On Being a woman

We are all socialized beings. This socialization impacts the decisions we make in life, love, and relationships. We are influenced by the relationships we see, the religions or spiritual leanings we hold dear and the media we consume: written, auditory, and visual.

I am woman, and while I acknowledge that trying to speak for all women is a large undertaking, that won’t stop me from trying to do so here. Generally speaking, women are socialized to be nurturers and givers. We are taught to take care of home and hearth and taught that our goals, though they may also include occupational goals, should also include being someone’s mother and wife.We are taught that being anything other than feminine is generally an affront to society’s sensibilities. How we take on and fulfill these roles is also influenced by our individual personality, race, socioeconomic status and life experiences. Our definitions of femininity are influenced by the same.

The fulfillment of the roles in itself can be problematic, because it is likely that we get conflicting messages throughout our socialization. For those of us who are told that we can be anything we want to be, we are taken aback when people are surprised by our mechanical, scientific, mathematical, or athletic abilities.  Why is it that we would rather work on a car than cook a 5 course meal? Why would you work in hard labor when you could do a job that might keep your hands soft? Why would you take on a hard science major when you could work in the soft sciences or the arts?  Why do you have an interest in sports when you could be an interior decorator or a fashion designer? Faced with these seeming contradictions we have are all faced with navigating a world that questions our choices. Individually, we make decisions about how much we will conform, or if we conform at all.

If we chose not to conform, we might find ourselves wondering about our choice, especially when our lived experiences tell us we have chosen a harder road. Professionally, we might take the job in IT that makes us feel alive, but find that our day-to-day interactions make us reconsider the position. In predominately male environments, our contributions might be diminished, belittled, or that they are attributed to other males on our teams. We might find that we are paid less than male counterparts who contribute little more than male genitalia. Voicing our concerns might be viewed as an emotional outburst, no matter how eloquently they are voiced. Still, we might chose to fight through, and ultimately distinguish ourselves through hard work and perseverance in what might be correctly deemed  a hostile work environment.

In love or relationship, we might find ourselves fighting a different, but not less difficult battle. For those of us who have a religious background, we are taught that men are the head. Having both the confidence and the wisdom to ascertain that a man is worthy of the position, might cause our femininity to be called into questions. Having standards for them men we deal with might cause potential partners to tell us that we are “too much” or have them telling us our standards are too high. Voicing our concerns about the fit of our partner- a partner who values the fullness of the person we are- might result in well-intentioned advice that falls flat. Women are advised to resolve themselves to the infidelity of their partners, not realizing that making a single exception can result in infidelity becoming the rule, or an accepted practice in a relationship. Women who are advised to stay in relationships where men are physically or verbally abusive because “he is a good man” can end up severely emotionally scarred or dead. Women who are advised to stay in a relationship because a man looks good on paper can end up in feeling trapped because all of their emotional or physical needs are not met. Women who embrace their sexuality might be shamed, called promiscuous or worse because they are in touch with the things that give their body pleasure. As a result, we might decide to stay silent, hide or otherwise diminish ourselves to fit in a box that was never our own design.

In my mind, women are asked to die small deaths everyday. Some of us willingly throw ourselves on the knife to get and keep a man, while others of ourselves find ourselves making smaller, but impactful cuts. We might cut away at our truths by keeping silent about our intelligence. We might agree to just wanting to be casual to keep the company of a man when we desire life-long partnership and children. We might be coerced into ideologies about home, or sexual relationships we do not want. Some of us do so without so much as a peep, while others of us may dam our concerns behind a levy that cannot help but break. All of us have choice, and the choice itself is beautiful. In my mind, allowing the dam to break is the more beautiful choice, as it allows for rebirth and reincarnation. When we learn what we cannot tolerate, it makes us more able to appreciate a partner who appreciates us as we live in the fullness of ourselves. It makes it easier to say no to a partner that offers less than what you desire, makes it easier not to settle for less than we desire. It isn’t easy, it can be downright ugly in the process, but I’ll be damned if it isn’t worth it if we are willing to learn from our missteps, trust our intuition, and wait for the partner we deserve and desire. It’s a beautiful struggle, and I am grateful that it is mine.

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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.

 

How it make you feel…

I used to celebrate the fact that there wasn’t one person I knew who knew all of me. I learned to compartmentalize myself to stop people from being able to use my insecurities or vulnerabilities to hurt me. Rather than sharing, I would focus on the issues, complaints, concerns, or celebration of the other party I was speaking to.

Then I realized there isn’t a person alive who can say one person knows all of them.

As I step into a season wherein I embrace transparency, I am finding achieving balance difficult.  I have found myself looking for a spark of recognition in the faces of all the men I meet . I have been looking for a reflection of who I want myself to be. As yet, I have yet to see a flicker.

I have always said that patience is not a virtue I own, but I have always meant it in the context of myself and my relationships.  I was impatient with my own growth. If I felt like I understood the lesson intellectually, I wanted to be the change. If I had a different perspective of a problem than all the people around me, I wanted them to hop on the solution I had found. If I identified a need for a change in my relationship, I wanted my partner to change TODAY.  When I decided I could have a forever partner, I was looking for him in the daytime with a flashlight, and hoped he was doing the same. While I can’t say that those desires are a thing of my past, I can say I have found a new peace in the meantime.

A friend told me that in the journey from where/who you were to where you are going/who you are becoming, grace lies in the middle. While the words gave me comfort at the time because I knew that grace was the walk/leap of faith you take while you make the transition, I realized that my expectation of what grace would feel like was wrong.  I thought grace would be synchronistic events that gave me hope and comfort. I thought grace would be support in a form I wanted to see it in. I thought grace would be a chain reaction in which I could see things moving forward slowly but surely. I thought grace would be what kept me going.

It turns out that grace is a stern talking to from a friend. Grace is a day or a number of days where I can say I can relate to the world around me in living color instead of in black and white. Grace is being able to choose a direction when no compass exists. Grace is finding a way to tune into the messages that the universe sends me and to act on the flashes of inspiration and insight I get. Grace is accepting the fact that I know what recognition from a partner feels like, and detaching from my expectations of how and when my partner takes shape. Grace is affirming that I can love without fear, that love and peace are my way of life, and that I in myself am enough and walking confidently in that truth. Grace is waking up with the realization that I don’t have to search every face I see for recognition, because real recognizes real and God’s timing is perfect.

Grace is a balancing act on a course that winds, widens, and flattens out in a timing that no man knows.  I am grateful that I am supported.

 

Why is Cam Newton so Polarized?

Sally Jenkins wrote an article that some viewed as tear down of an amazing athlete. I read it and thought it was a love letter.

Cam Newton is brilliant, beautiful, feared and misunderstood because he is walking unapologetically in his purpose.  Since he was a young boy, he knew that he was destined to walk the path he is now walking. He walked that path, with a confidence that some people mistakenly describe as arrogance. According to this prayer, Cam Newton has never tried to be anyone but himself. In a world where fear of what might or might not happen deters some people from pursuing their dreams, Cam Newton has boldly set out to realize his vision.

While I won’t negate the role that race might play in the criticisms against Cam, I daresay the fact that Cam Newton has not faltered in his belief in his dream despite statistics that would have suggested otherwise has been huge. Cam Newton affirmed himself and laid the groundwork for the position he sits in today. The same people who once labeled Cam a Diva can’t help but give credit where credit is due. Cam walked toward his goal relentlessly and fearlessly. Cam Newton told reporters he would be a great, and this year, he has been. In the face of all naysayers, Cam is poised to become to the first quarterback to win a Heisman Trophy, a collegiate football championship, an NFL MVP and a Superbowl.

What I noted highlighted Sally’s article was despite the fact she criticized him for being arrogant, and egotistical, there was an underlying theme of admiration. Cam walking confidently in his Truth scares people, and fear makes people uncomfortable.  This Black quarterback who has been himself unapologetically throughout his career and has become exactly what he told them he would be is scary, particularly when there has been so much pressure for him to “tone it down” and toe the line. That fear is based in the recognition of someone who acknowledges his gift, and understands the road to achieve his goal may be have bumps along the way.  What they don’t understand is that a roadblock is not a failure; it can either deter you from achieving a goal or renew you tenacity. What they don’t grasp is that we all have a choice, and that God don’t make no mistakes.

Some people have decried Cam Newton as an improper role model for dancing in the end zone and playing a enjoying himself while playing a position that traditionally has more stoic players.  I can’t think of a better role model for anyone than a man who smiles through adversity, does a job he loves and who is walking steadfastly and faithfully toward his dream. I hope that I get to watch Cam Newton make history today. If I don’t, since I know that Cam is walking in his purpose, I have no doubt he will one day.

 

Dab on ’em Cam.