You Don't Know What Love Is.

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Question: If it isn’t love...why can’t I sleep? Why doesn’t food have the same savory flavor that it once had? Why am I brainstorming about baby names? Why do my arms yearn to wrap around the frame of another…

Answer: Probably because I’m restless, all of my friends have summer crushes, I want somebody to go to King’s Dominion with next week, and the last person I kissed (on the cheek-of course) was my 12 year old brother and I’m pretty sure he groaned in agony when he walked away.

Look. I’m not here to entertain you. This won’t be a warm and surreal fantasy-driven rant about the ins and outs of romance. I’m here to keep it all-the-way real. So many people, in my generation, will label their hot mess of a situation “love” without hesitation. And it’s nauseating because most of us haven’t tasted love and wouldn’t know what it was if it arrived in a UPS package with a description.

When it comes to the topic of love, I am a certified disaster. I promise. If I don’t get what I want, when I want it, from the person I asked for it…I throw a tantrum that causes flames to rise and bridges to fade to ash. I’m only 25 years old and though I don’t know a lot about love…I know that love isn’t impatient and demanding.

When I talk with my girlfriends about our “relationships”, I hear so many contradictions. We all claim to be so thoughtful, sacrificial, ideal, and perfect…but so many of our desires are petty and based upon temporary satisfaction.

The reality is: there have been many nights when I laid on the couch watching Love & Basketball or listening to that redundant list of slow jams on my iPod…wishing that someone would just knock on my front door, then get down on one knee, and propose. But, I realize now, that I never really wanted the responsibility of having a husband…I just wanted to cuddle.

(That’s the real-ist thing I ever wrote).

The idea of washing someone else’s clothes, cleaning the toilet 4x a week, discussing bills, and going to marriage counseling (which is inevitable in 2011) just makes me SICK. I don’t mean…emotionally uncomfortable. I mean…disgusted, dizzy, angry, overheated, confused, and bloated.

I am pretty sure that marriage is amazing. And that’s fine. But I am really not in the hurry that I once thought I was in because, when I get paid, I like to shop…for clothes… for myself. I would rather wake up in the middle of the night to randomly check Face Book than to heat up a baby bottle or grab the Tums from the medicine cabinet for my spouse.

We’re all in such a hurry to “love” somebody when we barely like ourselves. It’s amazing because my generation is rushing toward nothing. Over half of the marriages entered in to last year will end by 2015. That’s not opinion. Those are just the facts. And what I don’t understand is…why are we programmed to rush like this? When we are in healthy friendships that could eventually graduate to marriages…we (as women) start to obsessively map some timeline that we expect men to embrace and commit to immediately. When they don’t…all of our friends and female family members tell us to kick them to the curb because they are “playing games”. It’s…so…depressing to be an 80’s baby sometimes.

Because I don’t know what love is…and no one around me seems to know either.

I don’t know what to do about it…yet. But, trust me; I’m going to figure it out. If you have any suggestions…call me. I’ll probably be laying on the couch…watching Love & Basketball or listening to that same redundant play list of slow jams. And, even though I just wrote this entire declaration about our generation, I’ll still (secretly) be waiting for Prince Charming to drop by…so we can cuddle ;-)


NNL

DEAR FEAR,

This affair has gone on long enough. You’ve owned me for 24 years and I’ve been your prisoner…your pet…your slave. But as we approach the eve of my birthday, I feel obligated to tell you that I just can’t do this anymore. I can’t spend my nights with you allowing you to whisper in my fragile ears. I can’t dream of you and imagine a life dominated by your contours.

You’ve kept me from my promises for so long. You’ve been the corrupt love of my life. I serve you night and day…from dusk till dawn. Even when I’ve managed to ride in to the sunset with courage, you hunt me down like I’m nothing more than pathetic prey.

I pray that, on this day, you’ll become a distant memory. I’ve cried long enough…I’ve held my regrets like an infant, rocking each in frail arms. You have become my everything. I can’t be with you and serve God too.

So please, take our memories…take everything we had…and leave my heart. Abandon my mind so that I might find out what this life has for me. No more baby steps…no more running against the current…I want to fly. I want to dance on the clouds and host my 26th birthday on the moon.

What I’m really trying to say…is that it’s over between us. Courage and I are in love. We’re getting married…I’m looking forward to a life of risk-taking, record-breaking and memory-making.

Find someone else to taunt, tease and torture because Natasha Nichole Lake…is moving on.

Please Stop Complaining.

Let me describe my life to you…

It’s like a lily in the valley of poverty, war, hatred, bigotry, racism, sexism, and all other prejudice. It is the well filled with living water on the highest mountain in the driest desert. My life is a glimmer of hope in a dark society where love is scarce and hope is depleting.

My life is the kind of beautiful that poets described in the early 1800’s. I have no need for daily miracles…or minor strokes of luck because my every day is deliciously complete. My very breath is unbelievable. I have the kind of joy that is not attained with monetary supplication or worldly satisfaction. I know that this mentality cannot be purchased nor developed during some 90-day program in a yoga camp in Fiji. I am joyful because one day, not long ago, I decided to be joyful. Whether or not the sun shines or I get complimented on a new outfit or a mysterious check shows up in the mailbox…I’m satisfied.

I’m happy because I’m too grateful and too wise not to be. Everywhere I look, I see destruction. Families are falling apart. Plagues are attacking crops in Asia. Deadly rashes are breaking out in Joplin as storm volunteers aim to clean up debris. The US government is more corrupt now than ever and mass rapes are devastating Africa.

Yet, this morning, I woke up in my mini-castle in suburbia with the AC creating a literal breeze in my bedroom. I had a brilliant vegan breakfast and my favorite green tea…I filled my car with the same gas that so many Americans cannot afford and I drove to the job that millions of Americans would kill to have. Each moment was filled-no-overflowing with gratitude.

There will always be a million reasons to complain. I'm American. That’s what we do. But, when we really embrace the essence of life and hone in on all that is important and imperative…Life is gorgeous.

My mama used to say, “Life is what you make it baby”…and she was right. So, I challenge you. Let’s make life good. As Oprah Winfrey would say, “live your best life.”

I choose to love this life every day because I have lived 24 years without dealing with cancer, diabetes, AIDS, unwanted pregnancy, alcohol & drug addiction, homelessness, cyclical unemployment, and many other hardships.

My life hasn’t been easy…but ease doesn’t make life awesome. My mentality makes my life awesome. On June 10, 2011, I am “publicly” refreshing my mentality about success and joy (again). It is vital that I understand what fulfillment really is…so that I’ll never be empty again.

Please be careful what you complain about…there are people all over the world…who would love to have your problems rather than their own. (Be encouraged).

...a Few Reasons Why So Many Women are Single

Hello.

My name is Natasha Nichole Lake and I'm addicted to being real...no matter what the consequence or the anticipated loss. And lately, my favorite subject happens to be male/female relationships.

I love my sister circle because it is a colorful gumbo of women from all walks of life who have accomplished so much within 20-45 years. When we get together, the sky is literally the limit because the conversation is rich, the inspiration spreads like incense smoke and our rainbow of stiletto heels are runway-ready. Simply put, we're all kinds of fabulous.

But, we're also all single.

So...I'm going to do what most women wouldn't and I'm going to be real about a few components that are prohibiting the most accomplished, sexy, faith-filled, career-driven women from owning (rather than leasing) love.


1) We're kinda crazy. (The women I know will probably roll their necks and say, "speak for yourself" through clenched teeth while reading this). But the necessary truth is...women are painfully indecisive. We want to be independent and in control of our destinies but we also demand that a man know how to be a leader and a provider. I've seen so many relationships destroyed by the "power" dynamic which leaves a man feeling castrated and a woman overwhelmed. Most power couples aren't that admirable at all because two people who deem themselves as powerful go-getters are typically both out to get whatever they want as individuals...leaving the relationship crippled. Now-don't get me wrong. Two strong and ambitious individuals can create a beautiful love story but both must be willing to put egos aside in the name of love. Women need to be willing to let men lead and men need to embrace the leadership role.(In short, we as women have to decide whether we want to wear the pumps or the pants...because we can't continue doing both).


2) We're insecure. (Yes I said it). All of that miracle weave and the wax on our freshly detailed cars...are just suppressants. Our pain is neatly tucked away in Coach, Fendi, and Louis Vuitton bags and our pasts haunt us even as we giggle and sip martinis at the finest restaurants and lounges in the world. Deep down...we're wondering what it is about us that makes us unlovable. Most of us love to use the "intimidation factor". I hear women say it daily..."men are intimidated by me so they avoid me." I'm convinced that every lonely woman has some rendition of that speech ready to throw out like a dagger during every family reunion, company luncheon, church revival, and wedding that she attends alone. It's an old and tired lullaby that puts the questions of concerned (nosey) relatives and friends to sleep.
Truthfully, there's nothing to be intimidated about because more and more women are executives, entrepreneurs, millionaires, visionaries, leaders, and successful single mothers. Most of the men that we label as "intimidated" were raised by strong women who carried the family load on their backs WHILE wearing Louboutin heels. Men aren't intimidated. They either want to be challenged or they don't. It's simple.

3) We're controlling and possessive. (Embrace the truth. Reality is a vitamin...swallow it). Any woman who has waited 20+ years for a good man has a slight tendency to get a little anxious about losing the best thing since slice bread. So...all of the gentle, debutant characteristics that were present on the first or second date...fade away and tend to be replaced by a jailor's tendencies. Her calls start to seem scheduled. What was once an attempt to call and be supportive or inquire about a long day becomes an obsession with a man's whereabouts and his schedule. When a call isn't answered or returned within minutes...a search party is formed. Random drop-bys to his job to "surprise" him and the inability to feel secure unless every text from him contains a smiley face start to collect and become a mountain of toxic habits. Women claim to want to have healthy and happy bonds with their partners but how is that possible if we try to hold hearts hostage? Love is liberating. We can't continue to try to convince men to serve life sentences...rather than an eternity in a blissful agreement to love for better or for worse.


Being single is becoming an epidemic for women around the world. No one really seems to want to be single forever but most women have given up on meeting the ideal partner. I know that there is a solution.

(I have some more insight on this dilemma and I'll share more in my next entry).

Thanks for reading :)

Sweet Surrender

I’ve attempted (thousands of times) to be the person everybody else wants me to be. But, today…I confess…once and for all that each time I attempt to be anyone and anything besides myself I fail miserably.

In 2004, my high school peers voted me “Most Likely to Succeed” because of my bright smile and vibrant spirit. At the time, I was honored. Months later, when I arrived on my college campus, I was overwhelmed and too anxious to live up to such intimidating expectations.

I never thought much about what I wanted to be while I growing up. I mentioned once that I wanted to be a minister and that didn’t go over well in my household. I wrote poetry and kept journals but I always got “caught” and my intimate thoughts earned me punishments so severe that I stopped recording my thoughts altogether. Once in high school, I earned a prominent position on the newspaper staff and thought I might prevail as a journalist so I held on to the nick name “Oprah Jr.” and wore it as a costume so that others might not harass me about who I truly was and what I hoped to become. When people asked what I wanted, I’d say “I want to be like Oprah” just to shut them up and preserve my inner-most desires. Truthfully, I didn’t know Oprah Winfrey personally back then…and I still don’t. I just loved her power and enthusiasm.

I realized this week, as her show concluded, that power expires. Each person exists for a season to shed light and spread love. Then, we leave this earth and hopefully…leave a legacy.

I’ve struggled, like most people I know, to determine what my legacy would be and how I could guarantee that my name would be in huge, bodacious lights. I’ve tried, on more than one occasion, to plot my way to stardom.

But today, I renew my mind and adjust my attitude about success. For years, I’ve been chasing some silhouette that I thought represented fulfillment. Consequently, I’ve never been satisfied or truly proud of my accomplishments. The same voices that I heard in 2004, prompting me to “succeed” are now in the back of my head defining success as financial abundance, earthly power, and a six-figure career.

My old dreams and aspirations are making the “new me” tired. I need a season of simplicity. I don’t want to new list of exhausting goals and to-do’s. I don’t want to over-exert myself in an effort to become a super star or a mogul. I just want to take my brother out to dinner once a week. I want to sit with my mom and share a good joke or two. I want to see my sister, Jada, more often and relive moments from our college years.

I want to visit cities that I’ve never eaten in and dance on the shore of beaches around the world that I’ve never enjoyed before …

I don’t want a big, complicated and busy life. I want to be who I was born to be…and do what I was born to do. I want to love people and encourage them to live purposeful lives. I don’t care if I’m in a bookstore, coffee shop, sanctuary, leasing office, or shoe store. If I can inspire someone or reaffirm delayed or battered dreams…then I’m complete.

Today, I say goodbye to a lifetime of exhausting projects and pursuits. I say goodbye to an overly ambitious voice within that has burned me out for the last time.
Everything I do from now on…will be a direct reflection of who I am and what I believe in.


(And that’s real).

Sabbatical.

Have you ever been too weary to rest? Eyes are heavy...spirit is broken...body is battered...

But laying down provides no solace and there is no peace to be found in the center of your pillow. There are moments when sleep isn't good enough and no nap is truly satisfying. Bones moan like hungry kittens and feet swell with anticipation of the next work day.

There's a type of exhaustion that some consider to be indescribable. There are days when the body rises from its slumber and washes itself then dresses itself without the mind ever being connected to the process. I know what it is to get through an 8 hour work day...then get home and have no recollection of the events that took place in the office. I call it the Robot Syndrome...(the body shows up for the work day but the mind & soul stay in bed).

This year (2011), has been the most tiring year of my life. I joke with friends and say, "I wake up-sleepy." We all laugh...awkwardly...then change the topic because there really is nothing funny about being tortured by the alarm on an iPhone 8.5 hours after going to bed and still feeling drained and burnt out.

I realized today (and every day for the past two months) that a sabbatical is as essential now as it was when I was twelve and longed for the summer break each May. This is the time of year when I used to stare out of the class room window and beg the sun to give way to the moon that I might soon welcome another day that would reveal the reality that summer was near.

I am twenty-four years old...and my back aches. My head throbs like African drums on Broadway...

I'm only sharing my ailments because there is medicine in my misery. Each ache in my body serves as a reminder that my own welfare isn't optional. I am taunted by a headache which is actually heaven-sent. Headaches fade with the aid of Excedrin. I'd rather receive gentle warnings in my 20's than ignore the vital signs until a heart attack ends my life. So, oddly enough, I'm grateful for the current discomforts.

I know that I was raised by a woman who (to this day) does not know how to relax. She is constantly moving, shaking, and making the world better through service and love. I celebrate her ambition and commitment to being a provider. But my heart yearns for a lifestyle complete with real slumber and sincere rest.

I am tired! And I don't want to be too prideful to confess that I need to be laying next to the pool, with a glass of strawberry lemonade, my Ipod and an intoxicating novel for the next few days.

Real women know how to relax. My re-dedication to me (my health and sanity)is cited here for the world to see. I have to make sure that when a sabbatical is due, I take advantage of each opportunity to rest and refuel...because I'm no good to anybody if I can't even properly function and care for my own body.

Mama, I Love You.

If you knew her, you’d know why my skin glows like the sun on a warm evening in August. You’d know why I stand tall with my chin tilted toward the sky…with the kind of confidence that only results from good breeding. You’d be able to embrace the reality that I know exactly who and whose I am. If you knew her, you’d understand why I can’t help but thank God for waking me up every morning.

Yvette M. Carty raised me with stern love, selflessness, and prayers. She’s more than my mama. She is the portal that God utilized to bring me to this world. Therefore, I thank her for my existence. Her courage speaks to me daily. My heartbeat is the result of her willingness to say yes to God, even when she had no earthly reason to believe that we would be alright. At the age of 25, she gave birth to her ministry. And for the past 25 years, she’s loved me viciously.

I have given her millions of reasons to give up on me. I strayed away from her teachings over and over again. I’ve gone my own way, determined to learn about this life the hard way…but she loved me anyway.

In spite of my stubbornness, she never stopped praying for me. I am so thankful for her life and her love for God. Without her, I wouldn’t be who I am today. I thank God for everything I’ve lived through…I thank God for a praying mama. Her love saved my life.

NNL

Dear Tomorrow,

I was once obsessed with your potential...I was unhealthy and addicted to what you could offer me. Yesterday damaged me so viciously that you became my hope for love, life, and purpose. I know now that I managed to mistreat you, in advance.

I over-analyzed every day dream, stripped every fantasy, and hassled every opportunity until I nearly destroyed any hope of ever seeing and experiencing you.

There is so much that I'm certain you will offer...so much joy that I will find in your sunrise. But for now, I'd like to just make peace with the reality that this day is just as important as you are to me.

I have headaches often, because I yearn to be with you. For some reason, I've convinced myself that you will fix everything. But I'm learning now that my frame of mind has been hindering me from thoroughly enjoying each moment of my life.

I love you. But I have to stop thinking about you so much...I need space to live for today.

I hope you'll understand.

NNL
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I'm in Love.

...I waited 24 years for a love like yours. The kind of love that takes a shattered heart and utilizes kisses as the glue to peice me back together. Your love, so innocent and kind...so rich and sincere, made me new.

I remember searching every embrace, every compliment, and every friendship for a love like this love. I remember giving myself to those who never knew how to treat me or hold me. I remember laying where I wasn't adored and accepting what should've been unacceptable. I was, indeed, lost. I was as empty as those I surrounded myself with...as confused as those I looked to for advice.

Before I gave my heart to you and asked you to mend me, I placed it in the care of every thief, conman, gambler, pimp, and womanizer that I encountered. I wasn't only stupid, I was arrogant AND stupid. I knew everything and nothing at all. My feelings were easily heart and my ego easily bruised. When I felt insulted, I turned to my addictions. When I felt neglected, I sought refuge in arms that weren't shaped to hold me. When people attacked my character, I gave them more reasons to hate me and to ridicule me.

Yes. Before I let you love me viciously...I was a stray dog looking for affection in every alley. I was a mess, dressed in the finest fabrics. Name brands served as my shade from the heat of your hunt. I didn't want to be found. I didn't want to be saved. I thrived on the fact that I needed no one. I was filthy. I was everything they said I was...and worse.

But now...I am perfected in your grace. You helped me realize that because of your love, I am a new creature. I, in the purest form, am an awesome reflection of you. Even on my worst days, your love and mercy endures and supplements what I am not...what I don't have to give. You live and breathe and speak for me when I am too weak to utter anything but hate and complaints.

I am in love. For the first time in 24 years, I found everything that I've been looking for...you are: patient and kind and you keep no record of my wrongs. There's no envy here, no ego, and no anger. Everything I hoped to find in anyone whose path crossed with mine...

I finally found in you.

Thank you, Jesus, for purifying me. Thank you for taking my sins and using them as the wood in the furnace of my spirit. I am on fire for you, ready to change this world, because if you can wash me and set me free...I am convinced that you can help anybody.

(1 Corinthians 13)

I Should Hate Men. But I Don't.

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STATISTICS PROVE THAT MOST WOMEN WHO HAVE NEVER BEEN MARRIED WERE RAISED IN HOMES WITHOUT FATHERS OR IN HOMES WHERE THE FATHER LEFT DURING EARLY-CHILDHOOD (BETWEEN AGES 4-12).

When I was 2 years old, my biological father left us (not an unusual story among black American families in 1988). My mama did what any amazing, selfless mother would do; she decided to raise me with all the love she could muster up to give me in spite of her own brokenness.

When I was 4 years old, my father decided he wanted to be a parent again. (How convenient). The struggle between my parents involved the court system and due to circumstances I’m not aware of…my father was granted full custody. So on a gorgeous spring day in 1990, three men in black suits showed up to my daycare center and announced that they would be removing me from my serene environment and dropping me off at the LAX airport. From there, I’d be flying to Texas where I would start a new, terrifying life with my father and his wife.

I was taken (during naptime) from my small, safe world and my mother who I loved more than my own existence. During the 8 months I spent with my father, I remember being beaten for refusing to call his wife ‘mom’ and being beaten constantly for pee-ing the bed. I ate frozen meals every day, 2x a day. Because my hair was thick and wild, my father’s wife simply refused to comb it and it started falling out in to my little hands. I didn’t hear my mother’s voice for 8 months. I cried every night. To this day, I remember the sting of that pain.

Eventually, my father gave up on trying to raise me. He’d found some new woman who didn’t want to be bothered with kids (thank God) and he mailed me back to my mother. I remember him taking me to the airport and telling me we were going on a trip, but once we arrived…he told me I’d be flying “home” by myself. Once I boarded the plane, I wept until I fell asleep. Though I wasn’t treated well during my time with my father, I was a child and I was terrified of change.

I remember getting off the plane, in California, and with arms outstretched and tears brimming in my big eyes….I ran to my mother. I remember her face and her smell. She was perfect. She took me home to a 1-bedroom apartment that smelled like everything amazing. My bed was overflowing with teddy bears and dolls. My closet was brimming with new clothes. My mama loved me so much. She sacrificed so much to get me back and, to this day, she tells me that the time we spent apart is the sole reason that she has so much faith in God. The moment she held me, my pain faded.

It wasn’t until 2004, when she let me go…let me grow up and discover the world on my own, that the pain returned. I started dating at 18 years old. When I was in my mother’s house, dating was simply not an option. I didn’t try to sneak boys in the house like most of my friends did…not because I was so holy or admirable…but because I was scared for my life. My mama told me that she would (literally) kill me if she caught me entertaining some boy in her house.

So when I got to UNC-Greensboro…the floodgates of curiously flew off the hinges. Though I managed to maintain honors status and tried to better the community, I partied hard and discovered a fresh obsession with attention from men. Though the pain I experienced from being abandoned by my father at age 4 was suppressed during my childhood, it was boiling within me waiting to overflow once I left my mother’s nest. When I got to college, I experienced a loneliness that I’d never known. I spent six years (2004-2010) trying to marry everybody who winked at me. I thought that marriage would repair me and fill the holes from childhood. I thought that if someone wanted to love me, I could heal from the pain of being unwanted by my own father. The sad truth is- I didn’t even understand my reckless collegiate actions until I recently took time to heal and say goodbye to my past. As a teen, when friends asked me if I missed my biological father or wanted to find him, I would just laugh and tell them that all I wanted from him was a big check and a Range Rover.

I really thought I was unaffected by his absence. But the truth is-I was broken and confused. Many of us are so convinced that we are not damaged by issues that took place in our households during childhood. We think that living recklessly or lying in the beds of men who will never love us or spending time with people who cannot make us better…just comes with the territory for our generation.

I’d like to use my story as a reality check. I lead a very fortunate, plush life. I’ve never had to ask twice for anything. My mom and my Dad have consistently blessed my life in spite of poor decisions and a trifling mentality about hard work and independence. They love and support me. Though my dad is technically my “step-father” he’s been a father to me since the day we met. I’m honored to call him dad.
Simply put, my life is a miracle.

HOWEVER, none of the luxuries or popularity or opportunities saved me from the hell that was waiting for me once I moved out of my mother’s house. My childhood insecurities resurfaced and every morsel of pain reintroduced itself…I was (once again) scarred from abandonment and neglect. And quite frankly, I barely survived college. I was trying to survive, on my own, in a world full of men who have no intention to be Mr. Right but stay ready to be Mr. Right-Now.

Now that I'm on the other side of my nightmare, I’ve dedicated my life to helping other young women who “think” they are confident and capable…but may not be ready for the attacks that accompany independence.

My life is my testimony and I’m grateful for every ounce of pain I’ve experienced. I’ve turned that pain in to praise…and I’m ready to save lives.


NNL

Love Your Man Right…Or I Will. (Part II)

I watched a slice of the show Divorce Court recently. The husband and wife “on trial” were the typical guests on this popular reality show…they were African-American, seemingly uneducated, financially unstable, and ignorant. I’m no fan of the show because I don’t endorse or entertain the idea of divorce. In the fantasy land where I choose to dwell, two people marry and they never give up on each other.

In America, however, where 51% of marriages fail…divorce is a very real issue.
On this particular episode, the wife boasts that she wants a divorce because her husband “is too nice”. (Yes. You read that right. She couldn’t tolerate his kindness).

As I watched the video, my chest tightened and my eyes watered. Many of my friends found the scene comical, but I was broken after watching two adults who had clearly been through a fair share of difficulties in life…abandon each other because of ignorance and low standards. The video inspired me to do what I do best. Today, I want to utilize reality to raise awareness about the pathetic nature of insecure women.

Disclaimer: I’m going to be more straight-forward than ever.

Today’s Topic: Most women don’t want someone to love. Most are determined to find someone to fix...

(the more damaged/abusive/neglectful the man is…the better).

I am increasingly disgusted with the female population on this planet. I admit I am a woman, always will be one and I celebrate femininity every day. But, as I mature and meet new people, I realize that most women are good at two things:

1)Complaining about what men don’t do right

2)Searching for unqualified men to get in relationships with…
so that they’ll be able to complain about what men don’t do right

I just can’t handle it anymore. What are we really searching for? What is it that we really want? Having someone to love is an honor and a privilege reserved for a very small population in today’s society. If you have someone who wants to be faithful to you, wants to treat you like a queen, wants to raise children with you, and aims to be the best man he can be…why search for something to complain about or something to fix?

Let’s just be real. Most women are looking for men who reflect their self-esteem. That’s the problem. On the surface, a woman may be financially stable-fashionable-and socially advanced…but internally she is insecure and awkward. So, until she is able to find a man who is also insecure and awkward (plus abusive, greedy, neglectful and unfaithful)…she feels incomplete.

At the end of the day, we all want to be with our equals. So no matter how successful a woman seems-if she hates herself, she is going to want to be abused. She’s going to want someone to talk to her and treat her like she treats herself…like the crap on the bottom of someone’s yard shoes.

I need to tell it like it is, if we-as women-keep searching for familiar, comfortable relationships rather than a mature commitment, we are going to keep hunting for the wrong mates. Women weren’t designed to hunt. But you can believe that there are some dogs out there waiting to be caught by desperate women who aren’t satisfied with the high caliber of men who DO know how to pursue good women.

Real women are not out here searching and trying to find love in everybody’s bed/night club. A real woman believes that love is awesome and unusual. So when love finds her…there is no time to nit-pick about all the things that a good man, is not.

She is not immature or foolish enough to wish that a man would be more abusive (like her father was)…or more neglectful (like her first boyfriend was). A real woman isn’t in search of everything typical. She is ready for the man who will love her and treat her like the queen that SHE KNOWS she is…

I HATE MYSELF.

Friends tell me I’m somewhat of a mirror. I have the ability to show people what they couldn’t otherwise see in themselves. It’s a burdensome gift, reserved for those who surrender the fantasy and the newness of “getting to know” someone. I tend to know all I need to know about a person within the first few moments of interaction. So, the insecurities or intentions that a person has never sneak up on me in a relationship.

The perks: I have a small circle of sincere people around me, people who uplift and better me. I know that those I love truly love me too.

The pain: Most people comfortably lie to my face. Insecure people pretend to be confident. Lonely people pretend to be busy and socially fulfilled. AND women…(Sigh)...pretend to love themselves.

I meet new people every day. Every introduction is the same. Names are exchanged and accompanied by a moist handshake or an awkward, ill-timed hug. (I hate introductions). No one really knows what to say or how long to linger. It’s just a social mess, especially among women. Women don’t know whether to be warm or weary, kind or caddy. It’s quite sad to watch. Lately, I find myself saddened amidst most introductions because when I make eye contact with women…I see inner-disgust and self-hatred.

Sure, on the surface, there is a gorgeous and fashionable lioness approaching me with a huge smile and a big designer bag neatly sashaying as she walks. I can hear men humming “Miss Independent” as a theme song when modern divas move through a crowd, seemingly untouchable. (It’s just too bad confidence isn’t sold at a Chanel counter).

Let’s be real about a few things…

1) Eye contact is rare for a reason in modern society. Why? The eyes never lie and that’s why people avoid each other and try to fall in love via text messaging. I make a point of zooming in and scanning the soul when I’m introduced to someone.

2) The same lips that provide me with a rap sheet of accomplishments, degrees, to-dos, and desires…belong to women who are silently yearning for some form of affirmation or completion.

I HATE MYSELF is the new fragrance for the females in my generation, spritzed on every time we lay with men who don’t love us…or gossip about women we ‘don’t like’ because of minuscule differences or disagreements…or discourage the dreams of others due to our own failures.

It’s ugly. But the truth isn’t pretty. It’s ironic that most women literally hate what they see in the mirror. Mirrors can’t lie. No matter how much makeup is applied or how many designer rags adorn your body, self-hatred will seep thru and own you. Unless you do what victorious women do…

Love what’s beautiful about you and learn to adore the blemishes too. Everything about you is essential. Every chapter of your story is vital. Someone will benefit from the testimony behind your bruises and scars one day. But first you have to face the mirror, stop pretending you have it all together…and heal.

I’m just being real.

Love Your Man Right…Or I Will. (Part I)

I don’t mean any harm. I promise. My intentions are pure. But…I had to insult you in order to get your attention. Because there is an epidemic in our community and I have the components that will lead to the cure. That’s right. I’m bold and...slightly arrogant, because I am convinced that I know why people cannot stay together. I know why the divorce rates are rising and marriage rates are diving rapidly. I can’t give all the components away at once. So consider this to be an introduction to an awesome awakening.

Today, I’m going to give you a little sample of the reality that I’m being exposed to constantly. Now before I begin, everyone who knows me knows that I celebrate women all day-every day. Consider that statement to be my disclaimer. Because…for the next few lines…I’ll be going in (meaning I will be lecturing the population I love the most).

TODAY’S POINT: Too many women have so much pride…and no purpose.

I’m reading Steve Harvey’s second book right now. And while he makes valid, thoughtful statements, he’s protecting our feminine feelings way too much. I’m not here to coax you in to being a phenomenal woman. I’m here to drop a bomb on your prideful, pretty tail. Most the women I know are in denial about a little bit of everything. We are all so convinced that God created us without any flaws. We don’t want to amend our long list of requirements. We don’t want to admit when we are wrong. We want men to be “manly” but we don’t want to surrender any of the control that we’ve held on to desperately for our entire lives.

We are marching to the same tired beat and humming ‘I don’t need a man…I don’t need a man’. It’s pathetic. Because, if you spend enough time saying that you don’t need a man and reminding the man in your life that you’d be just fine without him…he will start catering to a woman who makes him feel valuable and irreplaceable. What purpose is your pride serving? Really? Who is it benefitting? Certainly not you. Because you spend your Saturday nights with your sister and her husband, baking cookies and watching Lifetime.

You want everyone to know how strong you are. You want everyone to call you Miss Independent. But, late at night, you pray that God will send you the one who’ll never leave or abandon you.

The problem is: the pride cloak. You wear it all day and then take it off when no one is watching. At night, the tears fall. At night, the slow jams play…and you fantasize about the day when Prince Charming will sweep you off your feet.

Reality Check: Prince Charming can’t even see you. Your “pride cloak” that you think protects you…actually hinders you and dims your feminine glow. You think you look independent. The rest of us think you look bitter and resentful. You want love? Do what the mistresses who are catering to miserably married men do, be vulnerable and be available. If you can’t do that for the man you want…trust me…someone else will.

THE BROOM LIST!

Things I'd Like to Do, Before I Say "I Do"


From an early age, women are encouraged to focus on family, marriage, and children. Once we reach a certain age, we’re all desperately trying to avoid being old maids who spend Valentine’s Day with “friends” talking about how insignificant the day is, when (deep down) we’re yearning for Cupid to ransack us with an arsenal of arrows. I have to keep it so real. This is the one day of the year when my community’s mail man (who is actually a 40-year old white woman) starts looking slightly debonair…and I’m tempted to ask if he (I mean-she) has plans tonight.

I don’t want to create a dramatic sob story, because I haven’t been single on Valentine ’s Day in 10 years. Every year, I’ve had someone who took better care of me than I did of them…trying to woo me and convince me that there was no one who could love me better. Honestly, I have always been numb to the fuss and the frantic undertone of the day. I found it to be superfluous and exhausting. This year, is the first, that I will spend spoiling those in my life who have always been good to me (my family). Tonight, I’ll surprise my mom with flowers and my brother/dad with cards and candy.

I’ve had a lot of time (during the past few months of single living) to think about what is important. I realize that, instead of obsessing over what I don’t have, I have to celebrate what I have already and what I hope to have once love does bum rush me. I mentioned in a recent post, that I have never been in love. Though that may offend some, it’s fine time that I decide to be honest and open. I cannot give my love to anyone until I am ready and willing to share all of myself. There is so much in my life that has been left undone because of unhealthy relationships. There are so many goals that have been abandoned or delayed because I’ve wanted to cater to someone else’s needs instead of acknowledging my own.

I’m never going to do that again. I have a short list of things that I intent to accomplish before I jump the broom…and I’d like to share them with you. However, there is a quick disclaimer: if love shows up before I’ve accomplished everything on my list…I will welcome it with open and grateful arms. I will then rely on my partner to encourage me to continue pursuing my dreams and completing each challenge that I start.

MY BROOM LIST (a list of things i'd like to do before i say "i do")

Finish writing my first book
Refresh my wardrobe/Prepare for Life after “25”
Take a road trip with my mom
Have a huge birthday dinner at my parents house with everyone that I love
Get certified in Beginners Yoga and/or Beginners Zumba
Learn how to cook (at least) five new dishes
Triple the balance in my savings account
Buy my first property

I'm No Hoe.....Right?

Liquor poured. Candles glow. He wouldn’t light candles for a hoe…

Right?

Because hoes don’t get to stay the night…don’t get to witness the sun in all of its bold luminescence…

Don’t get to wear pretty dresses and hold hands on street corners.
Hoes only reside on street corners…in toddler-sized tees with tear-stained cheeks.

Short skirts…sidewalk marketing. Customers glimpse (tattered, pitter-pattered, injected-so-get-a-little-fatter)…cheeks. Ass addressed to the highest paying admirer...

I’m no hoe. No. Can’t be…because if I were, he wouldn’t want to be seen with me. Wouldn’t take me out to eat…wouldn’t put $50 pumps on my grateful feet…wouldn’t survive off coconut nectar and honey from bee stings. Hoes don’t get the finer things…

I’m a lady. A different breed…

My only desire is to give him what he needs. Responding to purple pants and passionate red pleads…is my obligation because he didn’t have to extend this invitation.

Didn’t have to choose me….it may be 1am…he may act like this isn’t love…like he doesn’t give a damn. But-somewhere locked tight, beyond the stench of this redundant night…he’s a man. And I’m a lady.

He wants to find the courage to date me…this is only temporary. Can’t pressure him. Commitment is scary…Patience is a virtue…

So I’ll just do what I have to...Because I’m a lady….and this is what ladies do.

Right?

If Only You Knew...

I’m not the untouchable, fearless woman that I hope to be eventually. I’m only her apprentice. Each day is a struggle for me…as I fight to grow in to/walk in my big girl shoes. I wake up wanting to believe that I will have everything that I deserve, but there are moments and memories that prevent me from maintaining the level of confidence that I need in order to accomplish greatness.

(My version of greatness is: managing motherhood, a career, philanthropy, romance, friendships and personal wellness).

There are so many things that I have done or said out of fear that I wish I could erase or undo. But I can’t. I’ve pushed so many amazing people away because I knew that they had the capacity to hurt me. I pushed them away because they intimidated me or made me uncomfortable with who I have yet to become. My only regret in this lifetime is the mismanagement of my relationships.

Lately, I’ve been casually announcing what I’m ready for i.e. I’m ready for love. I’m ready for all that life has to offer. But the truth is I’m no more ready for love now than I was at 18 years old. (Because my frame of mind has not been renewed). I am still a stubborn woman who wants everything she wants, when she wants it. I decided, long ago, what love had to look and feel like. I didn’t want any variation. I didn’t want to sacrifice control. But I’m learning that I won’t be ready for love or any other miracles until I allow someone else to hold my heart for long enough to understand its contours and subsequently, understand my needs.

I accept the fact that I have never been in love before. I’ve been on top of it, near it, and even trapped under love…but being in love requires the sacrifice of self and power. I have never given anyone my power. I might’ve surrendered to someone else for a moment…but I’ve never put myself in the position to love for a lifetime. I don’t want to continue that trend. I’m throwing up my white flag. I’m surrendering right now.

For those who I’ve hurt or pushed away, I wish you really knew how much I love you. I wish you could find it in your heart to evaluate mine and believe that my intentions are good. If there is room for repair, I pray that we will be connected in the way that God originally intended. My life won’t be nearly as rich without you.

For the only person I’ve ever wanted to change for: If only you knew, that underneath this powerful costume adorned with cockiness and bossiness…is an insecure little girl who just doesn’t want to be abandoned or embarrassed, you would realize that we are perfect for each other. You’d realize that our flaws are capable of combining and creating the most beautiful love story. You’d accept me…and I would stop, habitually, finding ways to reject you…because I love you.

No More BS.

I'm making a declaration today. And it is a declaration that will be important forever. It will not change, nor will it wash away with drunkenness-doubt-fear-or frustration. I will not reverse my declaration to suit any temporary desires nor will I try to re-word it to appease my cravings. Because I'm tired of the (bs).

Let me be clear. There isn't much that holds the potent stench of (bs) in my life. I actually consider myself to be a human detector of all things false-misleading-unhealthy-toxic. I remove things and people from my life daily, because I'm so determined to have a life full of all things beautiful. I don't leave any room for the mishaps or the mistakes that might destroy me and my life plan. I analyze everything. I try to be prepared for everything. So when (bs) creeps in to my life, I'm annoyed yet amused by the clever delivery that must've been required in order for (bs) to be left on my doorstep.

If I may, I need to take a moment to drop the analogies and poetic disposition that I usually hold on to for dear life so that I can tell you...that I am currently dealing with the reality that being ready for love and being ready for a life filled with everything healthy is amazing. However, the bullsh!t that I'm stepping in as I'm running toward the 'greener' grass on other other side...is potent and slimy.

Am I the only one that feels like (bs) drops from the sky like hail once my mind is set on accomplishing something huge or taking my life to another level? I have been exposed to more nonsense in the first 19 days of January than I experienced in the 365 days of 2010. Obviously, something in the atmosphere is intimidated by the magnitude of my upcoming pursuits. Something is trying to stop me before I have the opportunity to really get my life started. And I just can't have that.

So, let me put it out there...so that it is recorded, clear and bold. There is nothing and no one that is going to keep me from the best that this life has to offer. I can finally smell the (bs) long before I step in it and I refuse to continue to dance through the land mines of life, then spend my precious time cleaning the dung off my dancing shoes. I really don't want to settle for anything anymore. It's nauseating. I don't want the watered-down version. I don't want plan-B. I don't want the knock off. I want the gorgeous life that I was born to live.

I can't keep accepting less than I deserve because, if I do, I'll eventually forget what I deserve. My standards are high and my sight is higher. I'm reaching for the sky. In 2011, I want to accomplish so much that I can swing from the moon or play hopscotch on the stars. This is my year. The first 19 days will serve as the only reminder that I needed, that there is no time for bullsh!t this year.

And that's real.