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#Monique #ThisAMess #WhatsNext #Netflix #Boycott #Purpose #PurposeOnPurpose #PUSH #UnderstandDynamics #DestinyInTheRoom #NameInTheRoom #Observations #Realizations #Business #Economics #DontMissThis #TheSetUp
This is my official position about the Monique situation. There is a way you do business, and a way that you understand the opportunities presented to you. I was asked about this at work, and I said this, “God put her name in that room, and this is how she acted. You don’t know what God was going to do–had she used wisdom.” This is why I say this.
Monique was on a talk show with Russell Simmons around the same time she had her own show on BET. She said that in regards to being black and in entertainment she said she learned to ‘make opportunities’. No one said she had to take the money, no one said she was untalented or undeserving of literally ‘being in the room.’ This is my issue.
This is what agents are for. Had she played a little 3-D chess, she could have maximized her opportunity to make the most of what was presented to her. This nation constantly underpays, undercuts and devalues the talents of black women and women of color since–ever. From Ma Rainey, to Moms Mabley, to Bessie Coleman, to Oprah Winfrey, to my mother, and even myself. How we overcome this is to have people in our corner whom can fight for us, even when we aren’t in the room. Instead of maximizing what was presented to her, she lashed out.
Monique did what so many people when the are hurt do–look for someone that will and would listen to her. She went to Instgram wanting boycotts. She did the talk show circuit and said she was the most decorated living female comedienne. Monique went into recon “Imma get all these hoes” mode. Whenever you get pulled off your square like this, God can’t move, the universe can’t be open to you because you are too busy trying to overwhelm to bash in, rather than create to be granted access.
I can understand Monique’s frustration. I am empathetic to feeling you need to defend, check, buss in, buss up and let every hater know. TRUST. I GET IT. However, one thing I have been graced to understand that the opportunity, even the smallest is maximized by finesse and wisdom. She has snapped off, and we as the Fam at large have heard her, but now what to do, bae?
I support Monique, and I need her to #LevelUp. Like for the culture, for herself and those that follow, #LevelUp. It’s time. It’s time.
#JemelleHill #ESPN #AprilDRyan #BigSisterJemelle #ThisSo meOle #TheSix #Solidarity #Family #AuntieApril #WhoThisWomanHarpo #TryingToBeGreat #HowLong #IRideForThemDoe #GetEmSis
Folk can’t stand to see black women being great and leveling up (yes, #LevelUp is now an official hashtag of TIFS–Fight me.). Sometimes the biggest stumbling block to you leveling up as a black woman is another black woman. This is non debatable fact–I have lived this. Often. This is why I do my best to not let another black woman who is my life, my sphere of influence to never feel less than. She is not my enemy nor my competition.
These are not greater than those whom are for me–or her.
Now, that said–the awesome news this week is Jemelle Hill is leaving TheSix on ESPN (the 6pm SportCenter with Michael Smith) and is going to the show The Undefeated. This show fuses race, sports and culture. I think this is awesome for her and I’m excited to see her blossom–and flex–and be brilliant! #GetEmSis
For all this dopeassness this week, there was a tweet towards April D. Ryan, journalist whom is indeed a superhero, by this legendary bedwench of the Trump suppository whom now has a cushy job in the Department of Health and Human Services when she used to be a wedding planner–I will not mention her name here. Y’all goggle it. This same woman called April Ryan, “Miss Piggy.” And when this wench got clocked by Ana Navarro, then she wanted to apologize and delete the tweet. April Ryan, in her clapback akin to thunder, gathered her like kids under streetlights, telling her how wrong this was of her to do and was like ‘this is not over.’
I know in the first portion of this blog, I said I do not make habit or room to come for black women–they are not my competition. However, in love, I will gather a sis when necessary. This trollop has forgotten how expendable her boss sees black women, and chose the wrong one to come for in April Ryan. See? What she forgot is, how they came for Omorosa, they will come for her! Rather than accept and see what is, she feels like her boss’s incompetence is her cloak of invisibility. She is legit maximizing her coonery through the vessel of white privilege–who has time for that?!
There is a madness afoot, y’all. Friends don’t let friends come Stacey Dashes or Omorosas or this trollop whom will not be named. You can’t tell a broad to level up whom thinks the bottom is all she needs.
I am so tired of people coming for Ciara.
I really, truly, am. Since she broke up with Future, and then she was put in the pathway of Russell “Wish my daughter would find one like him” Wilson. She got with Russell, and I was so happy for her. I was happy her son had someone in his life that respected his mother (remember what Future said about her), and could show him what a healthy relationship will and does look like–and his mother was entitled to one.
I remember the media had a field day with how Russell according to his Christian faith, wasn’t going to sleep with Ciara until they were married. There was this shade and grumbling about how Russell proposed to her. How some people thought he was ‘soft’ about how he treated Ciara. And to credit, she kept it pushing. From White House on Russell’s arm, to his proposal on Instagram, to their wedding. I rooted for her and their marriage. I wanted her to be happy! I saw her birth announcement, and was overjoyed. I was auntie level happy.
Now, with the recording of the internet and the gumbo of people whom have no desire to see other people win, people want to have something to say about her saying, “Level up.” Now, this is in response to a sermon/talk given by Pastor John Gray talking about women, being wives and marriage. Pastor Gray now getting extra heaped on him for speaking about this. My thoughts? Go no further than the Word of God:
Indeed, with my other vocation being that of a preacher, and the wife of a pastor (which is a ministry in itself), allow me to help with this. “Level up” means to simply do better. Ciara should not be attacked because she decided to do better. She didn’t want to be in an unhealthy situation with a man that called her a fiancée but treated her less than when she wasn’t content to just be the mother of his child: she is shamed for wanting more.
There was one comment I read on Facebook in regards to this where one black girl said, “She can’t tell nobody nothing. All she did was close her legs…”
That’s uncalled for. Anytime you do better than where you were before, that’s a LEVEL UP. But because it’s Ciara, whom people think should have kept in an unhappy relationship for the culture in an age of Love & Hip-Hop so people can have something to tweet about or see someone else in their position just as miserable. I dare you to find something to do.
Being able to #LevelUp is universal!
Ciara is entitled to faith, opinion and to impart from her experience. In essence, level up. Ciara was not going to stay with a dude nicknamed Future whom could not give her one…or her son.
It does not make Russell Wilson anything but in love with Ciara by treating her well. The saddest thing is there are not enough examples of how men treat women in healthy relationships–all we hear about with ice cream scoop quickness is intimate partner/domestic violence. Is it so foreign for a black woman to be in a healthy, stable relationship with a black man that people come for her saying “she didn’t do anything but close her legs…” Aight, Sis.
The latest blowback from this comment is being felt by Derrick Jaxn. He agreed with Ciara and defended her comments. The baddest innanet troll army told him that he was man-bashing, and he needed to shut up and all this other noise which sounds and resounds when people on get insider information. Derrick Jaxn does have a lot of female followers, and the reason I follow his (1) insider information and (2) his honesty. If there were more men willing to be honest with the women they were with, perhaps this apathy towards relationships and ‘catching feelings’ wouldn’t be what the kids aspire to.
But true form, Derrick was undeterred. Ciara is still married to Russell. The sun still rose and set.
We all have a past. Some of us are blessed that no one can google ours so readily or pull it from The Cloud. You don’t get to through people’s pasts back in their faces because you happen not to like how she was bold enough to say she ‘leveled up.’ Men, y’all need to do better and realize toxic masculinity is a thing, and your manhood is not defined by how many women you smash, how many you leave with children you don’t help with, or shame them because they decide to love themselves enough to do better.
Moreover, you don’t get to be mad because someone told tactics that would lead to more women being hurt, or mislead or have their time wasted.
Common sense would tell you if you were trying to be someone’s wife, then there are some things you need to do or to stop doing. Y’all can’t keep coming for people whom only tell the truth–it is still up to whether you want to take that truth which converts it to knowledge, and with that knowledge–wisdom.
What makes your story yours is your ownership of it…all facets. This way even if your couldn’t level up like you wanted to or needed to, you can tell someone else how.
“The sun is bright this morning,” she mused, sipping coffee slowly on her front porch. With feet bare and hair in thick curls, framing her pecan colored face. She looked towards the direction of the sun. In her sipping, she wondered if he was doing the same thing. Could at that exact moment could he be drinking coffee, watching the sun, thinking of her. She smiled at the justice of that thought. Could it be that what the old women say was true? The heart wants who it wants, it never listens to your head. She smiled, the light of that thought warmed her better than the sun.
The habit of being awake early began with the carrying of her first child, insomnia made her nights days with the sun her signal to sleep. She rocked in the porch swing, happy the house was quiet that she may hear her own thoughts, and see them through. Married life suited her, yes. She knew to be faithful, forsaking every other and clinging to her husband so the two of them could be one flesh. Their life was supposed to have a cadence, a loved rhythm they planned aside from what could be found writhing on bedsheets. The passion would be cyclic, she knew. She knew how to be a wife, knowledge of position didn’t push her to the front porch in her robe, with a chemise underneath. He did.
This angel of her own making, this man-made god of her youth and imaginations. He whom she saw when she heard music, or closed her eyes. The heat produced at the christening of his name over her tongue was unlike anything she had. Of course, she he knew to have him would be to forfeit her destiny, her blood, her responsibility. It would be to change the course of her path in the worst and most incredible way possible. She held on to the blue coffee cup, her head resting on the back of her thumbs and didn’t fight the tears this time. She recited the same prayer she had for the last few days. “Father, either remove him or give me whom my heart wants. Either way, Father this must change. It cannot bear to be his and be here. In Your grace I stand, In Your love I am complete. I thank you. Amen.” The tears where hot, flowing faster than the white porch paint could absorb them. The sobs then, the release not complete. She wanted to run to him, full speed. She wanted to take but her love for him and sprint towards him. Damn the rest, damn the rest of the all she was supposed to do that day. Through the fields before her, towards the sun, and not stop until he was in arms length of her own hands. She cursed softly then. She began to will herself back to composure. She shoulders began to shake from sobbing. The sobbing, caused the coffee and its contents to spill over the porch and her feet. The heat from the coffee was a relief to pain in her heart. That burn was understood and could be explained, treated even. This, this inside heat, had no explanation. She couldn’t pray fast enough to keep ahead of it. This pain outpaced her. When her eyes closed she saw him. The cruelty came when she opened them and he was gone.
While washing clothes, his ghost followed. She walked to the mailbox, he called her name. She washed dishes and wished his hands were around her, his chin in the meeting of her neck and collarbone. “Relief, Lord. Send it.” She loved him. She wanted him. She couldn’t have him. The screen door closed with a bang. “Mama, are you okay?” her daughter asked. Sitting up quickly, she made no attempt to dry her face. “I’ll be okay, baby.” She smiled then. Her daughter’s eyes seems to search her own. She believed her daughter saw the lie but didn’t know what it was. She rose from her perch on her porch swing, picking up her coffee cup. She ushered her child back through the screen door, hand on her back. “Daddy wanted to know if you were going to drink coffee with him this morning. He has his cup already, Mama.” She shook her head behind her daughter. “No, I don’t think I will, baby. I already had some. I have other stuff I have to do this morning.”