Tag Archives: truth

This is Me

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Truth.

We each have our own ideas and perspectives on what is true. This is based on what we learn, see, and experience through our lives. Truth is an idea that is deceptively simple and overwhelmingly complicated all at the same time.

This morning, Goddess encouraged me to explore my truth. And I must admit, I am struggling with this directive.

Who am I, truthfully?

What do I honestly want for my life?

Am I brave enough to live my truth unapologetically?

To answer these questions, I’ll explore my personal values. I feel the best way to articulate who I am is to thoroughly outline my fundamental truths, the basic beliefs that shape how I move through the world.

So welcome to the This is Me series! In this collection of posts, I’ll examine my core values using Brené Brown’s Dare to Lead list.

First, I’ll share the 8 core values I’ve chosen. Then we’ll dig into each one in detail. Each post will focus on a single value and why it is so important to me. My goal is to deepen my understanding of myself and stand firmly and proudly in who I am.

I’m so excited to begin this journey toward self-acceptance, and I encourage you to come along for the ride! May we all embrace our truth, accept who we are, and move forward more confidently in life.

Heated

Posted in Normal People Things, She. Me. Her., That's What the World Is Today, Work Life by

What do you complain about the most?

I don’t really think of myself as a “complainer.”

I’m the type of gal to try to make the most of any situation. I say I “go with the flow” though my therapist might call it “conflict avoidant” haha. But I truly don’t have much to complain about in life.

However, one thing chaps my ass so much I’ll actually speak up about it:

If you say you’re going to do something, DO IT.

Nothing irritates me more than a flaky person. The old folks called it “sometimey.” You say one thing, then do another. Behaving this way is a guaranteed method to get my attention (and not in a positive way).

Perhaps I feel this way because I try really hard to keep my commitments. My mother DID NOT PLAY about keeping commitments! Anytime I wanted to sign up for a new activity or team, she would always say, “If you agree to this, you see it through the whole season/year/production/whatever. You don’t have to do it ever again after that, but people are depending on you. If you make this commitment, you keep it.”

So you can imagine how, after a lifetime of keeping commitments, it irks me when others don’t do the same. To me, my word is everything. So if you tell me you’ll do something, I will believe you until you show me otherwise. Therefore…

If you can no longer do a thing, SAY SOMETHING.

I know life happens. Sometimes things don’t go as planned. So if I can’t keep a commitment, I’ll let you know as far in advance as I can (and expect you to do the same). Don’t have people out here counting on you and then just leave them hanging—that is disrespectful and rude.

So be honest. Don’t make promises you can’t keep. Keep the promises you do make. Let folks know if situations change.

Then maybe we’ll all have a bit less to complain about!

Here’s to the Night

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If you didn’t need sleep, what would you do with all the extra time?

I’ve always been an “early to bed, early to rise” kind of gal. My childhood best friend and I were reminiscing the other day and she laughed while recalling how even at noisy slumber parties I would take myself to bed whenever I got tired enough. What can I say? I need my beauty rest, and lots of it.

But what if sleep wasn’t a necessity? What would I do if I had the full 24 hours in my day?

Short answer: EVERYTHING.

I would go to clubs and parties in the wee hours of the night, just to see what all the fuss is about. (I’ve long been skeptical that those places are actually fun after midnight.)

I would clean my house within an inch of its life and finally, finally be caught up on laundry.

I would stay up late talking with my husband, growing closer together as we watched the sun rise.

I would finish all the books I’ve been trying to read and get my library hold list down to 0.

I would have more sessions with my therapist.

I would exercise more. (The pandemic taught me that I will work out if I have literally nothing else to do.)

I would volunteer in my community.

I would spend more time with my family and friends. (Traveling wouldn’t be as big of a hassle if I could do it while the rest of the world is sleeping.)

I would blog more and finally start that memoir I’ve been itching to write.

And, if I’m really being honest with myself, I would probably long for the “beauty rest” I no longer needed.

I would reminisce about the 8-10 hours I used to sleep every day.

I would recall how good it felt to retire at the end of a long day, to quietly slip into that still pool of slumber.

I would achingly remember what it felt like to dream.

Meaning of Life

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What would you do if you lost all your possessions?

Before I share my perspective, I want to acknowledge how privileged I am to have never experienced losing all my possessions. I’ve never known life without clothes on my back, food in my belly, and a place to lay my head and store my belongings. My heart aches for anyone who has ever lost all they owned.

But when I stop to think about what it would be like to lose all my possessions, my mind whispers

free

I admit I am a bit of a pack rat and I hold onto many things that should have been donated or trashed long ago. Just yesterday, I went through my closets and came out with two large bags full of gently used clothes for donation, much of which hadn’t been worn in at least a year.

It sounds so liberating, getting rid of it all. No “I might need this” or “someday I’ll use that”—just starting over with nothing to hold me back. A clean slate.

But all means ALL, doesn’t it?

The wooden figure bought in Bali the day I knew my husband was “the one.”

The birthday cards from my mother through the years, with words of love in her perfect cursive.

The UK memorabilia my daddy collected.

The American flag that laid across his casket.

I would put on a brave face, for sure. But underneath the stoicism and the “things are just things” attitude I would be

devastated

Eventually, I would move on. Time would dull the pain of losing. I’d gather more things.

And hopefully, freedom would come with the understanding that possessions spark memories, and memories can last forever even without the physical token.

So I’ll value my possessions and treat them with care while I have them…

…because I know there may come a day when memories are all that’s left.

This Time

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Oh. My. Goodness. …Am I actually getting my shit together?!?

Short answer: Yes. (FINALLY.)

I know it’s been awhile but I’ve decided to give this blogging thing a try. Again. For the umpteenth time. After OVER A YEAR of crickets on the blog.

It isn’t like I haven’t thought about it, though. I’ve often tried to drum up the inspiration, the energy to write. But it didn’t feel right until now.

You know, one of the reasons I’ve avoided writing here is because this blog chronicles some of the lowest points of my life. Reading the entries reminds me of how broken, how lost and afraid I was. The wounds may have healed a bit over time, but the memories of their infliction never faded.

My goal now is to rediscover my love of writing, explore all the things I’m learning about myself on my journey through therapy, and HEAL. (Not necessarily in that order.)

If I’m lucky, maybe I’ll help some of y’all who are healing too.

Life is full of twists and turns, a road ever winding with deep curves ahead. Some times we find ourselves at dead ends. Other times the path is leisurely, not a pothole or speed bump in sight. The only thing we know for sure is that there is no GPS and we can’t refill our tanks when our fuel finally runs out.

So let’s take this journey.

Let’s hop into the driver’s seat of our lives.

Spark the ignition of hope.

Check the rear view mirror to remember where we came from.

Turn toward the path of growth, peace, joy.

…and hit the gas.

Speak Now

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One of the things I’m trying to work on is speaking up.

Now, if you’ve ever met me you know I’m not afraid to talk. According to my mama, I’ve been talking since I figured out how to string two words together. My elementary school teachers tried to keep me quiet by moving my seat—that did NOT work. Long story short, I’ll talk to anybody.

But talking and speaking up are two different things.

Speaking up means voicing your opinions. Speaking up means sharing your feelings. Speaking up means calling out people or behaviors that are wrong.

I haven’t always done that.

As a kid, I was expected to stay in a child’s place and not question the adults in my life. In middle school, I told a boy that I liked him and he humiliated me in from of my entire class. In high school, after an emotionally abusive boyfriend hurt himself right in front of me, I was told not to say anything about it. Instances like these occurred in college and my adult life too. Honestly, there were many times I silenced myself because I was worried people wouldn’t like me.

But no more.

We only have one life to live, and I’m tired of not speaking my truth. This newfound desire to speak out has made me uncomfortable—especially at work. But these are just growing pains.

My opinions and feelings are valid. My voice is important. It’s time to speak.

Now.

Me. Mine.

Posted in Normal People Things, She. Me. Her., That's What the World Is Today by

It was during high school, one afternoon, in an upstairs hallway.

I’d come to the conclusion I wanted to end the relationship.  We’d been together awhile (probably around a year) and while things were good at times, overall things were bad.  My boyfriend–my first real boyfriend–was clingy, demanding and manipulative.  He wanted to plan matching outfits every day.  He constantly compared our relationship, especially the physical aspect (really, the lack thereof), to his best friend.  If I was having a good day and he wasn’t, he went out of his way to ignore me until my day was shitty too.

So, I told him it was over.  He rested his head against the wall, silent.  I though the conversation went as well as it possibly could have…until he reared back and slammed his forehead into the glass of a picture frame hanging on the wall.  In disbelief, I backed toward a classroom door, hoping to escape quickly.

Locked.

Shock quickly turned to fear.

Luckily, other students were farther down the hallway and heard the commotion.  I hurried back to class and frantically told my teacher what happened; she rushed out to assist him.  My cousin came to check on me and I told him I was fine, he hadn’t hurt me.

The painful part came afterward, when I was asked to keep quiet about what happened.

My ex begged me not to tell anyone what happened.  He hoped to join the military and worried this would negatively impact his chances.  His mom and sister came to me with the same request.  I was horrified.  I was supposed to protect him? He was upset, they said.  That behavior wasn’t like him; his future was at stake.

He.  Him.

My college boyfriend–my first real love–went home for the summer while I stayed in town and worked.  Toward the end of the summer, he told me he wanted to take me out to dinner–to talk to me about something–when he got back.  He was very mysterious, refusing to tell me what he wanted to talk about, and I thought for sure he was going to propose.  Turns out, he wanted to break up.  (Thank God I got him to tell me over the phone instead of in a restaurant.)

But after that, we were still cordial…until he got upset with me for not buying a computer from him.  See, he worked at a computer store and I came in one day and bought a brand new laptop–but not while he was on shift.  He could have used that commission, he said.  He thought I would have wanted to help him out.

He.  Him.

Too often, women are expected to take ownership for what men do.  Recently, the trial and conviction of Bill Cosby illuminates this disgusting facet of our society.  Why did she go to his hotel room?  What did she expect would happen?  Why is she coming forward now?  He’s an old man; he’ll die in prison because of this.  What about him, his legacy as a Black actor?

He.  Him.

It sickens me for a number of reasons, but mostly because it happened to me.  I completely understand the anger, the sadness, the frustration, and the guilt that comes with being made to feel like you have to take care of someone totally able to care for himself.

Women are socialized to care, to nurture, to feel.  We are expected to be firm, but kind.  We are taught to be nice. Even at our own expense.

This goes for everyone, but especially for women–we need to start taking care of ourselves.  It isn’t selfish to protect yourself from harm.  It isn’t mean to tell the truth.

Honestly, I hesitated to even write this post. What if my two exes, their friends and families, got upset with me? What if I hurt their feelings? What if I made them mad?

Then I realized–I can’t worry about them. I have to worry about me. One of my intentions this year is to speak my truth. I’m finally telling the truth I’ve felt obligated to keep quiet for so long.

Me. Mine.

You don’t owe anyone your self-esteem, your time, your money, or your silence–especially if they aren’t willing to positively invest in you.