Get Up Sucka

It's Father's Day. For me, a day to reflect, on probably more than I am ever ready for during this time of year. Summer has become bitter sweet to me. May through July have harbored some very intense and damaging memories for me (mostly caused by the men in my life). Today I woke up and part of me refused to allow this day to happen. I didn't want to recognize what others had and what I have been missing all my life. Like the true technology addict that I am, I pushed random buttons (or places on my touch screen) until my phone surrendered and stopped screaming at me to crawl out from my horizontal position in my king sized bed and deal with what life had in store for me today. Reality was waiting for me as soon as my phone recognized my thumb print (doesn't that sound so "Mission Impossible"?). Reality was waiting for me as soon as I reached above my head and pulled the light switch to allow a false light blind and trick me into the day. Reality was waiting for me as soon as I welcomed social media to grace my eyes.

I scrolled habitually as I watched strangers and friends wish their fathers, father figures, husbands, boyfriends, brothers, uncles, cousins, and play cousins a happy father's day. I felt a tingle of bitterness creep into my gut. That all too familiar feeling of angst where I wanted to turn the light back off, throw the black cover over my head and shut out the world. After all; who cares about how I feel anyway? I welcomed the self pity, for about 30 seconds. Then I remembered: "I'm Dianna suckas."

At church today I watched as two young ladies stood at the altar holding onto that same feeling I had for 30 seconds this morning. I saw it exude from their backs like steam off hot water. I heard God tell me to stand with them. You know what I said, "God. For real bro. I'm not ready for that. I can't encourage others like that." So I stood at my seat and listened to my first Lady tell her story. I heard God whisper to me again, "You better go up there and stand with them." My response? "God. My heart is broken right now. How do you expect me to help heal others right now? You better stop with all that." (Yeah, I talk back to God. It seems I still question Him openly, but the thing is He STILL loves me).  Finally I gave in, awkwardly I acrobatically squeezed passed three ladies to get out of my row and sauntered in between two hurting young girls, with my broken heart and steel arms I reached out and put my arms around them both. With out even thinking twice I began to thank God. For nothing in particular and everything non-particular at once. I stood, strong and stable as they cried and listened as they silently cried out for their heavenly Father's love. The only love that continues to heal my heart.

I walked away from that altar. Changed. Evolved. Stronger. Yes, me. Even stronger. Because the truth is, it's not just my father who has broken my heart. I've attempted to love men with that fearless and passionate love and it wasn't returned. I allowed the men in my life make me feel worthless while I broke myself to make them feel invincible. This time I walked away with a heart that may still ache, but will no longer be sacrificed. I walked away with my vision in movement. God revealed to me years ago what my purpose is, I've fought it because I was busy trying to make others happy. I was busy handing my heart over to those who would squeeze the life out of it. Then I would hand it back to God like, "Uh, fix this bro." The wonderful thing about it is that He would, without hesitation.

I couldn't wait to get home today and share what this day of reality has created for me. I've been bypassed by many people in my life. They've chosen to excommunicate me and ignore me, unaware of what they were cutting off. Unaware of WHO they were letting go. The amazing thing is that regardless of who allows me to stay in their lives, I am STILL Dianna.

My name is Dianna: "Divine. Mythological ancient Roman divinity Diana was noted for beauty and swiftness; often depicted as a huntress." Yeah, that's right. A huntress.  

When God made me, He installed extra layers of armor because He knew I was going to go through wars CONSTANTLY. He also knew I could handle it. He knew I was going to be stronger than the men who hurt me. He knew I would need rust proof armor because I would cry more than others. He knew I would need to look a certain way because other young women would need to see a woman who was a soldier, but could still keep herself together. He knew I would fight with my words. He knew I would love with a passion that made me fearless and at times stupidly fearless. He knew I would try to hide from Him. And over everything, He knew I would win.

He knew, "You're Dianna. Now get up sucka." (God and I have a weird relationship like that).
                                         

I am a scar.

Per usual life continues to throw boulders at me. At a time when a normal person would reach out and grasp for her nearest friends, I have chosen to seclude myself. It is most definitely intentional. Through out my life I have allowed myself to become dependent on others to maintain my sanity and happiness, as a result when said people leave, disappoint me, hurt me, or unintentionally anger me, my sanity and happiness are whisked away just as quickly.

Solitude will surely do one thing for you:
Force you to evaluate your life.

I am a thinker. By nature I question everything around me; why clouds are shaped the way they are, why certain horrible acts are committed against me, why I make bad decisions, why it seems I can't find love, why I woke up every hour and twelve minutes, why my stomach jumps into my throat when I see him. Imagine all of these thoughts at once (plus more that I won't bore you with). What would YOU do? Me? I shut down. Turn off the Dianna switch and go through the motions of life, suffering in silence.

It's not the ideal way to manage a crisis, let alone more than one. The one thought that seems to overwhelm me during this shut down time is; will it really matter? The "crisis." Is it really going to matter five years from now? My problem with this is that I only tie myself to people if they truly matter to me. I don't invest time into people or with people unless I feel that five years from now they WILL matter in my life. The trouble with being an adult is that we are forced to realize that some whom we've tied ourselves to do not reciprocate the feeling.

I have become expendable to those around me. I am a momentary high. I can't blame them though, I'm a pretty interesting person. My life is colored with hues of tragedy and I appear unscathed. It's when they are finally able to see me open and uncovered that the scars of my wars can be felt. Because that's what scars are. Wounds that have healed, but forever leave their mark. I suppose I am one large scar, walking through life healing people of their curiosity.

The most difficult part of this realization is finding a coping mechanism that allows me to still give pieces of myself with out feeling as though they have been stolen from me. I suppose my first mistake is being a giving person. I love others the way that I want to be loved, in their own language. I adjust to each person to love and care for them according to what they need. In this process as soon as that person leaves (especially without reciprocating the gesture) I feel robbed. Selfishly I feel robbed of a love that I know I deserve and at the same time robbed of a love that I will never know. Curiosity sets in and I chase.

When it comes to love I have no pride. I will sacrifice myself to the altar of cupid and allow him to shoot so many arrows at me that my wounds start to blend in with one another and I am just one bleeding carcass of love, hand outstretched waiting for someone to hold it again and kiss my knuckles.

I suppose that's where I'm at. I'm a bloody carcass. Gross, I know. But that's the way my brain works. I see beauty in damaged and broken (wild) things. I have to, after all, that's all I am. A once damaged and broken wild thing, just wanting to be loved.

Oh yes, it's getting greater in this piece.

Today, I woke to news that devastated my heart. Every day this week, I seemed to wake to devastating news. Today I made the choice, that even though my heart ached and my soul was lonely (feeling abandoned and cheated from a mate), I was going to worship and praise God all day. I couldn't allow myself a moment of self pity. I also chose not to believe the news. My heart and soul were given vision of my destiny and this news was not in line. I chose not to believe what was clearly in black and white in front of me, but to believe what God showed me.

Eventually, once my finished book is out in the universe, my testimony will told. All the unbelievable stories of my life will be unveiled. Even now, I wonder how I've made it this far. I'm 29 years old and have constantly been surrounded with darkness and tragedy all my life. How have I been spared? Why did He choose to save me? I ask myself these questions frequently. It's only been recently that I've been reminded of the strength I have. I'm sure if my emotional scars could combine with my physical scars, I would be unrecognizable. But God. He assured me that no matter the amount of emotional ripping away at my little heart, He would continue to heal it. I realized I was angry at God because I thought He had broken a promise to me, but He never promised to spare me from the pain. He promised He would heal me.

I am constantly taking inhales and visualizing myself reaching into my core to pull out strength. Now I know why God made me such a small lady. I'm underestimated in my strength. I'm underestimated in my abilities to break through and because of this my breakthrough only becomes greater. I've started to recognize the surprise in people's faces when they hear me speak. Little, quiet, reserved, over-the-top-with-the-sarcasm, strange and random Dianna has a big voice. My strength is more than my ability to recover from heart ache and pain. My strength IS my heart ache and pain. This little frame with a little more to love, can uphold the Goliath of heartbreak and more than that, I can live to speak about it. I can live to encourage others. I can live to encourage myself.

So today, even with my heart breaking and my soul asking questions about where Love went. Why it was abandoned. Why it has to stand alone until Love returns (because Love will return). Even now, this second, as I yearn for God to hurry up with the vision so that Love will understand how important it is in my life...I will smile. I will laugh my contagious and irritating laugh. I will encourage. I will not give up. I will not give in. I will not fall. Because when Love returns, I refuse to let it go.

All You Need is Love (?)

She's back with a vengeance (you would think).

Recently I've been evaluating love in my life. NOT my love life, but simply love IN my life. Well, maybe my love life as well. I'm an emotional person, somewhat impulsive when it comes to sharing my heart. After all I wear my heart on my t-shirt, under my shoe and plastered on my fingertips to be given away with every hand shake and hug. The most difficult part of this journey has been learning to love myself unconditionally. Finding that peace within that remains calm and joyous no matter the circumstance (or who chooses to love me back). I believe that as human beings, (especially women) we put too much value and expectation on others loving us in a way that we see fit. Therefore, when the love falls bottom-out and we're struggling to hold on and pull ourselves back up the cliff, we automatically want to blame the other person who didn't meet our love expectations. In the end there's no one else there to pull us up, no hand to help us out and that person who took away their love is definitely not coming back. Love seems to personify and leave us confused, hurt and angry. How dare love come in so swiftly and blow us off our feet? What was Love thinking when it said "I love you" and declared this stronghold on us? What were WE thinking when we allowed Love to enter our hearts?

The truth is, I believe we're all born with this Love trapped in our hearts and souls and it's not until we meet that ONE person, that it's unleashed. Sometimes we make mistakes and portions may escape, but eventually we realize that it's not right. Something feels off, we feel incomplete. So we move on and search for someone who can unlock our love. The mistake that women make is searching all of God's green earth with a backpack full of love survival gear and a flashlight shining light on even the darkest of corners in pursuit of that one person. What we've failed to realize is that under the correct lighting, the darkest of corners with the darkest of beings become an illusion of Love and brightness. Unfortunately, many of us don't learn of this wonderfully master minded trick until it's too late. Now we're trying to break into our own hearts to unlock Love with someone who doesn't have a key.

However, once we do find the person who unlocks our Love, it's an overwhelming intense emotion that knocks us down and smothers us with embraces and comfort. The air around us transforms every time that person is around. Our hearts react to even the small glimpses of their hands. It's enough to make us feel certifiably crazy. But of course, even this Love can be taken away from us. If this is true, then why risk it at all? Why risk the pain just to experience the fall?

Truly SHE is in There

For the past few months my life has appeared to be an uphill battle. The type of uphill that has hidden holes, rolling boulders, and fire pits that go off every time you try to sleep. I stopped writing publicly and started writing very privately in the middle of the night (a way to talk with out anyone hearing and in an effort to try and take some of the weight off my chest). A lot of my struggles have been quiet and internal, the kind that most people (especially women) are afraid and ashamed to divulge. Growing up I was forced to internalize most, if not all, of my emotions. I was trained to take emotional beatings while staring the man in the eyes, showing no emotional response and no reparations. I took physical beatings as a right of passage into the next year and sexual abuse prepped me for an adult life of accepting love in distorted forms. I was also trained to love (men) by showering them with gifts, sacrificing my happiness, and hiding my true self. No matter how many times I was hurt or how deeply the stabs would go I would somehow find a way to blame myself or justify the pain. After all, what is love with out pain? What is a life of happiness with out sacrifice? I convinced myself that the pain and lack of happiness was all a part of being a woman. I never knew a woman who was truly happy, a woman who didn't wake up and go to bed in pain and emotional turmoil because she couldn't be who she knew she truly wanted to be. The woman God called her to be. Because of this I lived in a shell, pantomimed my way through life with brief glimpses of happiness like appetizers in the meal of life, never to get the entree.

I've allowed men in my life to only give me small doses of love, never full cups, never quenching my thirst or filling my belly with the overwhelming love I know is somewhere out there for me. I don't expect those voids to be filled by a man, but by THE man. In my last year of my twenties I am finally seeing that I've identified myself by the men in my life. Who am I as a daughter? Who am I as a girlfriend? Who am I as a wife? Never....who am I? Slowly, I began to realize that who I am has not been fully birthed yet. I have been existing as a half-self only appearing as whole in small glimpses. As long as I wore a smile on my face, gave full hugs, and allowed others to gain what they wanted from me, no one desired to see me as any more than what I was. I want(ed) so deeply to flourish. To become this woman I knew was beating away inside me, but instead I was told that to be an "appropriate and great" mother and wife I would have to sacrifice myself. And that's what I did. Year after year, I willingly sacrificed any form of internal happiness so that those around me could be happy. If that meant me crying myself to sleep, I cried. If that meant allowing a man to lie to me, I believed him. If that meant accepting infidelity and multiple women, I looked the other way. Sure I made a scene, threats to leave, but I stayed. I rooted myself in men. I rooted my identity in appealing to what the "he" in my life wanted. I accepted apologies that never existed. I accepted the chaos and confusion. I told myself that my depression and pain was a phase and that eventually the man would change, but where did that leave me?

I waited on change that never came. I thought I could change the man, but really what God was trying to tell me was that I needed to change. I needed to allow Him to work in me so that I could see what He was trying to call me to be. I was so caught up in the pain and betrayal that I didn't see that I had lost my way and had ventured further away from God until it was too late. I'm not perfect. I made my own mistakes. I lost myself and struggled to find my way out of a possible destructive path, but with my one free hand, I reached up and God clasped His hand around mine.

I'm still on this journey. I'm still fighting up hill. I still struggle to see the good over the bad. When days are filled with tears and pain, it is difficult to see His face. I'm being broken down daily and searching for the woman God has buried in me, because truly, she is in there.

You're a Vending Machine

     As I lay in bed tonight trying to rest for church tomorrow the words of my Pastor ring through my head over and over again, "like a vending machine out of order." So many of us wonder why we are being overlooked and missed when it comes to the daily passing out of blessings, only to fail to realize that we are simply unplugged snack machines unable to take the money. 

     Recently it was brought to my attention that my "path to greatness" had some misguided steps and that they weren't exactly ideal to be followed. This is true. I've made mistakes in my life. There's no telling how many times God was screaming in my ear for me to go the other way and I simply ducked my head down and ignored His guidance. I've never pretended to be perfect or ignored the sins I have committed. I believe that where the disconnect lies is in the fact that others seem to ignore these facts. Simply because we are Christians, it does not mean that we are free of sin or flawless. It's quite the opposite. Our sins and flaws seem to magnetize in the eyes of others. "Well you can't tell me this, because you did that when you were my age." The flesh will force others to see us as those broken vending machines and fail to see the sign that now says "charging up."

     During our journey as Christians our sins and constant mistakes become our testimonies. No, I did not know God at all when I was a girl. I remember a long time living with out even thinking about God. I lived my life with the thought that every day was for me and only me. I started drinking at a young age and would even sneak it into school. I stole my mom's cigarettes and would smoke them in public to try and get caught. I would sneak out of the house to go see my boyfriend in the middle of the night. As I got older I realized that there was a point when that little girl said a prayer. Every night I would pray for God to protect me from "the monster." Yet, much like many of us do, after I got what I needed I selectively forgot who did it for me. I became my own little rebel. 

     That little girl became a young woman (and I still failed to hear what my Father was trying to tell me). I was getting older with age and my soul felt tired and ragged. My response? Keep sinning. Now, don't get me wrong, I wasn't a complete rebel. I've always been a very determined woman. Even in my lacking days I worked hard and did what I felt was "responsible." What I failed to realize is that even though I was doing what I THOUGHT was right (going to college, working three jobs, living on my own), I wasn't living what I KNEW to be right. I became disconnected from emotion and used men as a way to validate my value. In this process I lost myself and eventually became so broken and out of order that there had to be no way that God would even look to me to do anything for His kingdom.

     This is where God really shows off. 

     I didn't know Him. I had done nothing for Him. I went to church a handful of times, but the few things I knew to be right, I did wrong. Then, in a way that only He works, He set me free. So simply put, yes, I made mistakes on my journey. Not everything in my life was or is perfect. I do not shield others from the fact that I am human and once lived without knowing God. Yes, I got pregnant before I got married. Yes, I used to drink. Yes, I was a club hopper. No, I didn't care. I was most definitely with out a doubt a "vending machine out of order." There was no way that God was going to deposit His blessings into my life while I lived like that. The wonderful thing about Him is that even though He knew I was out of order, that I was unplugged from the source (Him), He waited. Until finally I saw those "little" things that God was doing in my life to save me. And when I was finally able to see Him, my vending machine got plugged in, I began to WORK. 

     

Little Girl, Don't You Cry

Many times I have shed old skin to embrace a newer, tighter and stronger exterior. Lately, I have been on a journey physically but more quietly internally. I do most of my intense and painful recollection late at night, which makes it easier for me. When I write late at night and finally have the courage to post something, I know that most people will be sleeping. The likelihood for my emotional tearing touching someone else will be limited and maybe those who will feel its slight wisp will be those who God deems worthy enough of needing it. With that said....

I have already (twice) shared my testimony with my church and at a conference. Even though I was able to put my story out in the judgmental air, I have always carried a sense of shame. "If more people know, more people will judge." "I will be labeled" "What will my family think?" Recently, feelings and voices have risen and my shame has grown. I kept questioning myself. "Why am I feeling so much shame when God has released me from it?"  Once God lifts your burdens from you, there is absolutely NO reason to take them back. Why would you? Yet, here I am, playing tug of war with God and on the rope is my burden and shame. I sat down to dabble on here with no intention of allowing myself this release. I dug my heels in the mud, sat back in my strength, and pulled on that rope with all my might. I won. I believed I had won, but when I looked down at that rope thinking I had pulled back my burden and shame I saw different. In my lap was courage. God allowed me to believe that I had won because I was stronger than Him when in reality He threw courage in my face and in the way that He and I communicate said, "Now deal with that."

So here I am. Dealing. The truth is for a very long time I was a very broken girl. There is no one way to describe how I became broken. Maybe it started like little cracks, the way they do on a vase or piece of glass. Maybe it was a large chunk taken out at once. Whatever method it took, I broke. When I met my husband I was duct taped together in this whole DIY manner that I had deemed fit, but I was in no way "fixed." Too many opened and closed fists to my back or pulled hair by my father. Too many times being blamed by my brother for beatings. Too many nights listening to my parents spit fire words at each other in an effort to figure out who was to blame. Too many self-inflicted responsibilities. Too many years playing the victim with out realizing that I was actually in the process of surviving. These all took a toll on my little soul the way stepping on one spot too much eventually wears away to reveal an empty spot. Then at 12 years old my world turned upside down. My father began to molest me.

There is no way to slide into that fact. It happened. The act is over, but the recovery is continual. As a woman, 16 years after the first time,  I've carried shame over the broken girl who was hurt by every man in her life. Sometimes I look in the mirror and see that girl. My eyes still hold the pain that I've fooled myself into believing only I can see. I give in and I let myself get consumed with the pain because I feel I deserve it. The truth is: I don't. Yes. It is true. To this day every man in my life (even my husband) has hurt me. I've been cut deep by a knife that seems to get passed around. But who hasn't? I am not unique in my pain and I am also not unique in my triumph. I am not a victim, I am a survivor. I survive every day that I continue to love my husband past his mistakes and he love me past mine. I survive when I see my father and hug him with God's love. The father daughter relationship is gone. But, I found my true Father. God has shown me His love. I will never be able to understand how a father (of flesh) can do what my father did to me, but I don't need to because I DO know how my Father in heaven can do more for me. I can say with out an ounce of doubt or lack of faith that with out God, I would have died. My spirit would have remained a withered existence and I would have fallen.

There is so much more to this story. So much more to me. But for that little girl inside of me who cries out of shame.....don't you cry no more.

Click the link below to watch my testimony.

Cardboard Testimony