I do not call it love when someone I’m dating neglects me. So why would I call it love when I neglect myself? Neglect is not love—not when it comes from others, and not when it comes from you.
I do not call it love when someone I’m dating neglects me. So how can I call it love when I neglect myself? Love is not just what we feel. It’s what we do.
I made it through because I always make it through! I am resiliency personified. As I look back at a journal entry from June 2024, I am stunned by the growth. Tears well and fill my eyes because, holy moly, I can’t believe this is my life! This is the life God and I co-created this year.
I am healed, and I am healing still. I am recovered, and I am recovering still. I am nourished, and I am nourishing still. Thank You, God, that I serve the God who says, ‘I Am That I Am.’ And because I know that, I know that I AM, TOO.
May we flow in Your grace, knowing that You created us 70% water and 100% capable. With You, nothing is impossible, and in You, we are victorious. It’s already done. Amen.
I realized I needed to go back to 2024, to begin again. But when I tried, I encountered resistance—big resistance. Something stood in the way. And yet, through it all, I held tighter to the steady thread, the one with God holding the other end.
Shame has been a mother tongue because I was taught to be ashamed—ashamed of my body, my size, the fullness of my nose, the width of my hips, the gap in my teeth, the volume of my laughter, the chocolate brown of my skin, and the depths of my joy. But those very things I used to hate, those very parts of me I used to loathe, have become the parts I love the most.
When I listen, God speaks to my innermost being, to my interstitial spaces. When I obey and act by faith, God moves big and bold on my behalf.
The only way to truly do this wrong is to not do it at all. So here I am, taking my own advice—showing up, even if it’s imperfect. Because what’s the alternative? To keep my thoughts to myself, trapped by the idea that I need to fit into some imaginary mold? As my nephew used to say at the beautiful, ripe, polite age of 2, ‘No, thank you, please!’
“Your will and mine be one,” I prayed! I didn’t know what I was praying for exactly, but I knew it’d be good. And yet again, here you are doing exceedingly and abundantly!”
