Today’s answer is from my oldest goddaughter, Kotrish of Inspirational Words and Quotes:
Today’s answer is from my oldest goddaughter, Kotrish of Inspirational Words and Quotes:
We’re continuing the self-love train with kelley from black-burgundy: hella black…
Today’s answer is no laughing matter (you’ll get it when you visit his blog). Kevin from KevinHotter is the first man to show us how he offers himself love:
This is how Marquessa over at Simply Marquessa loves herself…
I am Lady G, and just like you, I AM a unique physical expression of God!
My particular story began with my Earthly debut in the city of Augusta, Georgia at the tail end of the 1960’s.
Now, before I proceed to tell you about my journey to self-love, allow me to take you a couple of steps back:
Prior to my birth, my godmother, who was the equivalent of a nurse practitioner, used her vast knowledge of Augusta’s medical landscape to handpick my mother’s OB/GYN, as well as my pediatrician. After all, she knew that my father had “good insurance,” and she was determined to help my parents take full advantage of his benefits.
With that said, she chose the best of the best to entrust with our care!
Now, I didn’t tell you that to brag. I simply wanted to illustrate that my parents and their tribe, which included my godparents, were determined to prepare a safe, warm, and loving place for me to land.
Admittedly, some of you may be wondering why I selected the word tribe. Well, frankly, it is the best word that I could find to describe all of the folks who encircled and upheld my parents who had moved 300 miles away from their hometown in Southern Alabama.
They were only twenty-two and twenty-three years old for God’s sake!
Bearing this fact in mind, the neighboring elders decided that it was imperative to invest in our young family’s success!
But that’s what folks did back then.
At any rate, in spite of having not one local relative, these two young’uns managed to build a beautiful and loyal surrogate family.
Oh, by the way, let me step off track here to tell you that I am clairsentient and sometimes clairaudient so I can clearly hear Dr. Garland somewhere in the ethers hollering, “Lady G, please address the topic at hand!”
Well…Er… I promise Doc, I’m getting to it!
But seriously, this little bit of my personal historical context is a necessary piece to our topic.
Why? Because I believe that my parents and their people, created an environment, prior to and after my birth, that helped me to feel loved, valued and treasured during my formative years, and it was reflected back to me in every one of my early childhood experiences.
Basically, I saw love in my mother’s eyes as we danced to “Just my Imagination,” by The Temptations.
I felt love in my father’s kiss as he greeted me after a long day at work.
I heard love in my godfather’s voice when he asked, “What ‘choo know good Gwin?” and then genuinely listened to my three-year-old answer.
I witnessed love when I watched the brothas and sistas downtown Augusta singing, Say it loud! I’m Black and I’m proud!
In short, it was my wonderful start in life that helped me to develop a strong love for self.
The tribe had succeeded!
Uh…not so fast!
As you might have guessed, in later years, I found myself associating with people who made me question my worth. They attached conditions to our relationships like size, looks, education, financial status, and so on.
As a result, I did my share of worrying about whether I was good enough, pretty enough, thin enough, smart enough, and ad infinitum.
But, I must admit, in each case, I was eventually able to find my happy “due north” which always led me back to self-love and acceptance.
Of course, there is much more that I could say about the process of returning back to self-love, but the professor is counting words so I have decided NOT to tempt fate!
Just suffice it to say, that I took time to synthesize and integrate my wonderful early childhood experiences with my personal spiritual insights in order to reclaim the love that I always had for myself. Best believe it was not an overnight process, which I am convinced is probably a blessing in itself. I say that because I’ve learned to appreciate every journey that is presented. For me, it is during these times that I receive my deepest insights regarding the importance of practicing self-love and appreciation.
And with that, more will be revealed…
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(Shared for Forgiving Fridays).
February 2018, I relinquished my blog to friends and family who answered one question: What is self-love? Each day revealed a different answer and these inspired others to evaluate, or re-evaluate how they defined the term. Thanks to those who participated!
This year, I’m asking for fourteen guest bloggers to answer another question: How did you learn the importance of self-love?
What is expected? Please send to me a nonfiction essay or piece of narrative nonfiction that describes/explains how you began to love yourself? What happened? Was it a mate who showed you what it should (or shouldn’t) look like? Did your parents instill the importance of self-love in you? Did a specific situation lead you to self-love? Was it something you were just born with? Poetry or fiction is not appropriate.
How long should this be? I follow the blogging rules of no more than 750 words. I also believe anything less than 500 words is too short, so let’s keep it between 500-800 words so people want to actually read what you wrote.
When is the deadline? Please send this to me no later than 11:59 P.M. (EST), Thursday, January 31, 2019. I do not take deadlines lightly. Submissions received on February 1, 2019 will not be considered.
Where should you submit your writing? Please email me at email@example.com or use the contact form at the top of this blog.
Other formalities: Please include your social media contacts as well.
More questions? Simply ask below.
…is being with your best friend for the rest of your life, assuming that you’ve married your best friend, which I highly recommend.
If your spouse is not your best friend, then I’d suggest you and s/he at least be friends.
You probably wanna be married to a person with whom you’d like to actually be around for long periods of time, and with whom you’d like to do activities. For Dwight and me it’s important because we enjoy traveling.
Our adventures together began twenty-two years ago when his parents paid for our honeymoon to Puerto Vallarta. We saw an ocean for the first time ever! We snorkeled. We partied. We rode motor scooters through the tiny streets where I thought I was going to face plant onto the cobble-stoned roads and die. To this day that memory makes him chuckle. Those were good times and there’s no one else I’d rather have done it with than my husband.
Since then, he’s chaperoned a study abroad trip with a group of high school students and me. Aside from keeping track of everyone, we ate really bad fish and chips, saw the Globe Theater, and visited the British Museum.
We’ve flown to Vegas four times and each time I’ve wondered how this trip could be any different than the last. Well, each one has been. Every trip has been at a different stage in our relationship, with different people, and for a variety of reasons. Sin City never disappoints, but quite honestly, neither does our affection for staying up all night, gambling, strolling up and down the Strip, and eating fine cuisine.
For some couples, travelling stops once they begin a family. But not for us. In fact, the girls have joined us on a few trips. Years ago, when they were little, they went on their first real flight across the country to Seattle. We saw the first Starbucks, visited the aquarium, and watched fish fly through the air at Pike Place. By the time they were rolling their pre-teen eyes at everyone, they’d eaten authentic Philly Cheesesteaks in Philly and visited the Liberty Bell. And although it was a bit expensive, I insisted they come with us on our sixteen-hour flight to Japan. I wanted them to know the rest of the world existed before they left our little bubble.
I could continue recounting years of vacays, but the point is, there’s no one else I’d rather see another part of the planet with than my hubby.
Happy Anniversary Dwight! Here’s to twenty-two more years of sightseeing.
I’m glad I fell in love in my youth.
I’m glad I fell in love when I was younger because I was not as conscious of all of the things I wanted and needed. All I knew is that this guy is a cool dude. He likes hanging out, having a drink or two, or four and walking in the rain. He was about to graduate with an accounting degree and wanted to work on a cruise ship.
I thought that was brave. I mean who finishes undergrad and then aspires to work on a cruise ship?
I didn’t have the list that so many of my friends over 25, 35, 45 seem to currently have. I didn’t even have the list that has accumulated after two decades of marriage.
I wasn’t thinking about if he saved money or if he had a 401k. He made about 27k at first, and he spent most of his money. I wasn’t consciously thinking about how or if he would love our future kids. We eventually had two daughters; he avidly watches superhero films with one and advises the other about the importance of self-respect. I wasn’t worried about if he would clean the house or take my car to the shop. He ended up being obsessive about cleaning, at first, and he rarely serviced any of my cars. I wasn’t concerned about if he’d support my future goals. He does. Always.
He played tennis and I barely ran across the street even if I saw a car coming. He only ate rice for lunch and dinner, while I devoured several servings of any and everything in front of him. One of our first dates was to Red Lobster. Because he didn’t have enough money, he let me eat what I wanted while he ate salad and cheddar biscuits. I didn’t condemn him for not having money, cause he was 23. Plus, I didn’t have any money either.
I didn’t follow a 90-day rule.
I didn’t care if he believed in God, was a Christian or an atheist. Our philosophies about a higher power developed and intertwined like violet Wisteria on a white trellis. Most days we would just be. We would talk about hypothetical situations and what-ifs grew to be realities.
I didn’t read a bunch of magazines (or blogs) about how to get a man, how to keep a man, how to stop your man from cheating.
I’m glad I fell in love in my youth because I had the time and space to follow my intuition and my heart each step of the way.
And that’s what I’ve been doing for the past 22 years of our marriage.
From the time I turned eighteen until I was forty-one years old, my father visited me twice. He rarely called. However, he used to always say, I love you. And when we were at his funeral, more than one family member made sure to reiterate the sentiment by pulling me to the side and whispering, you know your dad loved you. Two decades of inaction proved otherwise. If someone loves you, then, in my mind, they do things to show it. Although the dictionary shows that love can be a noun, more than likely when you love someone it’s the verb part, a series of actions over time, that lead you to a firm conclusion.
An ironic set of events have made me pause to think about love as a concept again.
My father’s wife, MJ was recently diagnosed with breast cancer. She’d undergone a double mastectomy in April, but complications arose. Consequently, we spoke on the phone more as she recounted her life’s circumstances. Whether money or transportation, her daughter and granddaughter, who live in the same city, were not capable of helping her this time. I tried to support from the comfort of my home by providing Uber rides and American Cancer Society phone calls. Soon, I could tell this wasn’t enough. She needed someone present during an additional surgery.
After mulling for three days, I decided that my youngest daughter, Desi and I would go help. I didn’t want to, but I thought about how I would feel if I was undergoing major surgery with no one to support me financially, emotionally, or physically.
Desi and I drove five and half hours to Atlanta. The following morning, I sat and asked her home healthcare nurse pertinent questions that she was too distraught to consider. Later, we went to breakfast, and then I bought her groceries out of my and Dwight’s household money. Afterwards, I made her six meals and packed them in the refrigerator, so she wouldn’t have to worry about cooking. The following day, Desi and I drove her to the hospital and stayed for twelve hours of pre-op, operation, and post-op. Again, I spoke with the nurses when she was too incoherent to do so. We remained by her side until her daughter, granddaughter, and great-grandchildren arrived, around six o’clock in the evening.
I was able to do these things because I saw each act as service to an individual who needed support. I saw her like anyone else who might need help in the situation.
But she perceived my actions differently.
“I appreciate all you did for me,” MJ said right before we left. “You know I didn’t even know if you liked me.”
“Awww MJ,” I replied, partly in disbelief that she’d continued to repeat a twenty-year narrative.
“Now, I know you must love me to drive all this way and do the things you did,” she said with certainty.
How could I tell her that I didn’t? How could I explain that I provided a service to her out of empathy for her circumstances? How could I tell her that I can perform a loving act without loving her? In fact, how could I tell her that I neither liked, disliked, nor loved her? She’s always simply been my father’s wife.
Well, I didn’t tell her any of that. I remained silent, wished her well, and left.
But here is what I’ve concluded (as of today). We tend to use the word love when really we mean something else. For example, had MJ said, “I didn’t know you cared about me, but now I know you do,” I probably would’ve reassured her, because I do care. Love, on the other hand, is a little weighty and requires more than two-days worth of kind acts to develop.
What do you think? What is love to you? Do you use love when you mean something else?