I Didn’t Make Myself

I didn’t make myself

I wonder if I had a choice, would I make me, me?

If you had a choice, would you make you, you?

Would it depend on the choices that you were given? What if you had no example, but you had all of the pieces?

Take a good long deep look in the mirror; would you seriously put all those pieces perfectly in place, body parts perfectly positioned, every follicle of hair perfectly positioned, complexion of skin, and teeth in place, would you?

I bet you wouldn’t, even if you could.

Perfection doesn’t exist. We grow, change, develop, evolve, get wounds that leave scars.

I am glad I didn’t make myself, but I’m so happy to be me.

You should be happy to be you, flaws, imperfections, vulnerabilities pet peeves and all. If your not happy being you, you could never be happy with someone else.

If you’re not happy with you, take it up with the one who made you, he’ll open up your eyes to your questions and fill you with answers. You’ll be able see beyond your questions of why, how and who, what, where and when.

You become filled with joy and gratitude.

I didn’t make myself and neither did you.


You Were Made to Stand Out and Be Seen

Made to stand out

I have always been the “odd ball”, for a better way of putting it, but something happened after my 25th birthday, I just didn’t give a “rip” anymore. I couldn’t care less what people thought about me, so I dressed, and carried myself how I wanted to and it made me feel confident, happy and bold.

Finances were always a struggle and moving to another country in a totally different climate, and culture was difficult without support. I didn’t fit in any were, not only was I the only black person, but the only foreigner. There was no cultural diversity.

I got married to a man that promised to love me and support me, but that never happened; instead I got used, abused, teased and threatened. I was taught all the wrong information and I was always the guinea pig for deception when it came to him using his family for money. But no more, I started my college career at a local community college, and I was taught how to find information, later I learned it’s called research. Now I’m a certified researcher.

I graduated from a university I transferred to after 3 years of studies at a community college, and I am so proud of myself for making it through, it was one of the most difficult times in my life.

While in school I gave birth to my baby girl, went through a divorce and had to maintain a job to support my 2 kids. I had no family support, and my family back home couldn’t help me either.

For 3 of the 6 years I felt stuck, frustrated, alone and lonely, until I shifted how I thought about my situation. Then I came across Lisa Nichols on YouTube, she said two thing that I repeated in my mind that help me through my day to day life: the first is, “it’s OK to not be OK”, and the second is, “Why blend in, when you were made to stand out”.

I was made from the foundations of the world to stand out and that I do now, despite the racism, that dirty looks the gossip behind my back the jealous looks, envy, malice and whatever other ill will people have toward me that don’t know me.

Today I walk bold, confident, pleased, courageous and ready to create the life that I want; because I was made to stand out.


Raising a Biracial Daughter

Raising a Biracial Daughter

It breaks my heart to think of some of the things that my daughter has already been told and heard and she’s only 5 years old.

When my daughter was three she told me, “she wished her skin was white and her hair was straight, her skin was ugly”. I automatically got defensive. I wanted to know who is making fun of my baby.

Me my son and my daughter are 1 of 2 black families that live in a predominantly white town of 33,000 people. The daycare that she attended was a good one, but unfortunately you cannot control what the parents of the other children who attend the daycare say. They asked my daughter, why her hair was so curly, why her skin so black. It pissed me all the way off when she came home with these things.

My son and I would always reassure her that she is beautiful, and they are jealous of your beautiful brown skin and long thick curly hair. I told her every day that she is beautiful and if any one says something mean to her its ok to tell the teacher. If they say means stuff they are not your friend. Friends are nice to each other.

Today, she is 5 an thriving, we still tell her every day that she is beautiful, we travel to places that have more people that look like us and that makes her happy. Whenever we see another black person we get so happy.  We will be moving to a more culturally diverse state and town, so that my children are enriched with the beauty of different people, culture in this grate beautiful world.

She knows that she is beautiful, brave, smart, clever, strong, healthy, kind and the best baby girl in the whole world.  This is how I intend on continuing to raise my daughter and for raising a black son in this world has its own challenges, but same strategy applies.

I love my kids more that I have essence to explain and they are gifts to me and this world.

Raising a biracial daughter isn’t easy, but love conquers all and she has already won.

I love you baby girl.