be where we hope to be. This was powerful as I looked around the room at the more experienced yogis. It was motivation for me through the various breaks I had to take when the poses became too challenging, or my hands started slipping off the mat. I held onto those nuggets and made it through the hour-and-a-half-long hot yoga class that felt more like 3 hours.

As the instructor turned the lights completely off and left us with his final words, I couldn’t help but to feel more accomplished than I ever had. “You have all you need,” he said. I let that rest in my spirit for the rest of the night.

I was so proud of having made it through, despite the breaks I had to take or the modifications to the moves. I was encouraged by having pushed my body in ways I never before had to. I was empowered by actually conquering the workout — on my own terms. It was a beautiful feeling, and there were beautiful lessons that came as I reflected at the end of that session.

1. I can get through anything. I know we say it to ourselves all the time, but how often do we really feel it? In that moment, I felt it. I walked in to that room confident, and twenty minutes in that confidence faded. However, that didn’t stop me from actually trying to make it through. In fact, my exhaustion/weakness midway, made me want to push myself harder. I was determined to make it through, and I did all that I could to do so. If we navigate our everyday lives with this same motivation we could achieve so much. If we recognize that everything is a process, then we allow ourselves the grace, and the patience, to accomplish what we set out to — on our own terms. We truly can get through anything we commit to, and there’s tons of beauty in pushing through to that desired end.

2. I can get back up. It doesn’t matter how often we fall, we can get back up just as many times. It doesn’t matter how often we need to modify our route, or slow down a little, as long as we get back on the path. I had to adjust myself and take a few breaks during that session, but when I felt like I could tackle it again, I got back to it. I didn’t care what anyone thought of me stopping, and I didn’t care what anyone else could do - I simply stayed true to my own ability; my own process. We are all well on a long journey toward destiny, and we will all get there as long as we keep getting up. The road to success isn’t about getting there with no mistakes, it’s about getting there — period. So get up, and get there.

3. It will get harder before it gets easier. I hadn’t expected that during class. I was certain the the more poses I master, the easier the next pose would be. I thought that with every inch my body stretched, my body would easily transition to the next one. I was fooled. The more the class continued, the more exhausted I became. I grew frustrated that the session wasn’t over. I was tired of my hands slipping from the sweat, and drained from the way I’d been contorting my body for the last hour. I wasn't sure when the class would be over, but I knew I was ready for it to end. That seems to be a steady theme in life. The closer we get to the end of our tunnel, the darker it becomes. The closer we get to victory, the tougher the battle gets. This was a physical manifestation of that, and it’s no coincidence. Every bit of your journey toward triumph has that final moment of pain, or exhaustion, or temporary feeling of defeat. Before you apply for the job of your dreams, you may go through hardship in your current job. Before you free yourself from relational bondage, you may experience drama in that relationship. Before you’re healed, you’ll experience the very draining process of shedding your layers. Nothing good comes without a trial before it. It’s unavoidable. Just know, that when you feel like it’s darkest, you’re on the brink of breakthrough; stay the course.

4. I am victorious. I was created to win battles and conquer this life. When starting the class I knew I would finish; leaving midway through wasn’t an option. I hadn’t forfeited my $20 to quit. I hadn’t worked that hard to give up 30 minutes in, 45 minutes in, or even an hour in. The more tired and frustrated I became, the more I knew I had to finish. And when I finished, I felt more powerful than I ever had. I pushed myself and my body. I stuck with it. I was committed. I paced myself by paying attention to my body—my journey—not the one of those around me. I stayed focused on me and my end goal: making it through. And because of that, I saw it through. It would have been easy to get up and leave. To sit in the corner until the class finished. But I kept going. I kept fighting. While I’d love to encourage you and say that victory is guaranteed, it isn’t. Victory is only achieved by those with the willingness to see their journey through to the end. It’s afforded to those with the gall to keep going. It’s gifted to those who worked hard and trusted themselves enough to get through it. I did just that. As challenging as it became, I kept my eye on the prize. I stayed focused, I saw it through, and I conquered. I will remember that feeling for every battle I endure going forward. I will remember that high for as long as I’m in my right mind. I will hold onto it for every hardship that comes my way. Because I am willing to fight, and I will be victorious.

I knew yoga had healing properties, but I had no idea I’d walk away with lessons as powerful as these. I felt more motivated than ever walking out of that 90 degree room. I felt ready to take on the world and conquer every battle I foresee. But for now I’ll simply settle for another hot yoga session.

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growth

You Read the Devotionals, Now What?: Three Ways to Retain Lessons From Devotionals

4/10/2018

The internet is filled with tons of free resources. For every e-newsletter you sign up for, there’s a free e-book, resource guide, or toolkit to help you with whatever that brand caters to. Even DEAR QUEENS is coming out with a devotional-esque workbook, to help you tap into better parts of yourself. Free resources have become a marketing tactic for many; and an easy, yet effective, way to give back to others. However, what the heck are you supposed to do with all them?

Sure, these free resources, workbooks, and devotionals are amazing, until we realize that we don’t remember a thing we’ve learned from them. We could read all we want, but if we're not retaining the information, shifting our thought processes, and actually putting into place what we've read, what good are they? 

I'm here to help. These three tips can help you retain and apply the lessons you receive from those great free resources. 

Meditate: Before you even begin your devotional, or workbook content, pray over it. Ask God to illuminate the things that are most relevant to what you're enduring or will soon go through. Pray for the ability to interpret the lessons in the most appropriate way. There’s dire importance in praying about the information you’re about to digest before you actually digest it. It allows what's meant for you to leap off the page, and makes it meaningful to your specific situation. 

Dedicate: Be committed to spending time fully digesting the content you read. It's easy to print out a resource and read it, it's another to print it with the full intent to dive in and digest it. To apply it to your life and figure out the ways in which it can make you better. Reading a passage may take you five minutes, but identifying creative ways to make it applicable and practical to your life may take longer. Dedicate yourself to finding the time and space to do that. Give yourself a half hour to an hour to spend time with what you're reading. Don't rush through it — take notes, highlight, and reread the sentences that resonate the most with you. Think critically about the passage or chapter after reading it, then read it over again. 

Fixate: rest your mind on the topic at hand. After you've read it, continue to think about it. Think about it with every interaction, every situation, and every big moment that comes of your day. Find a way to recall yourself back to the reading. Write the key points on a post-it note and take it with you. Put it on the wallpaper of your phone. Screenshot and review it every hour. The key to remembering material is repetition. Fixating your mind on what you learned in your reading will help you retain the lesson. Repetition will help you remember, and remembering will help you live what you just learned. Put yourself in the position to live the content you just read. Refer back to that day's passage in all you do, so you can begin forming habits that actually create change. 

Are there any other ways that have helped you retain the information you read in devotionals? How else have you been able to effectively apply the content in your life? Feel free to share in the comments below. 

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freedom

How Being the Smartest in the Room is Doing a Disservice to Your Growth

3/25/2018

They say if you're the smartest in the room, then you're in the wrong room. This past weekend I was able to fully digest that thought.

In a world where almost everyone aspires to be thought leaders in their field, it's hard to find anyone willing to not be the smartest. Demanding respect has come on account of appearing to know it all. With the rise of social media, people go to great lengths to portray excellence, even amidst great brokenness. It's as if the only way to secure your space in such a competitive market, is to be the smartest. To know it all. To be all things.

When a group of high school friends and I planned to get together for what we called a Think Tank, I was excited to be in a room with others who were passionate about pursuing purpose outside of our workspace. Three of the four of us were working on building non-profit organizations. Having worked in the non-profit sector previously, I knew that there was loads of guidance I could offer; I wasn't quite sure the same could be returned.

I am the only content curator in the group. The only one whose brand isn't mainly rooted in programming, but in upliftment through the use of story-telling and principles of spirituality. See, my work is slightly different. Aside from my holiday homeless initiative, much of my work is about breaking down people's walls and rebuilding them—internally. The self-work I inspire is hard to capture and much harder to explain. I wasn't sure how my friends—who all dedicate their brands to giving back to the community in ways that are much easier to track, through financial and in-kind contributions—could offer me counsel for a brand that essentially does the opposite.

Regardless, I went in with optimism. As we all went around the room and explained what we were up to, I was reminded of the differences of our approaches. Listening to my friends share their programming ideas and fundraising goals was both exciting and discouraging. I didn't have anything so grand; shoot, I was still struggling to identify ways to measure impact (which is my biggest assessment of whether or not my content is actually producing change in the lives of women).

I walked in thinking I'd be the smartest—or at least like I'd have the most to offer—based solely on my previous knowledge and experience in non-profit work and their unfamiliarity with the realm of content curation. I left, however, appreciative that I didn't. In fact, after our meeting, I felt like I needed to head back to the drawing board, to address my inability to capture the essence of my brand, something I had no idea was a problem of mine. I couldn't break down DEAR QUEENS with confident clarity like my friends could with their endeavors. It was in that realization that I recognized the beauty of what we were doing. 

Despite them not knowing much about content curation, they were able to provide insight that I'd long needed. Insight that I probably wouldn't have received anywhere else but in that room. 

My friends unknowingly inspired me to dig deeper into a brand that I swore was already complete. They unintentionally pushed me to ask myself the hard questions, to truly uncover what in the broadness I really wanted to conquer. They unconsciously motivated me to be very clear about the direction I wanted to take DEAR QUEENS, and the ways in which I was going to take her there.

None of us were the smartest in the room that day. None of us knew more than the other. None of us offered more or less—we all simply offered different.

As much as society wants to encourage you to know it all, you simply cannot. You'd be doing a disservice to yourself to fill your room with a bunch of people just like you, doing the same thing as you, knowing the same thing as you, for the sake of having a conversation rooted in similarity. There's much more insight in our differences. There is far more wisdom in our diversity. There is incredible growth in our ability to tap into our individual experiences and expertise for the sake of sharing with others. And once you eliminate your desire to be the smartest in the room by accepting the dissimilarities of your associates, you'll be able to experience the true beauty of collaborative thought and constructive feedback.

When you're the smartest in the room—or at least when you perceive yourself to be—you shut yourself off from learning. You deny yourself the opportunity to connect with minds that can take you to new heights. You refuse yourself the resources needed to grow yourself, and/or your brand. You assume that no one in the same space as you can offer you anything additional. And as flattering as it may feel to already be equipped with all the knowledge you need, you risk being stagnant by not exploring the thoughts of others. By not allowing your ideas to be questioned, and holes to be poked in your theories. By not wanting to be exposed to new thoughts that could improve your own.

So never rush to be the smartest in the room just so you can secure a seat at the table. Instead, recognize that your greatest contribution lies not in being the 'smartest' but in providing a different perspective. Learn to rest in the beauty of not being the 'smartest', and welcome insight from others. And learn to be okay in spaces where everyone is just as smart as, or smarter, than you. Because sis, great lessons are learned there.

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growth

What My Career Change Taught Me About Trusting God's Positioning

3/08/2018

In May 2017 I started a new career. Breaking from my academic and professional background in marketing, communications, and community engagement, I dove head first into student affairs. I shamed both my degrees and began utilizing my transferable skills in a brand new environment: higher education.

I was excited to begin inspiring change at my institution, for the sake of creating and improving the graduate student experience. I was ready to fully embrace this new professional passion.

I joined Facebook groups, attended local conferences, and participated in discussions with other entry-to-mid-level professionals. None of that, however, equipped me for the way I'd feel in this new role.

After months of hard work, and doing tons of work above my title and experience level - all while thanking God for the ability to dominate and conquer any task put before me - I still felt like I had no idea how to navigate this new space. There were new people to network with, new lingo to adopt, new types of conflict - none of which I was quite sure how to manage.

I knew that I was strategic enough to handle the work; I was well-versed in event planning, strategic development, resource development, and had a certain 'umph' for identifying and resolving high-level problems. But there were things in this new space that I wasn't too sure of. Polices and procedures that, outside of common sense, I wasn't sure were ethical in this new field. Research that I had no idea about, that dramatically impacted the transition from student services to student affairs. Researchers whose work was what many SA offices based their work around, that I was not keen to. A new bureaucracy that I had to figure out - vastly different from the municipal and non-profit bureaucracy I was used to. Things that, when interviewing, I was led to believe my leaders would teach me. Hint: they weren't teaching me a thing. 

Regardless, I carried on everyday putting my best foot forward, and opening myself up to learning new things, and generating creative ideas. I was left to my own devices to be brought up to speed on all things student affairs - including the most common themes and challenges. I had to both identify common trends in this new field, and identify ways to either implement them, sustain them, or modify them to be more effective for our unique student base.

I started by thinking critically about my why, believing that once I figured that out, I could begin teaching myself things that mattered most. I identified why I wanted to, in the long haul, improve student support for students of the African diaspora, not just through academic and social resources, but through holistic approaches to student wellness and success post-grad. I wanted to provide minority students with access to resources and opportunities from the minute they accepted admittance, to the minute the accepted their degree. I held onto that why for dear life, constantly reflecting on it through every stage of this new process. But despite my thirst for learning, and my big ideas, I often found myself questioning how I'd get there. How would I one day make it in this big space, to my dream position, without any educational background or real professional footing? 

That question still replays in my head from time-to-time.

Being in a completely new career field than the one I was academically and professional prepped for, I've been grappling with the reality of not knowing how to position myself in this new space. I've been struggling with feeling unqualified to serve in the positions I desire most. I've been wrestling with whether or not I will ever be a thought leader in a space I hadn't ever imagined being in. I've been wondering if the work, without the research, would be enough to sustain myself professionally, as I attempt to climb the ranks. Am I enough for this new field, or will I, at some point, find myself way over my head? 

As I've been whispering these questions to myself silently, God has been responding to them - loudly. In this season of transition (in more ways than one), God has been calling me to trust His positioning.

See, when I started this job, I had no prior experience in the field. I applied to the position on a whim, because I was fed up with where I was. Upon starting my last position, I knew the route I wanted to take was student affairs. I was, at the time, working with alums, and knew that their engagement as alums, relied heavily on their time as students. I wanted to make the student experience so impactful, that as they transitioned to the working world, they'd always remember the institution that served them for however many years. So when this coordinator position popped up, I jumped at it. Though I had no experience in the work, I got the job; and since starting, I've been working my butt off to prove myself worthy enough to be there. I hit the ground running and have gotten experience in my first few months, that some people in similar positions may never get. I wasn't upset at the workload, I was invigorated. I wanted to do more. I wanted to grow more. 

It's not until I recall these moments - moments where I have flourished beyond my own belief, in a field I had no prior experience in, recommending, creating, and implementing dynamic new programs and resources - that I find myself most affirmed in my ability to go further in this industry. It's in recognizing God's strategy, that I realize that this position - and the people I work for - isn't by happenstance. It's God's reminder to me, that I am equipped, and that I can do it. It's only in understanding the pressure placed on me and successfully thriving through it, that I truly realize the unique calling I have to do this work.

In between battling myself about my ability, and speaking with God about my position, there were a few things I needed to know to navigate myself with confidence. I had to recognize that, regardless of my educational and/or professional background, what I may think of my ability to serve in this new field, and the networks I do or do not yet have, God's plan will make room for me. That, whether I have the credentials or not, God's will will manifest. That, whether I feel adequately prepared or not, God's way will always reign supreme. That, no matter how many questions I ask myself about this new professional pursuit, God will always take me to the place that is meant for me.  And that's something that impostor syndrome can never take.

My position in this space has nothing to do with my qualifications but my calling. And, regardless of what job descriptions say, I will always be granted the opportunity to serve in the place God has called me to. The thoughts that infiltrate my mind are irrelevant to the moves God is making in my life, professionally and in every other area. And for as long as I say 'yes' to Him, He will always put me in places that allow me to tap into my true power.

God wanted to remind me that His positioning is what matters most in this - and any - space. That any place He puts me, is a place worth being. And that I need nothing else but obedience to get there.

This reminder is all I needed to recognize that me forging my space in this new field is God's work. It provided me with a confirmation I needed to revisit, that I am exactly where I ought to be. It gave me an assurance that no matter what I may endure here, I am equipped to handle it. And it settled me with a Christ-like peace knowing that whatever space God has planned for me next is already mine.

So to you, an outsider to wherever you may be right now...To you, who feels unqualified and undeserving...To you, standing at the crossroad of uncertainty and self-proclaimed incompetence...To you, in a very new space, unsure if you'll make it, I want you to know that you will. I want you to remember that God has strategically placed you there, and has purposefully equipped you for that place. I want you to identify God's calling for your life, and never forget that He will bring it to fruition. And I want you to know that you are not an impostor, you are positioned.

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Christ

From the End Goal, Backward

3/01/2018

I recently read a career article that shifted not only the way I thought about my career trajectory, but the way I thought about my life. In an attempt to learn more about my new career field, I wanted to know the best tips and tricks to navigate through this very new, very unfamiliar place.

"Identify your end goal, then work backward." It seemed pretty straightforward; figure out where you want to end up, then identify what it will take to get there. It was simple, yet effective. Duh! I whispered to myself. There was something so profound about that simple suggestion, yet I was alarmed that I hadn't thought of it myself.

Many times, at least in my own experience, I apply to jobs that I think would best suit me, without forging a clear path to my end goal. Part of that was because I was still exploring where exactly I wanted to end up. The other part was filled with uncertainty of if I'd actually ever end up there. But this advice provided clear strategy: identify what you want, identify how to get it, then do that stuff. It couldn't get much easier than that - at least not at this level of planning. Recognizing that our plan may not always be the plan, this was a good starting place to be well on my way toward professional success and fulfillment.

I hadn't expected this same premise to flood into a strategy for pure salvation, too.

In a conversation with my union-rep-turned-sister-in-Christ about career progression, I referenced the article and was immediately slapped with an unignorable revelation.

What if we approached our salvation in the same way? From the end goal, backward.

While many of us pursue salvation for different reasons, our desired end goal should be the same: eternal life in heaven. Every bit of our self-work, our prayers, our refinement, our ministry, is to lead others and ourselves to a thriving relationship with Christ, with hopes of one day experiencing eternal freedom with our Creator. What if we strategize for this pursuit the same way we do our careers - by identifying what we want, and discerning how to get there?

What if, every day you woke up, you thought of your end goal, eternal life in heaven, and only did things that would get you there? What if you allowed that thought to dictate how you handle life? People? Temptation? Obedience? What if you used that very powerful goal, to establish your life's plan?

Much of this spiritual journey is about changing the way we think. So many of us feel burdened by Christ-like living, that it appears to be more like a prison, than a pursuit of freedom. When we don’t see immediate results from dedicating ourselves to Him, we are quickly (and easily) disappointed. But if our end goal is eternal life, we must recognize that it will take a while to get there and none of us should rush to that fate. Instead, we should fix our minds to live for this goal. We should carry ourselves in a manner that supports this pursuit. We should navigate ourselves with this at the forefront of our minds, fixating our thoughts, words, and deeds only to things that would bring about this end. We should cast to damnation everything that goes against this goal, rebuking our flesh and operating, instead, with a pure heart and the Holy Spirit.

Just like you wouldn't sell yourself short for your dream job, you shouldn't sell yourself short for eternal life, either. Pursue the Kingdom or die trying. 

So as you continue to pursue salvation, identify purpose, and work toward an unshakable relationship with Christ, I urge you to consider whether the people, things, and habits you're entertaining are advancing you toward your goal. I advise you to reflect on whether or not your decisions and behaviors will grant you access to God's kingdom. I encourage you to reflect honestly and openly about the destiny your current life is leading you toward. And I implore you to identify if any of it is worth it; if the sex, or the lies, or the gluttony, or the greed, or the theft, or the hatred, or the anger, or the foul tongue, or the loose lips, or the bitterness, or the pride, or the lust, or the disobedience, or the envy is worth forfeiting your end goal.

Much like my career strategy changed after reading the initial article, my strategy for intentionally sustaining my salvation and managing my purpose shifted, too. I thought less about how my obedience would make me look to others, or make me feel internally, and focused more on how thrilled I will be when I enter those pearly gates. I stopped fighting God's plan, and started accepting it delightfully. I aligned myself with people and activities that would glorify and please God. None of this is without fail, though. Changing habits and attitudes take work. But beginning that work is imperative.

So as I accept this revelation as an opportunity for renewal, and reconnecting my heart to God in a new and exciting way, I dedicate myself to not only living a Christ-filled life, but I dedicate my life to serving God so that He utters the ever-most powerful words. Whether it's at the gate, or in this very present place, I base the foundation of my life upon hearing God say, "well done, my good and faithful servant." I aspire for my life to provide much joy and purpose to His kingdom. And, I will live in a way that warrants my one-way ticket to eternal life in heaven.

I'll be working my way from that end goal, backward.

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identity

Liberation Through Representation: What Black Panther Weekend Meant For Me

2/18/2018

I walked into the theatre with a dashiki pulled from my father’s closet. A matching kufi kofi cap adorned my head like a crown. I didn’t care what anyone thought of my Black Panther getup. I didn’t care what they questioned about my ethnicity or Afro-centricity. For once, I was unapologetically Black.

I, like many other black women, have grappled with the reality of desiring to be unapologetically black, but toning it down for the sake of not making others uncomfortable and not making ourselves a target. We embrace our true selves on the weekend — when we can control our surroundings, and are possibly among like-minds and equally as proud black friends — but come Monday when it’s time for work, we’re back to the whitewashed ideas of professionalism. Tying our hair down to hide the locks we just embraced on Saturday and Sunday. Silencing our strong-willed personalities to appear less intimidating to our colleagues and society at large. Ignoring our lingo to appear educated and well-rounded — as if the words we use dictate our knowledge and ability to produce at work.

Many of us suppress our true black selves to be validated by those who will never understand us. Many of us say the words unashamed and unapologetic, but don’t truly feel it. We say it with hopes of living it one day, but haven’t truly conquered that feat. We wear natural hair (or relaxers, or lace fronts, or sew-ins) and bamboo earrings, flaunt our melanin-rich skin tone and wear “black girl magic” tees, but constantly wonder what our white (and even black) counterparts will think of us. We wonder how we’ll be received and if we’ll seem “too woke”. Too aggressive. Too strong. We work on timidity and toning down the truth as to not offend those uncomfortable with our blackness.

These behaviors start in childhood and develop well into adulthood if not recognized. Our identities constantly monitored to not draw attention to ourselves and to not appear to be the problematic black folk…the ‘bad kids’…the ‘ghetto ones’.

Today, I let that bondage go. Because the stereotypical views of blackness says more about those passing judgment than it does the people they’re judging.

Today, I didn’t care. I refused to tone down my blackness, and the very present reality of black excellence to appease those around me.

I walked into my suburban theatre, in a white neighborhood, with a full-length dashiki and a matching cap. I walked past the white concession stand workers and the crowd of Latin teens playing in the arcade. I entered the theatre and took my seat proudly. I reclined the chair, pulled out the Chic-Fil-A I smuggled in, and situated myself accordingly. Ready. Excited.

Today, amidst the black excellence I was getting ready to witness on the big screen, I embraced my own black excellence. I embraced the black excellence of my bloodline — both African and Caribbean ancestry. Not just by wearing a dashiki — I’d be foolish to think that my borrowed wardrobe confirmed my blackness or enhanced my feelings of identity — but by being liberated enough to do just that; to step out of my comfort zone to portray a huge piece of who I am: an unashamed black woman. An unapologetic black Queen.

That’s the point of representation like this. That’s why it’s important for black people to see black excellence on the big screen, on the tv screen, in media, and in our neighborhoods. Because black excellence, in many ways, serves as a form of liberation that encourages us and inspires us to be truly proud of our heritage and our ancestry. Because seeing black people do great things negates all other images of blackness society tries to drown us with. Because being among other unapologetic black folk reminds us to be unapologetic about our blackness, too.

This weekend, I’ve seen images of black people liberating themselves and being unashamed to show up and show out for this movie. Black people, worldwide, delighting in representation and the beauty of their blackness. I hope this trend continues. I hope we liberate ourselves so much that we no longer reduce our blackness, but we embrace it. Not because we have to (who can’t see that we’re black?) but because we choose to. Because we are so grateful for the work of our ancestors and the greatness of our heritage that we finally find courage enough to delight in being black. I hope that we find comfort and joy in enlightening the ignorant minds around us. I hope that we learn about ourselves and our bloodline in ways that encourage us to feel better about our black existence in this world — refuting the lies told to us in grade school and finding the truth. And I hope that, amidst this new (yet long overdue) recognition and representation of black excellence, we begin to affirm the black excellence within ourselves.

I walked into the theatre with a dashiki and a matching kufi kofi cap. This black girl from the suburbs strutted into the theatre in African regalia to represent a movie that would display the brilliance of blackness. I walked into that theatre not worrying for one moment what other moviegoers would think, say, or do. Today, I was celebrating the beauty of my black skin.

Feeling both liberated and unashamed, I decided that I will never apologize for my black mannerisms, my black lingo, my black 4C hair, my African American & Caribbean American heritage, or my black excellence, ever again.

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Shedding the Layers

1/10/2018

The journey to self-discovery, identity, and worth is a tiresome one. It takes discipline, dedication, and work - lots of work. For a long time I wondered where that work began. What does that work look like? How long does that work take? How will I know when to begin that work?

I knew I had to learn myself, so that’s where I began. I highlighted my surface level issues—you know, heartbreak, insecurity, rejection—and figured that was enough for me to jump in. "Time to heal myself and grow," I’d say as if it was about to be a fantastic voyage.

I didn’t know the half.

I didn’t realize that surface level revelation would only produce surface level results. More fake smiles. More fake growth. I wasn't honest enough with myself to begin the work, yet. I was looking skin deep trying to change my spirit. I was trying to redefine myself by only looking at the definitions people assigned to me; by only looking at definitions that would be accepted, and were created, by society. I went no deeper than that.

I began the work blindly. Reading articles, following inspirational tweets, writing affirmations on my mirror. Those were good starts, but they weren't the work. I was putting a band-aid on a wound that needed stitches.

I recognized that much of my problem was my own willingness to get to the root and pull out what needed to be fixed. I only accounted for what I could actually see or feel, completely ignoring the culmination of things that led to that breaking point, these feelings, and these behaviors. These feelings came from more than just this one situation, they were deeply rooted. But when I began I was merely glancing at the surface, not what was beneath. I blamed the soil, not the seeds.

I realized that the work begins at the intersection of pain, insecurity, doubt, fear (the list goes on) and my willingness to identify its roots. Not by starting with the obvious things sitting on the surface, but digging into the things that lie deep beneath it. I realized that the work begins with shedding layers.

Truly shedding layers means getting to the root cause of your negative emotions and self-loathing. It is, very literally, snatching back every doubt, every worry, every insecurity, every hurt, until you reach the cause of it all. It’s peeling back your shell and revealing its foundation—what's cracked and unleveled underneath?

Shedding your layers is the beginning of the work. Pulling back every piece of pain, past, heartache, and flaw, and getting to your core. Unraveling yourself until there's nothing left but you and your bare spirit, staring at each other in a figurative mirror. You facing yourself without the mask of ego, excuses, or unapologetic-sass.

It begins with removing your titles—both self-inflicted and societally defined. It's emptying yourself of burdensome expectations. It’s revealing who you are underneath the standards of society, the pain of your past, and the worries and doubt of your future. It's just you and this core—without the hardened shell you use as protection.

Shedding your layers is not easy work, but it’s necessary work. That’s where you start—with shedding your layers. You start with bravery and honesty and intention. You start with reliving the moments you didn’t think you could survive, and removing the power you gave them to dictate who you’d become. You start with recognizing the root of your behaviors, thoughts or feelings, and discovering ways to overcome them. You start with identifying the ways you may have failed yourself and the way life may have failed you, and letting it go.

Peel back the layers beyond just brokenness; peel them back until you unveil fullness. Until you discover the woman made in God’s image. Shed the layers past insecurities, past heartbreak, past familial issues, past dead friendships. Shed them until you get to a feeling of wholeness. Of peace. Of completion.

Each layer you shed should make you feel lighter. Do this work until you feel lighter; do it until you feel like you’ve finally let go of everything you harbored. All resentment and anger and pain. All heartbreak and hatred. Peel back everything until you have fully undressed your spirit, leaving it bare and open for God to step in and re-dress you with love and positivity; take off societal demands and self-criticism, put on the promises of God. Shed your layers until you have literally addressed everything that ever put you in bondage, and break those chains with confrontation and prayer.

Peel back your layers and prune the leaves that haven't produced good fruit. That is where you must start. Get to that woman – get to your core – and build her up from there. But do not start doing so, until you have uncovered everything; until you have repaired the foundation and uprooted the negative seeds.
---
I (finally) began the work before I even realized that’s what I was doing. I sat in my bathroom pulling off layers that I didn't even realize existed. Praying to God, rebuking foul thoughts, and crying until I felt free. Pursuing forgiveness and letting things go. They came off like a domino effect, one recollection leading to another; one act of repentance followed by another. All of this I offered unto God as a sacrifice—finally giving up the woman I was, for the woman He created me to become.

I had to shed so I could bloom.
Now, it's your turn.

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life

2018: The Year of Living

1/01/2018

My mother and father were very much the stay-out-of-grown-folks-business parents. They felt that children should maintain their innocence by being ignorant to the plights of adulthood. While my brother and I may have heard them argue, as kids, we were rarely exposed to the details of those arguments or the challenges they faced maritally or individually. I appreciated not having to bear the burden of their troubles, however much of their business—and their unwillingness to share it—related to their family stories as well.

The notion of secrecy and keeping your business your business, goes back generations in many black homes; especially mine. So it was both surprising yet incredibly welcoming when I spent 3 hours today listening to my father share childhood stories. My mother also began sharing her story with me a few months ago—brief, but necessary. 

My father, who was born and raised in Rocky Mount, NC in the 40's, shared tales about the town's segregation, his childhood jobs, how he ended up in CT, and his first and second marriage. He shared stories he never told me about his parents, his teenage years, and his first heartbreak. He spoke about his most memorable fights, and the origination of his attitude (of which I have adopted).

I listened to him for hours share amazing stories about his life; I interrupted often with questions I'd been waiting years to ask. I listened—both in awe at his memory and intrigued by his story. Though I knew my father lived a lot of life, being that he's roughly 70 years old, I never considered how much he lived. How fully he's lived.

As my father rattled off tale-after-tale, I knew one thing for certain: I want to live my life. I want to have stories.

Many of us have admittedly become so caught up with making it to our destination in life, that we forgot that the journey of life itself is the prize, not the end result. We forgot that it's our journey that makes our story. That it's the culmination of life experiences that make us who we are—and intrigues other people enough to listen to us. Nobody cares about where you are, they care about how you got there. When people are intrigued by you, it's because of your story, not your title. And it is up to us to live a story [life] worth telling.

I listened to my father tell stories of his losses just as passionately as he told the stories of his wins. He was just as profound a narrator for the bad memories as he was for the ones that brought smiles to his face. In that moment I knew that I wanted to make better use of my journey. I no longer wanted to avoid what God was bringing me through, but I wanted to truly live through it. I wanted to embrace it and have a story to tell later. I no longer wanted to run from life, I wanted to live it.

I listened to my father share his life, and wished I had stories of my own to share. Some that were just as captivating. Some that would warrant me to stand in the kitchen until the sun went down, sharing them with him. So this year, as I dedicate it to wholeness & becoming, I find it necessary to also dedicate it to living. To not playing it safe (all the time). To letting life happen. To not having a plan for everything. To arguments and rekindling friendships. To random trips out of the country, and late nights in the city. To bad dates and drinking too much wine. To staying up late on a work night, and calling out of work to go to a concert. To brunches in DC, and pool parties in Las Vegas. To mixups and setbacks. To triumph. To victory. To living. To no longer rush through this process, or this journey, but to fully embrace it. To feel life. To see life. To live life.

I hope the same for you. Whatever this year brings you—good or bad—I hope that you live it to the fullest. I hope that you embrace every part of this year's journey and hold onto every lesson it offers. I hope you clench onto every moment and never try to repress a memory again. And when the time comes when your children (or godchildren) are old enough to hear them, I hope you have an arsenal of stories to share.

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30Layers30Days

Waiting For Morning

11/21/2017

Your heat kicked on with a forceful blast of 82 degree air shooting through your vents. Your candles were lit and gospel music was playing through your Bluetooth speaker set.

You were praying. Worshiping. Surrendering.

It had been a long time since you allowed yourself the time, and space to pray. You were so consumed with anger for God that you didn't want to talk to Him. You barely wanted to acknowledge His presence since, for so long, it felt like He'd been absent. You wanted to ignore Him and everything He previously told you about His plan for your life. This night, though, you needed something different.

Being mad at God wasn't yielding you any results different than the ones that got you in this downward spiral, anyway. The only direction you could think to go was toward Him; so you did. You filled your apartment with the sound of worship and ushered your heart into a spirit of praise and thanksgiving. You started by thanking God for all He'd done. At first you started with a generic thanks, "thank You for life, health, and strength." You then got deeper, "thank You for the love and support I've been receiving during this trying time in my life." The more you thanked God, the more you thought of to thank Him for, despite your year being full of tragedy and mourning (something only definable by your own standards).

2017: Get the Hell On was the title of this year's memoir. You were determined to turn it around. You finally got out of your own way, and knelt at the feet of The One who could make it all better. "Lord, please send the morning." The time was 11:42pm. But, you knew as soon as your 6:00am alarm rang, you'd be new. You'd be restored. You knew that, as soon as the sun peaked through your blinds the next day, your pain would be washed away. You had hope in that much...at least.

Morning came and went. You felt no different. You were still angry. Still broken. You expected a miracle to happen as the sun rose, and were quickly reminded: not today.

So here you are, another day, another night, another moment, waiting for morning...again. Another morning. Another try. Another attempt at healing and wholeness and growth. Another attempt at redemption and restoration. Praying today but waiting until tomorrow to feel it. To hear it. To see it. To experience it.

Morning is neither a day nor time.

All the times you prayed for better tomorrow's, you hadn't realized that the tomorrow you were hoping for still rested in today.

Morning is a state of mind. It's a state of being. It's a recognition. It's a peace. It's an aura. Morning is with us every time we choose to look toward the light instead of resting in darkness. Morning is with us every time we decide to crawl through the pain. Morning is with us every time we decide to get up and fight another day; choosing not to be consumed by our circumstance, but to live above it.

Many of us get lost in the thought that morning is a place in time. That we have to wait until the sun rises again. That we have to sit still until the the top of the year, or the first of the month. Few of us recognize that morning is wherever you make it -- in the middle of the night, the second week of October, or 2:00 on a cloudy Thursday afternoon. Morning is the moment you decide to reawaken yourself, and find the joy you've been praying for. Morning is the point in which you accept God's will for your life, and adorn yourself in armor suitable for this type of battle. Morning lies within you, not in time, or days, or Earth's movement around the sun.

You're told in church to just wait for morning. That you may have to endure for another moment, but morning is merely hours away. Sis, morning is right here. Right now. Morning is the decision you make to be better. To do better. To feel better.

So next time you pray for morning, don't rush to bed. Don't count the hours. And, don't just wait for the sun to begin peaking through your blinds. Instead, use that very moment to declare morning over your life, and recognize when it has already arrived.

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life

The Duty of Service

11/16/2017

I don't ask for help often. I was raised under the self-affirming, independence-invoking mantra: if you want something done, do it yourself. So I've always positioned myself to do just that—it—myself. I only committed myself to things that I could do without anyone else's help; only planning events that I had money to plan; only creating programs that I had the ability to sustain. Pursuing help for my endeavors always pained me. It felt like I was inconveniencing others with my passions.

Then I launched this holiday initiative and it all changed.

Because despite popular belief, true servitude is about doing what makes you uncomfortable to help advance the common good. To think outside yourself to provide, to love, and to support the people or cause you're advocating for. It's to be obedient to God and serve in the way He's called you to, not the way you're most comfortable doing. It's to surrender to yourself, your pride, your ego, your desires, to give back to someone else. To make some part of this world a little better. To shed a little bit of light in someone's darkness. 

I'm learning that some work is beyond your discomfort. It's not about not wanting to ask for help, but about doing what you must to leave an impact in people's lives. It's about God's assignment for your life. It cares nothing about your to-do list, your discomfort, or your nervousness. It gives zero damns about your exhaustion, laziness, or insecurity. God's assignment [servitude] needs you to show up and deliver despite your fears or self-diagnosed inadequacies. So sometimes, you will have to step outside of your comfort zone. You will have to ask strangers for funds to support your work; you will have to drive from house-to-house delivering elevator speeches; you will have to post videos and get used to public speaking; you will have to awkwardly navigate meetings and networking events; you will have to leave your couch and possibly stay up late; you will have to get your hands dirty, file paperwork, hand out some 'nos'; you will have to drop your ego; you will have to be uncomfortable. But it's not about you, it's about the cause. And as long as you stay focused on what that cause is, the load may not get any easier, but it will feel more worthwhile.

I realized that while I can do so many things myself, I don't necessarily have to. I started thinking to myself about how much greater programs, events, and volunteer opportunities could be if I actually solicit aid. I thought about how much more meaningful things can be if I tap into my resources and connect with others who are willing to help. None of this is about me—or how many times I have to flood social media with flyers, or how many shirts I have to send out myself—it's about the work that God has assigned me to do in this world. It's about the women that need to feel cared for, loved, and unforgotten. About the women who may need inspiration during [what some may consider] the most depressing time of year. About the women who may just want a hug and a holiday cookie.


Recognizing this created a drastic shift in the way this year's initiative is being planned and supported. Individual texts, e-mails, and conversations have happened. I raised more money in one week, than I have in the last two years combined. This year will be far more impactful, not because I was afraid to ask people for help or because I was too prideful to, but because I stepped outside of myself for a moment. Because I knew, that in order to make the impact I wanted to make this year, I had to do the things I've always been too fearful (prideful, worried, insecure) to do.

Servitude won't always be your favorite thing. It'll seldom meet you where you're most comfortable. It may not always work in your favor. And perhaps it won't even be in the way you most enjoy giving back. But the work has to get done, and luckily, you get to do it.

(Because, servitude is an honor.)

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growth

PODCAST 017: Doing Better

10/27/2017

Doing better requires consistency, self-reflection, honesty and hunger. Knowing when you’re at your last and when to seek help is incredibly important if doing better is your goal.

This episode:

- speaks to the importance of getting help on your pursuit of doing better
- encourages you to stop stigmatizing the notion of "help"
- and pushes you to think more critically about your process of getting (and doing) better

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