Dear Diary,
It was a cold day. I mean I literally felt like I was going to faint from the gripping pain that pinched my hands with a vengeance. However, It didn't matter to me. I was lost in a world wind of love, power, respect, and the majestic sovereignty of God. Today was Inauguration Day. I sat as an innocent flower among thorns trying to figure out why I couldn't push out the tears that I felt sitting on the inside of my belly. I mean, I was truly moved. In one moment our new president made me shed my Willie Lynch induced insecurities and dream. For the first time in my life, I had standards for what I thought a man should be, and I had the overwhelming desire to hold everyone who crossed my path to those standards. I became less and less consumed in what was popular, and more consumed in what was morally right. I found myself back in the kindergarten, reversing the moments that I hated every light skinned girl and deemed myself gorgeous because my eyes were a lighter shade of brown. I wanted to bathe in my blackness. Yet, the tears wouldn't flow. They were frozen by the surreality of the days events. They were frozen by the armor that I had successfully built during the storms in my life.
But... that carefully crafted iron barrier was melted down to nothing when I saw Michelle Obama, gracefully cascade down the hallways that was never built for her, yet she made it bend and succumb to her brown crown of LadyDivalikeness. Then, as I thought of how many young women across this nation laying on their backs to drown out pain. How many young women at that very second had their lips wrapped around a crack pipe to find release. How many of my sister were dressed in their designers best, but hiding bruises, some found painted purple on the outside and some painted navy blue on the inside of their hearts; I tasted that familiar wet saltine that I so often gave away to men, women and situations that weren't as nearly as important as this moment. Mrs. Obama made it okay for me to be exactly who I was, flaws and all. There is something about the way that she walks that lets me know she has been down every dark tunnel that we all have been through. She is NOW sitting on pearls of wisdom, so that we don't have to cast our pearls before swine. It is in the way that she owns those perfectly designed hips, that thick but tamed hair, and our president that truly makes me question every unrealistic standard that America has placed on us. I got over the fact that my booty ain't big, that my hair ain't swinging down my shoulders,and that I'm not good at organizing my life.... YET! Our new First Lady allows us to be human, not psychologically frozen in a perpetual state of perfectionism.
And then those girls....
Malia and Sasha have already made the arduous decision to be ladies. Their own father described them as "Poised and Elegant". So, what is stopping me at 23 years of age from being all that and more? I'll tell you, ME! I have gotten so caught up in being "Fabulous By Any Means Necessary" that I forgot about being a Lady by those same means. As I stared at the innocence of those girls I remembered how God views me. He doesn't see me as the used, abused, phony, crazy women that I have been rumored to be. Oh, no. He sees me as his little princess , wearing nothing but garments of praise for the spirit of heaviness. Despite everything we've gone through as women, in God's eyes we are just like Malia and Sasha ( J Crew Coats and All!).
So, right on the National Mall, while tasting saltine tears and feeling my hands scream for warmth, I re-dedicated myself to being a Lady. Somewhere along this journey we all get muddied up by life's dirt. Now, we all need a little dirt to grow. However, some of us are staying in the dirt refusing to grow. I can relate. It feels good being the victim... laying in dirt... sulking, crying, and soaking up some much needed and deserved attention. However, My LadyDivas, it is time that we rise from those ashes and offer them as a sacrifice of praise. I mean what happens to people who never purge or clean themselves? They begin to stink. Today, I covered my funk up with Issey Miyake ( lol), but actually underneath my well-crafted exterior, I smelled like years and years of baggage. I'm surprised our new president couldn't smell me from miles away.
The wonderful thing is... I, WE, Have no more excuses. Our First Lady teaches us how to be a lady and our President teaches us how a lady is to be treated.
From this day forward... I'm gonna embody the essence of a LadyDiva... How about you?
In Sisterly Love,
THELadyDiva...
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