#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. 

• 0 Comments

• Share:

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.

• 0 Comments

• Share:

growth

Where Are Your Goals? Losing Your Fear of Failure

4/04/2018

Since the year began, I've been spending a lot of time reflecting on what I want to see manifest in 2018. I've been paying particular attention to the ways in which I want to see my creative vision and my brand grow. I've been rattling off ways to measure impact and effectiveness, and have been defining new standards of success. In doing so, I was faced with a reality that I hadn't been able to confront until now: DEAR QUEENS hasn't seen much growth in a while.

Truth is, I haven't seen exponential growth recently because I haven't been working toward anything. I've been keeping my head above water, but not swimming in any particular direction. I've been coasting; surviving. And simply surviving doesn't create lasting impact or generate success—it simply allows me to stay afloat. 

I spent most of Q1 reflecting on life, love, work, freedom, and healing. Much of this time was dedicated to the internal work, and in submitting myself to that process of addressing behaviors from the inside out, I wanted to identify why I've been so content with merely staying afloat. I wasn't setting clear, actional goals for myself, and I needed to know why. I pressed myself about it until I uncovered the truth: fear. 

I wasn't setting goals because I was frightened by the possibility of not achieving them. I was afraid of what I'd tell myself if I didn't reach the views I wanted or the impact I worked hard for. I was worried about having to deal with the next level naysayers, and the voices in my head wondering if I was actually good enough to change people's lives. I was holding myself back because I didn't want to be slapped in the face with the feeling of failure, rejection, or inferiority.

I realized through reflection and truth, that if I wanted to go to a new level, I had to be clear about what that new level looks like. I had to identify where I wanted to end up, and what steps needed to be taken to get there. Because I accomplished so much so early—much of it by happenstance—I didn't know where to start. I stumbled into a blog award in the first year of creation, I impulsively launched a podcast and successfully pitched a radio show to a gospel radio station, and event ideas fell into my lap through alignment with God. I hadn't written any of those plans down, rather I executed them before I could talk myself out of it. But with such an incredible streak of unordinary success, accomplishing new tasks, and honestly, adding more things to my workload, I became fearful of whether or not I could accomplish anything else. 

What else was left for me to do? The obvious answer was: a lot! But not having been in a position to have to carefully etch out my brand's future, I wasn't sure where to start. I wasn't sure if I was capable of "the grind" that people romanticize. I need my sleep, and I wasn't willing to risk it!

I was worried that capturing my goals would make me responsible for them. That, at some point, I'd have to hold myself accountable for the things I'd write down. And that's when my fear set in. 

The goals themselves weren't what made me hesitant to commit myself to them, it was the reality of actually having to grind for them. Being strategic about how many conferences and workshops I'd have to host, how many vending opportunities I'd have to pay for, and how many e-mails I'd have to send—it was all increasing my anxiety. Up until this point, I've only had to write, speak, and digitally engage. People sought after me; but I knew, that this brand could not sustain itself for much longer operating in that way. 

While, writing, promoting, podcasting, and consistently creating content is legwork enough, there was an entire grind that I wasn't tapping into. Getting my name, face, and brand in the minds of people I don't know wouldn't come naturally; it would take actual effort. I'd have to catch the attention of people who don't follow me or aren't familiar with my work. I'd have to attend events and put myself out there to establish myself as a thought leader in this space. I wasn't doing any of that, but I knew I needed to. And I needed to be very strategic about what I was working toward while doing so. 

Writing my goals down would remind me of all that work, and I wasn't sure I was ready for that. That commitment was frightening me. If things didn't work out like I'd imagine, I'd feel so defeated. 

How would I greet myself each day knowing the stress my to-do list would bring? How would I look myself in the mirror, knowing I crossed nothing off my list of goals? How would I face myself knowing I failed at the very thing I was so passionate about, solely because I wasn't passionate about the means of attaining the greatness I desired? And with all of those pressing questions, I was also faced with wondering how I'd feel if I let this fear and anxiety keep me from the destiny awaiting me. How would I feel about watching my dreams drift away because I was too fearful to write them down? Because I was too afraid of failure to even try?

I can't speak for everyone, but maybe that's where your hesitation comes in too. Maybe, like me, you're not only frightened by your grand goals but also frightened by the amount of work they'd require. Perhaps you're selling yourself short because you don't have the capacity to execute anything additional. Perhaps you, too, are fearful of what your goals will demand of you. Perhaps you, like me, have chosen to sustain what you've built, rather than soar into new successes, because you're unsure of what the next level will bring. 

Perhaps, this is the moment you change all that. 

Change requires reflection. It requires action after reflection. It requires solution-based action. And the only solution to beat fear is to do exactly what it is you're afraid of. To step up and think big, anyway. To write down those goals, anyway. To create your strategy and tactics, anyway. To host those conferences and plan those workshops, anyway. To sell shirts and books and journals from the trunk of your car, anyway. To send countless e-mails and draft hundreds of pitches, anyway. To apply for opportunities and pursue mentorship, anyway. To write, anyway. To create, anyway. To try anyway. To put one foot in front of the other, anyway. To fall down, anyway. To get back up and fall down again, anyway.

Because the only way you'll ever learn the right things to do, the right goals to set, and the right way to manifest your dreams, is to do it all, anyway. The only way you'll drop your fear is to do everything that scares you, anyway. It's more than just positive self-talk and obedience to God, it's doing the stuff. The stuff you're most fearful of. The stuff you've avoided for this long. The stuff you never wanted to confront. 

Failure is inevitable. 
Success doesn't happen on the first try. 
People learn more from doing things wrong than they do from doing things right. 

Drop your fear, and fail. Give yourself room for error, and learn to identify the lesson in every bit of it. Teach yourself to find the beauty in every missed step, and take the time to regroup when you must. But do it. All of it. Every bit of it. Because regardless of how many times you fall, or how many times you fail, you will reach success, anyway—but you must first drop your fear.

• 0 Comments

• Share:

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.

• 0 Comments

• Share:

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.

• 0 Comments

• Share:

Christ

Mustard Seed Faith

11/02/2017

I have a mustard seed and I'm not afraid to use it. - Pope Benedict XVI

Mustard seed faith was part of the many lessons I learned at the beginning of my faith walk. I heard sermons urging people building their faith, that the little faith they have now is enough. That little faith—mustard seed faith—is a stepping stone for miraculous works. That the little one has now is still enough for miracles to occur. I listened to various iterations of how faith as small as a mustard seed can yield tremendously large return. 

I held onto that idea of mustard seed faith until mine began to grow. Season after season God showed His power. Season after season my faith grew. I outgrew the mustard seed—as promised, figuratively—and began diving into much deeper faith. I felt more in tune with how I approached, experienced, and interpreted God's presence and power in my life.
 
But, no one told me that the idea of mustard seed faith was for 'developed' saints, too. 

I've never heard a sermon speaking to decreasing faith. To faith that was once as large as the giants you were fighting, but has since decreased to that of a mustard seed. Despite the withholding of that sometimes frightening reality, I found that that's where much of the power of mustard seed faith lies. When you're reduced to absolutely nothing and your faith is teetering on the edge; when you've come close to denouncing God and everything you thought you believed; when you disregard His instruction, His commands, and His promises—yet, you still recognize His power. That though you may not be pleased with Him, or any longer interested in the journey you sought after, that you still recognize the importance of prayer. That He still reigns supreme. That regardless of how you may feel internally and how you may choose to rebel (though not condoning such behavior), you still recall His goodness.

I sat at the edge of my bed upset at the position God put me in. But, despite my disappointment I still recognized God's presence. I still knew He was there with me. Despite my frustration with Him, I still found enough time to open my You Version Bible app and read the new plan I started the night prior. That's mustard seed faith, too. Not wanting to believe, but knowing deep down inside that you ought to. Knowing that despite your hesitation, your hurt, or your circumstance, God is the only one that can redeem you. And though, reluctant, still surrendering.

Mustard seed faith is screaming at God in the morning, yet reminding yourself to pray at night. Mustard seed faith is not wanting to trust God ever again, but still listening close to His commands so you remain obedient. Mustard seed faith is the gospel music filling the background while you text your friend about how you're denouncing your spirituality. It's losing hope but wondering how else you can redeem yourself in His sight. Mustard seed faith is thinking that He won't come through, but keeping one eye open just in case He does. Though seemingly blasphemous, mustard seed faith is feeling all things unChrist-like, but still being convicted to do right, to believe, and to love God in spite of those feelings. 

Mustard seed faith is whatever remnants of hope you have left amidst the great disappointment you feel in your chest. It's like the last swig of Kool-Aid left in the container. It's like that little piece of hair left after sitting at the salon for 4 hours getting your hair braided. Mustard seed faith is that tiny bit that you think doesn't exist, but that you soon realize does; because no matter how mad, frustrated, exhausted, and irate you've become, you still go home and thank God, pray to God, and recognize that God is still in control.

So if that's where you are in your walk—wanting to give up and walk away from spirituality because you only have a tiny bit left, but knowing that God is still able—regroup. Because mustard seed faith is still enough to move mountains. And those mountains will move. 

He replied, "Because you have so little faith. Truly I tell you, if you have faith as small as a mustard seed, you can say to this mountain, 'Move from here to there,' and it will move. Nothing will be impossible for you." Matthew 17:20

• 0 Comments

• Share:

#TEATIME

Today I Lost a Fight

9/28/2017

It's odd to pen a piece like this immediately after publishing one about pleasing God. But see this very post is about God. It's about the subconscious plight of letting God fight my battle. I tried to read all my inspirational posts. I tried to excuse myself from my utter desire to give up. But nothing helped. Nothing was good enough to curve my feeling of defeat. Nothing was worth it anymore.

I spent 7-months talking myself out of this decision. I told myself I was stronger than that. Yelled to myself that God made me for this. And convinced myself—time and time again—that God would pull me out of this. That He would do what's right. That in the palm of His hands would be the end of this battle. That in His hands would be my victory.

I've never been this exhausted. Never felt this depleted. All the words the world once offered me no longer meant anything. I spent 7-months reciting words that no longer provided comfort. 7-months of meaningless sentiments and empty promises. 7-months of expecting things to change. Of expecting some type of breakthrough. Of expecting this condition to get better. 7-months of fighting everyone, everything, even myself, with a hopeful heart of a better tomorrow. 7-months of pain in anticipation of healing. Of a future. Of God's promise. 

7-months later and the same pain existed. I hadn't heard from Him. Hadn't seen Him. Barely experienced Him. God was working in the background when I wanted Him to be on the frontline. Have you ever had to fight a battle like that? It's like when you tell your parents you need help but they believe you're strong enough to push through. Why the hell does God think so highly of me?, I asked myself. He'd never leave me, I know. But over these last few months my sobs have drowned out the praise I used to keep myself lifted, and the pieces of my pain have spilled onto the space I used to pray. I couldn't figure out why I was in this battle, but I knew that if God wasn't going to take me out of it, then I would take myself out. I was going to exercise the only power I had and withdraw myself. 

And that's exactly what I did. I removed myself from a 7-month battle that I never wanted to fight. A fight that I'm sure would've made me an even better woman, had I stuck it out. Had I been willing to set my limbs on fire and stay in this cave. But I couldn't, and I didn't. So I gave up my fight. Gave up my hope. Gave up everything I had; everything my fingertips were trying to clench onto. I put down every bit of armor still stuck to my body and threw the white flag. I surrendered. I gave up. I lost. 

Yet, for some reason I feel more victorious now than I've felt in these last 7-months. 

I'm learning that sometimes losing isn't all that bad. In fact, this loss liberated me. It set me free from a bondage I allowed to go on for too long. From guilt. From shame. From embarrassment. From hate. From anger. From uncertainty. From confusion.

Today I gave up on a 7-month battle. I ran out of endurance. Had no strength left. I had nothing to offer. The only thing left to take from me was the very bones that connected my infrastructure. I didn't fight for those bones at all. I pulled them apart myself and left them on the ground. I freed myself from the feeling of having to fight. And oddly enough, in doing so, I (finally) subconsciously gave the battle to God. Whatever He intends to do with it, He'll do. And, whatever level of defeat I have to stomach, I shall. Because I couldn't fight this battle any longer; I couldn't fight myself any longer. I could no longer battle my own well-being. 

This freedom comes at the cost of defeat. But sometimes losing the battle is more rewarding than winning. 

Perhaps, this is me winning.

• 0 Comments

• Share:

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.

• 0 Comments

• Share:

growth

Can't Stop Won't Stop: Three Tips to Diddy-Inspired Success

6/30/2017

Like many in Black America, I spent an hour and a half earlier this week watching Diddy's motivational documentary, Can't Stop Won't Stop. While many themes were evident throughout the movie—loyalty, work ethic, and the power of Bad Boy Entertainment in the 90's—one stuck out most to me: be hungry. 

Throughout various accounts of Diddy's rise to fame, his hunger remained constant. He was determined to not only create a better life for himself, he was determined to do the same for everyone around him. Diddy fought (figuratively and literally) and worked his NY-native butt off to achieve his raving success. However, it wasn't just the work, inspired by his hunger to make it, that landed him in the top stop of Forbes Richest Men in Hip Hop list, it was his desire to continue working. His passionate demeanor to get hungry and stay hungry.

I know what you're thinking, though: How do I get hungry enough to make $820 million, like Diddy? Ha! I'm glad you asked. While I can't give you the secret success to becoming an almost-billionaire (for obvious reasons), below are a few things I took from the documentary that may get you well on your way. 

1. Get hungry.

So many of us want success—whatever it means to us—but aren't hungry enough to do what we must to get there. We let our insecurities get in the way; we let our laziness take control. We want success, but not bad enough to step out of ourselves and get things done. We're anti-social, shy, and don't want to network. We don't want to start at the bottom, don't want to take orders, and don't want to learn. We want to jump right in and get it right. We don't want to fail first. We'd rather play it safe. We'd rather stick to what we know, and hope that it turns into something lucrative. But, hunger...Hunger makes you grind in ways you never thought you could; in ways you never truly wanted to.

Hunger will have you going to events you weren't invited to, just to network. It'll have you e-mailing VP's introducing yourself requesting meetings. It'll have you dropping by offices and stalking LinkedIn profiles. Hunger will have you pitching and posting in quantities you never have before; it'll have you creating every minute you're awake. Hunger will have you demanding a chance from anyone who has the time to listen to you—and probably those who don't have any time at all. Hunger will have you operating differently. More boldly. With a little more confidence, and a lot more intention. Hunger will have you taking steps you otherwise would have no interest in. Saving face and ego flies out the window when you get hungry. Growth, progress, and success happen when you get hungry. 

2. Stay hungry.

Don't let your hunger be conditional. It's so easy to get hungry when we're actually hungry. When we're down to our last dime and are eating egg sandwiches, of course, we're going to want to grind it out. When we don't know where our next meal is coming from, we go to the Earth's end to figure out a way to make end's meet. But what happens when things are smooth? When the fridge is fully stocked, all your bills are paid, and you still have play money? When you're eating at NYC brunches every week and you're content? So many of us are hungry when things aren't going right, and okay when we're content. But the Diddys, Oprahs, and TD Jakes' of the world are hungry all the time. They're always thinking of new ways to grow. New endeavors to start. New goals to achieve. Truly successful people, never stop being hungry. They are eating just fine, but they refuse to wait until they're starving to get more; to do something else. They're always a step ahead of their appetite and their finances. 

Don't let your situation dictate your hunger. Don't let your appetite be determined by your circumstance, your friendships, your job, your paycheck, your family issues, or anything else. Be consistent in your desire to go further and be better. 

3. Eat, even when you're not hungry.

And, by eat, I mean work. Even when things are going well and you feel like there's nothing left to accomplish—keep going. Though a little relaxation is good, don't allow your new found fame, status, or affiliation to affect your work ethic. Diddy could have stopped working when he signed his first $40 million dollar deal, but had he done that, he wouldn't be $780 million richer. When you get your first meal your hunger may subside. You may feel at ease because you were well fed. You may have gotten your fix and think you can chill now. Your hunger will waiver—especially if you've decided to ignore tip 2—but do not stop working. Never stop working. Even when you feel no one is listening, no one is reading, no one is watching—keep going. Keep doing. Keep pushing. Keep sending e-mails. Keep making phone calls. Keep strategizing. Keep connecting with people. Keep pursuing. 

Diddy taught me a life lesson on hunger in less than two hours. A lesson I needed to learn as I struggle to create an imprint on this new professional journey, while trying to maintain (and grow) this brand, heal and grow personally, and get more involved in the community (local and professional). He taught me that where I am in this moment doesn't matter. The things I have to do, the people whose nerves I have to get on before getting a response, the lessons I have to learn, the humility I have to experience, are all part of this journey. They're all part of being hungry. And I commend Diddy on knowing that from the beginning. On never giving up on himself despite the circumstances that he came against. And on remaining hungry, even when everyone was well fed. 

• 0 Comments

• Share:

growth

Do Not Shrink

6/18/2017

I see you, sis. Crouching down in your chair hoping not to be seen. Sitting quietly and timidly—probably fake texting someone so you look busy. You're not busy, you're uncomfortable. You're trying your hardest not to be awkward; not to appear out of place. Unfortunately, the look on your face gives it away.

I saw how you walked into that room, avoiding eye contact as you hurried from the door to your seat. You feel too insignificant to be there, and you worry that others will think the same. So you slip into the background trying not to cause a scene. Trying not to be seen. Because if no one sees you, they can't tell you that you don't belong there. 

Instead of walking into the room as confident as you portrayed to be when you posted that selfie two minutes prior, you shrink. You reduce your value and stay quiet. You silence your thoughts on topics you're most passionate about and play with the silverware. Or your hair. Or your phone. You're present enough to declare that you're there, but not enough to enjoy yourself. Not enough to allow yourself to be seen or heard. You become as irrelevant as you feel by contributing nothing to the moment, or the space you're in. You'd prefer to invalidate yourself before others have the chance to.

You're fearful, insecure, and uncertain. 

They may not see you, sis, but I do. I see you occupying a space you don't think you deserve. I see you sitting quietly with the belief you have nothing to offer. I see you feeling insignificant, not wanting to make your presence known, worried that others will question your relevance and wonder why you're there. Fearful that your existence will mean nothing to the people you're surrounded by.

But clearly, it means enough for you to have been invited. It means enough for you to have been sought after and welcomed. Enough for you to have been allotted a space in that room, that front row, or that board meeting. Enough to occupy space in that life, that heart, or that home. You deserve to be there because God planted you there. And it's time you get up off that wall and work the room. It's time you operate with a confidence you deserve to have; a confidence that proclaims how much you deserve to be there; one that displays how hard you fought to get there. That they need you there. Now is not the time to be timid or fearful. It's the time to be bold. And brave. To be present. Stop shrinking. Stop playing the background. Stop biting your tongue and holding your ideas. Stop hiding your personality. Your smile. Your wit. Your jokes. Stop prohibiting your true self from emerging because the room doesn't quite seem like you; because you don't seem quite like it.

I watch so many women shrink themselves in the presence of other greatness. I watch women's insecurities swallow them whole in big rooms and powerful crowds. I hear women talk so much about a love they don't deserve or an opportunity they shouldn't have. I see women, time and time again, become less than who they are, to appease the likes of those around them. To not be "too much", or "too aggressive", or "too together".   

Frankly, I am tired of it. Tired of watching great women belittle themselves to accomodate the people around them. Tired of watching amazing women critique themselves so bad that they now feel less than. Tired of watching greatness be tossed to the side because the enemy is whispering messages of inferiority and defeat. Tired of seeing young women, old women, brown women, white women—any woman—feel like they don't stand a chance in the position they're in; with the talent they've been gifted; with the calling they have. Tired of hearing 'unworthy' part from the mouths of women clenching onto bitterness from their past and burdens that don't belong to them. God makes no mistakes, and if you're in the room, the front row, or the board meeting, it's because you deserve to be there. It's because you're purposed to be there. Despite your past, your upbringing, or the judgment you cast on yourself, you are supposed to be there. 

You deserve love. You deserve that job. You deserve that pay raise. You deserve that high-rise apartment in the city. You deserve those curves. You deserve loud laughter. You deserve those connections. You deserve those accolades. You deserve everything you set out to get, and you damned sure deserve to be in that room. And that front row. And that board meeting. It's time you stop feeling empty; useless; irrelevant. Start recognizing the power that lies within. It's time you start acting like you have the right to be there. And it's time you stop shrinking. 

Instead, own this moment. Own that front row seat. And own your spot in that board meeting. It is yours for a reason. 

• 0 Comments

• Share: