Men -vs- man

It has been a topic of conversation for at least as long as I have been alive. Before I knew what the words meant, I was singing along to songs that ingrained a message to catchy beats, clever lyrics and soul-touching passion. I eavesdropped on conversations that my elders had and learned a refrain that I have seen in more songs, more online arguments, and heard in many more conversations, a refrain I chose to release. What refrain?

Men ain’t sh*t.

Many times it is much easier to generalize than to be specific. From generalizations we are able to make rules that give a semblance of order and foster a sense of control to the world we live in. For example, we tell young children not to talk to strangers and often have to console them when they are hesitant to talk to people they don’t know that include family or friends. It is easier to introduce the exception rather than to make a rule so specific that it is hard to explain and hard to remember.

Perhaps that is why it is easier to make “ain’t sh*t” men the rule rather than the exception. Women who are happily coupled with men who are an exception are still able to join in this refrain, a rallying cry for women who have been wronged by men…or specifically, an individual woman who has been wronged by an individual man.

In a recent conversation with a dear friend, we discussed an unexpected ending to a would-be “fairy-tale ending” to a courtship: Man and Woman were friends, Man proclaimed his love for Woman to anyone who would listen, Woman agreed to date man and man became distant. Man went from calling often to feeling crowded and needing his space. A woman to Woman moment happened when a phone call revealed Man tried to sleep with woman (see what I did there?). I listened my friend be angry, and then I listed to that anger, fear and distrust transfer itself to doubt about the man who was courting her. It was in that moment that I realized the potential damage we do when we make rules to keep ourselves safe.

Can we truly allow ourselves to fall in love if we are always waiting for the proverbial shoe to drop? If we as women or men who love men convince ourselves that they are not capable of receiving and reciprocating our love…then what are we doing when we say we want to be in a loving romantic relationship? Are we setting ourselves up to be unsuccessful, to live in a world where we meet men who show us that we are right?

I offer this as an alternative; take each man for an individual. Live outside of the rules and meet that man where he is. If he, through his own efforts, shows you he ain’t sh*t, let that be a label for him and him alone. Name the ain’t sh*t man instead of making men the boogeyman. Listen to that voice that tells you when something is wrong.  Be willing to separate fear from truth, to be courageous and gamble at the risk of great reward.

I know that this in and of itself is not easy, because it means conversations with yourself and conversations with friends and family must change. It means revising both how you show up and what you tolerate from a man in courtship and relationship. The change will start with you and continue from there.

Good luck.



For all the people who believe a mirror shows you who you are

I have always had difficulty with the idea that a person can come in your life to be a mirror. More than anything, I think it is because of how I thought a mirror works.I always known a mirror reflected you back to you, that you looked in a mirror and saw yourself. What I know now is that – in the case of people – that is not the whole truth.A mirror reverses images from front to back…which means your reflection is shown backwards. When you look at yourself in a mirror, you never see yourself the way other people see you.

It took a conversation with a friend for me to really wrap my head around what this meant, and by conversation I mean being a 3rd party to a presently unfolding interaction between herself and an ex. I will share some background, because I think it helps to clarify the point.

My friend was in a relationship. While she may have had reason to believe the relationship was not exclusive, she had held more hope that is was. She elevated his good deeds over his not-so-good deeds. She remembered things, focused more of her attention on things like surprise get aways more strongly than him not asking about occurrences or people he should have asked about. This might have gone on indefinitely, might still be going on if not for her being surprised by another woman while in the bed of the man she loved.

She left, time passed. She grew…older, wiser, spiritually and more in love with herself. She moved from judgement to discernment, moved from mourning the relationship to recognizing it as an important stepping stone to embracing the woman she wanted to become. And then, to he came back. First, it was fairly innocuous. There were sporadic texts or Facebook messages to say hey, or liking Facebook posts. Then there were real attempts to have conversation, see how she was doing. Because she is a gracious woman, because she is loving woman, because she is human and because he didn’t go away despite being asked to and being blocked she made the time to listen to what he had to say. He weaved a tale of woe and deceit featuring himself as the victim. He regaled her with tales of how he had changed and how he wanted the opportunity to show her just how much he had. He reminded her of the happier times they had shared and promised her that they could be things of the present and the future if she were willing to give him another chance. In her response, she taught me what a mirror truly is.

She looked him in his eyes and shared with him the otherside -or the underside- of the relationship they shared. She told him that she had been in a relationship where she willingly played blind because of how she thought relationships had to be.She told him that she realized the part she had played and that in this new understanding of herself she was both unwilling and unable to play that part again.  She told him that though she had found forgiveness, she thought too much of herself to try to be in a relationship with someone who had so grossly undervalued her worth.

Metaphysically, mirrors reflect Truth. They show what is. We don’t always – and it may be more true to say we don’t often – fully acknowledge truth in the moment. Usually retrospect helps us to distinguish a Truth that fully reveals itself across several moments in several relationships. It could be because we are in denial because Truth shows us something we would rather not know about ourselves. It could because of  fear the work that goes into making the change to become who we want to be, the people we may lose, the relationships we may have to redefine or fear that we may not be up for the challenge.

When a mirror shows you a Truth that you must change, you do. No matter how long it takes or how many setbacks pop up along the way. Until then the Truth waits for you until you are ready to let it set you Free.


On gratitude

I have to be coming into one of the most interesting seasons I have known in my life.

When I was younger, I was always afraid of accepting the kindness of others. Even my family. I had been burned by accepting gifts that I didn’t know came with conditions. Conditions that included them being brought up in heated moments. It made me leery of accepting anything that anyone offered me…except food.

My parents made us do chores in my house. We all had daily chores, and deep cleaning that meant washing down all of the baseboards of the house in the spring and right before we did our Christmas decorations. My mother always said “if something happens to us and you have to go live with someone else, I want you to be able to pull your own weight. I don’t want them to think you are burden”. I took that lesson to heart.

That lesson has probably played out in countless different ways in my life. I distinctly remember missing out on an all expenses paid trip to Hawaii that I said no to because I didn’t know how my parents would afford it and I was already living most weekends in the house of the family that offered it. I can think of the times that it played out in my romantic life, too, the times I wasn’t willing to admit I cared about a man for fear he might be too good to be true, the times I chose silence over making my needs known, the times I accepted less than what I knew I deserved to have a piece of something.

Sitting here writing this, I feel amazing blessed to know that this tide has turned. In this season, I went on a trip with 10 dollars to my name and trusted that I would be provided for. I told a man that what he was willing to give was probably enough for someone…but that that someone wasn’t me. I told somebody to “get the fuck out my car” after having tried nicely to say I was finished with the conversation and that I was not going to be bullied or cowed into continuing it. And I didn’t For the people who know me, that may or may not be surprising but that was a HUGE step for me. The biggest things though, what I would call the crown in my cap, is that I have stepped into a season of fearlessly asking for help.

I used to think it was pride that would stop me from asking for help. I know now that it was because I was afraid of burdening someone with my problems. I never wanted to take the food out of someone else’s house to put it into mine; not the food, not the gas, and damn sure not the rent. I am so grateful for having turned the corner, and so grateful for the beauty that is now showing up in my life.

As my dog is laying here curled up in the crook of my knee, I had to come back and edit this post. This dog came into my life when I was wondering about my ability to be selfless and showed me that I have the capacity in spades. He misses me when I’m gone. He had his head in my lap for most of the time I was typing this post. He randomly curls up in my lap, gives me a hug, steals a kiss, lays down ON me while I’m trying to do yoga or pushups or lays down with me any time I am on the floor. I have no idea what I did to deserve this kind of love…but I receive.

I changed my mind, and my life is changing. I can’t wait to see what is up the pike.


What’s your function?

For the past 4 months, I have really been focusing on my purpose. I have dreams for myself, just like we all do, but I feel like I have been fighting an uphill battle to realize them.

I know I am not alone in this. My sister-friends, the people I follow on twitter and my coworkers have been working on the same thing.

I took a job a bit over a year ago, and it felt like a blessing. I wanted a change in my life. I am in healthcare, and while I found my job to be impactful, I found myself angry at the health care disparities I was facing daily. I hated that I had to fight to get visits for the patients who needed me most, while I could see patients who had plateaued for visits on end.  I wanted to move to a job that let me make a real difference, one that would let me see the difference I made day-to-day…and then I was presented with an opportunity.

I was blessed with a job I didn’t meet the qualifications for. I sat in 2-2.5 hour California gridlock to interview 4 times. I thanked God for the pay increase, and then I started.

I soon realized that the disparity was bigger than in the provision of care; the disparity extended to training the providers of care. I got angry about the money I wasn’t making, about the financial struggles I thought I had moved away from, about the difference I didn’t feel like I was making. I burst a blood vessel in my eye. I said “fuck this” more times than I could count. I quit in real life and in my mind to go back to what was comfortable, but I never fully pulled the trigger. I had the same conversation for what felt like a million times, about how I wasn’t valued, about how things weren’t changing. I took it to God, my mentors, my dad, and my trusted counselors….and still I stayed.

A friend/sister/Bf/trusted counselor reminded me recently that I was the devil in the details. Throughout, she has reminded me to take a breath, see it through, and pushed me to stretch, especially when it was most uncomfortable.

Reflecting on it, I realize that it was in my struggles that I found my purpose.

I personify the voice unheard, the story untold. I have the hard conversations. I hold the mirror to people’s faces when they would rather look way. I ask people to confront themselves: the time they feel they do or don’t have, the support they feel they are missing, the gaps between knowledge and application. I represent the path less taken, the unknown unknown, the jump between who you were, who you are, and who you are going to be. I have taken disdain, anger, pain, sadness, fear, and indignation and turned it into therapeutic tools. I bridged the gap between empowering and enabling. I have been silent when I wanted to shout to the mounts and stood my ground when other people would be silent because it is easy. I have chosen to be effective instead of being right. I have chosen to set the bar high when other people would accept mediocrity. I have asked for accountability when other people would accept excuses.

My job allows me to help people turn crutches into hurdles they can overcome. My job has allowed me to ask people to stretch beyond what they think is possible. In that, I have found my purpose. My job forces me to acknowledge -and to help others acknowledge- the grey in a world that is easier to digest in black and white. My job has helped me make square pegs pass through round holes. My job has helped me realize I vision I have for the program and the school I serve, as well as to navigate the loopholes that exist in the systems we work, play and live in.

The last year has reinforced for me that the detours we take along the way have meaning if we are willing to live in the moment. I realize that every step I take has prepared me for what is to come, and I am learning to find comfort in that even when things are hard. It is in the most difficult season that we learn the lesson if we are open. I realize that God answer our prayers in Divine Timing, even when it isn’t our timing. Especially then.

I have blogged about the ways that God instills divine Mastery, and my life, my journey, my path is a testament and my testimony to that. I see the ways that my experiences help me personify the voice, have the hard conversations, and bridge the gap. I would be lying if I said it wasn’t hard, but I’d be damned if I said it wasn’t worth it.








I’m going home

A friend challenged me to define home this evening. As I sat and pondered the question, I realized that I haven’t had a place to call home in a long time. I have lived in many places, but I always stopped just short of making a place my own. I bought art I never hung. I dreamed of color schemes I never applied to the wall. I never had a house-warming. I inhabited spaces, giving myself just enough creature comfort to be able to tolerate the space. I was always thinking about what I needed in place of what I had in order to make the space my own.

In considering what home is, I thought about all of the spaces I have visited that felt like they were someone else’s home. I found there were personal touches, that only got augmented as people’s tastes changed…really, as they changed. I found that people did the work -whether physical or mental- to reimagine a blank canvas into a masterpiece. In the more than 10 years I lived away from home, I have never undertaken that task.

Even in my childhood residence, my room was not my own. I always considered in borrowed space. I didn’t get to pick the furniture, the room setup or the design. I said yes to the designs that were presented to me. In times since, I have lived in borrowed spaces, spaces in which I didn’t have the control or the inclination to invest in.  I left the walls drab white. I didn’t put up pictures or paintings. I didn’t think about the touches that would make the space tell my story.

As I am on the verge of buying my own home,  the challenge was more than worthwhile. I no longer live in any of the cities that raised me, though I would posit the city in which I currently reside can account for remarkable growth: spiritual, personal, financial, and emotional. Still, the spaces I had occupied were drab. While I bought things that afforded me opportunities to work, cook, and sleep as I desired, they never expressed the me that I was nor the me that I am always becoming.

I sat and contemplated the question and thought about the feeling and I realized that home is love. I felt like I was home when I flew into Chicago an caught the first glimpse of the skyline. I felt like I was home when I got the first bite of a Polish Boy, a corned beef sandwich or started talking noise -shit- to my brothers and sisters. I felt like I was home when I felt love in and from my surroundings.

I realized that as I have been looking at properties I haven’t been considering the right things.  I looked at the price. I looked at the number of bedrooms and bathrooms. I looked the size of the closets.  I looked at the counter space in the kitchen. I looked at the size of the closets. I looked at the laundry space. I considered whether or not the backyard had enough space for my dog to run. The thing I never considered though, is whether I could love in the space. I didn’t consider whether or not I felt love in the space. I considered the space with my mind, and not my heart.

Now I’m looking for a marriage of the two.


A love story: not your ordinary love

I remember when I first met you…well, maybe not exact exactly when we met, but I remember what you were doing when you first stood out to me. I remember the group of us walking to the Subway. I was going back and forth with the loud one from New York, and you were there, observing. You told me later that you were going to write me off if I was impressed by the fast talking and the bravado. I remember being impressed by the fact that you laughed enough to be part of the interaction but that largely, you were taking stock of me.  I saw myself in you.

I remember when I started taking you seriously. I remember when I started listening closer when you waxed poetically about how in awe you were of me. How you made something little like holding my hand feel like a big deal. How you didn’t have a problem letting anyone know that if I would have you, you would be had. Happily. Unabashedly so. I remember that you had me looking at myself differently, that you made me realize that I wanted a man who made me feel like I was the only woman in the room no matter where we were or who we were with.  I saw myself in you.

I remember when I really saw you for the first time. The very first time we met, I remember telling a mutual acquaintance that you talked too much. He laughed. The second time we met, you got out of the car after driving for hours on no sleep and walked in my house in the wee hours of the morning and asked to marry me. On bended knee. In front of people that knew and loved me. I didn’t exactly take you seriously, but when I answered “maybe” I realized that I wanted to be asked. You said things to me that told you me you’d already decided I would be yours, if not for ever, then definitely for a time. Somehow, you managed to be chivalrous and mannish at the same time. Your words could build me up or knock me down, depending on your mood.  I saw myself in you.

I remember how you felt like home so QUICKLY.  I issued a flirty challenge and you accepted. We danced until the club closed…and everybody else had been ready to go. You let things move at my pace, though you also let me know that you let me have my way. We watched Netflix or Hulu or DVDs until I fell asleep. I would lay on your chest and you told me that I fit perfectly. You weighed your words; you didn’t talk much but when you did you said plenty. I saw myself in you.

You thought love could be bought. As I watched your pockets get deeper, I realized that. I also realized you weren’t sure of my price. You offered diamonds, vacations,  beautiful dresses, and the house of my dreams. Had I chosen you, I could have had those things, but I wouldn’t have had happiness…because that is all you thought to give. Though I did want those things, I wanted to earn them, I wanted to build with someone, I wanted someone who supported my dreams the way I supported theirs. I chose me.

You thought love was pretty words. You never ran out of them. I never though they weren’t sincere, I just realized that you chose words that supported the truth you believed in, instead of the Truth that was. I couldn’t live in your world, as beautiful as it was, because it had no depth.I wanted your pretty words, but pretty words could not conceal the fact that the world was burning down all around you. Your pretty words turned into silence when I asked about the Truths you could no longer hide. The silence was deafening. I chose me.

You thought love was machismo. You wanted to be the man, the head.You asked me about my God to make sure we were equally yoked. You quoted the Bible to me. At the same time, sex was equated with intimacy. In better times, we were lockstep. In worse times, doubt assailed you. I watched you become someone you had disparaged to me in other times. You brushed me off when I questioned your decisions. As much as I wanted a man to lead, I didn’t know how how to follow when I wasn’t sure of the destination. I chose me.

You thought love was a game. You were a gambler at heart. Your words were strategic. In the beginning, you could call and raise with the best of them. When the stakes got high and we started playing for keeps the game got interesting. I showed my hand, and you could talk strategy out loud, but you couldn’t quite decide to play or fold.   I got up from the table. I chose me.

Each “you” has brought me closer to me. When I looked at my mate- my mirror- and no longer saw a reflection of me I moved on. It wasn’t always clean. There were late night phone calls, texts, and emails asking what had happened to us. I realize now that I asked you a question you couldn’t answer. We grew apart because you had no idea who I had become. I wasn’t the same person I was when we met. I didn’t want the same things and I couldn’t force myself to be held to that same agreement.

I still love “you”.  I am eternally grateful for the knowledge that only you could give me. I now know me better so I love me better. To be continued…





Unconditional Love….

I have been letting these words roll around in my head…and I’m finally ready to let them go.

In recent days, I have had a chance to stare love right in the face, and make a decision.  I am not an over or under lover. I love unconditionally.

For the first time, I understand that. For the first time, I know that everyone else does not have that same understanding.

This is a lesson that I learned over time, one cemented from me in a moment where I could have had all rights to cry, curse, complain, and disavow  a love that I have nurtured. In past times, I have loved despite distance, misunderstandings, lack of communication, and feeling hurt. That love was not a gentle love. I said things I could have said better, or things I shouldn’t have said at all as reaction to being hurt in the moment. I didn’t say things for fear of looking weak, or stupid. I walled up my defenses for fear of being seen as gullible and because lashing out let me strike the last blow or get the last hurt. I mastered appearing nonchalant and being nonplussed in the moment. I know now that those situations had divine purpose.

Recently, I have had conversations with the people I love about love. Conversations that helped me recognize the defenses I had mounted and conversations that made me realize that I no longer saw love as a battle or a prize to be won. I now see love as a way of being . Unconditional love doesn’t threaten to leave when things get tough, it recognizes mounted defenses and breaks past them to get to the root of the matter. Unconditional love recognizes when a fear of vulnerability, a fear of being found wanting, a fear of being seen as imperfect inspires deflection for fear of being seen in the naked light of the truth and being judged. Being able to love unconditionally allows for recognition of conditional love.

Conditional love is learned. When children feel that their parents love them for their accomplishments, they learn to love conditionally. When parents guilt try to make their children fit in a mold of who they want them to be, children who strive to fit the mold and hide and forsake parts of themselves learn to love conditionally. When children feel that one child is valued over the rest of their siblings for academic or athletic prowess, they learn to love conditionally. In a child’s understanding, they are the center of the world. Though children are inherently wise and innocent that child’s action -or inaction- can create new wisdom that makes that innate wisdom a lie. A child whose parents messily  divorce may strive to keep peace by being a model child, at which point being a model child can become viewed as the condition of their parents’ love, especially if doing so helps to maintain the peace. A child whose parents turn a childhood pastime into a means through which a child will repay the parents’ sacrifice, the child’s excellence in that pastime can becomes viewed as a condition of love. That view can become reinforced if the parents shift their attention to a child -and that can be a sibling, a cousin, or a stranger- whose star is on the rise when that child disappoints by losing interest or becoming injured. Parents who do not clarify that these interests and behaviors are a mere bonus to the love that the they have for the child simply because they were born to them set the stage to creating adults who only love conditionally.

Conditional Lovers are shocked to the core when they meet unconditional lovers, especially after a lifetime of feeling they they are loved conditionally. In adulthood, we meet them as men who cannot commit to women without feeling like they can financially provide for them. We meet them as men who would play on the fringes of love and
love women with their bodies instead of with their hearts. We meet them as women who do understand love as physical or emotional abuse. We meet them as women who would take pretty baubles over emotional support. Both fear and misunderstanding prevent them from being vulnerable and allowing a partner to see their true selves, because the first love they had ever known may not have been open to or allowed them to see that the true self is worth knowing, cultivating, and loving.

The beautiful thing is that no man, woman, or child is sentenced to love conditionally for a lifetime. Any one who has the courage to develop, explore, or share their most secret self can be gifted with and gift others with unconditional love.

The journey to unconditional love is not an easy one, but it is certainly one worth taking.