Changing My Experience of It

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“Who do you want to be during this season?” my relationship coach asked me, after I gave her a blow-by-blow of the end-of-year stresses of bookkeeping, having not finished my Christmas shopping, the resurgence of hot flashes and fatigue, and yet another holiday season where I hadn’t taken advantage of the many activities going on in the community. Boy, that’s a mouthful. And trust me when I say, that’s just the cliff-note version.


Somehow my answer to her question is summed up in the words of the song, “I gotta be me. I gotta be me,” though I am being me.  Okay, wrong song.  I'm me, just me under a lot of stress. As I was eating my dinner last night, I became aware that the feeling in the pit of my stomach was the same panic I felt while married. Though I looked calm on the outside, inside was like a hamster running on that wheel thingy. You know, that thing that looks like a ferris wheel kinda. I can’t think of the name of it. It’s that feeling that makes you wanna throw a jar when you can’t quite get the lid off of it. Any difficulty makes you snap. (Note to self: do not attempt to fold a fitted sheet during this time, you might take the scissors and cut the dang thing up!)

Well, back to my session. I pondered what my coach asked. "I am responding more consciously," I reported. "That has not been sabotaged at all. It’s just taking sooooooo much effort to be professional and mature." When you’re overwhelmed or tired, it just becomes so hard. Though she applauded my strength under fire, she offered some very sound feedback. Truth is, I am at the end of my ability to cope. I needed to decompress...immediately.  That’s what I love about seeing my coach. She says back to me what I already know, but there is power in the hearing of it.

In that moment, I remembered that I am the only person responsible for me. Nobody else is going to do that.  People are all too consumed with themselves.  Not a criticism, just a fact. True, I am in a whirlwind mentally and emotionally right now. I feel like I'm being pulled apart, actually. But I have to find a way to decompress else the very thing I don’t want will happen—my experience of Christmas will be sabotaged. I refuse to allow that to happen.

Christmas is the most wonderful time of the year and I ain’t tryin to say the lyrics to a popular Christmas song. It truly is for me. Always has been. Though there were dysfunctions and legalisms and I-don’t-fit-in-this-family feelings growing up, one thing was ALWAYS joyful—Christmas. Christmas was magical in my home. Mom would decorate the house with such abandonment. I especially loved the ceramic Christmas trees that were almost in every room. The smell of hot cinnamon buns cooking in the oven would make my mouth water. The aroma of our live Christmas pine.  There was so much excitement in the air. Dad wasn’t as critical. Mom wasn’t as stressed. It was a beautiful time. My sister, Fran, would be the first one to wake up and wake us up. So much joy at Christmas. And I’ll be darned (I wanna use a stronger descriptor but a euphemism will do) if like every year since I started working as a bookkeeper, my Christmas will be held hostage to the end-of-year craziness!

After my visit with my coach, I did what every self-respecting lover of Christmas would do.  I went shopping. Yes, I did. I decided to make a stand. I drew my line in the sand and dared anything to cross it.  The whole point of working from home was to have flexibility.  I had already worked 3 ½ hours before I went on errands. So, all I needed to complete my 6-hour day was 2 ½. more. Soooooo, I took some me-time. 

While returning an item at Target, I decided to schedule a hair appointment. Fortunately, my bestie hair designer in the whole wide world was able to work me in. She touched up my gray and added a shiny glaze to my overall hair color. LOVED IT! Just what I needed to lift my mood.

I awakened with this new-found resolve. Kinda reminds me of Ebeneezer Scrooge after his visit with the three spirit...lol.  Yes, I’m going to enjoy Christmas. And I ain’t waitin to be off work to do it. I’m going to get off this laptop and fix me a hearty breakfast. Then I’m going to get on my clothes and go on into work. I’m gonna log on to  Pandora radio station and play Christmas songs to my heart’s content. I’m going to smile and sing while I work. I'm going to leave on time for a change.  Tonight, I’m going to watch the X-Factor Finale and wrap gifts. And I’m going to take my time. I’m going to stop running on the wheel of life, like that hamster, and have some fun. 

I might can’t change what’s going on around me, but I can change my experience of it. There are times in our lives when we can't wait to put ourselves first.  We simply have to.  I refuse to allow someone else's agenda to rule my life.  Not now.  Not today.  Not this season.  It starts with me and trust me when I say, it’ll end with me too!

Take Me To That Higher Place

It didn’t just start. Most things that we write about, talk about, complain about didn’t just start. It’s built up over time. Me? I just didn’t say that much. I’d have rough patches but would opt to look on the bright side. What once was a big enough bright side to get me up and going on a Monday morning just isn’t enough to motivate me today. Help!!


To some folks, it would be a surprise because I rarely complain. I’m usually up beat. Underneath this dread I’m feeling right now is the same Suzette. This is only one thing in my life that I see as off-beat. But even one off beat in one’s life can throw off the normal rhythm of their life. And this off beat is trippin a sistah up to the point that I am having trouble getting my stride.

I don’t like to whine. I really don’t. I abhor it. So when my complaining starts sounding like whining, I have to find a way to deal. I just have to. I use to ignore it, but I’ve found that ignoring your soul’s cry only makes it cry louder or start showing up in other areas of your life. So, I’ve learned to stop, look and listen. Part of that, for me, has been to acknowledge what’s bothering me. No holds barred. Without censorship of how it sounds or apologizing for it, I offer it up from my mouth to God’s ears. I truly believe what Dr. Phil often tells guests on his talk show. “You can’t change what you won’t acknowledge.” So I acknowledge it. At first, it’s a rush. Sometimes the rush is one of absolute relief and other times it’s a rush of emotion. Sometimes anger, sometimes tears that spill out. I’m no longer shocked by this because I’ve discovered that it’s nothing more than a build up. Once you’ve had your rant or uncontrollable cry, you feel lighter. Our souls need that release. Without it, we cannot find the freedom that is ours.

Freedom. How do I get from a momentary freedom to unstuck? For me, it’s been refusing to swallow it back down. If you throw up in your mouth, you must spit it out else you’ll swallow all that mess back down. Spitting stuff out takes on different forms for different people. For me, part of refusing to swallow it back down is to not try to find the bright side. It’s to not talk myself out of it. It’s to call it what it is. Acknowledging it as something that will not go away.

It’s not just Mondayitis. It’s Fridayitis, Saturdayitis and Sundayitis. Whenever you are stuck in a dead-end situation or something is off-beat in your life, it affects EVERYTHING. Sure, I’ve kept it at bay. I’ve used my words. I’ve found ways to cope. I’ve done all I know to do. I’m running out. I have nothing left.

Someone asked me this weekend what inspires what I write. “Nothing special,” I told her. “I just write what I’m thinking or feeling or experiencing at the time.” It can be tempting to write what you think will get you the most traffic, inspire folks to follow you or to get comments that make you feel good. It really is. But as I sit at my laptop writing this morning, I’m reminded that I write for me. It’s my lifeline. It enables me to stay present. It enables me to say what I need to say. It’s my gift. I’m so glad that it helps others. That’s where the meaning and fulfillment comes into play. I do it for me; but I share it because I believe that someone out there can be helped, encouraged or at least not feel alone in whatever they are dealing with.

When I read, Love Is A Choice, I no longer felt like an alien. I began to understand that what I was suffering had a name and there were others out there like me and there was help. I began to pray out of that awareness and my life has never been the same. It helped me reclaim my voice. If I can give that to someone else, then what I write has value and my existence has meaning.

And that is where my wholeness comes from – my authentic voice. Sometimes, especially when you are going through a difficulty, it’s harder to silence all the other voices so that your truest voice can speak. I needed to write so I could hear beyond the voice of anxiety, the voice of desperation, the voice of doubt.

It’s not that my current job is bad. Not at all. I work with wonderful people and I’ve been favored with being able to determine my own hours and work from home two days out of the week. I have a knack for bookkeeping and details. Yes, I am grateful. I realize that some folks would kill to have what I have. It has nothing to do with gratitude and for so long I’ve wrestled with not wanting to seem ungrateful. To acknowledge something honestly is not being ungrateful.  It’s not home. Pure and simple. And to say that it isn’t home doesn’t mean you aren’t grateful for the hospitality you’ve been shown. I just want to go home. Bookkeeping is not home!!

It’s nothing against my boss, my coworkers , the favor that I’ve been granted, or the job itself. It’s not a complaint or the whine of my ego. It’s the cry of the truest part of me that will not allow me to believe that this job is home. I refuse to settle back down into justifying staying here and trying to find the bright side. There is no bright side when you’re out of place. There simply isn’t. There is no way to dress it up anymore so it feels homey. You can add family photos but it simply isn’t home. It was a life-line that was thrown to pull me out of financial distress but it was never meant to be fulfilling. I guess in life you have to recognize things for what they are. My job was my life line. It was my bridge. But it was never meant to be my end-point.

In this morning’s pray, or shall I say crying session, desperate plea, whatever you’d like to call it, I prayed for grace. “God, if I’m suppose to stay in this job, I need grace. I don’t have the ability to keep doing this. I just don’t,” was my prayer. And that is the truest prayer I think I’ve prayed since I started praying about this. I’ve come to the end of it. I can no longer sustain this. Grace is what I need. Either grace to stay or grace to leave. Grace. Grace is what allowed Nelson Mandela to stay in prison even when he was offered an out because he couldn’t accept it while his comrades remained in chains. That was grace personified, in my opinion. Though my situation pales in comparison, if God chooses to give me the grace to stay in this job, it'll have to be from a greater understanding.  I’ll be okay. There will be no complaint. All I need is grace. If God chooses to give me grace to leave, again, I’ll be okay. It’s the grace that I need. I’ll leave the end result to Him. But today. This very minute. In order for me to get out of this bed, slip my feet into my house shoes and put one foot in front of the other, I need a grace bigger than me.

Call it what you will: the indomitable human spirit, a will to survive, an awakened state or a greater consciousness. I call it all God’s Amazing Grace, the Holy Spirit. I need to be filled with the Wisdom and the Wherewithal to live consciously through this. When you are wrestling with what’s wrong in your life, you can’t truly see. It takes being able to step back from it so you can recognize the doorway to freedom. You begin to take stock of things. You began to notice things. It’s like a transcendence. You see things through Wiser eyes and see the bigger picture. That’s what I need. I need to come up higher so I can see the bigger picture. God, please take me there. Take me to that higher place and I’ll know how to respond. i won't feel desperate or intimidated or anxious any more. Thank you God, like always you’ve given me the answer as I type. I need that place of peace. Take me to that higher place.

Greater Than The Struggle

It’s been a trying day. If I didn’t know any better, I'd think I was bipolar. Extreme highs and extreme lows. Just last night, we had our company Christmas Dinner. It was soooooo much fun! I was high on life and reveling in the energy and synergy of the people and the experience. Today, it’s been a different story. It’s as if my high has been cut off at the knees and I’m limping along. Hot flashes and fatigue have been the order of the day. Anxiety over getting my financials done before the holidays has loomed in the background making it hard for me to regain my footing. Yet in the midst of knotted nerves, God gave me a chance to do something to help someone else. You see, a friend told me how it gets hard sometimes to hold on to her dream. Car problems and other challenges can make it hard to stay the course. She told me how my blogs and articles inspire her to hold on.

Little did this friend know that I understood oh too well her struggle. Sometimes when I write, the desire to do it full time becomes so overwhelming that I can hardly take it. Everyday I go to a job that is a blessing, most definitely, but is not structured to make room for my truest gift and truest calling, it's h-a-r-d.  I feel anxiety wanting to overtake me. It is all I can do to get out of bed and get motivated. My mind tells me that I need to get up and my heart aches for something more.

It’s not that I need the encouragement to write. I have to write. It is a necessity for my own sanity and sense of well-being to express myself on paper. I don’t struggle with that. The struggle is the desire to use my voice to help humanity. The struggle is wishing I could afford to do this all the time.  I think I’ve released pigeon-holing it. I’ve said yes to whatever venue or platform puts a demand on my gift. Whether it’s writing, coaching, motivational speaking or group facilitation, I'm open. Who knows, there may be something out there that has my name all over it that I haven't even fathomed.  I just want it to be suitable for me. I just want the fulfillment that comes from doing what you were born to do.

One things for sure, I know this isn't just a passing phase.  When I feel the most feeble or the most vulnerable or my faith gets weak, I can start to write and before I know it, my fingers type the very thing I need to hear. Something takes over that is greater than the struggle.

I have absolutely no idea of what to do besides what I’m doing – writing and sharing it with the cyber world. In my mind’s eye, I imagine a word, a phrase, a thought that travels at lightning speed across cyber space. Right now, someone in Indonesia or in Europe or in Italy or maybe in my own neighborhood is asleep while I’m typing. And while I’m sleeping, they will be reading something that I wrote. They’ll email it or share it or tweet it. Someone will take their past off life support. Someone else will read that true love doesn’t hurt and will leave an abusive partner. Someone will stop living a fictitious life and make a courageous step into authenticity.

To some, that might sound like wishful thinking. And there'll be others who think I'm wasting my time.  But same as the person who says they want a job but won’t leave their home or send out a resume, if I stop now, I'll never ever get what I desire.   

Maybe that’s what makes the impossible possible: the action, the energy. It’s the doing what your heart loves that creates the tangible. It’s what builds a bridge from where you are to where you are going. It’s what produces the substantiveness called faith. So despite how hard it gets or how thankless my efforts seem at times, I press on. I press on when I get published.  I press on when I get rejected.  I press on when I'm understood.  I press on when I'm misunderstood.   I press when it's easy to write.  I press when I feel like I gotta fight for every single word.  Through thrills, through spills, through see-nothing days, I press.  There's something inside that's greater than the struggle.

A Drama-free Holiday

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Why do we expect people to be different than they are and then act shocked when they do exactly what we knew they would do? Could that possibly be the protagonist to our drama-filled holidays?

Let’s be honest. We know our families. We know that they (whoever they are) are going to get on our last nerves. They are going to pick apart something. They are going to tell the same story they always tell. They are going to favor Boo Boo’s kids over yours. They always criticize. They always hate. They always argue. If asked, we can give a blow by blow of exactly what’s going to happen when we get there. So why do we get so upset about it?

To hear us vent, you’d think we didn’t grow up with these folks. Uncle Julian is going to drink too much and he’s going to start cussing about all of us being against him. He does it every year; yet everyone including you gets so upset about it. To this, I say, it is futile. Can Uncle Julian be any different? I know you want him to be but if you were to step outside of your emotions and look at this thing objectively, can anyone in your family be any different than they are?

They cannot help it. I know you want them to be different. You want them to be the ideal husband, the ideal wife, the ideal in laws, the ideal family. You want them to treat you the way you want to be treated. But that’s your script. It’s not theirs. Even if you agree on the principle, their practice may be entirely different from yours.

Let me ask you something: can you change who you are? I’m not talking about your hair color or your education level. I’m talking about who you are at your core. Your beliefs, your values. How do you feel when someone criticizes who you are? When they say you talk too much or that you’re too quiet. Does it make you feel put down? It’s no fun feeling like you got to be this way or that in order to be accepted. You might try to be different; but after a while, it breeds resentment.

If that’s how you feel, then isn’t it just as wrong for you to require that they be different? What makes your ideal better than their’s? Perhaps that’s the cause of your holiday drama. It’s not Uncle Julian. Uncle Julian is doing what Uncle Julian always does. It’s not your mother in law. You already know what she’s going to say or how you’re going to feel around her. There’s a word for hoping against hope that you can win someone else’s approval or that they’ll be different this time – denial.

Could it be that denial is what’s causing the drama? Regardless to how you’ve been treated in your family, people can only be who they are. Just because they are your family, your in laws, your child’s other parent, it doesn’t change who they are. As I see it, this holiday, you have two choices: One, to continue to allow the same drama into your heart and life or two, to have a change of heart.

Growing up, I had a love-hate relationship with my dad. Though he was the man I tried most to please, my dad was stubborn. He saw things in black and white. Shades of gray were not in his value system. As a result, his ideals and beliefs were very damaging to my very gray female spirit. I don’t blame him anymore. By the grace of God, I’ve forgiven him and he and I had some glorious years before he died. Nevertheless, when I was college age, I dreaded coming home for the holidays unless my sisters were going to be there. The internal drama I felt continued until one particular day. I remember it well. I was having my usual emotional back-and-forth when mom told me that dad wanted his children to come home. I remember praying loudly and bitterly about it. Then I remember telling God how it was too late. When we wanted him to be a part of our lives, he was too drunk or too churchy to do it. Now, he was older and wanted us to act as if the past umpteen years hadn’t happened. It’s too late. He lost that time with us and would NEVER ever get it back. I was incensed. I remember saying aloud, “all I wanted was my daddy. I wanted him to be there for me. All I wanted was for dad to love me.”

“He did love you,” I heard. It came out of nowhere. It was so profound that it was almost audible. Stunned, I stopped crying and I heard, “Loving you was NEVER the issue.” It was as if my ears opened up. For the first time, I heard with my heart that my dad’s behavior towards me was not due to a lack of love. He had plenty of that. He just couldn’t be anybody other than himself. He had his own struggles. He had his own demons. And sometimes that fight left him too bitter, too tired, too emotionally spent to be the father I needed. He did the best he could. That’s not a cop out. It’s a fact. That day, I accepted my dad for being who he was for the first time. And it was on that day I became free. I no longer needed him to be different in order for me to have peace.

Acceptance doesn’t mean that you think how your family members are or how they treat you is okay no more than forgiveness means it. It simply means that you accept them as they are. My mom and dad will always be my parents. They will always have the values and beliefs they have unless God himself changes them. Regardless, I can love them. And if you cannot love your parents for any other reason, they are the reason you exist. No other egg and no other sperm could have resulted in you. That’s enough reason to honor them.

Honor them, yes. Allow drama, no. Honoring someone doesn’t mean you have to do anything but honor them. Loving your parents doesn’t mean you are required to spend the holidays with them if it’s not a safe place. Loving your in laws doesn’t mean you have to subject yourself to ridicule or put downs. It is more honoring to guard your love for them than to jeopardize it by putting yourself in situations that re injure you. You always have a choice. It may not be popular – seldom is – but it is absolutely and unequivocally your choice. You choose how you will spend your time and with whom. I use to tell my son this. “You can’t stop a person from swinging at you; but you certainly can duck."

As an adult, you are responsible for your own emotional health and well-being. You don’t put that in someone else’s hands. So, if you want a drama free holiday, be courageous. Stand for and with you. Let me clarify that standing is not mean-spirited or at the expense of someone else. It’s that you speak the truth in love. You say simply, “Mom/Dad, I love you. I have other holiday plans this year.“ And keep it moving. Choose other ways to show them you love them. Maybe you can take them in small doses or when there isn’t all that holiday pressure. Be creative. Be resourceful. But most importantly, take care of yourself.

Will everybody like it? Heck no. Some folks will think you’re being a brat. Some will think you are being selfish. Some will think you are just doing this for attention. At this point, however, what some think is not most important. It’s honoring them and yourself enough to choose to act like a grown up.

And if you decide to go home for the holidays, then stop whining. Again, put on your big boy pants and man up. Prepare yourself for what will happen and decide a self-honoring, empowered way to respond instead of copping an attitude and walking away the wounded martyr once again. Let’s be clear: martyrs of old were courageous not the walking wounded. Heal your wounds and be the change you want to see in others. It takes courage. It takes resolve. Trust me when I say that you can be that person. It took some years and some work, but it was well worth it. I learned that no drama started with me. In this case, I had to forgive my dad for not being who I wanted him to be and accept him as he was. When I did, it ended the internal drama and the holidays were no longer burdensome. When I ended the internal drama, my holidays became drama-free.

A Whole Nether Level

Coming to terms with a painful time in your life takes chutzpah. It really does. Who wants to revisit trauma, hurt, humiliation?! I mean, really? It took me this long to come to the other side, to finally get all my marbles back, to finally be able to smile from my liver. Why should I need to, have to or want to go back? Yet I knew that Purpose was requiring that I do that very thing.

In the aha of the moment, I realized that it is not enough to be whole. It’s not enough to be free. It’s not enough. There is a whole nether level. It’s called grace.

A shining example is Tyler Perry. I know that Spike Lee and some other brothers have a problem with him. They feel that he portrays Black men in a derogatory fashion. But I ask that you put that to the side for a moment and allow me to make my point. It is public knowledge that Tyler was sexually molested. Despite this, he has overcome challenges from within and without to attain huge success. He has been featured in various magazines and is now considered one of the most influential men in America. So why go on The Oprah Show and expose the depth, the breadth and the height of such a painful time in his life. After all, by all extents and purposes, he’s made it. He can now thumb his nose at all the naysayers and folks who discounted his talent. So why?

I think it lies in something he said. He said that he remembers when the little boy in him was lost. The abuse was so severe that he saw his innocence run and keep on running. Maybe just maybe he felt that with all the adulation, he had failed to go and get that little boy. And maybe he knew he would never ever be complete until he made it safe for him to come home. He had to give him a voice. He had to bring him out the shadows and let him know it was alright. If nobody else had his back, he did.

Sometimes, I’d dare say most times, life will bring us right back to the moment of our greatest shame. The very thing you don’t want to talk about. The very memory you have strived so hard to forget. I have found that you cannot be whole when there’s a part of yourself you’ve disowned. I don’t care how successful you are, your happiness will be short-lived if you don’t make peace from those broken pieces. Some books call it that wounded child inside of you. And you know what? I believe that is what the Bible is referring to when it talks about your lost soul.

Nevertheless, it doesn’t stop there. There’s a whole nether level. There’s another passage in the Bible where Jesus speaks to Peter. He says to him, “Simon, Simon, behold, Satan desired [to have] you, that he may sift [you] as wheat. But I have prayed for you, that your faith fail not: and when you are converted, strengthen your brethren.”

When Tyler returned to the Oprah Show the next time, it was with 200 men who also had been sexually molested. As I watched that show, the only words I could come up with to describe that moment was grace. You could tell that for many of them, this was the resolution they so deeply needed. It was validating. For Tyler to be able to go back to a painful place so that 200 other souls could be strengthened meant a conversion had to have happened. Now let me clarify. I am not speaking with religious or Pentecostal labels here. By conversion, I mean a change of mind, a change of heart, a change of position.

In the same way, Purpose has been dealing with me. It’s not enough that I survived. It’s not enough to get to a freed place and to celebrate it. There are others who need someone to come and get them. To be honest, in my adult life, the two most humiliating, hard-to-get-over experiences of my life have been divorce and my marriage to a gay man - twice. And last Saturday, I was wrestling with shame that was still there. Since that time, there’s been a change. I’ve changed my position.

Just call me Harriet Tubman…lol. This woman risked life and limb to find the path to freedom. For most people, that would have been enough. But she went back down that path to lead others. Every time she travelled that Underground Railroad, she risked being caught; yet something Greater required that she do it. And something Greater kept her safe. This tells me that Purpose won’t require something that there’s not enough Grace to enable you to do it. And so I surrender. Hence, the change.  I say to the Universe, to God, use me.

I had a moment today. I was listening to the Super Soul Sunday documentary. It was a rerun about Jonas Elrod. He sees dead people. I couldn’t resist. Actually, he sees auras, ghost, demons, spiritual beings. I know, it sounds unreal but he was walking along and out of nowhere he was able to see things that he couldn’t before. I found it interesting. After all, I know what it’s like to hear something, see something that those around you aren’t seeing or hearing. Happened when I was young and my life has continued to be different than what I was brought up to expect.


There was a point where he said, “I didn’t want this. “ He was on a quest to understand why this was happening to him and what he was suppose to do with it. He went from spiritual guide to spiritual guide—mystics, priests and seekers, many of whom he felt were out there. “I don’t want to be one of them,” he said. Lord knows, I understand him. I was cleaning the bathroom at the time and as I was wiping out the sink, I heard him. Before I knew it, I was saying the same thing. “I don’t want to be one of them.” I said it over and over again and as if a dam burst, I started crying deep heaving sobs. I didn’t want to be divorced. I didn’t want to be a straight wife of a gay husband. I didn’t want any of it. I felt myself going into a cathartic cry and started fumbling with my telephone. I needed to talk to somebody but I didn’t want to be consoled. I wanted someone who would help me to face this and stay present in it. I didn’t want to swallow this back down. My wise self knew that I needed to deal with it.

Thank God for Natalie. She didn’t answer immediately but called me back. I explained to her how I’ve been struggling. The light of my purpose getting more intense yet still working the same job. You almost feel like you’re coming unglued. That’s what makes transitions hard. Where you’re going is having a tug of war with where you are. Doesn’t feel good at all.

As she helped me gain perspective, not only was it evident I was grieving but there was some shame there too. I felt guilt and I felt shame. I felt like I had failed myself and failed my son. I felt like damaged goods that people would either pity or think I was stupid. “How could you not know he was gay,” straight wives are often asked. I think the guilt is because he told me he had lived a gay lifestyle. In my naivete, I believed him when he said that God delivered him. After all, God can do anything. I believe that. But to marry him twice? All I can say is I was ignorant. I had never caught him in the act. I told Natalie that I just wanted to be normal.

Her response was absolutely what I needed. “Normal!” she said with surprise. “Who wants to be normal? I pride myself on being unique. Who wants to be ordinary. Please, anything normal.” As I listened, I began to laugh. I heard it. I heard it for what it was. Why would I want to be normal, average, run of the mill? Why? What I considered as shameful was something to be celebrated. As she reframed what I shared and how admirable it was, I felt proud. I had overcome something that many women haven’t. My heart echoed what Natalie said. “You worked through it. You did. You aren’t the one responsible for what happened to you. You believed your husband. You trusted what he said as truth and you loved him. He was the one who was dishonest. He’s the one. You aren’t responsible for that.” Like a warm blanket placed gently around my nakedness, I felt deeply cared for. The grief that I was feeling was simply that—grief.

I didn’t expect to grieve. And I might many more times. I wasn’t rejecting the journey, I was rejecting the label. What I’ve been through doesn’t define me. I don’t have to wear a label. I am Suzette. I am alive today because I fought to live. I took advantage of every resource God made available so that I could live. I am not broken, marred or disfigured; I am resilient and strong.

I made it! And if there is anybody out there who I can help, then I want to do that. As I shared with Nat, what I’ve been through has given me such compassion for those who struggle. The outcasts, the rejects of society because their look, their ways, their authentic selves doesn’t fit the status quo. People who have dared to come out of their closets or have kicked down the constructs placed on them by people who have no idea of their plight. My heart is full of compassion for the men and women courageous enough to come out to their families and the world. If anyone thinks that is easy, they need to guess again. To face almost certain distancing, criticism, hostility and judgment is not something people would pick for themselves. The Carson Kressley’s, Ellen Degeneres and Chaz Bono’s out there who just want to be loved and accepted. Like me and others, they didn’t ask for the cards they were dealt. They are playing them the only way they know just as others are. They’ve just chosen a different way. They didn’t ask for this. I certainly didn’t ask to be an Adult Child of an Alcoholic. I didn’t ask to be divorced. I didn’t ask to be sheltered by my parents and not prepared for certain personalities we’d meet. I didn’t ask to be a Straight Wife. But it asked for me. So when things ask for you, you have to do what you have to. And I believe that if you’ve prayed, cried, agonized, sought and you remain in your state, there is sufficient grace for you. Now, I know that my Christian or Pentecostal friends don’t and won’t agree. But that’s my truth and I’m sticking to it.

Nobody. Not gays, not straights. Nobody should have to carry around guilt or shame over something they can’t help. What kind of life is that? That’s why some of them have to leave family and friends and create a new normal. Who wants to be with people who want you to act less than what you are just because they are uncomfortable with your choice. That’s no life. And I’ve found that society just wants you to comply. They couldn’t care less whether it’s from your heart or not. They want you to do and be the way they want so they, themselves, will feel better. It’s not about you, it’s about them. Only God cares about your heart, it seems. He looks at the heart. I believe that we all have to find our own North Star. My path is not yours and yours isn’t mine. But we are all God’s children. I may not agree with you, but I will respect your right to your choice. God gave it to everyone and he hasn’t renigged on it. I often say. I don’t fault my ex-husband for being gay. I only fault him for involving me.

For baiting and switching. For promising to love, honor and cherish and to keep himself only for me yet withholding himself from me. I was reading the 50 things that gay husbands say to their straight wives to avoid intimacy that my friend, Bonnie Kaye posted on her blog. As I read them, I remembered how awful it was. You stink, when you ask for sex you sound like a whore, you are a nympho were some of the reasons he gave me. He even told me that I needed to ask God to help me because I shouldn’t give anyone that kind of power as I begged him to touch me and laid crumpled on the bed crying my eyes out. He just sat there smugly and matter of factly telling me what was wrong with me. So cold. So distant. No care. No compassion. No regard. In my vulnerability, he made me responsible. He blamed me. He made me the reason why he couldn’t love me.

The things I dealt with emotionally in silence could have driven me to drink, to do drugs, to have an extramarital affair, to lose my faith and to lose my mind. I use to have many panic attacks and often felt like I was going to have a nervous breakdown. There was a period where I did lose faith. I didn’t want to hear any scriptures. I didn’t want to go to church. I didn’t want to do anything that reminded me of that period in my life. I didn’t want to talk to the same people. But during that time of isolation, God helped me. He preserved me. Even when I fell headlong into a sexual impropriety, God took care of me and wouldn’t allow the man to hurt me. Despite his reputation, he took care of my wounded heart. God was with me and never ever left me. He left me breadcrumbs to follow through all the mirk and mire and ups and downs and twists and turns so I could find my way back home. And no, I’m not the same person. I no longer fit in certain places. How could I after that? It’s nobody’s fault. It just is.

My way out brought me to a different place. A different consciousness. I can’t act like I don’t know. I can’t go back to complying and feeling guilty for not wanting to. I belong outside of the box. I didn’t choose it, it chose me.

It is human to want to belong. And I’m so glad that everybody on this planet has someone that understands them. They don’t have to be isolated or feel like nobody understands. If they live long enough, they will always find somebody who understands them. Who gets them. Who appreciates their journey and where it has taken them.

I was reading on Twitter where folks were criticizing the life coaching community. At first, I was going to defend it, but then I decided not to. Truth is, every single person on this planet has been coached in some way, shape or form. Oprah admits that the reason she didn’t have to go to therapy was because of her BFF Gayle King. Athletes have coaches. Children has coaches whom we fondly call parents. We have all been a coach to someone or been coached by someone. Coaches are encouragers. Coaches are mirrors. Coaches are teachers. Coaches are illuminators. Coaches keep us accountable. Coaches give perspective. Coaches are objective. Coaches don’t lie to us or tell us what we want to hear. Coaches don’t counsel. Coaches walk alongside you. Coaches affirm you. They let you bounce things off of them. They offer insights. And yes sometimes they let you know when you’re coping out, not reaching your full potential. Coaches don’t coddle you or protect you from you. They are straightforward and real. Coaches are expressive. They show emotion. They touch you. They don’t just sit and peer at you from behind reading glasses with an otherwise blank stare. Coaches honor what you want for your own life and say, okay, I’m with you. Coaches are good friends. Coaches are good listeners. Coaches are cool. That’s why I am a coach. And yes, we’re worth our weight in GOLD. That’s why I don’t have any trouble paying my coach. Her help is priceless and I hope that someone will feel that way about me one day.

Are You Ready?

"But you never said you liked me," said Iyanla.  "I won't accept that," says Oprah.  "What did you think that was?  I sat in the audience and gave you the mike."  Grabbing Oprah by both hands, Iyanla looks deeply into her eyes, "I didn't know what that was.  Hear me, you've got to hear me...I thought you wanted the work, not me."  A light bulb came on for Oprah.  "Iyanla wasn't ready to receive it," she later shared while discussing this very intense interaction with her friend, Gayle.  It was Oprah's 25th Season and she and Iyanla engaged in some long overdue talk about why Iyanla left The Oprah Show some years before.

Are you ready?  How many of us miss the opportunities that come into our lives because we aren't ready to receive it? 

These are questions I've been grappling with as I anticipate my next move.  I've been praying for quite some time about taking my writing to the next level.  Am I ready?, I ponder.  I'm reminded of the tabloid frenzy surrounding our own North Carolina native, Fantasia Barrino.  She is without a doubt a rare talent, a stellar performer and a powerful young woman.  American Idol was the opportunity for her dreams to come true.  Yet, as I have followed her career and her very public struggles, I've had to ask if she was ready for the very thing she dreamed of.

Don't get me wrong.  I'm not judging her or Iyanla for that matter.  Everyone has a path they have to walk to grow into their best selves.  Just the same, I do believe that failure and yes, success, reveal what's fixed and what's broken in a person.  When one's life has not been properly nurtured and structured, success can cause it to spiral out of control.  What's broken in our lives and in our psyches moves from the background into the forefront at break-neck speed.

Do something for me.  Focus on what it is you want.  Get it in your mind.  Now ask yourself, "Am I ready?"  I know you want it.  You might want it so bad you can taste it.  But are you ready for it?  This step cannot be rushed because as Dr. Phil says, "you can't change what you won't acknowledge."  Besides, just because you aren't ready right this minute doesn't mean you can't get ready. 

To this very point, let me share a page from my own history.  Actually, I think I'd better give you the cliff note version lest this should go from an article to a short story.  I was not seeking home ownership.  Not at all.  But it dropped in my lap.  Once I got the notification that I qualified for a loan and realized that I--a post-divorced single mother who had filed bankruptcy--was going to be a homeowner, I had to get ready.  I had to make room in my life and in my finances for a home.  Now this is where it gets sticky for most first-time home buyers.  We spend all available resources on the front-end of getting ready.  We focus on raising the money for the down payment and negotiating the monthly payments.  But it doesn't stop there.  Borrowing another quote from Dr. Phil, "you can't just plan for the wedding, you have to plan for the marriage."

So, how do you start?  

Educate yourself.  The more you know, the less your ego can get you into trouble.  I know that is a bold statement but truth is, it is our ego that sabotages our success.  It's our ego that spends more than we can afford.  It's our ego that uses money to soothe emotional discomfort.  While I worked as a Substance Abuse Counselor, part of the therapeutic process was to help our clients to feed the rational part of their brain.  The more the client learned about his drug of choice, its affects on his body, the psychic pain that he took the drug to numb and the importance of a healthy support system, the less the pleasure centers of his brain could dominate and rule his life.  In the same way, I believe that educating yourself about where you want to go in life will increase the likelihood of your thriving in that new place. 

Come up with a plan.  Take stock of where you are and what you need to do to get to where you wanna go.  For instance, if you have a lot of bills or a lot of debt, come up with a plan to pay them off.  Or say you're coming into a lot of money, plan how you want to use your money.  If you want to get married, come up with a plan.  You may already have your hope chest or have found the perfect wedding dress, but what about your credit score?  What about your availability?  What about your relatability?  Do you have trust issues, unresolved anger, character defects that you need to resolve?  All that is part of the planning.

Write it down.  Write down your end result and develop a way to get there.  Don't overwhelm yourself.  For me, dividing my plan into bite-size, doable pieces made sticking to it less intimidating.  Going back to my home buying experiences, my plan was to be out of debt by the time my first mortgage payment was due.  Seemed pretty ambitious until I wrote down the income I'd have, the bills I'd have to pay and the frills I could do without.  Not only did I find it doable, but I got it done in two months time.  I checked off and celebrated each benchmark accomplishment.  It felt so good!

Hold yourself accountable.  Businesses have advisers, bookkeepers have CPAs, athletes have coaches and we need someone to help us stay true to our plan.  This is very important.  No matter how motivated you are at first, life and time will distract and interfere.  At those times, it is key to have someone to ignite your resolve and to encourage you to finish strong.   That's why I see a life coach regularly.  I tend to be more accountable to someone I'm paying.

Are you ready?  Let today be your day to bust a move!

Codependent No More: Don’t Let Some Truth Blind You To The Truth

She’s pulling up in the driveway. It’s 9:00 at night and I’ve been calling her for hours. Why didn’t she pick up? I’m not going to fuss or fight. That always ticks her off. I’m going to use a loving tone. Okay (deep sigh), I hear her turning her key in the lock.

“Hey baby”

“Heyyy sweetie”

“How was your day?" (He kisses her on the cheek)

“Babe, it was sooooo hard. Before you say anything, I saw on my phone that you were callin me; but I was in meeting after meeting.”

“I was worried though. When you didn’t pick up, I didn’t know if you had been in an accident or something.”

“Somethin? I just told you that I was in meeting after meeting. What are you insinuating?”

“I’m not insinuating. Don’t get defensive. I was just concerned. When a man can’t reach his woman, he gets a little crazy.”

“See. I knew that you would jump to conclusions. You know I have a demanding job. Why can’t you trust me? Look, I ain’t got time for this. I’m going to bed.” (She walks to the bedroom and closes the door. He stands there with his mouth opened in disbelief)

Sound familiar? For some of us, this has been the play by play of what just happened last night. Might not be that your partner, boyfriend or spouse had to work late; but it is still reminiscent of that feeling of what in the world just happened.  For me, it’s the excruciating not-returned phone call. Arggggggghhhhhhh! Sure, it’s true that a person can’t always respond to you immediately. But you do wonder if there is a bigger truth when it's the rule. Hence, today’s blog: don’t let some truth blind you to The Truth.

I’m not trying to turn you into Sherlock Holmes. That’s not my intent. For some of you, what you don’t know won’t hurt you is the way you live your life. If that works for you, I say, fabulous. For me, it hasn’t worked. Trading the truth of my intuition for some other truth has not worked for me. I'd dare say it hasn't worked for some men out there either.  They know that something isn’t right or something doesn’t add up. I’m not certain what makes them dismiss it though. For me and maybe women in general, we don’t like to be lied to.  Words have meaning to us.  If you tell us you love us but your actions say you don’t, we’ll hold on or obsess about it because of what you said.

Now, ladies, before you challenge me on this, I ask you, what is the first thing you say when you are complaining about a man to your girlfriends? You will tell them what he did that bothered you, true; but your sticking point 9 times out of 10 is “but he said.” Your confidante can say to you over and over and over (did I say over?) again that he’s playing with you or that he isn’t a good man. Yet, to all their examples, their wisdom, their feedback, what makes you take his phone call yet again is what he says.

Lest I should sound preachy or over generalizing, I will talk about myself. After all, that’s what blogs are for right? My litmus test is when I begin to complain about something. For those who know me, I’m not a complainer. I’m Suzy Sunshine. Suzy Optimistic. Suzy Social. Okay, you get me. So when I start complaining incessantly that is a blaring indicator that something's off.

I use to be a minister at a local church. It was years ago. I wasn’t the traditional minister – the one who stands in the pulpit and preaches when the pastor is taking a break – but more an altar worker. When the pastor would give the altar call and folks would come up for prayer, I was one of the people who greeted them, listened to what they wished to pray about, and prayed with them. I learned a lot during that time in my life. Though people told me they were encouraged and they were helped by me being a minister, it never rang true for me.

So what were the some truths that allowed me to do it? It seemed important to my then-husband.  That was a biggy.  People told me they were about to give up, commit suicide, at wits end but my prayer was the difference. All that appealed to my ego but it was sooo draining!  So why not just walk away?  I needed to feel that I mattered. Being a minister made me important.  At some deep level, I needed to feel accepted by the church as it were. In my previous blogs about losing my voice, I go into more detail about my upbringing and my growing up in a very rigid church culture. It’s funny to me, or should I say peculiar to me, that I wanted to fit in. Maybe that’s the deeper truth that allowed me to give consent to being a minister. 

Every step from some truth to The Truth was necessary. As time progressed, the need for validation was challenged by discontent. I remember when my aha moment came. I was listening to my then-husband talking to others over the phone about what wasn’t right. This was the umpteenth time. You know, the umpteenth time is when you’ve had or just about had enough of whatever it is that’s going on in your life. It was during this umpteenth time of hearing yet again his complaints about the church, the leadership and what he believed about it all that I heard The Truth. “You don’t belong in this.” That was the truth. It wasn’t just the truth of the moment; it was the truth from the beginning. It's not that I didn’t hear it. I did.  The message got lost in my need for validation.  The Truth got buried under my need to have my husband's approval and to be regarded as spiritual by the church's standards.

Codependence will make you do that. Resist what your gut is telling you and make you second-guess. From the beginning, I told my then-husband that the only reason I wanted to join that particular church was for us to worship together as a family. I felt it was a good place. I told him that I had no desire to serve in any capacity there. I didn’t want to become involved in leadership. I had no agenda. Welllllll, time revealed that my then-husband had other ideas. Soooo, I went along to get along as they say. I saw it as his chance to be acknowledged for the valuable man he was. I saw it as my chance to gain his favor.  Had I been standing in my truth, I would have encouraged him to go on and do what was in his heart while I remained true to myself.

Ohhhh the insidiousness of codependency. It parades around as love for someone else. Putting someone else’s needs above your own. Sacrificing from a God-fearing place. But if you peel that banana back, codependency is grounded in fear and insecurity. It was my need to belong that took center stage. Bottom line: My husband needed to be acknowledged and I needed approval.

When you realize that codependency is behind your tolerance of the intolerable, you stop blaming other people.  Insecurity is the mother of codependency. I just came up with that. Sweeeet. Seriously though, that's the culprit, not the other person.  Two insecure people propping themselves up using each other is my definition of codependency. Why did I sit by the phone until I couldn’t take it anymore and came up with a reason to call him? Insecurity. Why did I consent to being a minister when I didn’t feel a calling to do it? Insecurity. The truth had nothing to do with anybody else but me.

Over the years, I’ve learned that time passes and getting older doesn’t necessarily mean you are getting wiser. What makes us wiser isn’t just life experiences, it’s what those experiences teach us about ourselves. It is The Truth that is uncovered. Every single experience in my life has taught me to stop dismissing The Truth just because there is some truth in what people are saying. An abusive man tells his wife that he knocked her head into the wall because she burned the corn bread. In tears, she admits, “He’s right. I did burn the corn bread.” Certainly, there is some truth to what he said, but the deeper truth is he is abusive. Whether it’s corn bread or simply you breathed today, he’s abusive and that has absolutely nothing to do with you. Even more importantly, your consent has nothing to do with him; something inside of you needs to be healed.

Some truth will keep your eyes shut. I call that denial. The deeper truth will open your eyes to what is going on. I call that illumination. But it takes The Truth to heal those eyes. I call that transformation.  As the Good Book says, "and ye shall know the truth and the truth shall make you free."  Amen!!

Related articles

• Codependency and Church Ministry (drnickmazza.wordpress.com)
• Tackle Insecurities in Relationships, Find Out If You Are Codependent (personalsunitedstates.wordpress.com)
• Codependency (cherished79.wordpress.com)
• Excessive Parental Expectations and Codependency (revdlesley.net)

About Men: Do You Speak Male? | How to Start Dating Again After Divorce | Dating With Children | New Dating Relationships After Separation

About Men: Do You Speak Male? How to Start Dating Again After Divorce Dating With Children New Dating Relationships After Separation

Saved But Lost?

Finding one’s voice is the need of every human being with a pulse. It’s what enables us to communicate with others, to express ourselves, our needs. It's what allows us to connect with others.  We feel understood, acknowledged by others when they get the meaning behind our words.  Entering a space is not enough.  You might not even notice me.  But if I say something, everyone becomes aware that I am in the room.  I am here.
In our home, God was everything. Every feeling, every impulse, every thought, every action was held to what we saw as His Law. It is interesting to me that people congregate around whatever aspect of God is most familiar to them. I’ve seen many a person impose their ego, their upbringing, their beliefs as they quote different passages in the Bible. For a person who grew up in a loving and welcoming environment, the thought of God not listening, not accepting, not loving them is as foreign as hearing another language. So they go to churches that are nondenominational or inclusive. Or they don't go to church at all.  They find communion in the experience of living, loving and serving outside the four walls.  But for folks like me who grew up with a consciousness deep in oppression, the message of God’s Love was seldom heard. For us, a Loving God would punish you if you didn’t obey him. “He chastens those He loves,” we were taught.

It’s no wonder my mom would tell me I didn’t hear from God. Why would God say something different from what our church super culture would think? Why would God tell me something that was no where in the doctrine, the tradition, the Bible as we understood it? After all, the Holiness church believed they were right and anybody who differed was wrong. So wrong in fact that they were going to hell.

I don’t want you to misunderstand my mom. Her goal was not to hurt me or to confuse me. She was protecting me the best way she knew. She was devout in her beliefs about God. He spoke to her. I remember when I was in college and I was having an affair with a married man. I didn’t tell my mother. She told me that God woke her up and told her that someone was taking advantage of me. She demanded that I give her his name. I wouldn’t. Who wants their mother hunting down the man they are crazy about—even if the operative word is crazy? My jaw dropped to the floor when she came back to me and said that God had given her his name. And the name was right.  That's just one of many examples.  So if this woman said that I didn’t hear God’s voice, then in my mind, she had to be right.

Sad for me, however, that was the day that I lost a significant piece of my soul. Growing up, I didn’t feel seen. I didn’t feel like I mattered. But there was the hope that if I kept on talking, if I kept on saying what I felt, if I kept showing up, they’d eventually pay attention. I just needed to get the right mix of words.  I just needed to say it right.  But the day my mom told me I didn’t hear from God, the light of hope went out. I went from feeling like God saw me, heard me and I really truly undeniably mattered to him to...nothing. I was lost.

The whole premise of salvation is that Jesus died so that we wouldn’t be lost. To accept him as your Savior was to…well…be saved. Saved from what though? As a child, saved meant saved from going to hell. It was simple. God, heaven; the devil, hell. If you didn’t get saved, you’d go to hell. For me, living saved was HARD. Everything that delighted me, excited me, everything I wanted to do was of the devil. Sin, they called it. I wanted to sin. That’s why it was so important that I get filled with the Holy Ghost. It was the spirit of God who gave us power to conquer that desire to sin. Without it, you weren’t sealed. You were vulnerable and unprotected against the devil without the protection the Holy Ghost provided. This is how I saw it and heard it as a child.

What do you do? What do you do when you try to do right but you keep comin up short? What do you do? What do you do when your innocence, your vulnerability is mishandled and the truest, most honest part of you goes into hiding because it is no longer safe? What do you do? I couldn’t imagine my life without God. It was more than the fear of going to hell. God was everything. To not have God was like dying. I soooo wanted Him to love me, to accept me, to approve of me…..to speak to me. I needed help. I wasn’t getting this saved thing right. Nothing I did worked. If I danced in church, I was wrong because it wasn’t pure praise. Pure praise was when the spirit would make you do the holy dance. If I prayed and begged God to take the sin away, it was futile. I kept wanting to sin so that meant I wasn’t getting through to Him. If I went to the altar to receive the Holy Spirit, I was denied. Had to be, cause everybody else would speak in tongues but not me. I’d just cry.

I was lost. How can you be saved but lost? Makes no sense.  It's like an oxymoron.  How can you be claimed but lost?  Singing in the choir, lost. Lifting my hands and crying as I worshipped, lost. Going to revival after revival, church meeting after church meeting, lost. Smiling, lost. Straight A student, lost. I looked the same. I acted the same. Nobody around me knew it. I was high functioning and just as animated.  Still, I was lost. I wasn't enough.  As I sit here, typing on this laptop, I know that the whole point of my journey from that point to this has been about reclaiming what was lost—me.

A Voice Lost

Do you speak your truth? Do you speak up and say what you have to say? Do people know what you think and who you are?


If someone were to ask you who Suzette is, could you tell them? Have I talked the talk and walked the walk authentic to who I am and what I believe? As I look back over my life, where I am is a far cry from where I use to be. What a journey! This morning, my sister and I revisited pivotal moments that beckoned me towards my purpose. Come to think of it, I’m not sure why she called cause I pretty much took over the conversation…lol. Oh Lord! Most folks who know me would say “yep, that’s what you do.” What can I say?

They say that what you are called to do has a lot to do with what you have had to overcome in life. For some, their purpose is revealed in conquering some fear, some trauma, some insecurity. Those vulnerable times in our lives where we were not handled correctly. Someone molested as a child may find purpose in foster parenting. They may feel called to keep other children safe. To provide a high risk child with a home, a family, and a healthy environment in which to grow and thrive.

I grew up a church child. I laughingly tell folks that I might have been born in church! Tongue-speaking, falling out in the floor, holy dancing church. I use to love to sit beside my Grandma Cannon. She’d always wear high heels and I’d love to hear those heels rhythmically tapping against the hard wood church floor synchronized with her double clapping. I’d try so hard to get my short legs to the floor and double clap with my Grandma. So much has changed. Or maybe I should say so much has been revealed. Yeah, that’s a better recollection for the beliefs of those I grew up with and the church culture I was raised in was never ever fully shared by me.

I’m sure that comes as a surprise to many who heard me and my sisters sing at YPHA’s and other church meetings. For those who I praised beside, sang in the choir with and shared a dorm room with during the Sunday School Convention or some other summer church retreat. We were considered those "sangin" Randolph Sisters--well-behaved “good girls.” We were from a Christian home. What nobody knew was that I questioned e-v-e-r-y-t-h-i-n-g. Nothing I was taught about God made sense. So many contradictions. Wearing earrings, makeup and pants were forbidden. When I’d ask why, I was either accused of being rebellious, stubborn or someone would turn to the Old Testament and point out that the women took off their gold earrings to make the golden calf. Orrrr that the Bible said that women weren’t to wear anything pertaining to a man. “What that got to do with now?,” I’d ask.

I was very in tune with my feelings back then. It simply didn’t ring true, so I had a hard time accepting their explanations. Like many parents whose children ask why, why, why, my mom and dad would get irritated with my persistence and pull that "because I said so" card. I was reprimanded harshly for challenging the traditions, the beliefs, the doctrine, the contradictions. If it wasn’t my mom and dad, it was in the testimonies at church or the fire and brimstone sermons.

You’d have thought I would have shut my mouth or retreated inside myself. Not me! I can’t remember a time that I stopped talking. I chuckle when I think about it. Instead of getting quieter, I would become more debating. I would come from another angle cause it just didn’t make sense! I would point things out that nobody wanted to hear. My parents believed that when grown folks were talking, children weren’t suppose to join in. It was considered disrespectful. I learned to stop doing that, but trust me when I say I’d revisit the matter when guests left and it was just us.

What folks don’t know is that there were two things constantly on my mind. Maybe it was because these two things were preached about repeatedly. I already mentioned one, wearing makeup, jewelry and pants. The other was speaking in tongues as evidence that you’ve received the Holy Spirit. I know for some of you, this is foreign. You didn’t grow up in church or the church you attended was nothing like what I am describing. You’re probably glad. Nonetheless, maybe you had a different belief. Every religious practice has some oddity, some belief or practice that you struggle with. Concerned about my two things, I asked my mom for answers. She said to me, “You saved (born again) ain’t you?” “Yes,” I said. “Then God will speak to you.”

God speaking to me? This was difficult for me to comprehend given that up until that time I had no clue what God’s voice sounded like. Folks in church would always say “God said this,” or “God said that” but he won’t sayin NOTHIN to me. “You go in your room and you pray until you hear from God. Don’t you come out until He’s spoken to you,” my mom said firmly.

What happened that day changed my life forever. I sat in the middle of the floor and matter of factly told God I was having a haaard time. I told Him how much I wanted to please Him but I was having difficulty with the dressing thing and with the Holy Ghost thing. I cried and told him that I didn’t want to be rebellious. I didn’t want to be sinful. Cleanse me. In the midst of my self-abasing, my penitent regurgitations modeled after those prayers I heard my mom and dad pray or the older people at Friday night prayer meeting, God spoke to me. I can’t explain how I knew it was Him but somehow I knew. It wasn’t an audible voice like someone was in the room with me. Rather, it was a profound realization that was so intense that it spoke to me.  It spoke to the real me and I felt validated. 

He was direct. To my concerns about pants, jewelry and makeup, He said simply, “I don’t care what you wear. I just want your heart.” What about the Holy Ghost? After all, I was told you had to tarry until you are “endued with power from on high.” God’s answer made every hair on my body stand at attention. “The Holy Ghost is my gift. I give it whatever way I want to.” I was startled. I never ever expected God to say that. It was so different from anything I had ever heard….EVER. And as if He wanted to leave no doubt, He said, “Don’t put me in a box. I’m too big for that.” For the first time in my life, it rang true inside of me. I ran out of the room with tears streaming down my face, gasping because I had actually heard from God. God, the one I had only heard could talk, actually talked to me!!!

I ran to my Mom. “What did God say?,” she asked with anticipation. I’ll never ever forget the power of that moment. It was like God had shared a secret with me, a piece of Himself that nobody else knew, and I was soooo excited to share it with my mom. Imagine my excitement in telling my mom, my spiritual giant, my spiritual authority of all things God. Imagine me telling her exactly what God said. And her response? Wait for it...wait for it.  “Baby, you need to go back. God wouldn’t have told you that.”

That was the day...the hour...the moment when I lost my voice.

Toxic Relationships: True Love Doesn’t Make You Suffer

How do you know whether a relationship is toxic or you're just going through a temporary difficulty? There is no clear-cut answer, but true love doesn't make you suffer. When you reveal your truest vulnerability, you don't want to have to teach Empathy 101 to your partner.  You want to feel okay even in your not okayness.

Who decided that not being able to sleep, losing your appetite and not being able to concentrate meant you are falling in love?  In love, out of love, nobody to love didn't matter.  When I felt like that, it meant I was anxious or obsessing about something.  Love should never make you feel bad inside.  I believe that society and the media has promoted a very unreal representation:  if you aren't suffering emotionally you aren't truly in love. Love doesn't make you lose your sensibilities.  Love does not make you accept being treated poorly.  Love doesn't make you sit by the phone for hours or make you drive to her apartment in a jealous rage to see who she's with. "Love doesn't hurt.  Love is a safe place to be."  I agree with you Oprah.

I'll be the first to admit that I've not been the most loving or the most loveable to folks I claimed to love.  I've blamed, shamed, accused and judged in anger.  Certainly, most of my reactions and behaviors were learned.  But there comes a point where you put away childish things.  It's childish to lose your temper or attack someone verbally.  Proof of maturity is one's ability to control his own tongue.  His own actions.  His own thoughts.  Love is spiritual. It is not born of Ego.

Love is perfect.  People aren't.  That's where the suffering comes to play.  People are flawed.  Think about it.  Loving someone doesn't hurt.  It's when we can't set appropriate boundaries or when we can't let go of seeking validation from that person.  It's our need for things to be different.  Perhaps even a little denial that gets us stuck.  Hurt feelings.  An unmet expectation.  An inability to move beyond the past.  The need for answers, for closure, for revenge.  All these things make us suffer.  I am not suggesting that we are robots.  All I am saying is we need to call it what it is.  Love is not what's making us suffer.  Need perhaps, but not love.  India Aire is one of my favorite Neo Soul artist; however, I don't agree with her lyrics when she sings, "Love made a fool of me.  Tell  me why."

I remember a very stressful time in my life.  My son was probably around 3 years old.  I was a single parent, living from paycheck to paycheck.  My credit card was about maxed out from taking up the slack when rent was due.  I was struggling to make ends meet.  Life was overwhelming!  I snapped at my son if he did the slightest thing.  When I did, a piece of his self esteem would fall to the floor.  I felt guilty and remorseful sometimes.  At others, I convinced myself that he was deserving of my actions because of what he did.   

This went on longer than I think it should have.  My son started saying stuff like, "I'll be good mommy so you won't get mad."  "I'm sorry, mommy, I'll be good."  He was starting to blame himself for my irritability.  Well, one day after I gave him a pretty severe verbal whipping, I heard a voice rise from within me.  It was firm.  "Don't you apologize to him not one more time if you're not gonna change."  Stopped me dead in my tracks.  I realized that I was wrong and began to ask God to help me.  That same voice said, "What can you do?"  I began to consider the resources at my disposal, one being family counseling.  I made the call. 

I understand that it's almost impossible to be in your 40's or older without baggage.  Whether you share a child with an ex, are caring for a sick parent, are still trying to dig yourself out post-divorce, have mounting medical issues, we got something that has to be managed.  A dear friend of mine and I examined and discussed this at length.  Yes, there may be external issues but there shouldn't be internal issues.  The baggage shouldn't be emotional baggage.  At some point, we have to make our peace with stuff we've been through.  

I've heard single men and women ask, "where are all the good men?"  "Where are all the good women?"  To this I say, you have to be the change you want to see in others.  How in the world do you think you are even remotely ready for a relationship when you can't get out of your own head?  "I have standards," you might argue.  I challenge this.  What most folks say is their standard is nothing more than an ideal.  Pure and simple.  Ideals are self-serving and not grounded in what really matters.  Standards, on the other hand, are substantive.  They are best expressed in our values and our character.  Values like love of family and country.  Values like respecting womanhood or honoring manhood.  Values like being a person of your word.  The ideal man may be the one who wines and dines you.  Standards however make you look at what's behind his behavior.  If he is only doing it to impress you or obligate you to have sex with him, then that's manipulative.  If she's only dating you to get her light bill paid, that's extortion.

Life is a reflection of who we are.  If we can't find a good relationship partner, then what part are we playing?  I had to ask myself that.  What was I doing that kept bringing me what I didn't want?  Many of us were taught that it was our ability to accomodate a man's needs that made us marriageable.  That might have worked back in the day, but men and women are in a different place now.  So what if you can cook, go to church, have a great job or look good.  That's not enough to experience true love and a committed partner.  Are you open and have a good spirit about you?  Are you warm and genuine to those whom you date or are you a critic?  Do you believe that a good man or good woman would want you?  What you believe about yourself and the energy that you put out is what needs your attention not another tip on how to better market yourself.  I don't know who said it, but it is true.  We attract what we believe we deserve. 

I Am Still. I Am Open. I Am Listening.

Upon awakening this morning, I decided to roll over from my side-sleeping position to laying on  my back.  Normally, I would immediately begin to talk to God:  Good morning, thank you for another day and praying in a pondering-type fashion whatever came to my mind.  This morning was different.  I remembered Kathy Freston, the author of Quantum Wellness, saying that one of the pillars to wellness is getting still.  Taking time out of your busy day--just a minute--to quiet and get centered. This unction, if you will, meshed with the mantras Iyanla Vanzant led participants in Oprah's Friday Live Webcast to repeat after they asked for help with stuck places in their lives.  Lying in bed, I tried different ones that I recalled; but something fresh rose out of me:  I am still.  I am open.  I am listening.  When I breathed in deeply and exhaled, these words lifted me out of myself. Out of my agenda.

I am still.  Rather than launching into reflection or meditating on the highs and lows of my life, I decided to still myself.  To settle into the moment of just waking.  I am alive.  I am here.  It's a blessing.

I am open.  I'll admit that it's easy to bring an agenda to praying.  Lord, help me with this. Lord I need that.  But this time, I decided to let God lead.  That Wiser part of me.  I am open.  I am not expecting something to happen.  I am not seeking relief or release.  I am just open to whatever.  I have no expectations of this moment.  No preconceptions.  I will not judge, try to legislate or even hold myself or God to any ideal or construct.

I am listening.  I am attentive to what my body is doing.  My breathing.  I am allowing my mantra to go from my mind to soaking into every part of me.  Everytime I say these words aloud or hear them in my head, I feel them sinking deeper and deeper.  Not only do I hear what's bothering me--things I have used busyness to avoid--but I am not intimidated.  I am still.  I am open.  I... am... listening.

As I moved from a posture of stillness, openness and attentiveness to embodying it, I became aware of a thought I had tried to ignore.  Nonetheless, it was persisting.  I felt my inner light dim with the negativism of that thought.  I had never noticed that before.  I also became conscious of how allowing that thought was robbing me of the joy and gratitude I felt before the thought came.  I was intrigued.  Maybe I was more sensitive due to all the Life Class work I had been doing, still I was glad that I recognized the toxic nature of that thought. When I realized it didn't fit my core values or the person I am or what I wanted my takeaway to be, I felt my breathing in and out take on a purpose.  I took in a d-e-e-p breath. "I inhale Light," said the voice of my Enlightenment. I let the breath go.  "I exhale darkness."  I breathe in what's good for me.  I breathe out what's toxic. 

I saw it for what it was.  My ego.  My ego wanting to control what other people did.  My ego trying to villify them for not meeting my expectations.  "See," it said, trying to make someone else pay for my own insecurity.  That is what the ego does.  It seeks to avoid being responsible for itself by blaming something or someone else.  I am reminded that I am in control of what I allow to affect me.  And when I say I, I am talking about the real me.  The spiritual part of me.  The conscious me.  The loving me.  In stillness, my insecurity masquerading as ego usurping itself as a persistent thought was exposed, expelled and I felt the warmth, the joy and the love, that is me, restored.  

Straight Wives: Coming Out Of The Closet

When was that article? Was it 1998, 1999 or even the year 2000? Lemme try to piece this together. I was living at Hunters Meadow at the time. My husband excitedly told me that Essence Magazine was going to be calling to interview us. “Why?” I asked. “They are doing an article about men who use to be gay but are now married and happy.” Hummmm, I thought. On the surface, I was excited; but inside, I was a little apprehensive. It was true that by all extents and purposes one would call my marriage successful. After all, I was living in a $365,000 home, we owned our own business and worked from home, we had four cars. Yep, we were what a friend of ours called The Jeffersons.


A part of me didn’t really believe what my husband was saying, but it really happened. A writer from Essence magazine identified herself on the other end of the call and asked me a series of questions about my life. I can’t remember her exact questions but I do know that she didn’t ask anything that caused alarm. She basically asked leading questions, to which I responded with a yes or no. If I were to be completely honest, I didn’t feel quite right; it seemed too contrived.

Imagine my horror when the magazine came out and it was about men on the down low. Absolutely puzzled, I read more. It was telling women that perhaps we need to stop putting labels on love. That there are men out there who are good men. They are straight men. They really love their women. They just enjoy having sex with other men. It went on to explain how men are wired differently than women. Basically, sex is simply a drive for them and they can have sex with a man but it doesn't bond him.  That bond is saved for his woman. But here’s the coup de grace (ku-de-gra): at the end it talked about Tyrone from North Carolina and how he was having a successful marriage. I just about hit the roof! It read like he was proof that one could be on the down low and have a successful marriage. I confronted my husband and asked him what in the world this was. He acted as if he was surprised too. He said he had been misled.

This is one of the myriad of ways that Straight Wives live a life in the closet. On the surface, our lives are pristine. We are model citizens. We are God-fearing. We look the part of the model family. The house, the children, the friends. Our husbands might even behave very affectionately with us and appear to be taking immaculate care of us. But ohhhhhh behind closed doors. Detached. Distant. Cold.
It wasn’t until I was sent a link to the blog radio show where I appeared as a guest that I realized a part of me was still in the closet. I haven’t told my son was my first thought. Up until now, my son and I had not fully discussed his father. Certainly, when he was around 7 years old, he asked his dad if he was gay. Unbeknownst to us, he and his cousins had discussed this while we were away burying my father. The kids had already attended the funeral and we didn’t feel they needed the added stress of going to the burial. I remember his exact words. “So dad, are you gay or not?,” he asked him outright. His dad told him that he had been gay a long time ago but God had delivered him from that. That he loved his mother and he loved him.

That was my son’s truth and my truth in that moment. Little did I know that the days, weeks, months and years following would reveal the exact opposite. Now this truth was staring me in my face. The truth that was shared on the radio show. The truth I had shielded my son from for all these years. It was now staring me in my face. Before I share the link to the radio show, I have to tell him.

You may think I was wrong to not tell him for all these years. Maybe, maybe not. Under normal circumstances, parents don’t disclose what goes on in their bedroom with their children. It has nothing to do with heterosexuality or homosexuality. We answer their questions, hopefully age-appropriately, and we add more as their maturity and understanding warrants it. I remember riding in the car with our son, now middle school age, and I casually said something about his dad’s gay past. My son’s reaction surprised me.  He was so alarmed as if he was hearing it for the very first time.  I asked him if he remembered the conversation we had when he was younger but he was so stunned it was to no avail. After that, I knew that this was a subject I’d have to put on the shelf. 

I don’t regret my decision. I wanted for my son the privilege of discovering his own is-ness, his own orientation, and to settle into his own personhood. I wanted him to come into his own sense of self apart from me and apart from his dad. As I consider this, I realize too I needed more time. I needed to go through a cleansing process, a healing process -- from lost to found -- before I was ready to share this part of my journey.

Though the details aren't pretty, I hope that your takeway is grace. Grace to forgive.  Grace to release.  Grace to live.  Grace to do it all again and again until you to take back your own Life and are standing in your own Light. Just because something happened to you, doesn’t mean it defines you. You choose.  When you realize that, no closet can hold you.

To listen to the radio show, go to the site at http://www.blogtalkradio.com/search/straight-wives-talk-show/ and select the date of October 16, 2011.

Stop Regretting A Decision You’ve Made

I swear I thought I just read this statement; yet riffling through the online pages of Martha Beck’s Oprah Magazine article, “Who’s Sorry Now: Six Ways to Regret-Proof Your Life,” I can’t find it.  Please, not yet another senior moment!  I dunno maybe it was the need to get to the bottom line as I woefully saw that her article was 6 pages long.  [Note to self:  make sure your articles don’t intimidate the readers by being too doggone long!]

 I believe that unforgiveness is what keeps you in a state of regret.  Not so much what other people think, but what you think about it.  Maybe it’s because it hurt the people you loved, sabotaged some potential good or crushed some possibility in your life.  Or contrariwise, you feel like the victim.  You feel, as I did, that someone took advantage of you.  You felt humiliated.  You felt like the laughing stock or the brunt of someone's pathetic joke.  Well, let today be the day you take yourself off the hook.

Though Martha says regret can be good or bad, I would have to say that it’s time to stop regretting and count it as life experience.  “If you had known better, you would have done better.”  It’s true.  If I had known what I know now, I wouldn’t have made some of the decision I made.  So, it’s futile to punish yourself for what you didn’t know. 

But what if you did know.  “I did it anyway,” you might agonize.  To this, I say let's examine what the word know means.  To know something is to comprehend it fully.  I ask you, how can you comprehend something fully without experience or an unexplainable knowing from a Wiser part of yourself?"  For whatever reason, it was something that you, I repeat YOU, had to know.  Now, you can beat yourself up for that or you can embrace it for what it was.   In the words of Dr. Robin Smith, author of Lies At the Altar, a compelling book about marital vows and our lack of readiness to make such promises, “How we grow—emotionally, spiritually, relationally, financially—is to take a risk.”

This brings to mind a spiritual belief I have as a person of faith.  I believe my steps are ordered by a Higher Consciousness (whom I adoringly call God) who has a plan for my life.  Hence, I can’t make a wrong decision.  I know that’s hard for some people to swallow, but think about it.  If God is all-knowing--He knows our thoughts even afar off, we belong to Him and nothing about us escapes his watchful eye--then even our mistakes are approved.  In fact, there is purpose in them.  November 2006, I wrote the article “Perfectionism: A Life Without Flaw.”  It starts out with this statement.  “I am where I am because I made the perfect decision to get me here.”  Now, that’s a dope (brilliant) line if I have to say so myself.  Most important, it dispels the belief that you are a victim. 

Lest, I should do as my fellow writer Martha Beck and write a 6-pager, I will bring this to a close.  Besides, I need to get my butt in gear and get about my day-to-day.  I believe that regret only has the power that you give it.  You can use that power to whip yourself and deem other people’s recollection as a scarlet letter you’ll have to wear with shame for the rest of your life or you can use your power of reinvention.  The Bible calls it redemption.   In other words, “when life throws you a lemon, make lemonade.”  I don’t know coined that phrase, but we quote it as if Moses had it written on one of his tablets. 

It is necessary that you morph your regret into hope.  Search through the rubble and find something useful.  Let it inspire you to be better for it.  More human.  Less judgemental.  To be a catalyst for change, take that regret and make something out of it that serves humanity in some way.  There's a greater good out there that's counting on your arrival.

Related articles

• How to Tune In to the Voice Within Martha Beck explains how to ignore the racket and understand how you really feel. By Martha Beck Read more: http://www.oprah.com/spirit/Finding-Your-Inner-Voice-Developing-Intuition-Martha-Beck (naiskita.wordpress.com)

What Do I Believe?

It was in the 1990’s.  It was a hot summer day.  I was walking from my car to the Burroughs Wellcome building that was now part of Glaxo Wellcome, Inc.  It was a stone walkway littered with duck feathers and duck poop.  I had made this walk day after day for several months to a job I had grown to hate.  But there was something different about today’s walk.  As I walked, trying to dodge the poop for the umpteenth time, I heard a voice.  It wasn’t like that big God voice.  Rather, it was a knowing that pulsated from someone deep within me and it rang in my consciousness.  “One day, you will be making this walk for the last time.”  That’s what I heard.  It didn’t come from my discontent with a horrible job.  It came from a Wiser place inside of me that knew before I did that I would be leaving and told me so.

This doesn’t happen often, but it has happened at pivotal times in my life.  It’s like something inside stands up in me despite how I am feeling or the load I am carrying and declares something bigger than that moment.  Oprah often says that God’s dream for you is always bigger than the one you have for yourself.  As I reflect on my life, that has been true time and time again.  I hear something rising up in me again.  It is a voice within my voice and it’s speaking to my very existence.  Another leaving is on the horizon.

I believe that I am a writer.  I AM a writer.  When Oprah, in Lesson 3 of her Life Class spoke about being a writer, it sounded like she was talking directly to the purpose within me.  I have a voice that is amplified when I write.  I need to write.  It’s bigger than me.  It’s bigger than being a New York Times Bestseller.  It’s bigger than becoming a household name.  My gift is to edify.  Everything I do, everything I say, my very approach to life, my very heart beats freedom.  Freedom from every bondage.  Freedom from every box that constricts who we really are.  Freedom from every lie that distorts our true value.  Freedom from ego, from anger, from fear that says you can’t be, you can’t have, you can’t do.  Freedom to be the image of God that exists in all humanity.    

I know that most folks reminisce about the Randolph Sisters.  I’m humbled and extremely reverent when someone I don’t know was paying attention remembers when we use to sing together as a girl group or when we played for a church choir or when I led praise and worship at Freedom Temple Church.  Those were days that I remember with fondness.  I am grateful that so many people were encouraged, touched and changed by our music and the presence of God that flowed through it.  But one has to know when a season is over and let go.  If I were moving in ego, I would be lamenting that those days are over.  I would limit God to one mode, one movement, one expression.  I would long for the attention and even the celebrity that it brought me in my community and my church affiliation.  Writing, on the other hand, is not born of that.  I don’t do it for the paycheck or for the attention.  I don’t do it for the validation.  Writing is my heart song.

What I hear in that knowing place is that I must write.  It is not an option; it is a calling.  First of all, writing liberates my spirit.  It helps me to get centered and to gain perspective.  One could say that I need to write for myself just as much as others need to read what I write.  It’s therapeutic.  It’s illuminating.  There are times that I write my own answer, liberate my own heart, get direction for my own life as I write. 

Many people don’t know that I lost myself.  I went from a outspoken youth to a scared shadow of myself.  I was too codependent to speak out my feelings and perceptions freely.  I was so afraid of being wrong that I’d often accept someone else’s truth as more important than my own.  If someone objected or had a stronger opinion, my sense of self diminished and I became disoriented and lose my way.  I’m sooooo glad that the God of all grace wouldn’t let me stay in that state.  He brought me answers through books and allowed me to express my own thoughts through journaling.   He made room for me.

I know it’ll surprise some people that it wasn’t my upbringing or my religious beliefs that freed me.  It wasn’t saying the sinners prayer at the age of 7 years old.  It wasn't being in deliverance worship services or having hands laid on me.  Because I experienced so much dysfunction in a “Christian” atmosphere, the church, for me, inflicted more suffering than freedom from suffering.  More bondage.   More confusion.   I lamented that I wasn’t good enough.  I spent countless hours on the altar, repenting for being me.  Repenting that I wasn’t like those around me who told me I should be like them.  In hindsight, my suffering wasn’t due to God’s opinion but more the opinions of the church community who couldn’t accept me as me.  Lest I should throw out the baby with the bathwater, I must clarify that the organized church is a place where I can still find refuge and draw strength.  But the saving of my lost soul didn’t happen in a church.  It happened while I was alone:  reading Love Is A Choice, Finding My Way Home, Adult Children of Alcoholics, Codependent No More, Feel The Fear and Do It Anyway.   It happened as I talked with God about the principles that rang true for me.  It was reinforced when I’d hear Oprah and Iyanla and other fellow seekers singing my heart song.  I realized that I wasn’t tainted or marred.  There was someone else in the world who saw things as I did and I no longer felt like an alien.  Slowly and surely, I began to see my own North Star.  And I began to follow that star home.  Home to my authentic soul.  Home to God’s Image inside me as me. 

I don’t know where writing will lead or the doors it will open.  All I know is that I sense a shift coming.  I have something valuable to offer to others.  I am convinced of it.  My Wise Self is saying the same words that Peter said to the lame man in Acts 3:6: “Silver and gold have I none; but such that I have give I thee: In the name of Jesus Christ of Nazareth rise up and walk.”  Someone out there has been crippled by life and is waiting to receive strength in their ankles.  I don’t have a nationally syndicated talk show like Oprah.  I don’t have a string of New York Best Sellers like Iyanla.  But I do have that “such that I have.”  And my purpose is to share it.