Love Speaks

Love took the shape of a Woman ---
a Sister-friend.
Love spoke when She spoke.
Love comforted when She comforted.
Love nurtured.
Through Her, because of Her,
Love nestled me.
Love filled my lungs;
She gave me life.
My Sister-Woman saw me,
affirming that Love sees.
She brought gifts for my soul,
and Love broke its vow of silence
with audible and gracious power.
They, She and Love, She with Love,
Love in She, revived me.
And I will be forever grateful...

Thank you. Thank you. Thank you, Dear Sara. I love you.

Of Men & Kings

"The people of Israel asked for a king,
and they got Saul."
He laughed his big, beautiful laugh
and reminded her of David and Solomon.
She thought it over for a moment.
"David murdered Uriah and took his wife."
"He was also a man after God's own heart."
"Damn." she thought to herself,
"That is David's trademark."
"The desire for a king is rejection of God."
"Kings, for better or worse, are merely men.
They are not gods,
and you are not a biblical figure."
"I know that, but..."
He interjected. "But what?"
He laughed. She conceded,
finally done drawing parallels...
You see?
She is emotion.
He is black and white.
His speech is aesthetic.
She's most beautiful when she writes.
She is catch-as-catch-can.
He is steadiness and sense.
She is quirks and uncertainties.
He is acceptance and non-ambiguity.
She is norms and rigidity.
He is openness and fluidity.
Their conversations are quests,
each confirming what she knew
from the moment he spoke.
He is equal parts man and king.

Happy Thanksgiving

If the level of gratitude I have were charted on a daily basis, the results would be sporadic. They would not show consistency of attitude or character. They would not show positive trends. The result, embarrassed as I am to admit, would prove just how ungrateful I can be and often am.

Though it is not my intention to project, I cannot imagine this is only true for me.

These days we hear a lot about living best lives / blessed lives. We see the photographic evidence via social media. We expend time, energy, and resources and do our damndest to have the best/blessed life or the perception thereof.

And, it takes all of that (time, energy, and resources) because, for many of us, the best/blessed life is based on accomplishments, acquirements, and accumulations. It is directly tied to the level of happiness we FEEL. It has a direct impact on the gratitude we experience. "I do not feel happy" often translates to "I am not grateful." It is our challenge as mindful beings to divorce happiness and gratitude.

At this point, I will move from "we" and "our" back to "I" and "my." (For the sake of transparency and  accountability, I have to own it.) Right now, this Thanksgiving Day 2018, I am not amid my best life. I feel the pressure of change, obligations, and expectations. I feel the weight of decision-making. I feel the fear of failure. None of that makes me feel good. And, I am a self-interested, indulgent human, I love to feel good. 

When it comes to the practice of gratitude, "I feel" gets in the way. It is the sporadic, emotional, ever-changing part. We are tasked to focus on "I am." There are always quality, consistent,  positive "I am" truths available to each of us. 

I am breathing. (Thank You.)
I am living. (Thank You.)
I am loved. (Thank You.)
I am resilient. (Thank You.)
I am capable. (Thank You.)
I am growing. (Thank You.)
I am changing. (Thank You.)
I am here. (Thank You.)

(Thank You! 😁 They so easily become prayers or expressions of gratitude.)

We lose stuff. Situations and fortunes are subject to change. Sadly, we lose people to death and life. (Yes, we lose people to life as relationships run their courses.) "I have," like "I feel," is subject to change. Loss and gain, like happiness and unhappiness, are unreliable foundations for gratitude.

Today, no matter where you find yourself on the best life / best life spectrum, regardless of how you feel, in love, I offer you this.

You are breathing.
You are living.
You are loved.
You are resilient.
You are capable
You are growing.
You are changing.
You are here.

Happy Thanksgiving.

Folklore

I find a way to believe the impossible. I coax myself fallible, hoping for conclusions unlikely to occur, imagining conversations unlikely to be held, and clinging to characters unlikely to stay. In the face of sure heartbreak, utter devastation, and inevitable loss, I conjure alternate endings as if I can will our version of happily ever after.

I Am Not Your Kechia

Docile. Passive.
Damn unhappy.
Inauthentic. Pretenses.
Deep in depression.
Maimed tongue. Broken toes.
A mind muddled and controlled.
Mental wars. Internal hells.
At odds with every part of self.
Am I changing for the worst?
Because I speak my mind?
Because I publicly curse?
Because my patience for shit is tissue thin?
Because I like girls and live in sin?
Because I question my beliefs?
Because I now fight like hell for me?
Keep your opinions and admonitions.
Keep your praise and criticism.
Hold fast to your disappointment.
I will not be your Kechia ever again.

Cured: Algophobic Masochist Part III

Today, I lost my shit because I thought of you. Your very presence in my mental space caused an upheaval. I panicked. "Fuck! What if I'm not over him?" I questioned myself. It has been two years since I saw your face, but only 9 months, 29 days since I realized we could never revive our decay. On April 13th 2017 I finally accepted there was no possibility for health and wholeness and us. I chose the former. In relative sanity, I find it unbelievable that there was actual deliberation. Part of me wanted to choose us. Thankfully, self-preservation presided. I once deemed myself an Algophobic Masochist and you a Roadblock in my path, stubborn and immovable. Thankfully, Perspective is fluid, and Experience still reigns supreme. You cleared my way when I powered from inner-strength. I rejected that fear and pain when I committed to self-love. Ha! It just occurred to me: "I am okay. I will be okay! 'I may think of you softly from time to time. But I will cut off my hand before I’ll ever reach for you again.'" 

Written 02/10/18, Posted 11/10/18

Lost & Looted

"Don't be so dark. Find your happy place." You assume my desire  is to connect with light, but there are few things as beautiful, mysterious, and alluring as night. So let me linger here. Let me conquer this fear. Let me find clarity in this space. Please let me be brave. As I wander through the darkness exploring its depths, I find the pieces of me, lost and looted, and I gather myself.

Written 01/27/18, Posted 11/03/18

Dreaming III

Alone with Pain & Frustration,
unable to verbalize my thoughts
or process what I was feeling,
I sat at the edge of Lunacy
before falling asleep at Sorrow's bank.
You must have felt me.
We must still be interconnected.
How else would you have known
to meet here at the very moment
I succumbed?
How else would you have known
to bring hugs and apologies
and Comfort?
How would you have known
to say "Keep living. It gets better?"
I was fading without warning.
You saved me again.
I arose with Contentment
to make peace with Love.
We, survivors, must empathize
with one another,
and Love, too,
has withstood arduous pain.

Written 02/14/18, Posted 11/03/18

Dreaming II

He said "It was a dream. everything is okay," but I lied in bed uneasy, mind racing, wide awake. "What the fuck am I trying to process?" The unspoken question monopolized my head. Desultory, hazy images do not frightened me, but I am alarmed by my chaotic subconscious, aberrant desires, and fuzzy memories.

Written 01/27/18, Posted 11/03/18

Dreaming I

I am often jolted awake. Sweaty and panicked, I charge my brain, as if it is a separate entity. "Why the fuck would you think any of that was okay?" I try to make sense of the plots, images, and characters. I hope there is no reason. I know it lacks rhyme. I note what I can remember. I pray my dreams are nonsensical and my nightmares are not prophetic. I busy myself back to stillness and eventual sleep.

Dear Friend,

I owe you an apology. Please accept this contrite offering. I am wrong. I have been unloving, selfish, and withdrawn. I reserved truths you are entitled to know and neglected the gratitude I should show. I retreated, hurt you in my escape, and surrounded myself with silence to receive my isolation fix. There is no excuse, and my reasons are inadequate. Though I am undeserving, I ask that you continue to be gracious. I love you dearly and understand your presence in my life is a privilege.

Listen Landa: Daughter to Mother

Wherever I land, no matter how far I may wander; if I come to myself like the prodigal son or remain a wayward woman, let me go. I hear the concern I placed in your voice. I see the gray hairs I undoubtedly caused to spring forth. I feel your longing to do for me what I must now do for myself. Precious Woman, stop worrying. Let go. I can only imagine the resolve you have to muster in order to relinquish guardianship of your child. You invested everything. Body. Prayers. Tears. Love. Hopes. Life. You. You withheld nothing. Though you deserve a return on your investment, let go. I am equipped to stand because of you. I am braced for falls because of you. Whether I succumb or overcome; if I falter or persist, you are absolved. You, Dear Woman, are connected to me, inextricably, but you have to detach from the outcome of my choices. Let go. In love, let go. For me, let go. For your peace, let go. You hosted me in your womb; do not carry me in your conscious.

Perspective

When he looked at her with that combination of hurt, anger, and distrust, she realized how you must have felt. She gasped for forgiveness and was choked by resentment. His sadness was palpable. The end discredited the beginning and her. He interrogated every "I love you" she'd ever spoken. He charged them though they were innocent. He dissected every moment, looking for contradictions. He searched her eyes as if the woman he knew was lost in her distance and resolve. There was nothing she could say. She cannot forget that violent, lacerating sound; his heartbreak still haunts her. She lacked grace for you until she stood in those breaker's shoes. His pain is as meaningful as her own, and your reasons for leaving are equally valid.

Letter to Fear

You, so full of yourself, actually believe that at the end of her journey she will find you. Ego will not allow you to feel threatened by her quest for intrepidity. You are convinced her growth, health, discovery, and truth cannot rival the status quo and you. She is no competition? Look at her. Broken and strong. Fearful and brave. Pained and compassionate. Wounded and fierce. Does pride prevent you from admitting what we both know? You were only able to subdue her after life weakened her, love ravished her, and self-doubt consumed her. Look in her eyes. Does egoentrism steady you when you see her earthshaking determination? It is only a matter of time. You that know. Right? This woman, in revolution, will force you to abdicate her rightful position. She will take her place as King of her kingdom. She will not relinquish her reign again, and there will be no place for you in her. That terrifies you. Doesn't it? She was always worthy, and you will find she is a ferocious opponent.

$482.50

$482.50,
His appraisal of her self-esteem...
He put the offer on the table
and was certain she wouldn't leave.
$482.50?
A rude underestimation...
She paused for a moment
stunned by his observation.
"$482.50 for freedom?
$482.50 for peace?
$482.50 for health?
$482.50 for me?"
There was nothing to debate.
She was searching herself
and the allowances she's made,
her contributions to his arrogance.
Her habit of shrinking self
made room for this moment.
$482.50.
He evaluated her worth,
but his judgment was empty
unless endorsed by her...
$482.50,
Depreciation she refused.
The decision was him or her
and she had the audacity to choose.

Bold. Wild. Free. Kinky-Curly.

My natural hair is a conversation piece. It doesn't bother me that this afro commands attention. Bold. Wild. Free. Kinky-Curly. These coils have flourished through my frustration, learning stages, laziness, and neglect. They even "pop" on the days I need a bit more confidence. I know it's "just hair" and the crown doesn't make the Queen. I know right now I'm singing their praises, and later I'll likely complain. 🤦🏿‍♀️ What can I say? I'm a work in progress. 🤷🏿‍♀️ Though this relationship is complicated as heck, today I wanted to give my hair a wash, condition, and a little more respect.
(I've been natural for 5 years! My current goal is to go three years without any more chopping.)

When A Man Cries

"There's nothing sadder than when a man cries." We were watching television, Walker Texas Ranger, Matlock, In the Heat of the Night, Murder She Wrote, or one of our other favorites. My Grandma said this as an inconsolable male character sobbed. I do not remember my age at time; I do not know why the sentiment was stored with significance. I only know I had not saw a man cry yet.

I cried. My Mom cried. My Grandmother cried. I witnessed women cry my whole life. Maybe the frequency of tears amongst the women I knew, in my young mind, equated to normalcy. Is there anything special about commonplace occurrences? In my ignorance and youth, the answer was no, and our tears, the tears of girls and women, were relegated while their tears, the tears of boys and men, were elevated. 

I was 17 when I saw a man cry. He was my 22-year-old boyfriend. With good reason, I broke up with him hours earlier, but there he was, standing outside of my Grandma's home, wanting to speak with me. "Is it really over?" He came for answers. When I stood unwavering on yes, he grabbed a fistful of my hair and my first encounter with domestic violence ensued. 

Did I cry? For the life of me, I cannot remember if I cried. I only remember his tears. I mostly remember being activated to a state of emergency because he cried. "There's nothing sadder than when a man cries.” Comfort him, something within me demanded, and I obliged. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean it. I love you. I'm here. I'm yours." 

Regrettably, that was not the last time I hierarchized tears. When I saw my father cry, all alarms within me sounded. "Do something. Do anything. Make it better." When I miscarried and my then-partner cried, guilt resounded, "Do something. Do anything. Make it better." After the storm settled; when we returned to sanity; when reality finally overwhelmed his anger, he cried. On cue, I did something. I said anything. I made him feel better. "There's nothing sadder than when a man cries."

I internalized this falsity, and I am still unlearning it. My Grandma was a victim of a society that overlooked the value, importance, and equality of women. Perhaps her mom, her mom's mom, and the generations of women before were taught this untruth and bequeathed insignificance to her. Perhaps her experiences validated this lie. Perhaps no one ever told my Grandma otherwise.

She was born in 1937 in rural America. Poor. Uneducated. Black. Woman. I can only imagine the hardships she endured. I wish I could time travel, with the knowledge and language I currently possess, to the very first time my Grandma shed tears that were not met with the nurturance she needed. I wonder how young she was. I wish I could meet her at that place of sadness, hold her hands, and tell her "There is nothing sadder than when you cry. Your tears are no more or less poignant than a man's tears."

No.

When he resigned "I don't know what it is about you," her mind wandered to Phenomenal Woman. "Men themselves have wondered what they see in me..."  She liked to fancy it was her "inner mystery," love for writing and music, oddities and peccadilloes, passion and recalcitrance, strength and vulnerabilities. Disheartened and dragged to They Went Home, inevitably she had to admit: "My praises were on all men's lips, they liked my smile, my wit, my hips, they'd spend one night, or two or three. But..." In those moments, she had him, hook, line, and sinker, and he almost had her believing until reality crept in reminding her moments are fleeting. She knew what coyness prevented he from speaking... That was then; this is now. Her body is not an accessory, and her mind is sound. No longer moved by compliments or resignations, she evolved along with her expectations. She is not built by his ovations; his rebuke will not bring her to devastation; and she is not open for his exploration.

Mutual will be our word.
We'll embrace generosity
without fear of depletion
confident in the other's ability
to be filled without leeching.
Reciprocity will be our word.
We'll trust Love's restraint.
Conscious that mutuality relieves strain
and selfishness provides fleeting gains,
we'll ensure each other remains...
- Replenished

We Got This!

This email exchange between the Graduation Coordinator, my advisor, and I started as source of stress. They audited my classes and said I lack 3 hours, and my diploma was set to have the last wrong name. (🤦🏿‍♀️) I was like "not today, Satan!" (😂😂😂) Everything is resolved. (🙏🏿🙌🏿) The name on my diploma will read LeKechia Lyshell... 😊😁😀🤩

I woke up, reread this email, and was overwhelmed with emotion and gratitude.

Last December, the level of frustration and disappointment I experienced concerning school and graduation is difficult to discuss. What I perceived to be "another humiliating, heartbreaking, and public failure" took me through one of my darkest emotional periods. I am ashamed of how poorly I coped. I was mad as hell at myself, life, and God, and I felt like a failure. Today, this particular issue is no longer a struggle. It is a settled matter.

This lesson, for me, involves so much. It is difficult to openly discuss this, but I want to be transparent. Beginning in December 2017, initiated by a school debacle, I became depressed with suicidal ideation. For whatever reason, I felt like I couldn't recover from "another failure." (That was my internal rhetoric.) It felt like I experienced years of postponed emotions, and I was mentally somewhere else. Ultimately, I sought professional help. (I am okay now; please don't worry. And, I will continue therapy as I know I benefit from it.)

I said all of that to say this: Do not make permanent decisions over temporary emotions. We can choose to manage short-term setbacks without subjecting ourselves to longer-term, negative consequences. Failure and fear sometimes feel insurmountable, but they can be and are often overcome. Ask for the help you need, and there is no shame in seeking professional help. You got this!

I am a work in progress. I'm still learning myself. I am still healing. I have more to overcome, but I got this!

Social Media Wisdom:
"6 months from now you can be in a completely different space, mentally, spiritually, & financially. Keep working & believing in yourself."

P.S.
Thank God for the people in my life who were relentless with love, support, encouragement, affirmations, and prayers. Thank God for mental health professionals. Thank God for mornings. (The dark is temporary! 🙏🏿) Thank God for keeping me in all my ways. ("For he will give his angels orders concerning you, to protect you in all your ways." Psalms 91:11 CSB)

I looked at you and this time I knew
You are the one I am meant to choose
I want to love you deeply
Accept me
Allow me to love you freely
Give you preference
Choose you again and again and again
Love you like only I can
Fill you like no one ever has
I can help you heal
I'm the remedy for the numbness
I will help you feel
Joy. Peace. Whole. Again.
I am the love you are meant to have
Choose me again and again and again
Love me like only you can
-Love Letter To Self

Finally!

I started college in January of 2010; I was 19. That was almost 9 years ago. I have worked on my bachelor degree for almost a decade. I do not say that because I am proud. (I am quite ashamed actually.) I say it because it is true. Even more embarrassing for me is that I have been one semester away from completion since December of 2014. I just couldn't hack it.

There was depression and anxiety. There was marriage and divorce. There were the funerals of my Papa O.C. and Granny Gloria and Uncle Topper. There was pregnancy and miscarriage. There was move after move, loss, and lost. There was fear, failure, and hopelessness. There were poor, wrong, and unloving-to-self decisions. There was me, in my head and in my way, with excuses, apathy, and bullshit inner dialogue.

Today, August 11, 2018, means more to me than I can adequately express. It is not "just a Bachelor of General Studies." It is a win. It is proof of forgotten resilience and endurance. It is a reminder of family members, friends, coworkers, supervisors, teachers, and professors who encouraged, supported, and assisted me along the way. It is Hope affirming all is not lost. It is Courage cautioning never give up. It is Humility softening my heart. It is God wrapping me in Love, Grace, and Assurance.

It is a finished race and the start of a new one.

My transcript looks like the alphabet. My GPA needs Jesus. My age rounds to 30. It was a long, endurance run. I look raggedy. I'm breathless. I'm tired. My courage gave out many, many times along the way, but I am here! I am a first generation college graduate. The struggle was real; this feeling is priceless.

P.S.
I decided not to attend the ceremony, but I'm dancing across somebody's stage when I get my masters. Expect an even longer essay on that day. 😜😘😁👩🏿‍🎓

Show Up

Some people fear, dislike, do not want, and/or are uncomfortable with your presence in the room...a room...any room they are in. So what? Show up anyways. Shine always. Maybe you won't change their perspective, but your presence sure as hell challenges their misconceptions. Maybe that's the real work. Show up and let your unapologetic existence speak for you. -LeKechia Lyshell

Reconciliation

"Stay the same and broken
or change to be whole."
She looked herself in the eyes
and heeded the wisdom of her soul.
Her highest self told her current self
"You've been low too long.
You wailed over poor decisions
and grieved losses and love.
You wallowed in pity;
you cursed the rock, hard place, and mud.
Enough is enough. What's did is done.
You've reviewed the past;
revision is in moving on."
She complimented her resilience
and recognized her for living
through many, many inner hells.
She thanked her for not quitting
when depression and suicide hailed.
She offered her grace and forgiveness;
she reconciled with herself.
-LeKechia Lyshell

My second favorite shirt

I've had many good days in this yellow shirt. Today was one of them. It's survived time and weight fluctuations. It's my second favorite shirt. 💛💛💛

Adulting

I bought this so I could prove myself wrong. Lol! I adulted so well today.

No Incentives Needed

A few months ago I had one of the most enlightening conversations with an acquaintance. She, unlike me, grew up without any exposure to religion. I am Christian; she is Agnostic. She said "I just don't think people should have to have an incentive to be decent, kind, and non-assholes." I agree. Love, kindness, compassion, sympathy, empathy, and generosity should not have be incentivized in order for people to freely give/show them to other people. Hopefully we will get there one day. Maybe our connectedness as members of the human race, regardless of nationality, ethnicity, race, gender, sexual orientation, socioeconomic status, etcetera, will suffice, and we will be "decent, kind, non-assholes" to one another, no incentives needed. Until that day, let's not forget what separates "sheeps and goats."

P.S.:
The fact that over 70% of Americans identify as Christians blows my mind. I wonder what our nation would be like if over 70% of Americans believed in and practiced Matthew 22:36-40. I know I am guilty of incongruity and hypocrisy. I have to do better.

The way we treat people matters.

"Then the King will say to those on his right, ‘Enter, you who are blessed by my Father! Take what’s coming to you in this kingdom. It’s been ready for you since the world’s foundation. And here’s why: I was hungry and you fed me, I was thirsty and you gave me a drink, I was homeless and you gave me a room, I was shivering and you gave me clothes, I was sick and you stopped to visit, I was in prison and you came to me.' 'Then those 'sheep' are going to say, 'Master, what are you talking about? When did we ever see you hungry and feed you, thirsty and give you a drink? And when did we ever see you sick or in prison and come to you?' Then the King will say, 'I'm telling the solemn truth: Whenever you did one of these things to someone overlooked or ignored, that was me—you did it to me.'"  Matthew 25:34‭-‬40 MSG

We're Going To Need More Wine

This book has made me laugh aloud and uncontrollably. (Chapters 6 and 11 😂) It has made me sob with understanding, empathy, and sympathy. It has made me exclaim: "Yes! She fucking gets it! Thank God she included that!" I've had revelations. I've been challenged. This read has most certainly been like a needed conversation with a good friend. Gabrielle Union, thank you! ❤
P.S.
I haven't finished it yet. When I love a book, I prolong the read not wanting it to end.

Unstoppable

She hated her job and went to work.
She lost her religion still attending church.
She smiled when she wanted to cry.
She lived while considering suicide.
She stood courageous being stoned by shame.
She kept her head despite mental pain.
Have you saw the internal mountains she's moved?
Have you heard about the demons slayed?
Yes. She is powerful and so fucking brave.
She took breaths when life suffocated her lungs.
Watch her. Witness the woman she is bound to become.

I know so many resilient women. I am a resilient woman. Shout out to us! ❤

Father's Day 2018

Because I know there are so many people who have mixed to unpleasant feelings about their dads, I wanted to share this. It was heavy on me today. The man in this photo is my step-dad. He and my mom, at one point, had a beautiful, loving marriage. He and my mom also had a toxic, unhealthy marriage. Today, he and mom are no longer married, and I am happy about that. In all cases, my brothers and I witnessed it all. My stepdad and I are no longer close, but as evidenced by this photo, there was a time I absolutely adored him. No one, not even me and I have tried, can convince me it was not mutual and authentic. There were times he said hurtful things no parent should ever say to a child, and I said highly disrespectful things that should never be said to a parent. There are painful experiences in our relationship that took a lot of time, introspection, and forgiveness to move past. Now we are not forced to interact with one another. We don't have to, but we still occasionally call or text each other to make sure the other knows he/she is loved. Anthony taught me things that make me a better human. He taught me things about family, culture, individuality, society, and life that I cannot disregard or discard and have no desire to. I am who I am because my father is Lee and my stepfather is Anthony. I cannot be unshaped by my father or stepfather, and I do not wish to be. I believe with everything in me that all of my experiences with these two men, good or bad, make me more equipped for my destiny. So today I called my stepdad and told him "Happy Father's Day" simply because my relation to him impacts who I am. While I am a work in progress, I like who I am and who I am becoming. Denying my fathers' impact on my being creates a form of inner chaos and dysfunction.

For those with strained father relationships, be encouraged. Forgiveness is possible even if a relationship is unlikely or undesired. I think forgiveness for our parents grows us in ways that are shockingly freeing.

Here's The Thing #1

A special individual recently suggested I consider that "the most unique thought a person can have is that he/she is not so unique." Our conversation so helped my perspective. In my personal life walk, I have "othered" myself from others. I made myself an outcast for a lot of negative, self-disparaging reasons and self-imposed bullshit. I was fully immersed in feeling damnableness that lead to shame, isolation, a lack of transparency with those I care about, and many fucking awful days of feelings like complete and utter shit.

Here's the thing. What if the things you are beating yourself up for are not uncommon? What if there are other people walking this Earth who have taken similar paths, made similar choices, and/or had to face similar beyond-their-control events? What if there are other people who think the thoughts you think? What if someone else shares your experience? Are they fucked up beyond repair? Hopeless? Unique?  Or, like you, are they human, perfectly capable of redemption and forgiveness, able to rise above shit (self-imposed, genetic-imposed, and environment-imposed) and live life true to their highest selves?

I am not unique. There is not an area of life experience that I stand alone in without a single person, living or dead, to know what it is like. The same is true for you. You are not unique, and I mean this with good will and the best intention.

Sometimes the darkness is so incredibly dark because there is no one there to tell you "Hey, stop worrying so much. You can overcome this. Forgive yourself. Forgive others. Know that nothing you have done is beyond Love's scope. I've been there. I've only recently left there. I am there right now. There's hope. Take my hand. Let's prove that connectedness lights up the darkest places."

Find your community. Build your tribe. Get out of self. Know that it gets better. Know that you are definitely not alone!

Dear Friend:
Thank you for taking my hand and challenging and shifting my perspective.

Heavy Femininity

I have whiskers and fur.
I am not into bags or shoes.
The hair on top of my head
does whatever it wants to do.
I wear what I'm comfortable in;
I shop out of necessity.
I don't wear makeup.
I love romantic comedies.
I often swear when I speak;
I'm honest when I write.
My body, well it's my body,
and I can be promiscuous if I like
and celibate when I choose.
My body is all curves;
my personality is edgy.
My character is enduring.
My femininity is heavy.
Woman is not synonymous with wife or mother.
It is not defined by fashion and beauty.
Woman is not the presence or absence
of a marketable face and sex appeal.
Woman is not a stiletto, wedge, or flat.
It's not Urban Decay,
Kylie Cosmetics, Fenty Beauty, or Mac.
Woman is not bare-faced natural.
It's not trends and brands.
Woman is not breasts and vaginas.
Woman is me, being myself,
living my truth, maximizing my potential,
committing to be kind to my self,
my body, and my neighbors,
especially my sisters in womanhood.
Woman is her, being herself,
living her truth, maximizing her potential,
committing to be kind to her self,
her body, and her neighbors,
especially her sisters in womanhood.

An Ode To My Womenfolk

I am.
A force like my Granny
Fierce like Aunt Tammy
And sweet as pie like Aunt Jenny
I am.
Independent like Aunt Deborah
A quiet strong like Aunt Sarah
Well spoken like Aunt Jackie
And can cook a meal like Aunt Abby...or so I try
I am.
Down-to-Earth like Aunt Kechia
A fighter like Amgleshia
Trying to work hard like Andrea
Because I have vision like TeAnn
I am.
Resilient like Tamika
Creative like Denise
Audacious like Tay Tay
Fearless like CeCe
I am.
Pushing through like Montoya
With humility like Deedee
Determined like Candis
And unbreakable like Natalie
I am.
Good-hearted like Constance
With that gentle quality like Ashley
Unapologetic like Kateland
And still amiable like Jacci
I am.
Generous like Aunt Tan
Graceful like Aunt Denane
No-holds-barred like Ebone'
Firm in my truth like Ton'e
I am.
Precious like Azelynn Grace
A survivor like my Grandma Gray
And a wonder like Mama
I am.
Still breathing
Still living
Still here
I am LeKechia Lyshell.

Happy Easter!

For believers, this day represents the most significant event in history. Jesus, Christ, the Messiah, died a brutal death of crucifixion. His mother and followers were in the midst of mourning Him when the miraculous happened. He was resurrected from the dead. Maybe wrapping your mind around the idea of a dead person or situation coming to life is too difficult, but you can simplify it. Hope was restored. That, my friends, is the gist. For believers, this day signifies restored hope in victory over death, freedom over sin, and the promise of everlasting, eternal life with the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost; Jesus' resurrection created a permanent hope. Maybe you're not a believer. Maybe, like me, you didn't find yourself at church this morning. Maybe you just don't feel it today. That's okay. I hope you can accept this simplified truth: Hope after great loss, sorrow, and sadness can be restored. May that bring you comfort this Easter Sunday.

P.S.
Friendship is what hope looks like to me today. It is last Sunday's brunch with a group of ladies I love and adore. It is a best friend who understands so deeply why Coco causes tears and smeared mascara. It is a truth-telling sister who would fly from Kentucky to Texas for her sister. It is a message from a friend letting you know you are seen.