The Cost of Consistency

Consistency is one of the most important parts of all of the relationships we have: relationships with loved ones, lovers and self. Consistency requires discipline and a clear sense of ones values. Many times the conflict that arises in our relationships arises from a divergence in values that we believe are shared. While the word we might use to describe a particular value might be the same, the degree to which we exercise it in an interaction might differ considerably. The value that we apply in a particular interaction and our understanding of the differences in our shared values contribute much to the cost of consistency.

Many times we find ourselves doing something because that is the way we have seen it done, as in parenting .We are authoritative without explanation and often expect obedience despite the fact we are raising little humans who experience the world by the opportunities we do and don’t allow them to take. We sometimes wrongly interpret questions as defiance instead of genuine curiosity. We get angry with them for questioning our authority, instead of considering the fact that an explanation of our rationale could be sufficient. In consistency being seen as the “boss” in the relationship, we often rob ourselves of the opportunity to get to know the children we are raising.

The same hold true in our other relationships. We might decide there are only certain roles we are allowed to fulfill in relationship. We decide that asking for help is a sign of weakness. We decide that men can’t be in touch with their emotions and that women must only nurture, can never show tough love. We decide that parents must only support our dreams, sacrifice and parent us throughout their lives- even when our own parents haven’t ever completely shown up in that regard. In demanding consistency we do not allow room for deviation; we don’t always allow people to show up as who they are.

What can we do to change this? We have to examine the root of our desire for consistency. What is it that we believe to be true about ourselves, our relationships, our world that we allow to hold us captive? What is at risk if we decide to change our minds?

In the unraveling, we have to ask ourselves about the motivation or the “why” behind our actions. Are we angry with children, partners or friends for not appreciating the effort it took us to buy a gift, to provide a lifestyle, to show up in a certain way? Are we seeking some measure of external validation for the choices we have made?

What we seek in asking ourselves these questions is balance. What we find in answering the questions might be unsettling. We might find that we aren’t very confident in the “why “ behind our actions. We might find that some of the things we believe that we do for benefit of others are also a way we prove to ourselves that we are the person, parent, or friend we wish we had or want to be. We might find that we don’t feel like we have the freedom to who we are, instead of who society tells us we should be.

When the doing of a thing, the repetition of an act becomes a habit it becomes something we do without thinking. Sometimes the cost of consistency is thoughtless reaction to and interaction with the world around us.


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.



The art of foreplay

So, let’s talk about foreplay.


If we are related, you should consider stopping here.


To me, foreplay is one of the most awesome forms of intimacy. Foreplay isn’t just the kisses to the neck, ear or thigh that come before the “it and the thing.” Foreplay is what helps me decide that you can trace my body with your tongue. It is also lets me know if you will be selfish, attentive, timid, confident or if you will worship my body like the temple it is.


I’m about to hip you to some game.


Foreplay starts at hello. It is the spark I feel when we make eye contact for the same time. Or when you hold my waist as we dance. Or when you open a door for me as I pass. Foreplay is the way you acknowledge your attraction to me. It doesn’t necessarily matter what you say as long as your eyes tell me you mean it. You might get extra points for an accent. Foreplay is how you let me know you want to get to know me. Did you ask me to put your number in my phone and call you? Did you trade instagram names with me? Did you give me a business card? Did you invite me to get to know you better over coffee or a meal? Did we have an easy back and forth flirtation?



Did you text me or call me to follow up? Did you ask me questions trying to find out who I am or were you more focused on what I do? Did you make overt sexual advances? Did we talk on the phone like teenagers and fall asleep on each other or was our conversation just long enough for us to confirm when/where we would meet for our next interaction? Did we talk about what we like in a potential partner? Did you talk bad about relationships and the people you dated in the past? Does the tone of our conversation suggest you feel that you are the prize?


When we meet up for our first date, did you pick something that shows me who you are and what you like or did you show me that you listened when I shared my love for cars, delicious food, video games, anime, seafood or anything else I sounded really excited about? Were you on time? Did you pull out my chair? Did you acknowledge the effort I put into looking nice for you? Did you look at your phone the whole time or were you present in the moment with me? Did you look in my eyes when you spoke to me? Were you rude to the wait staff? Did you tip? When we get ready to leave is our farewell akward? Do we have a physical chemistry that invites us to hug or kiss before we part ways?


Did you check to make sure I got home safe? Are you consistent in your interactions with me?


While doing some of these things are a sure turnoff, some of them are undeniable turn ons. Sometimes none of these things matter –even if they are warning signs about the kind of lover you will be- because our coitus isn’t about you. I might choose you for any number of reasons, but your foreplay doesn’t lie.



Random Musings- The lost files OR What I learned about love

I have an amazing father. I have written about him on this blog. I thank God for him every time I think about it.

I also have a biological father.

The man I call my father has been in my life since before I can remember. He has coached me through my worst moments and cheered me on through my best. He helped to teach me the meaning of family, the meaning of loyalty, and the meaning of personal integrity/responsibility.  He told me he would get up on the down stroke for me and has NEVER given me a reason not to think he wouldn’t. When I was going to do a semester abroad, he forced me to reconsider my chosen country because ” I can’t come get you like that dude in Taken”. He has visited me almost everywhere I have lived except Mexico, North Carolina, and California (which he has a real fear about).

My biological father did none of that. The only  childhood memories I have of him are:

  1. going to visit him and my step-mother at the time and telling my step-sister I wanted to go home ( I was 6)
  2. my mother cussing him out after he hurt my feelings at my sister’s 6th grade graduation (I don’t even remember how he did anymore, and I didn’t remember this until I was reminded)
  3. him writing me this letter about his life (I remember it being the worst this I ever read, but he did send me a picture)
  4. him turning down my invitation to my high school graduation
  5. him telling me he paid child support and so he was a father to me….the number he owes could buy me an amazing car
  6. him calling me on my 18th birthday…on a private number that i had no idea how he got, and being surprised that he knew when my birthday was.

My mother and father did not speak ill of my biological father. While my mother did tell me about the man she knew him to be, she also encouraged me to build my own relationship and to find out for myself. My father did the same. Because of their encouragement, because of my sister’s encouragement and because I was never entirely sure that I wasn’t missing something  about myself by not knowing him I tried to. I never agreed to go to visit him because I had to fly and I needed to be in control of when I could leave.

Fast forward 15 years. I take a job in the Northern most city in California, and suddenly the distance to his home is drivable. A day trip. On a random Wednesday in July, driving back to the city from Oregon, I call his phone and commit myself to a date. I plan a trip to visit from Thursday- Sunday.

Immediately after I do so, I call my father. “Dad, I told B*** V***** I’m going to come up there to see him”.  My father doesn’t miss a beat. “How do you feel about it?”. I stop to ask myself  how I really feel about it for the first time. “Excited…and scared. I’ll let you know how it goes”. We continue our conversation for a bit longer before we get off the phone. I consciously decide not to tell my mother until after my trip because it is near her birthday and I want her to enjoy herself, because she already has plans.  I know she will worry.

Soon enough the day for the trip comes. I am on the phone talking to my best friend about nothing and everything and then I pull up outside the house. Our conversation has turned to the one thing we have avoided talking about the whole time. She says ” You know, I hope that no matter what I do, my son will love me and know I did my best”.  Before I know it I am crying. I say “I can still go home, I don’t have to do this” and then he comes out onto the porch and I feel like he looks straight into my car and the walks back in the house. I wipe my face. I decide I have come to far to turn back. I get out of my car and walk to the door.

I knock on the door and he comes back out. I find myself staring into a face I don’t remember, with a nose that looks like mine. My mother has always told me that I look like him, and now I understand why she would say that (even though only our noses are different). I see my cheek bones, my eye lashes, my nose.  I see why my smile takes up 3/4 of my face. I see that I am the perfect combination of my biological parents. All of a sudden, I am tired.

We walk in the house and I take a cursory glance, but I am really too nervous to process anything. I am holding my bags as if they would protect me if the need should arise, but he asks me to put them down in the room he has told me his mine o for the weekend and I do. I hear him call a cousin to tell him I am there and make plans for us to meet. He is sitting a the table.  I sit on the couch. “I’m happy to see you,” he says. I smile, unable to say the same. I’m not exactly happy, and I’m not going to lie. The TV is on breaking the silence. I have never been so excited to guess along with the contestants on Wheel of Fortune.

Before  I know it, we are his car going to meet a cousin I have only seen in pictures. I was months old. We pull up and I am re-energized. Wired. We walk in the house, and he introduces me to my cousin and disappears.  I stand by the door, at the counter. A woman and a teenager I have never seen before are sitting at the table. Their names don’t quite register after the introduction, but the woman’s question’s do. “So when is the last time you saw your dad?” My mind flies to Cleveland, Ohio where my father is.  I think of my most recent trip home and a million memories flash before my eyes, but I know that is not who she is asking me about. I answer, “When I was six?”. My cousin jumps in quickly, “Oh no, your dad saw you at your sister’s 6th grade graduation”. All of a sudden, memories of come flooding back to me. I remember feeling nervous about accepting her invitation. I remember wondering why he could come back to see her when he couldn’t seem to get right when I asked. I remember picking my dress with care. I remember walking into the school and feeling the same shock I felt that day. I say, “sometimes people don’t remember things that are insignificant.” As an I aside I add, “sometimes, people block out painful memories”.  I am never so happy to have dinner served so I don’t have to talk about this anymore. I stand and eat my food, despite invitations to the table. I am on guard and even though I didn’t drive, I am gone if this shit gets stupid.

Dinner is finished and I have a chance to talk to my cousin. I ask questions, careful to steer the conversation to the family history I do not know to make sure I am not put on guard the same way I was before.  Before I know it, it is well after 2 am. It is time to go, and we make plans to get together the next day. I call my father to tell him I made it safety and that I will call him tomorrow.  He’s only half awake, but he says okay.

When I get in bed, I am not sleepy. I am prayful. I ask God to make it clear to me why I agreed to come here. I put on a sleep meditation and morning comes before I know it. The sun wakes me. It is still to early for me to be up and about, but I feel the need to call my brother. It is 8 am EST and he answers. He had to take my mother to the airport and is on his way home. I tell him where I am. A moment passes. He says, ” I hope that works out for you” and I hear the promise of hell to pay if it doesn’t.

I have a moment to myself to really look at the house. I see the picture from the day my cousin reminded me of on a shelf, more evidence that it happened. My face is smiling back at me and I remember being happy to celebrate my sister’s special day. I go back to lay down. I don’t fall back asleep. I go to workout to work off the excess energy.

I am building my confidence to ask the questions that really brought me here, questions that I am sure he will answer to my face.

We are driving. We have been talking about family dynamics I have never known and I feel like the moment is better than any other.  I ask, “Why didn’t you come to the things I invited you to?”.  He answers, ” Because your mother wouldn’t let me stay at your house. I would have slept on the floor if I had to.” I don’t know whether to be disappointed, angry, or surprised at his stupidity. I think of the many times my mother, my father and brothers have shown me that they would fight to protect my feelings  when I was both bothered and unbothered and wonder why this man who has been the cause of so many hurts would throw himself in the lion’s den. I ask, “so, you are pretty much all or nothing, huh?” He thinks about it and replies, “Yeah”. I speak before I can stop myself , “That’s pretty stupid”.  What he says next doesn’t really matter, but he does apologize for being absent.

The weekend continues, and I call my father daily and thank him for being present in my life. During my visit, I wonder why my biological father can’t talk to me unless I initiate the conversation.  After 2 more sleepless nights, I get ready to get back on the road back to the life I knew.  When I leave, he hugs me.  He says, ” I don’t know what you have done with your life, but you seem happy. Keep it up”.  I thank him for trying on, because I know this was hard for both of us.

My mother’s birthday has passed, and I finally called her to tell her what I’ve done. I tell her why I didn’t tell her. I answer her barrage of questions and tell her that I couldn’t understand how she loved me until I took this trip, met this man, heard about his past and learned what it cost her to let me make my own decision about him. She talks to me for 2 hour before she decides I am really okay, because she is ready to correct his ass if I am not.

I am grateful for the space my family held for me until I was ready. I didn’t know I was whole until I went to make sure nothing was missing.   I didn’t know until I saw what people sacrificed to let me live out loud. I know their love is deep and strong. I know that my partner has to give me this…or better.


The thin line between Over and Underloving

I don’t know exactly when I put it on, but I took it off this week. I unfastened the strings as my neck and let my cape go wherever the wind carried it.

I feel lighter than I knew I could feel.

I can’t say that I think it is because of where I came from, but maybe more who I decided I wanted to be. I have seen and heard various iteration of the “crab in a bucket” idea. I didn’t want to be held back, I didn’t want to let people get pulled back in either. “Each one, teach one”, “charity starts at home” and other well meaning adages that underline our responsibility toward our race, or culture, ourselves, our family. For me, it  was always family first, because that is what we were taught.

Love meant picking up the slack, helping to make a way out of what appeared to be no way. Love meant slim pickings this month so someone else could live a little better. Love meant looking at money spend as an investment instead of as money squandered. I would sit and look at my budgets – budgets I had prepared for myself and budgets others had prepared for me- and could never quite figure out where the money went.

I wanted to be a cheerful giver. I gave and considered never considered the money a loan. I gave when I had to borrow for one bill, I gave when it hurt to “Thank you” and “I’ll pay you back”. I gave out of obligation, because no one else had it. I gave out of love, because love wanted me to pad the struggle however I could.  What I realized and wouldn’t admit to myself with the giving is that there was a pattern. That somehow, the gift had become an expectation; one I had for myself and one that was held for me.

I loosed that thang this week. I realized that love isn’t always padding the landing. Love can be letting the hard fall come, so that the loved one can have an opportunity to learn from the pain. Love is saying no when it hurts. Love is loving yourself first. Love is deciding to be your own damn hero instead of being Captain Save-A. Love is setting boundaries and meaning it. Love is knowing that a crisis may come, and that I don’t have to be part of the solution if it doesn’t make sense to. Love is letting people learn they are their own first line of defense. Love is being confident that once you teach a man how you fish he will figure out how to make his own catch, that he will tweak what you taught him to make it work for him. Love is knowing that what is meant to fly will fly.


Family Ties

My family means the world to me.

It and of itself, I don’t think that this statement is remarkable; because of the family I have, I think it is extraordinary.

I will spare sordid details, but suffice to say, my family has it’s dysfunctions just like any other family. Tales of colorism, step and half siblings, maybe babies, and questionable moral choices are present, but are certainly not what I would consider central. Instead, the fact that I was brought up to bring that my family is my safe haven in bad times -the people who have my back no matter what- are the first things that come to mind. Family is love in my book.

In a training today,  I asked a question about broaching difficult subject matter with family, and why a person might chose to remain silent instead of making waves.  Due to time constraints, I didn’t have the opportunity to talk about why that might be difficult…but I have a blog…so, I’ll unpack it here.

In reflecting on my family stories I realize another reason I have issue with conflict; conflict meant that people would stop talking to each other. I realize I have at least 5 cousins that I know little about after a falling out between our parents. Despite the fact that we were close -or that I felt close to them- our parents falling out meant we didn’t get to talk, that keeping in touch was no longer an option. That says nothing about a biological  parent whose family I have literally walked past in the street and not known. It says nothing about fallings out that predated me but were the lens through which other family members judged me and my attempts at closeness.

I have never been to a family reunion. Many of the elders in my family that could inspire us to get together and “play nice” have passed. I miss the camaraderie, I miss being able to sit at their feet and hear the stories of how my family came to be where they were, why despite our midwestern birth we had southern ways. I think of the number of family members that have left this earthly plane in the past year who- when I am caught up on their lives stories- I am surprised at how much I don’t know. I think of the trust, love and respect that I have hard earned from some family members that I could stand to lose. I think of going back to feeling like an island, of feeling like woman without her-story, and not being able to pass that richness to my children. As much as they mean to me, I’m not sure it’s a gamble I am willing to make. I’d rather take them as I come and explain to my children that loving  family  doesn’t mean I always agree with them, but I that I give them the space to be who they are. I’d rather explain to my children that homogeny doesn’t prepare them for the world they might live in, though working toward tolerance also means understanding that everyone doesn’t agree. I’d rather them learn to find similarity and rhythm in a cacophony of beliefs. I’d rather them them decide for themselves the value of being right and being effective. I would rather them make a choice on how to live based on the weight of the options presented. I would rather love my family for better and for worse.