Amazing grace: that saved a RATCHET ASS like me

This is MY & OUR story.

My story is that I like to write.  That may be the STUPIDEST understatement of the year because I can’t NOT write: even when I don’t want to, my brain writes Facebook status, tweets, blog posts, books, chapters, arguments and ALL MANNER of thing, in ALL MANNER of inconvenient times.

My story is that I’ve rarely -not ever- but rarely cared what the majority of people think of me at any random time.  My husband has always accused me of “personality crafting” online —trying like hell to shape an opinion of myself that I approve of — when truthfully, I’ve told my story with little regard for what folks make of it. (Repeat: little regard, not no regard).  That he and others have misunderstood my intentions to share vulnerably has mattered little to me —obviously because I’ve continued to do it.  Quite honestly, I’ve HATED when folks use their uncomfortability to silence me, their list of “why’s” absurd as the day is long.

My story is that I have very little interest in hiding.  Don’t assume that people who have no interest in hiding are some sort of shallow Kim Kardashian.  Obviously, women like Kimmy K & I share a certain level of “F*ck you world!” to continue to put ALL OUR BUSINESS on ALL OUR PLATFORMS.  It’s redonkulous for anyone tell Kimmy K & I (and e’erybody in between) what our motives are, why we should (or shouldn’t) disclose in the way we do & exactly what they think about our level disclosure.

My story is that is I learned from Malcolm X. I read his book as a young pimple-face. Here was a man who put ALL HIS BUSINESS on ALL HIS PLATFORMS because -I’m assuming- he believed in the power of storytelling.  He wanted folks to know exactly why he continued to fight for justice for his people.  He didn’t let anyone tell him to shut that ‘ish down because he took ownership of his choices and he didn’t want to leave room for someone to catch him off guard, and therefore have power over him.  No one had anything on him.  If I’d been around when Malcolm X was alive I would have been *that* groupie.  You know the one, screaming out at inappropriate times, “OOHHMYYYGAAWWWD, MALCOLM PLEASE MARRY ME, I’LL MAKE YOU SO HAPPY!”

My story is that I’m an adult survivor of childhood sexual abuse. That I’m ‘surviving’ is, I’m sure, up for grabs in the opinions of others who haven’t lived a damn day in my shoes and couldn’t survive a damn month of my traumatic childhood.  I tell this story in particular because it is the story in which the most women connect with me on.  It is the story that the most women profusely thank me for sharing and consequently gives me the most hope because I’ve decided secrets and the dark don’t get to live in me.

My story is that I have a broken relationship to my sexuality.  One doesn’t have a sexual relationship with one’s father beginning at 3 yrs. old, progressing for 8 additional yrs. and escape unscathed.  What is done in the dark comes out.  For YEARS, I’ve been towing the line of a very, very, very, very unhealthy relationship to my sexuality, to a few years of reprieve, to a few years of some awesome married sex, to a few years of very confusing relationship with a man -not my husband- to a few months of an affair, to a few months of PROFOUND GUILT & SHAME (pretty doggone similar to the shame I felt with Dear Old Dad), to a few months of deciding I HAVE TO GET MY SHIT TOGETHER because giving up on myself is not something I do.  I face my demons, again and again. Whatever it takes. That, friends, is the trajectory of my life. I FACE MY DEMONS DAMMIT. Fall. Get up again. Fall. Get up. Be willing.

My story is that my issues with broken sexuality DON’T HAVE ANYTHING TO DO WITH YOU.  The fact that people CENTER THEMSELVES in my story is THEIR STORY.  When you center yourself in my LIFE LONG ISSUES and then start whining to me, “Grace, you’ve hurt our friendship!” OR “Grace, your choices are destroying my family!” OR “Grace, your social media presence isn’t real because I know your life is falling apart!” OR “Grace, I’m so mad at you I can’t even look at you!” know that you are CENTERING.  Stop it! Figure out how to love me (& others) through my LIFELONG ISSUES issues or walk away.

My story is that I am UNWILLING to allow “friends”  to center themselves into MY STORY. My story is that having an affair, a fucked-up marriage and a broken-ass sexuality creates an INSANE amount of consequences all by itself.  The absolute last thing I’m willing to tolerate is YOU not figuring out why the hell you can’t be around me without centering yourself in my story and then HURTING me even more than I ready am.  I have recently lost a few friends on this journey because of centering.

My story is that is that I allow people to say hard words to me when those words are said in love and with a modicum of understanding and compassion. (For reference see: Fred, Phil, Cindy, Jean, Marla, Stefani, Michelle, Tia, Jimmy, Joshua, Ed, Ani, etc.)  Anyone else have vitriol centering garbage to throw my way?  I am done with you.   That is the end of our story.  I have survived A LOT of trauma, I simply have no tolerance for those who cannot communicate with me without heaping shame & pain.  I’d rather face the trauma of losing you than allowing you to re-traumatize me.  I. am. stronger. than. that. ‘ish.

My story is that I am God’s daughter & perhaps God has allowed me to stoop so low so that I could begin to understand the Amazing grace with which I’ve been operating all these years when I was everyone’s Favorite This! & Up and Coming That!  It’s hard to see your need for a Savior when you’re at the top of the heap.  Now, I’m on the bottom of the heap & my story is that I’m more in awe of God than ever before.  That he would save a RATCHET-ASS LIKE ME.

My story is important.  It makes you feel uncomfortable?  Dig deep friends. Find out why.  When I own my words AND my choices & find the bravery to share it, it frees me.  When I write it, I learn from it, when I share it, I offer it.

Your story is important.  Tell it.  Write it. Learn from it.  Share it. Offer it.  Find the bravery to free yourself, to own your choices and to create agency for yourself.  Don’t let folks center on you.

Those of us in the world who call ourselves “storytellers” join in on of the attributes of God himself, the greatest storyteller of all times.  And that, peeps, is grace.  That is Amazing Grace.

This is OUR story to tell.

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In essence, this post is what I’ve learned and ruminated on after one day at Blogher 14