The Year 2012 didn’t prompt me to make any resolutions. I even tuned inward to see if I could detect something resonating from my soul as to what it needed in this new year. Nothing. Unexpectedly though, with the 3rd day of January of the new year came a heightened awareness of one thing - energy. The energy that I share and the energy I allow in my space. I think it was Oprah that said that you determine what energy you will allow in your life. Maybe it’s a over-50 thing, but now that I’m 52, something inside is requiring that I raise the bar.
I have to own my own energy. I can no longer hold other people responsible for how I feel or choose to feel. They might evoke feelings but they aren’t the origin of them. It is true that as a human being – and a woman – life evokes many types of feelings. Feelings of delight. And conversely, feelings of displeasure. I can tolerate some things only to a point and many times I am not aware that I am tolerating them. But my insides always know: when I reach my saturation point, the alarm goes off.
We are the managers of our energy. Naw, this ain’t some psychobabble or an Oprahism. It’s real talk. If what I was saying wasn’t so then you wouldn’t be affected by the energy around you. Take what happened to me over the weekend, for example. A fellow employee did something that left me feeling indescribably put upon. Behind closed doors, I relayed my displeasure about it. The aha moment for me, however, came as I was walking to my boss’ office and as I was leaving. No one would have known that I was as pissed as I was. It wasn’t because I was suppressing it. I just wasn’t filled with it. Wow! Before I went to a relationship coach, hunny, e’erbody in that office would have known that something was wrong with Suzette. But I was more poised and I became aware of it in that moment. At some level, I respected those around me and decided I wasn’t going to soil them. It would have been as unfair to them.
That was an aha moment for me. Cause my upset was big. The employee had crossed a line that I am very protective of. Nothing harassing or anything like that, but a boundary nonetheless.
Proves my point: people are the executors of their energy. You know Newton’s Law that says energy is neither lost nor destroyed, it is just passed from one person to another. Yep, I’m paraphrasing it a bit but the truth of that law is still very much in tact. We pass our energy all the time. When I’m filled with love and joy and optimism, those around me feel it. Some might reject it cause they don’t want to feel any differently than they do. Others however receive it and it fills them. That’s when people say to you, “Man, I feel so much better.”
The converse is also true. I have friends and associates that, at times, are filled with so much negative energy that I have to put limits on their time in my space. Shoot, I have to refuel! This is the perfect segway into my second point: I decide the energy that I allow into my space. That’s not anybody else’s call but mine.
In the case of my fellow employee, he was upset about a matter and even in his text, I could feel the distress and the panic. Not the kind of energy I wanted at that time. Had it been while I was at work, I think I would have allowed it; but he decided to get my cell number --from where, I have no idea --and text me at 11 something at night--New Year's Eve--and again at 1-something in the morning. And not just any morning, mind you; but New Year’s Day! Did I say New Year’s Day?! To say I was PISSED is an understatement.
Of course, he calmed down and I found an apologetic email upon my return to work; but in that moment, I made the decision that I couldn’t accept his apology as-is. He had crossed the line on this wayyyyyy beyond what was the normal culture of our job. I don’t think anyone in their right mind would have done what he did unless the house was burning and I was laying asleep inside, okay?! So, not okay.
Now, this is where I saw maturity in me and a whole lot of grace. Just because I was upset about what he did, didn’t mean he meant me any ill-will. He was obviously distressed and panicked. Before I started seeing a relationship coach, I would have ratched this up to a personal affront—him being the enemy-- which meant annihilate him! But to do that would be very arrogant on my part. We have all lost it at some time or another and the last thing we need is to be verbally thrashed. My, li’l Suzette has grown!
Notwithstanding, I had to honor my feelings too. There are times when you have to let someone know that what they did wasn’t okay and you should be able to tell them why. Sure he was apologizing but his apology was based in his own psyche. Not necessarily the same as mine. My internal barometer required that I use this as a teachable moment.
I believe I handled him with respect and appreciation for how he was feeling. I started by telling him that I hope this gets resolved and that I and our employer would help if it didn’t. I also let him know that I understand how frustrating it is to do what you’re asked to do but things get worse instead of better. I truly appreciated that he was upset and rightly so. Now the teachable moment: next time wait until I’m back in the office.
Trust, I wanted to light into him like nobody’s business. I had to rewrite my email to him and tweak it quite a few times before sending it, in fact. But again, it comes down to being responsible for my energy. What purpose would it have served had I told him off? I said what I needed to say. I honored me without dishonoring him. That’s that. Keep it movin!
Wednesday, January 4, 2012
Thursday, December 22, 2011
Changing My Experience of It
Image via WikipediaSomehow 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!
Monday, December 19, 2011
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.
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.
Friday, December 16, 2011
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.
Sunday, December 11, 2011
A Drama-free Holiday
Image via WikipediaWhy 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.
Wednesday, December 7, 2011
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.
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.
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.
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