love

The Right One Will

1/17/2018

Unrequited love, bad relationships, and bitter breakups continue to taint the beauty of relationships. Feelings of worthlessness, wasted time, and wiped tears tend to make moving on more difficult each time. It often leaves us hurt, hopeless, and hidden. We isolate ourselves, and our hearts, to protect them from enduring the very thing that just tore us apart.

But this isn't a post for that. It's not a post to highlight the pain of the breakup. It's not to rehash how silly the guy is for not being man enough. It's not even to uplift you for the aftermath. It's simply to assure you, that it's not your fault. It's to remind you that you're a jewel worth being picked up, no matter how many times you've been dropped. It's to encourage you to continue the pursuit—to allow yourself to continue to be pursued. It's to pull you from the corner of your bedroom and out into the sunshine. 

Because you are perfect for the heart that's meant to love you. You are a treasure to the guy who knows the true worth of a gem. And, while that one didn't appreciate you, the right one will. The right one will give you no reason to doubt. He will void your insecurities and fill you with hope for yourself and your relationship. The right one will hold you tight enough to feel your heartbeat and will be sure to protect it. He'll remember the melody to which it throbs and will unify his own with yours.

He will nurture the words you speak and work tirelessly to act on what you ask of him. The right one will nourish your relationship and the growth it needs to succeed. He will work with you to make it work. He will keep promises. He will respect your desires and disprovals. He will seek to understand. He will acknowledge your value and hold on tighter than ever before. He will not foolishly—or accidentally—drop you like the last guy who wasn't meant for you in the first place.  

The right one will know you're the one for him and constantly remind you why. He'll be certain of where he hopes to go with you before he takes up your time. He'll be intentional. He'll be sure. He will know where you two are going and will lead you to that place. He will comfort you along the journey, through every obstacle you may face. He will have a plan in mind and he will work to make it come to fruition. 

The right one will embrace all of you. He'll push you to be better and will receive the push you give him. He'll focus on your growth as much as he does his own. He will love you without ceasing. You will be his first, last, and only pick. 

The right one will focus on what's important in your relationship. He won't let anyone influence his direction with you. While he'll long to maintain the relationships he has with others, he will rid himself of all things and people that are against his desire to be with you. He will acknowledge that lines need to be drawn and he'll have no problem drawing them. 

The right one will be sent from God. He will be carefully prepared and ready for all you have to offer. He won't linger and he won't lead you astray. The right one will come to you, but not until he's been prepared. 

Allow him to be prepared, sis. 

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growth

Don't Forget to Heal

7/26/2017

You looked pretty last night. You went on your first date since that breakup; your first night out since your best friend was killed in a drunk driving accident a few years back; your first time in the bathroom stall alone since that stranger hiked your skirt up and took advantage of your body 9 months ago. You were with people that care about you, people that love you endlessly. People that were there to make sure that this time won't end up like the last. Your smile radiated the small restaurant as the jazz music played the melody to your soul, shifting from upbeat tempos to more somber tunes. You lived for this night and didn't realize how much of your mood would be embodied in the music selection. You loved every moment of it. Then it was over.

You escaped to your apartment, driving through the night air like you'd just won at life. Like the feeling of being out on the town was freeing, and not a burden, for once. You entered your home shutting the door with a grin as wide as the blinds you left open. You rushed to your bedroom, kicking off your shoes and throwing your purse in the hallway on the way.

You plopped down on your freshly changed sheets thinking about how fun a time you had; how great of a gentleman he was; how happy you were to have made it back home safely; how comfortable you felt wearing a dress again. Your smiles turned to tears quickly — at those same thoughts of victory you suddenly felt defeat. Those thoughts of success after days, months, years, of battling demons from the past, held you captivate yet again. You ran to the shower in an attempt to wash the pain from your face and scratch the reminders off your skin. Nothing would give. Nothing ever gave.

You went to bed sad that night. You were disappointed that all this time had passed and you still felt exactly how you did when that bad thing happened. Since, you've made new friends, found new jobs, and entered into new transformational seasons of your life. You embarked on new journeys, fell in love with new food, and met new family members. But it all still feels the same: you're still hurting.

You hide the pain behind a million forced smiles, and a bunch of declarations proclaiming your new heartless nature. You're not heartless though, sis, you're hurting. Still. You isolate yourself within the walls of your home in the name of solitude, peace, and protection. But that's not it either.

Many of us attribute 'moving on' to the continuance of life. To making it to the next day. To being onto the next thing. To the 'glow up' we try to use to seek vengeance on those who doubted us. To the new hair cut that we're convinced will change our lives. To the fire red stilettos we purchased because 'retail therapy' seems more enticing than real therapy. We do all we can to take our minds off the things that marked us in the past. We rush to the next thing, the next destination, seeking growth. Searching for whatever we can find to rid our memory of the pain we've experienced. But in the midst of trying to carry on — of trying to gather your belongings and keep moving — don't forget to heal.

Healing is opposite; it's not rushing off to what's next or convincing yourself that physical changes will make you whole again. Healing is about resting in that uncomfortable place of pain and heartache. It's about tapping into what went wrong. It's about identifying the emotions that come with your new reality. It's about figuring out your triggers, and learning how to overcome them. Healing isn't about running away (disguised as moving on), healing is about running through. Splashing in the puddles your tears just cried. Being open and honest and gentle and patient. So many put the past behind them before they've learned the lesson it had to offer. Healing is about learning those lessons, and working diligently to close the gap in your heart. Healing takes work. Healing takes time. Healing takes intention.

So, in the midst of your desire to move on with life — to rush through the painful process of growth —don't forget to heal. Don't forget to take time for yourself to reflect. To digest. To mourn. Don't forget to grow. To sow. To feel. Don't forget to allow yourself the time to sift through your emotions. Don't forget to come to your knees and ask God for guidance. To allow Him into your heart to change your life. Don't forget to start that work. To welcome that work. To be blessed in that work. Don't forget to acknowledge that it takes work. More than putting on a pretty dress in an attempt to move on. Don't forget to get your hands dirty so you can get better.

You looked pretty tonight. And you still do, even with your running mascara and the remnants of the tears that broke through your foundation. You'll look pretty tomorrow — whether you're smiling brightly, or in the same clothes you wore the night before. And you'll look pretty the day after that. Because each of those days is a day toward healing. Toward wholeness. Toward completion. But it takes work. It takes dedication. It takes reflection and intentionality. So whether you choose to use this day to dress up and go out, or decide to stay in and sulk as the sun rises, just don't forget to heal.

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love

Love, Reconciliation and Selflessness

5/07/2017

Last year when Beyonce dropped Lemonade, I wrote about it. I talked about how her fearless vulnerability and openness should inspire us to speak about—however privately or publicly—the truths in our lives.

This year, the tune is a bit different. After her amazing Grammy performance that planted goosebumps on my skin, I’m coming from a different angle: the selfless act of reconciliation—and the overall selflessness of love.

Beyonce’s Lemonade—as we know by now—was an ode to the stages of a relationship, from heartbreak to make-up. She took us through the many emotions we may face in our relationships. The trouble. The struggles. The forgiveness. As we parade around claiming Beyonce and Jay-Z as "relationship goals", we, for a long time prior to the release of this album, have forgotten the importance of the latter. The reality that all of our relationships will require reconciliation and forgiveness. The unavoidable fact that our relationships will go through tests, but the true strength of our love is the ability to endure those tests. The ability to continue on—to reconcile—despite the implications or heartbreak of those tests. The ability to do so, not just for you, but for the well-being of your partner and the purpose of God. (Because here, I'm talking about a God-ordained love, not a lustful infatuation). 

Love is selfless. That’s biblical. And the thing we must realize when we get in relationships, profess our love, and claim we're working toward something that'll last 'forever' is that it is beyond us. It is beyond the pain we feel in that moment, and the tears we may cry on our bathroom floors. It is beyond our desire for ease. It is beyond our desire to fulfill ourselves, but is made whole in our desire to see our partner happy and liberated. 

The truth is, love isn't about us. We were created to love those around us, for no immediate advantage to ourselves (though I will say uninhibited love is freedom). Oppositely, we were created to love to provide an advantage to those of whom we love. To encourage and uplift them. To be a necessary light in their lives. To, in some way, serve them how they may not have otherwise been able to serve themselves. To honor and appreciate them. To submit to them (romantic love). To help make straight their paths, in the eyes of the Lord. To provide for them what we long for: partnership, care, and unconditional (judgement-free) companionship.

And while hoping that that is reciprocated—that the love we give them is matched equally—it is not, and should not be what we’re in this for. So when we talk about forgiveness and reconciliation, know that it may hurt you, and that pain may not be fair, but it is in fact what we're called to do.

Love cannot survive from our constant desire to take, but from our willingness to pour into it things that are beneficial to the people we love—whether they're beneficial to us or not. It's running to our partner's aid at 3:00 in the morning because they've barely been able to sleep. It's stepping outside of our comfort zone to find ways to make them most comfortable. It's doing things we never thought we would, and probably never wanted to, to see a smile plant on their face. 

Love isn't to satisfy us but to satisfy our partner. So reconciliation, too, may not necessarily be for us. It may not be so we can feel release, but instead, so we could continue being the light we were purposed to be in their lives. So that we could continue providing them with the love God desires for them to have, whether they've yet been able to reciprocate it or not. Whether it's unfair or not. Whether we think they deserve it or not. 

I’m a huge advocate for women leaving no good men, so by no means am I telling you to run back to John John or Pookie who’s emotionally abusive and spiritually destructive. What I am saying, however, is that to solidify the love you’ve so desperately longed for—a God-ordained love—you must put your feelings to the side and commit to reconciliation and forgiveness; because love is more than a feeling. You must think outside of your desire that love is meant to make you feel good and acknowledge that this love, this pending marriage, is deeper. You must humbly recognize that sometimes love means sacrifice and suffering—as God's love for us, meant the crucifixion of Christ. 

The act of selfless love will hurt. Forgiving will hurt. Reconciliation will hurt; sometimes more than leaving. You may never understand it. You may never know why God is pressing you to continue to love him. You may never comprehend why he gets to still be the recipient of goodness while you're struggling to provide it. But know that the purpose your love serves in the life of someone else is greater than the pain you endure. Know that that transformation your life will experience because of that selflessness is worth the pain. And remember that in the midst of the mess your relationship has spiraled into, this moment—your obedience here—can be the difference between a God-ordained marriage, and a regular ole earthly one.

Beyonce, sung on that Grammy stage, pregnant, by a husband she previously revealed had cheated on her. That was strength. That was forgiveness. That was reconciliation. And I can be sure, that that was a transformative moment in both her and her husband's life. 
--------

Love is an act; and, it's a call from God. When God calls you to a partner, and requires you to stay with that partner despite your discomfort, He's calling you to grow deeper in love. He's preparing you for things you may not even realize you want yet. He's introducing you to the meaning of love that's been present since the creation of mankind, when God sent Himself down in a sin infested world to save the world because of His love for us (John 3:16). So while it may be hard...hard as hell...please trust this process of growth and transformation. Continue to allow the bright parts of your spirit to illuminate your partner's life. Continue to seek God to get you through the parts that are too hard for you emotionally, and don't give up. Your God-ordained blessing is right there, don't let it go (unless, of course, He tells you to). 

P.S. I meant to hit 'publish' on this post shortly after the Grammy's, but life happened. Love me anyway. 

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#TEATIME

How to Love Her: A Personal Narrative

3/02/2017

Privacy was easy; it was what we founded our relationship on. We didn’t need social media displays of affection, or to yell that we were dating from the mountaintop. We wanted simplicity. And that came in the form of keeping our relationship business, ours. Our privacy, however, looked different. Mine was to maintain the sanctity of our relationship, his was to lighten the blow of having recently ended a long-term relationship, and to avoid the backlash he’d receive because of it. He disguised it as privacy. Disguised it as protection.

I let him do so. Believing that since we both agreed that we should keep things private to make our relationship easier – to sustain it a little longer – then it’d work for me. It didn’t work for me.

The foundation you build your relationship on shapes every obstacle that is to come. The honeymoon stage is important. As much as we wanted to believe our foundation was sturdy – as it was built on genuine connection and intimacy, and rooted in privacy (thus, less gossip) – it was just as shaky as the one that preceded it. Though created on the grounds of friendship and understanding, it was being built on the premise of hiding our truth. Masking what we wanted so bad, and restricting ourselves from displaying that desire. We hid others from our truth so long, that our truth started hiding from us. "Privacy, we need privacy," I’d tell myself, as I’d spend holidays with my family, as opposed to each others. "Privacy, we need privacy," I’d repeat as I’d watch his friends coddle his ex, but still be unaware about me. I’d know their lives, know their stories, know who they are, but I wasn’t even sure if they’d be able to spot me in a room of five people. That wasn’t privacy. That wasn’t protection.

While I always attempted to understand his reasoning – partly because he was constantly in the public eye and partly because I just didn’t want to be bothered – I always felt he had something to hide. I felt I was inadequate. I felt I wasn’t enough. (Hence my uplifting affirmation: I am more than enough!)

Our relationship, that was built on the guise of privacy, became quickly corrupted by the feelings of insecurity and low-worth. It was watered down by the ex-girlfriend drama and my failing desire to want to fight for it. (Not physically. Never physically.) The privacy affected our certainty, or lack thereof, and our uncertainty affected our effort. We didn’t want to give too much for fear of losing it all, but we knew giving too little would be pointless. We built a fence up to our collarbones, high enough to protect our bodies from the bruising, but low enough to stare into each others souls. We didn’t want real love, we wanted safe love. We wanted it to feel good and to hurt less. We wanted to be in it up to our necks, but not over our heads. That uncertainty sprouted from the constant masquerade that there was nothing going on between us. It was shaped from going to events and pretending to not have ridden in the same car. It was hugging as if the night before we hadn’t just cuddled. Everything, all of it, surrounding our foundation – the notion that all that we are together, shouldn’t come to life.

The foundation we built wasn’t sturdy at all. No matter how we tried to hide that reality – attempting to patch things up without digging deep enough to capture the true problem – they came out over and over again. It’s why I felt half wanted in the relationship; why I felt like he was being only half transparent with me, while he felt he told me everything; why being out at events (a little more openly toward the end) still didn't feel like enough; why I felt confined to our respective apartments and a few wine nights out with his mom, and nothing more – even though there was honestly nothing more I’d want to be part of (at least that’s what I told myself). It's why the thoughts of meeting his judgmental friends stopped being a priority of mine, though deep down inside affecting how I interpreted my role in his life.

Despite what it appears, we were in a good place – often. I knew the truth of our love and how far it was willing to stretch. But the uneven foundation we built those years ago, played a huge role in the struggles we faced throughout our time together. They played a role in the insecurities we both felt and our responses to them. So when I’m prompted to write about how to love ‘her’ – how to love me – I really just want to say “from the foundation up”. Don’t start loving me when you realize you love me, love me from the start. Love me from the minute you lay that first brick. Love me from the very first butterfly, to your very last breath.

Love me openly. Without ceasing. Love me publicly and privately. In the face of others, with no regard to how uncomfortable it makes them feel. Love me unashamedly and unapologetically. 

Love me honestly. With your intent worn on your sleeve. With a mouth full of promises you intend to keep. Love me enough to see a future. To proclaim that future. To not be teetering on the edge, but to know, with no doubt, what you’re in it for. Love me enough to not be ashamed to tell anyone or show anyone. Let your honest love stem beyond our four walls, but into the walls of others lives.

Love me in a way I’ve never been loved. With intention, certainty, promise and purpose. Love me in the way God told you to; and give me nothing less than that.

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friendship

I Love The Way You're Growing: The Beauty of Sisterhood

2/07/2017

We sat in the booth of a Mexican restaurant eating chips and salsa, and slow-sipping margaritas. It was a trying week for us both, and we were long overdue for a night out. While our crazy days have subsided since our undergraduate party lifestyles that ended six and eight years prior, respectively, we still made it a point to head out for drinks and chat—some months more frequently than others.

A lot of major transitions were planned to kick off in our lives this year, so we vowed to be more present than we have in the past. Recognizing that we both sway toward isolation during our times of need, we decided to make the conscious effort to practice togetherness. It was working for us so far.

6:30pm turned to 7:30pm quick, as we rehashed the details of the past few weeks. I hadn't seen her in three weeks; that was enough time for life to set in and spiral out of control. Luckily for us, we came back with positive reports.

We've both come a long way from eight and a half years ago when we first met. When my Sankofa tattoo connected us enough to sleep in the same bed after a long night of studying our North-Atlantic regional chapters. My ace, my number one, has always been my closest line sister, despite us being farthest from each other on the line (me being the tail/at the end of the line, her being at the front). We were so much alike, yet so different. Our similarities brought us together, and our differences kept us alert.

Our growth since the days of chatting about light skin men versus dark skin men, echoed in my head as we continued our rich conversation. As we spoke about sensitive topics—Christianity, the need for intersectionality when discussing women's rights, the role our sorority has (or has not) played in recent years' civil rights movements, and the necessary role of honesty in our pursuit of self—I couldn't help but to recognize the unignorable shift in our conversation since our first introduction all those years ago. We weren't young women ranting about campus activities or annoying Alphas ('cause honey, we sure have ranted about annoying Alphas). We were talking about things that mattered. Things that affect our lives as women, as African Americans, and as sisters.

The beauty of our conversation didn't just lie in our transparency with each other (and ultimately ourselves), it was the role our sisterhood played in our willful expression and authenticity of self. It was the way in which our relationship catapulted from occasional check-in to being a partner on each others journey toward reconciliation, peace, and happiness. The present help we've become in each others lives, while still working to conquer our own separate struggles. It was our willingness to be vested and experience that growth, together.

There's a misrepresentation of female friendships. One that says the extent of our companionship lies solely in club-hopping and gossip. One that suggests female friendships are catty and drama-filled. One that promotes distrust and weariness—not knowing how much of ourselves to let out, and how much to keep behind a wall. One that hints at conversations not staying between the two people that had them, but escaping to a world outside of the two, by way of one of the two. But that's no friendship of mine.

Conversations like the one we had on this night, and the countless others I have with my very few dear friends, is what sisterhood is about. Unity. Connection. Genuine love. Endurance. Journeying. Whether together or apart it's the undying desire to see each other succeed at equal parts life and self. It's more than just good jokes, strong drinks, and laughs. It's the role we play in each others respective journeys of becoming. It's the support we provide, and the prayers we deliver to God on each others behalf.

"I turn 30 this year," she reminded me. I instantly shrieked with excitement. I was excited for her birthday, despite the festivities being unplanned, but I was more excited for the lessons she learned up to this point, and the many she will learn before September. I was excited for the honesty she was divulging in this conversation, and ultimately during her alone time with self; and the ways she committed to conquering the very things she struggled with since before we met.

I loved seeing her growth. I loved hearing her talk about the things she learned over the years. I loved it because the woman I once knew her as, she was no longer. She noted the same about me. There was something about acknowledging the growth in us both, that night, that made me appreciate the power of womanhood and friendship. Something that made me truly value our collectiveness.

We've been through two degrees each with each other; been through jobs we hated and jobs we loved; been through bad breakups and lover's quarrels; and now, as we entered yet another phase of life, I was excited that our connection was surpassing our accolades and hardships, into something more meaningful. Something that couldn't be measured by how many times we called each other flipping out about something, but how bright our lights would shine during our next visit. What our illumination look like next time, as we continued to journey toward a deeper level of self-awareness and self-acceptance.

In that moment, that night. I learned that more beautiful than a social friendship, is two sisters experiencing growth together. Watching the shifts of life take the other under, yet seeing them stay afloat long enough to share it. Maintaining enough of ourselves—as we shatter glass for truth and put back together the pieces of our brokenness—to see the changes being made in each others lives. To see the sparkle in each others eye as we talk about our revelation and how much more of ourselves we've learned to love; appreciate; admire.

With every breakthrough comes a period of transition. Every month a new transformation. Both of us willing to admit it to each other. Willing to accept the challenge of becoming more of ourselves, and living enough to share it with each other. Being a new light enough for the other to see. Being present enough in each others lives to feel it. Being selfless, loving, and genuine enough to excite in it. That is friendship. That is sisterhood. And, from a girl with very few friends, and very few conversations promoting true transparency, this is beautiful. 

10:30 came around just as quick as 7:30 did three hours prior. We decided to finally head out and part ways. But before grabbing a hug and leaving, we both made an unspoken agreement to meet again as better women than we were when we entered that night. To reconvene with more greatness to share, more growth to acknowledge, and more nonjudgmental, authentic love to give. Because I absolutely love the way we're growing; and that is the true beauty of sisterhood.

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life

Why Marriage? (And Other Considerations for a Self-Gratifying Life)

1/27/2017

"Why marriage?" That was the question I posed to myself during a car ride around the block. I'd thought a lot about marriage recently. Am I prepared for it? How challenging will it be? How will I be proposed to? What will my ring look like? But all these loaded questions came with a follow-up that I never once before considered.

Why marriage?! It screamed at me that time.

Outside of the conditioning of society that tells us marriage is the right thing to do, why have I gotten so high strung about it? I've decided recently that I may not even want to give birth—and Lord knows I don't need to address how controversial that is.

A woman...not wanting to give birth? That's absurd! —Society.

If I didn't want to have a child, then why marriage?

I never answered that question. Or any of the others. I simply let them marinate; echoing internally for the following 24 hours.

Marriage takes work. I grew up in a house of married parents where both love and anger filled the space. Arguments penetrated the walls of our 4-bedroom home. It greeted me every Saturday morning like an alarm I didn't set. I watched my parents, in the latter part of their 32 years of marriage, fuss and fight like none other. They raised their two children together (mom, more than anything), and had gone through plenty of ups and downs—many of which are just being brought to light. So with such an even dose of love and toxicity, why do I want marriage? Why do any of us want it?

With the question not ceasing, I asked those around me. They shared their opinions. "Because it's a true testament of love." "Because it's forever." "Because it's my vow unto God." And while each one of them could be countered with an alternative or another question that would dispute the idea that marriage is the only way to confirm these feelings, I didn't. Because the important piece of it all, is that these people wanted marriage for their own reasons. They wanted marriage for religious reasons, for personal reasons, and some for business reasons. One bold man, a friend of mine actually, even admitted to not being enticed by marriage. I loved all of it. All of the opinions. All of the conversation. All of the people sticking to what they believe.

Marriage is a promise. It's (perhaps) stability. It's (maybe) security. And, it's legal (if that means anything to anyone). But, why marriage? Why anything we do?

We uphold this legacy of doing, of living, according to the standards set before us. Standards created by our parents who raised us, our friends who love us, and a society that doesn’t even care about us. Standards that were passed down through generations during times we never lived through with motives we may never understand. But where, in any of this, do we exercise our own standards? Where and when, do we assert our own desires?

The deeper purpose of my question was to incite serious self-reflection. To force you to think about the many other things that you do that are not of yourself but of those around you. The habits you create and the behaviors you adopt that are mere imitations of what you see. Of what you're told. Of the counsel you're given.

How much of your pursuit—of life, love, and happiness—is stolen from an ideology you don't even understand? How much of it is someone else's dream? Someone else's standard?

Frankly, I'm sick of being rushed to have a child, as if my 27-year-old life should be filled with diaper changes and running noses. Rushed to get married as if solitude and singleness are taboo. Or to be ashamed that I don't yet have a ring on my finger, as if that's the only goal I should be working toward at my age. I'm sick of being asked what's taking so long, as if forever has a time limit, and beginning forever has a deadline.

I'm learning now, more than ever, the importance of doing me. Becoming me. Seeking whatever makes me happy, without needing validation or acceptance. There's an unequivocal importance of becoming, again, who I am, without fear of others thoughts. Without worrying about how my light impacts someone else's insecurities. Without questioning how my genuineness makes me look, or how my vulnerability and authenticity makes them feel. Without focusing on how living on my own terms (and God's—always God's) makes them uncomfortable.

In this life, the only one you get, you must do what makes you happy—what brings you joy—whether it's marriage or not.

I merely hope that when it comes down to it, you learn to do the same. To live the life you desire, despite the lives being shoved down your throat. Despite the perceptions of perfection that society wants you to feed into. Despite your parents, or friends, or colleagues making you feel bad about choosing the road less traveled.

I hope, constantly, that you as women—as queens—make decisions based on your God-given purpose and personal desires, rather than societal norms and expectations. And that you, at one point or another, stop seeking validation for your life from outside sources, but instead seek that validation from within. Because it is then, and only then, that self truly escapes, and that life according to your standards truly begins.

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Christ

My Favorite Gift

12/25/2016

The lights were glaring from the Christmas tree as holiday music blared from the speakers in my living room. I was in the kitchen cooking, waiting to eat Christmas dinner and exchange gifts with my loved ones. I was excited to see their faces as they unwrapped the very things they wanted but didn't know I paid attention to.

The time came and went, and as they prepared to leave, I couldn't help but think of how blessed I am on this day. I looked at the gifts overflowing from my coffee table onto my floor and couldn't help but express gratitude. Everything I asked for decorated my living room. I hugged my mother and took photos. And, in that moment, while recalling the trying year it's been and the happiness I was able to experience despite it, I realized what my favorite gift was.

Of all the electronic, brand-building, self-love inspired, intellectually provoking gifts, my favorite one couldn't even be seen. It wasn't on the table or on the floor. It wasn't under the tree or in the gift bag I'd forgotten in the corner. It wasn't in the car, or sitting in my e-mail as a subscription or an electronic gift card.

In fact, my favorite gift is multifaceted and encompasses so much—none of which were physically there. Things I sometimes take for granted, but always retrospectively appreciate.

My favorite gift is embodied in THE ENERGY. It shifts my spirit. It's a soothing calmness in the midst of chaos. It's welcoming. It's warmth. It's love. It relaxes my soul when anxiety holds my body hostage and releases the tension I otherwise wouldn't be able to. It's this space of creating, envisioning, and experiencing both the best and the worst, yet holding onto the goodness that is this gift. It is the aura; the good vibes; the positivity.

My favorite gift is present in THE PROTECTION. The protection I thank You for every night before falling into the deepest slumber and dreaming of more of Your goodness. It's what I pray each night for—wishing it upon my life for yet another day. I close my eyes and hope that it'll miraculously appear, as it usually does in my dwelling place, protecting me while I sleep. While my eyes are closed I let it saturate the walls of my apartment, radiating a comfort only You could provide. It's a true gift. It's my favorite gift. It's the tight embrace of your arms as I fight, for the last time, this day's demons. As I dream of bigger moments and brighter days. As I reach for more, it's the feeling of you stretching my arms just a little further, helping me reach for the stars.

My favorite gift is evidenced by THE EMOTIONAL SUPPORT. The peace that I get after every prayer. The support I get after every concern. I yearn for it because it completes me when I feel most incomplete. It inspires me. It forces me to dig deep and pull off scabs I never wanted to resurface. Scabs that never healed properly the first time. It rips them off gently, with hope and healing. It brings a lasting smile on my face even in the moments filled with tears. It's sitting on cloud nine after having just walked through hell. It's the gift that keeps on giving.

My favorite gift is YOUR PRESENCE. I cannot live without it—and frankly, I wouldn't want to. I wouldn't dare endure a day without this unyielding love You provide me. I carry it with me everywhere and sing about it from the mountaintops—off key and with much excitement. With much gratitude. With much admiration.

And as I sit in this moment, in awe of the loved poured into me this holiday season, I can't help but thank You for providing in ways I could've never imagined. For touching me in ways I would've never thought You could. For blessing me beyond anything I could've ever asked for. Had my tree been adorned with nothing, and my table as empty as the day it was purchased, my being would still be dressed with your spirit. My apartment would still be graced with Your presence. My soul still covered with your love. And for that you have become, and always will be, my favorite gift.

Your presence is all the present I need on today—and every day hereafter. 

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