Settling

The sounds in the house shifted steadily throughout the night. At first, there were stories in the kitchen, and the sound of vodka bottles being opened; laughter; the splashing of water in the hot tub outside. And then, the crying began. I felt like a relative newcomer to the group, so when one of the girls began throwing up in between long, heart-stopping wails, I felt helpless. When she came from the bathroom, dizzy and wet, I told her to sit on my lap. She was small, and curled up on my thighs, fitting neatly into the various curves of my body like a huge puzzle piece. And she grieved. Her body shook and her face was wet with tears. Her words were choppy, and in that moment, my heart broke so deeply for my friend, that I pulled her close, and fought back my own tears.

He had broken up with her over a year ago, but when he left, he'd ripped out a huge part of her spirit. It was a grotesque act, and I saw it in the way her mouth would open in a soundless cry, and her eyes, normally lit up with wit and happiness, seemed blank.

In Christian circles, marriage is held high as the ultimate goal for women. I didn't know this at first, but it became obvious soon enough. In Grenada, I was celebrated for my academic achievements, my intelligence and the ways I honored my family. In America, women are referenced in relation to their husbands. It's odd to me, because I'd always imagined myself getting married in my late 20's, so was I supposed to lay in wait in my apartment, pining daily for a man? A man to do what? To do what I couldn't do myself? I'll call BS on that one for myself, and for my grieving friend. And it's definitely not just modern churches in the US. This rhetoric is everywhere.

***

When one of my roommates asked me if I was a lesbian, I froze. She and I had worked together for over 2 years, and the question not only stunned me, but it stung as well. The underlying implication sunk in: she could not imagine me with a man. It wasn't too long after that that I started my journey through the wonderful world of online dating (if you know me well, I trust you read the sarcasm of that last statement). It was a year-long journey, with months of active profiles, months of being off-the-grid, and a long stretch where I was on multiple sites at once. I was determined to define my womanhood with the validation of a man.

In retrospect, those were some of my bleakest months.

During that time, it became clear that I was thinking about it wrong, and not just thinking about "dating" wrong, but viewing myself incorrectly. When did that become obvious? When I found myself hinting to one guy that he needed to take me out on a real date, and when he did, he told me we were a poor fit spiritually, and should stop seeing each other. I can't remember feeling more slighted by a guy, especially one I felt like I was settling for...

So after that, in the quiet of my bedroom with nothing to entertain myself except for a few books and social media, I came into my own. Instead of viewing my singleness as a curse, and hinging my self-worth and emotions on men, I decided that I was going to become every good thing I wanted in a guy. I wanted ambition, so I started grinding away at work on high speed; I wanted strength so I started pumping iron at the gym; I wanted a spiritual backbone, so I committed myself to service and learning at my church. There would be nothing I would one day look for in a guy, that I didn't possess in myself. And by the end of the year, when I hopped onto another dating site, I was whole. And I was ready.

So whenever I was asked out on a date after that, I made it clear that the choice whether or not we moved forward was mine, not his. And I came home after each failed date, content that if I really wanted to be wined and dined, I could bank-roll myself. Now, I can look back and say that I've had adventures and grown beautifully - by myself. I smile now at the memories of solo road trips, concerts, movies, events and nice dinners; of the extra time I had to develop lifelong bonds, and the bravery to approach both women and men with an offering of friendship, learning their stories and being emotionally available. It was freeing.

Riding solo is a gift as much as being in a relationship is. Yes, I know this cliche is hard to believe, but it's coming from someone who spent the first 22 years, 11 months and 3 weeks of her life preparing for the convent, and getting ready to die alone. I know how frustrating this is. But if you're single, this is your time to invest in yourself the way no man will ever be able to; no one else will have more of an interest in your life than you. So grind, balance your checkbook, set the dance floor ablaze solo or with your squad, knowing that your happiness is in your own very capable hands.

For some balance, I will say that women do have very specific roles. I take absolute pride and pleasure in being a helper to my boyfriend, as much as is expected at this stage in our relationship. I love reassuring him, encouraging him, spoiling him whenever I can. However, we are called not only to be strong mothers and wives, but also to be industrious and to build (see Proverbs 31:10-31). But if you ever feel like you're "less-than" because you're single, then it's time to focus on developing yourself; whatever you're looking for in a guy, write it down, and challenge yourself to become all of those things. And remember, God's most treasured gift to humanity lived His entire life on earth as a bachelor... When you do get hitched, that is the time to cherish unity with someone else. Until then, have a single-hood that you will remember far beyond children and houses and retirement. Use this time to complete yourself because truly, any relationship where either person looks to other for completion, is unhealthy and sinking.

Sweet lady, be the man of your life and thrive.

The Changeling

I feel like I'm being bullied. Every time this thought crosses my mind, usually when I begrudgingly look at my reflection in the mirror, I think of the absolute blackness of my human nature to even think such a thing. I stare at my eyes. They're one of the few things I feel gratitude for. My eyes and my lips. Everything else I squirm to keep looking at, thinking to myself and God that this struggle is so unnecessary.

I didn't always feel this way about my appearance. A few months ago, you couldn't convince me with any level of effectiveness that I needed makeup, and don't even think that I would flinch under the weighty stare of any man. I would spend a long time in bathrooms, looking at my face, smiling meekly and adjusting my hair. You would see me smoothing out my dress against flat abs, and listening to the echoes of my high heels as I strutted down the hallway and back into the office. You didn't like the way I looked? Well, my love, you don't have to like what you see for me to go on living my life.

It's odd to me now that I care even a lick about what other people think. Christmas of 2013 was when I decided that caring about others' opinions was a foolish and unkind way to live your life, yet here I am. The voice in my head is loud when I'm talking to others; it isn't actively engaging in whatever conversation I'm in. Instead, it is screaming with a deafening shriek, reminding me of each flaw, and abusively making me pay attention to them. This provokes silence when I'm in groups of people; if I'm talking, people will be looking at me, and if they're looking at me, then they'll see what I see everyday...

I realized how toxic this little demon was when I invited my boyfriend to a friendsgiving dinner a few weeks ago. Now understand this, my boyfriend is uncommonly good looking, so when I take him places, and see women whom I envy in some way, the foundation of my confidence, already damaged, continues to crack. And that's what happened that night. It was a fun time; I laughed, ate, over ate, mingled, but on the way back to dropping him off, my subconscious mind was preparing a conversation I never planned on having.

I knew why he loved me because he had been gracious and transparent enough to explain it, but as we sat in my car, tiredness overcoming us both, I needed to hear it all again. I needed to know that of the women he'd seen that night, he was SURE that I was the one he wanted to do life with. My conscious mind was filled with truths about my beauty and identity being hidden in Christ, but my subconscious brain wasn't willing to believe that right then.

I asked him why he loved me, ignoring the exhaustion darkening his face; he grew uncomfortable and I could tell that his patience was waning, but I pressed on. It was merciless, but so driven was my need for validation. So ceaseless. The night ended poorly and I struggled to explain myself to him via text later that evening.

It's almost as though somewhere between the beginning of the year and now, I was knowingly replaced by a changeling, and the real Davina is elsewhere, in a different plane of existence radiating her confidence freely. In reality, I feel like I'm being bullied by God. The issues that I see when I look in the mirror - I don't see them anywhere else, or not all on one person. It's not an easy thing to admit, this utter irreverence toward God, His work in making me, and His image which I reflect, but it's how I feel most days. Especially days like yesterday when my father looked over at me, and commented on my acne with disdain.

My boyfriend, strangers, mutual friends, random people I've met, men I've worked with, past dates, close friends, all openly reaffirm my beauty. But I'll tell you something quite plainly, even though he's been sweet enough to shower me with compliments, I'm the one who needs to do that firstly - and believe what I tell myself. I told him once that he needs to be confident in himself if his significant other finds him attractive. She's the one who will see him the most and live proudly with what she sees. I see now that this is a lie. You have to be confident for you, because you see yourself the most - 24/7, 365. Everyone else factors little in this equation.

One of the most meaningful compliments I've ever received was from a close friend of mine. Our friendship is relatively new, but he consistently proves to be a gem in my circle of friends. I was talking about skin care and acne one night with some girls after Bible Study, and he lingered on the outskirts of the conversation. When the ladies and I were done, I turned to him and we left. Halfway down the stairs, we stopped. It was raining hard and neither of us was prepared for it. More so, I wasn't prepared for what he said next, "Davina, I've never looked at you and thought, acne. I've only ever looked at you and thought: Davina." I can't quite explain why this has stayed with me, but the look in his eyes is one I will remember for the rest of my life.

My home here is full of mirrors, venomous, and lurking quietly around each corner. But I'm home alone most days, and have no choice but to face them. Apart from this very real push in learning to accept and celebrate myself, is the underlying truth that when God created the world, He said it was good. But when He ended creation by making man, He said it was very good. As someone, like everyone else, who is made in the image of God, looking at myself with anything less than joy and happiness is an automatic slap in the face of the God whom I look like. I would hate for my child to say that they hate a trait they inherited from me. Yes, some of the things I dislike about myself are tied to the brokenness of mankind, for I refuse to believe that God has acne etc., but this is how He made me, and He made me beautiful (that last part is an idea for a tattoo). Celebrations are in order.

It Follows

I woke up slowly, almost nervously. The curtains were pulled back, and the 8am sun forced my eyes open, illuminating my eyelids no matter how far I buried my face into the pillow. My first thought was a simple one: I'm home. My second, a bit more complex: what if I'd never left 3 years ago? I tried to imagine my life here again, and let those memories wash over my mind in hurried waves. I'd probably be teaching still, or maybe assisting the PR officer at a firm where daddy has connections. Or maybe I'd be a pretty-faced bank teller handing people money all day. Regardless, the quietness of home was difficult to adjust to in that moment, and I knew that my 23 year-old self would be unsatisfied with that type of quiet, limited life.

So why did my soul long for home with a desire I couldn't ignore?

Early morning on September 12th this year, my boss texted me. She wasn't in the office yet, but I already had my day pulled up on the computer, and was working away at sales leads. Her text held a different tone than usual: it was tense and businesslike, and her words curtly invited me to lunch with her that day. Anywhere I wanted. She didn't explain why she was late or the purpose for the meeting but I knew... In my mind's eye, I saw the last 2 weeks at the office. Her late arrivals, quietness, nervousness as she sat behind me monitoring my work. This was it.

And it was. The day my boss told me that the company was officially closing, I was fighting a cold. As she explained that sales have been struggling for a while, a cough gripped my throat, and my eyes watered. I hoped she wouldn't think I was crying. But part of me was - because I felt like I was being blamed. I grew defensive because my job was hard enough - to sell print advertising which no one buys anymore. To convince people that this medium served a purpose equal to that of digital media. The conversation turned from kind, to passive aggressive, and when my chicken and waffles were half gone, I asked for a box, and left slightly ahead of her.

Her anxieties, like the demonic killer of the horror film "It Follows" found a new home. I can feel a solid heaviness in my heart constantly, and even now as I'm typing, it grips me in a very real way. It has followed me into interviews, and it keeps me awake at night out of an equally terrible fear of what a new day might bring. I never knew anxiety really existed, because I always felt immune to it. More than that, I knew, and know now that this type of anxiety is unGodly. It pains me to admit that this has followed me for the past 2 months, because I feel like somewhere, deep down, I don't trust that God is in control of this. Somewhere He dropped the ball, and hasn't noticed me down here struggling yet. This realization of my poor sense of faith wasn't the catalyst I needed to pull me out of it apparently, because even though I had only a few hours of sleep in the prior 24 hours to my arrival home, I had trouble closing my eyes to rest...

I'm anxious now because I'm going back to no job, because of the mistakes I've made in my job hunt, because I've over-drafted my debit account too often, and accidentally exceeded my credit card limit buying this flight home. I'm anxious because this heart change is so hard, and I'm anxious because I feel like anything I find outside of this realm of brokenness will somehow be worst than what I'm feeling now. But in reality, my life is still okay. I still have a place to live, and a support system, and a back-up plan. I still have Jesus, and if He's not enough, then I've been lying about my Christianity to myself and others. I still have my health, and I'm still well fed. So what's the problem, why do I feel the need to return to a place that I may never live in again?

I think it's because of that fact that when I lived in Grenada, anxiety truly was a myth. Peace was my home, and happiness my roommate, and Jesus was everywhere. In gospel songs on the radio, on people's lips, moving freely through a more-or-less spiritually pure atmosphere. The moment I would feel my grip loosening, He would wrap His hands around mine and help me to hold on for as long as I needed to. What right did anxiety have in an environment like that?

Now as I'm here, my purpose is to reclaim that peace, and find my balance again. Yes, I know God's peace is everywhere, even in Austin Texas, but this is where most of you can no longer relate, and I trust that where you cannot extend empathy, you can withhold judgment at my desire to travel far to find something as free and available as peace. I plan to bury myself in His word, speak out my frustrations as I pace around my empty house during the day, and take long, burdening walks in the hot sun. I've made the joke that I may not return. Honestly, there are few things tying me to America now, but I refuse to abandon the life I've work tirelessly to build there. I've risked and sacrificed a lot moving there by myself, and I will not let a few tough months sink me into despair.

I pray now that God honors my desire to overcome this, and forgives my anxiety. And I pray that I return without the burden of worry bearing down on my tired shoulders. If you're struggling in the same way, let's link arms and journey through this together (message me) <3

See ya'll tomorrow.