I am looking to be relatable to.

An only child. Who grew up in a cult-like religion. Who was trained in the art of verbal combat. Who was homeschooled for highschool. And for elementary there were too many children in the same cult-like religion for me to be close to the others. Who had been trained to attack and condemn others who didn’t believe as I believed.

I am different.

My cousin told me my granddad got a lot of dough.

I’m 34. At this age I’ve had five cars and not one of them have I bought with my own money. I don’t think before this apartment I moved in have I had an apartment I haven’t called my granddad up for at least $500. Or mostly grandma who’d grab her purse to run to the boat to win some money to send me.

When I moved to Boston at 17, I would come back to Chicago to visit three or four times a year. I didn’t always have money after coach bags, gold rings, fur coats and way too many shoes to get a plane ticket. Someone would help me.

Grandma, granddad.

When I was a child I never walked out their door without at least $50 in my pocket. And in my late teens, I learned to ask my grandma for my turn up money. My friends learned early. If they take me to grandmas they could turn up off me.

So they spoiled me too.

If they let me have my way, I would pay so everyone could play.

And the guys. All of them either street dudes, or a dude willing to let me push him to get him to make the type of money that would afford my designer bag fetish, or nails and hair did. Or paying some bill.

A gift of gab allowing me the ability to keep my goodies tucked away. Because a spoiled woman like myself only dealt with men I desired. Or really the dude all the other women had an eye for, so I could feel like I had the upper hand.

I never used my gift of words to glorify God after leaving the religion of my youth. It was always to keep a dude so I wouldn’t have to navigate the streets of the world alone, especially if the religion had put me on the block list and nobody could talk to me.

Spoiled girls/ rotten women don’t like to be ignored.

Money always came so easily. Once it was gone it would always come back. So did the cockiness of one who never knew what struggle looked like.

Spoiled. Rotten.

I never realized it though. I’ve heard the talk. But never believed it. Not knowing how to relate. And being able to get the people I want to love me, to love me freely, makes it difficult to relate  to people.

but its not about me anymore. I want to live to make Jesus name famous!

And I have a couple talents I’m no longer interested in burying.

Maybe the person who was just trying to look out for me by telling my personal business to her trusted confidant I shouldn’t have went off on.

Or the man who was in transition of walking away from the streets into a new life I shouldn’t have been cursing out. For not doing what I wanted him to do, move faster for my feelings of inadequacies to be squashed about being a single mother.

Maybe my friends shouldn’t have been only been my friend, while I stayed ignoring their needs and feelings.

I should care for thankless, unappreciative, complaining people.

That’s who I used to be if I didn’t get my way.

Sometimes its not them, it’s you.

These days, I try to not be that person anymore. Ole Rae-Rae. Attention and spotlight on me. Only when I got that liquid courage in me. Otherwise I didn’t want any eyes on me.  Don’t get me on a dance floor. Back when I was using fake ids or rather  someone’s real ID that we said was me and confidence and and an ‘I wish buddy would’ attitude had me floating across dance floors got me a coveted spot next to the DJ in his booth. Laughing at the glaring women who saw me next to light skin and long braids and wanted to be part of the on my momma crew.

I was used to being hated. So I made it worth their while.

I had no fear. I needed no back up. And I had never even had a fight with anyone outside my family.

Oh but realizations hit.

We live a life where people are hurting. People need love and compassion, and a life free from division.

We need each other.

I am thankful for being humbled. For my lack days. For struggle which produces strength.

For compassion.

For focus.

For sisterhood.

Not focusing on men. Even though for new years I want home cooked food, and my spoiled behind can call the last guy I dated and he cook it for me.

Cook today, love me later.

I got work to do for God and I don’t want to be distracted anymore by these physical things life tries to push up on us.

Not material things. Marriage is a ministry I’m not ready to take on right now. Maybe down the road. Not the turn up life.

So. Its not you, its me was one of the lines I’d give them before I walked away. If I gave a line at all.

Its probably been me. If I haven’t deleted somebody acting crazy with me it’s because I know how I used to be. And those traits used to come out.

But change. For the glory of God.


Sometimes we need to take a step back and be honest with self. How many can really say, sometimes its me? And then be the change they want to see.

What change do you really want to be?



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