Last night, I was watching a conversation unfold on social media about the rigid lines we must set to keep ourselves from falling into “tempting” things like relationships with the opposite sex and a host of other situations that may cause us to become emotional, incapacitated, and powerless. Continue reading
If you read my book Pieces: Finding the Missing Piece is Easier Than You Think, you know that my relationship with my father has always been estranged. Though he lived in the same house with us until I was 13, it was as if he wasn’t there. The emotional detachment proved to be just as detrimental as him not being there at all.
As the years have gone by, I’ve learned to cope and forgive — eventually, I stopped using his absence as an excuse for my poor ability to make sound decisions about men and took responsibility for my part. I even took the advice of a good friend and decided to reach out to him regularly (read: sporadically) just to say “Hi.” Looking back, it paled in comparison to what I would eventually do in a time that truly mattered. Continue reading
Last night, Twitter was all the buzz over Beyonce’s silent announcement that she was with child (yay!) Before you knew it, three Twitter accounts, all claiming to be the fetus of Bey-Z began tweeting out quirky little comments that kept The Twitter a buzz late into the night.
Back in the real world, however, Tweets and Facebook status began ringing of an old familiar battle cry amongst men and women.
Here’s a taste: Continue reading
Today we’re talking about love. Check out a post by a good friend who finds that the “lights” in her life keeps her love life at the intercection of hope and a prayer.
All of the Lights
When you’re driving, there are two signals that are clear-cut: green means “GO”, red indicates “STOP”. Then there’s that pesky yellow light. Some of us speed up, trying to hurry through the intersection. Some slow down, knowing that there’s a chance we might not make it. I’m an aggressive driver, always pushing the limits, switching lanes when the flow of traffic isn’t suiting my needs, even backing up down a one-way instead of going around the block. In love, I’m the same way, whatever it takes to make our way through the winding highways of the heart, mind and soul until…I come upon a yellow light.
I only know what to do with green and red; yellow confuses me, builds internal anxiety and makes my reaction time quite delayed. When I’m not sure on where I stand it’s hard for me to grip the clutch, get a handle on how to proceed and put my foot on the pedal. I’m not saying I expect to speed to every destination in love but yellow lights make me miss important information given by my GPS [heart and mind] because my focus is on whether or not it’s safe to advance with my intentions. Instead of moving forward with no fear of “reading into” actions I find myself playing chicken at a junction of “what ifs”.
The yellow light is unfair in that it doesn’t allow for me to show what I’m made of behind the wheel… or does it? I wonder if the plan is for me to boldly barrel through or come to a complete stop, look both ways and wait for further direction. Either way I can say that no one will ever know what I’m capable of on the road of true love until I have a clear signal. Call me cowardly, but not many people can say they want to leave their most tender affections tied to a railroad track at the mercy of a traffic signal.
All the “lights” of our lives dictate what we do and how we do it. I simply want the opportunity to cruise through with green lights a-go. I don’t have it all figured out but my heart’s at a standstill until I know what to make of All of the Lights.
— Denise R. Bussey
"All my life I had to fight..."
Today, I announced to a group of my coworkers that I was a domestic violence victim. Well, I didn’t intentionally tell them, it just kind of came out while I was discussing a new project that I am leading a group of girls in. They are collecting items for a local women and children’s shelter, and while giving my spill, I included myself in the over 50% of women who endure domestic violence.
As my voice cracked and hands shook, I left the auditorium with a forced smile and a burning feeling in my chest.
Why was I feeling this way? Why was my heart aching so?
It had been years since I even thought about those daunting days and nights in 2004 and for the most part, thought I was over it all. Hell, I even thought that I had dealt with those feelings in my book, Pieces: Finding the Missing Piece is Easier than You Think when I went through the whole rigmarole forgiving the man who was my abuser.
Guess I was wrong.
By the time I made it home, I was a steaming hot mess, and if not for the sweet provoking of a dear friend to “just let it go, cry it out”, I probably would have spent another day, month, year holding on to those feelings.
The embarrassment and shame that comes with domestic abuse is one that I think we forget exists. Once our scars heal and our feelings are mended, once we move on with our lives and, if we’re lucky, have forgiven our offenders, we’re still left with the embarrassment and shame. Those two bastards burrow deep into our souls like little rodents preparing for a long winter’s nap.
The emotions of domestic violence never really leaves you. They are always there, hiding in the folds and crevices of our being, intertwining themselves in our lives, becoming a part of our molecular structure.
Before we realize it, we’ve allowed our embarrassment and shame keep us from pursuing things, leading ventures, chasing dreams because we secretly fear that someone may find out, judge and ridicule us for not being smarter, wiser, seeing the signs.
Today I took off my badge of victimization and waved my victory banner.
I was lucky. His slaps in the face and pushes into walls while 6 months pregnant didn’t stop me. Him chasing me out of my house with a knife into the streets didn’t put a damper on what good things were to come in my life. The scars and bruises on my face and neck eventually healed. I lived.
I always have to wonder why God causes me to have these major moments of self-realization, but I’m sure it’s for a good reason.
I also know that my pain, your pain isn’t for us to carry. It’s there to face and let go so someone else can have the courage to do the same.
Feel free to share this post with someone you know or love. It may give them the courage necessary to wave their victory banner, too.
On the chase,
Alisha L.
Mark 11:22 reads:
And Jesus answering saith unto them, “Have faith in Money. Man. The GOP. Cars. Weezy. The Real House Wives. Your boss. Your crazy baby mama. Your equally crazy baby daddy. Obama. Your [insert college/university name here]. Your skills. Who you know. Your family name. Your education. Freeing T.I. Your sorority. Your frat brothers. The NAACP. The BET Awards. Self. Love. Man. Sex in the City 2. Big. Facebook. Their opinions. Your past. Your potential. Your future. Him. Her. Them. Lawmakers. The Feds. The media. The medicines. The doctors. The health reports. Your bank account. The economy. Your job. A book. Oprah. Dr. Phil. Dr. Oz. The Illuminati. Nicki Minaj’s Monster Voice. Drake’s album. Kanye’s ballet dancers. MC Hammer’s diss track. Your father. Your lost innocence. Your mother who didn’t protect you. Your pain. Your refusal to let go. His mistakes. Your failures. Your pastor. Your church. Your religion. A lace front. A Booty Pop. A facade. The fairytales. Prince Charming. The white horse. Lebron. Kobe. Your degree. Your dissertation. Your collegiate “greatness”. Your gargantuan amounts of supercilious vocabulary. Your iPhone, iPad, iPod, i..i..i.. Your BLACKer the BERRY. People.
God.”
On the chase,
Alisha L.
Rev. Alisha L. Gordon 
