I was having a casual conversation with another woman I’ve known for close to 10-15 years. You know the kind of conversation where you’re talking about everything but not really talking about anything? We were making small talk, shooting the breeze and then like gears on my old 1980s Honda Accord, we skipped second and went straight to third. We are now girlfriends sitting at Jada Pinkett-Smith’s red table talk sipping on tea, coffee, water or wine (take your pick). With tears in her eyes she’s sharing stories with me that has my mouth looking like the wooden clowns at the carnival where you throw the bean bags inside for a prize? Chile, I was in shock (not at all of it, just some parts).
I feel it is important to mention I’ve been told I’m a great listener, someone people can trust not to air their dirty laundry so, of course, that’s what I was doing, listening. I’m super engaged in the conversation, giving her my undivided attention, really taking in all she has to say, even to the point of tears in my eyes because I can feel the pain in her voice. I’m choked up. But that is about as far as I’m willing to go because I don’t share. I just listen, okay?
The heart-wrenching pain of it all was her lack of faith in humanity. There was a sense of hopelessness that made my insides sink to the floor. Hold your weave, we’re turning the corner at a rapid speed. Can you hear the tires screeching? We have officially shifted into fourth gear, I move from the safe, girl, I know what you’re talking about, been there, done that, bought a souvenir t-shirt to commemorate it, to spilling absolutely all of the tea.
Honey, when I was finished, her mouth and eyes were done. She could not believe my journey. She confessed, she looked at me and thought my life was perfect. Wiping her face and blowing her nose, she looked dead at me and told me how much I encouraged her, that I should share my story, my testimony with others, that if I could make it, they could too.
Speaking my intimate, personal, real-life, flaws and all story made me realize I’m a survivor (insert Destiny’s Child). I’ve come out of the furnace like the three Hebrew boys without a scratch or smell of smoke. What I’ve been through and what I know is why I praise and honor God with my life and do my best to treat others right.
As I reflect on this moment a few thoughts to convey my gratitude come to mind;
- God is good.
- I Won’t Complain (there is controversy surrounding who penned this classic song but the artist singing it encompasses how I feel about the lyrics)
- Mother-to-Son
Writing Prompt: Think about something you thought was going to destroy you but didn’t, something you thought you wouldn’t make it through but you did.
Real Women. Real Life. Real Talk. 