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.
Wednesday, December 7, 2011
Sunday, December 4, 2011
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.
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.
Friday, December 2, 2011
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!
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!
Wednesday, November 30, 2011
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!!
“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!!
Thursday, November 17, 2011
Thursday, November 10, 2011
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.
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.
Wednesday, November 9, 2011
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.
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.
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