Rise

“Rise”

I won’t just survive
Oh, you will see me thrive
Can’t write my story
I’m beyond the archetype

I won’t just conform
No matter how you shake my core
‘Cause my roots—they run deep, oh

Oh, ye of so little faith
Don’t doubt it, don’t doubt it
Victory is in my veins
I know it, I know it
And I will not negotiate
I’ll fight it, I’ll fight it
I will transform

When, when the fire’s at my feet again
And the vultures all start circling
They’re whispering, “You’re out of time,”
But still I rise

This is no mistake, no accident
When you think the final nail is in
Think again
Don’t be surprised
I will still rise

I must stay conscious
Through the madness and chaos
So I call on my angels
They say

Oh, ye of so little faith
Don’t doubt it, don’t doubt it
Victory is in your veins
You know it, you know it
And you will not negotiate
Just fight it, just fight it
And be transformed

‘Cause when, when the fire’s at my feet again
And the vultures all start circling
They’re whispering, “You’re out of time,”
But still I rise

This is no mistake, no accident
When you think the final nail is in
Think again
Don’t be surprised
I will still rise

Don’t doubt it, don’t doubt it
Oh, oh, oh, oh
You know it, you know it
Still rise
Just fight it, just fight it
Don’t be surprised
I will still rise

These are the lyrics to the song Advanced 139 chose to represent who we are. Powerful, right? It’s not the Katy Perry version but a cover by Boyce Avenue.
Last night I was challenged. It was a stretch for me.  I was to embody Beyonce and be empowered by it.  Oh my goshness.  It was rough and there was a really raw feeling that settled in my belly and held me hostage most of the day.
There are many people that love Beyonce, but I’ve never really been a huge fan.  I still haven’t even listened to Lemonade.  The album hit too close to home.  Waiting for my ex to decide he wanted me back for 11 months is not a feeling I want to revisit.  I feel stronger now.  I feel confidence and joy I didn’t feel before.  I feel freedom for the first time.  Listening to that album didn’t feel like something I could handle, so I’ve avoided it.  I loved her music in the early days, but there was a disconnect in who she is.  I tend to love music, while ignoring the person behind it.
The prude in me sat in judgement of her.  I’ve never seen the skin she exposes or her dance moves as empowering.  We have different styles.  I will step outside of the voice in my head, steal a hug from a man and tell him how appreciated his beauty is.  But it’s about sexualizing someone else for my needs, not caring about theirs.
“You’re beautiful.”
“Thank you for loving your body as much as I do.”
“Thank you for that public service that looks like your exercise routine.”
Spreading her legs on her back . . . Crawling on all fours . . . Exposing her flesh to turn someone else on always felt like putting her sexuality in service to someone else.  It’s her agency but it felt like she’s giving it to someone else because he wants it enough that he’ll claim ownership of her. It says more about me than it does her.  Madonna has done the same for years, but there’s this distance she has.  She hasn’t seemed emotionally needy in decades.  It’s also possible that I over identify with Beyonce and I see in her the parts of myself I don’t like.
I spent years using my body to please others, rarely ever enjoying the encounter myself.  I’ve found my power in satisfying my needs, rather than trying to please someone else.  I’m in a place where offering my sexuality is a gift I’m offering because I choose to and it’s no longer a gift just because someone else wants it.
I posted a selfie video on my Instagram on September 19th.  I almost took it down because I thought of it being used by someone else to live out a sexual fantasy.  I decided to leave it up because that would have been me catering to someone else’s fantasy, rather than enjoying the moment of confidence and satisfaction I was in when I made the video.
I was asked to empower myself by being transformed into Beyonce.  I had to dress in a way that I wouldn’t dress.  My bra was visible through my shirt last night.  I wore pleather shorts, much shorter than I’m used to, with high heels that I nearly fell in.  I stumbled and almost took a few ladies down with me.  It was epic.  I was cheered through it and it helped me get through the ridiculousness.
The big part of what I was asked to do was to empower myself.  How amazing is it that people who have known me for 3 days could decide on day 4 that my biggest discomfort is in empowering myself? They don’t see my insecurities at work when I’m asking and double checking what I know because I’m afraid of making mistakes.  They don’t see me shrink back from fighting because it’s easier to not fight and walk away than use my voice.  I know I could hurt others.  I choose not to because hurting others hurts me even if I’m being attacked, but also because there’s uncertainty . . .   Sitting in the shadows as others move forward unable to use the thoughts that just don’t shut up in my head . . . They don’t see me silencing myself when with family or my ex.  They didn’t see that the only place I’ve found confidence is in fighting for my children.  In this moment, I can see that as the past because I’m a badass and change is a choice I can make today and continue to make.
Last night, we left it out there.  I powered through my fear in bravery.  I stumbled through cold, in heels that were a little too big and trusting my feet or not, the shoes betrayed my ankles and I powered through in courage.  And through it all, I said, “Oh what the fuck? Do whatever it takes,” because in the end, it wasn’t about me but supporting and being supported in what I was doing.  I was being encouraged while allowing others to encourage me.
After the performance, I was lifted by my tribe. I was cradled, then held high above their heads as Beyoncé sang “Halo” and I sang along with her. My walls were tumbling down. 
At the end of the night, I had rug burns on my knees.  I had several hands on my body.  I held so many people in my arms.  Rather than feeling dirty and used, and distanced by my own design, I felt open.  I felt so much love that while my heart was ready to burst with the trust I felt, I was okay with it.  It was a time of open hugs that offered more full body contact than I’ve had in really long time with men that were scantily clad.  I may have really enjoyed that too. I offered massages and gave massages.  It wasn’t payment for a negotiation of pleasure.  It was a gift and an offering of love.  Unconditional love and service to each other.  I was open to sharing who I was.  I was ready to let others in. I am ready to let others in.
I had a moment of just opening up in love to my Buddy.  He’s beautiful.  He’s kind, and generous.  He’s considerate. He’s a leader.  He’s everything I would want to wake up to in the morning, if only he weren’t gay.  I keep saying the perfect man would be gay but into me and he embodies this in a way that aches.
I’m committed to being gentle with myself, and opening up to others, trusting that being hurt by others might happen and I’ll face that set back with a moment to say, “Yes!” I’ll sit back, reassess, and move forward with an open heart because closing off only hurts myself.
The legacy I will live in will be to live in openness. I get to live and allow others in.  I get to live and in empathy, find empathy for myself because being connected to what I feel is a gift and I receive it in the present.  Each breath I breathe is the gift of life and each exhalation is my contribution to the world, and I can’t contribute if I hold who I am.  That will only make me suffocate.  There is no life when there is no exchange.  We rely on others to reflect, to connect.  It was a huge lesson last night.  I get to live in a way that doesn’t cripple my sons.  I get to live in a way that doesn’t leave them searching to heal the scars I’ve created.  I get to be the mom I want them to have and I get to ask them the questions and offer the answers that I wouldn’t have before because I get to let them in.  I get to let people in.

When, when the fire’s at my feet again, And the vultures all start circling, They’re whispering, “You’re out of time,” But still I rise.

Advertisements

One thought on “Rise

  1. Pingback: Thursday, November 17, 2016 – Crushing the Chrysalis

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s