Growing Pains & Making Gains

They tell you when you hit your 30’s, something changes within you—you really start figuring things out, learning your true self, and a sense of self-acceptance begins to settle in. But here I find myself (rapidly) approaching the midpoint of this decade of my life, constantly checking my watch, waiting for this cosmic shift to take place and … *tick tock tick tock* … nothing.

The truth is…the past two years I’ve been struggling. The grief over the loss of my pregnancy and of my furry soulmate, the year-long anxiety of doing a TV show (that I still feel I had no business doing), the depression over our ongoing infertility struggle—not to mention the trauma from this goddamn global pandemic—all have taken a toll on me mentally, emotionally, spiritually…and physically. Now, I should preface this by saying that being thin has never really been a goal at any point in my life (which is good, because tbh it’s just not in the genetic cards for me). My weight and size have fluctuated since middle school, and I’ve just ridden that wave and accepted every version that my body has presented over the years. But lately…I’ve felt like a stranger in my own skin, finding it nearly impossible to recognize my reflection or feel good in anything I put on my body.

“So I checked my bullshit with the bouncer, got myself a drink, and hit the dance floor with my friends.”

So you can imagine when the idea was proposed that we go out clubbing one night while we were in Vegas recently, I immediately dove headfirst into my private pool of self-pity. But I poked my head up out of the water long enough to feign an excitable “OK, let’s do it!” and proceeded to painstakingly pick something (anything) to wear that I would feel remotely good in. When we arrived at the club, I was quickly made aware of the key demographic—it was impossible to not notice the abundance of 22-year-olds in their tiny, sparkly dresses, 6-inch heels, and Insta-Influencer-level faces. Did I look cute? Sure. Was I still a tad (read: super) self-conscious at this point? Definitely. But…I made the decision right then that I was going to let all that go and just enjoy myself. So I checked my bullshit with the bouncer, got myself a drink, and hit the dance floor with my friends. And then, something amazing happened…

“I remember the days of my earlier years where I constantly felt like I had something to prove—like I had to be the prettiest or funniest or smartest or some combination of those things in order to stand out in a crowd.”

All of a sudden I found myself dancing…and laughing…and having the time of my life. And then I started to look around at these young women that had initially triggered my own insecurities and began to almost feel sorry for them. I watched as they teetered around in those ridiculous heels, pulling at their dresses, fussing with their hair, eyes shifting from one woman to the next as if they were taking some kind of hot-girl-inventory and doing the impossible math in their heads to determine how they stacked up against them. I recognized it because I used to be them.

“…not only is life better when you let go of your insecurities and allow yourself to fully and shamelessly experience the joys life has to offer but also when you do that, other people can see it and feel it.”

I remember the days of my earlier years where I constantly felt like I had something to prove—like I had to be the prettiest or funniest or smartest or some combination of those things in order to stand out in a crowd. And in that moment—as I sweatily twerked to Megan Thee Stallion—I realized that none of that mattered. In fact, we had several people approach us wanting to dance with us and buy us drinks with one man literally saying, “You are giving off a vibe that none of these young gals could even touch” (which he later followed up with a highly inappropriate and awkward marriage proposal, but that’s neither here nor there). But this isn’t about throwing shade at all the 20-somethings of the world (y’all continue living your best young-folx’ lives!) nor is it about seeking validation from strange men in a club (although words of affirmation are my love language, ijs). That night didn’t necessarily affect how I felt about myself, rather it validated the idea that not only is life better when you let go of your insecurities and allow yourself to fully and shamelessly experience the joys life has to offer but also when you do that, other people can see it and feel it.

It was also that night I realized that sure, maybe I’ve recently gained (ahem) a few pounds, but in the past two years I’ve also gained: emotional stability through consistent therapy, a stronger marriage and closer relationships, my own business and a passion for what I do, a great deal of wisdom and several life lessons, and 10 whole inches of hair (I mean, I’m allowed at least one frivolous gain, right?). Not to mention a body that has carried me through all the trials and tribulations I mentioned earlier along with countless others. Can I say that I have “officially arrived”? I wouldn’t just yet. But…I can certainly feel the c o s m o s s h i f t i n g, inching me closer to the next best version of myself—a version who fully accepts herself as-is, who experiences joy unabashedly, and who can still drop it like it’s hot…in sensible shoes…and I can’t wait to meet her.

Maybe Next Year...

As I sit here taking in this beautiful, cool spring Sunday morning (which is a true anomaly here in mid-May Alabama), it seems almost offensive to be anything but joyous and at peace—and yet, here I am...crying into my coffee...where not even the warmth of the sun nor the coolness of the breeze are enough to dry my tears. Grief is strange in that way.

And even though I had anticipated these hard feelings today, it still doesn't ease the pain of what feels like a whole day dedicated to reminding me of something I am so desperately longing for and fear will never come. A social media feed full of sweet messages and pictures that makes me smile while simultaneously breaking my heart. And logically I know that this day is not a personal attack or some crazy conspiracy to get me down, but again...grief is strange in that way.

But I am also incredibly grateful for the many amazing women I have in my life who also happen to be phenomenal mothers and have taught and inspired me more than they'll probably ever know and who deserve to be celebrated today (and let's be honest, EVERY day). And of course, the pièce de résistance of motherhood (IMO), my mother, who truly should have a holiday dedicated to her alone. I cannot emphasize enough how impactful the women in my life have been on the woman I have become (and am still becoming) and the mother I hope to become someday. I love them...I respect them...I envy them. Grief is strange in that way.

Through this journey of infertility, I am learning every day just how complex we are as humans in our emotional capacities. Sadness and happiness can coexist. Joy and sorrow can coexist. Gratitude and jealousy can coexist. They can coexist because they must coexist. We have to allow ourselves permission and the space to process all of these feelings without guilt or shame, knowing that there is no wrong way to feel and no one emotion that defines us or a particular moment in our lives.

So as I take this gorgeous spring morning to process my feelings and sit in my sadness, I know that these feelings are not permanent and do not define me or this day...because tonight I will be genuinely and happily celebrating my sweet mama. I recognize that others also find today to be tough due to the loss of their own mothers or a strained relationship, and I don't ever want to take the time or the relationship that I have with her for granted.

If you are a mama, know that I am celebrating you.

If you have lost your mama/child or have a strained relationship, know that I am thinking of you.

If you, too, are struggling with infertility, know that I see you.

I don't know if I believe in speaking things into existence, but just in case: here's to celebrating Mother's Day 2022 as we had hoped we would be celebrating this year...as mothers.

This One's for the Girls

“Each friend represents a world in us, a world possibly not born until they arrive, and it is only by this meeting that a new world is born.”

― Anaïs Nin

Although it's been said many times and in many ways, I don't believe it can really be stated enough: this past year has been HARD. A year full of loss, fear, uncertainty, chaos, and distance. Even this introvert has felt the heaviness and pain of that distance and isolation. I have never been more grateful for my amazing husband and the opportunity to safely spend time with some of our immediate family but in all honesty...I miss my friends.

I miss Girls' Nights Out and wine night get-togethers and weekend coffee dates and random road trips and just being together—laughing, venting, crying, sharing ideas, and spilling all the tea. Sure, we still have group chats and Zooms and FaceTime, but nothing can fully replace being together under one roof. I miss the hugs and cheersing and high-fives—all of it. BUT...even with the distance and separation, the women in my life have still somehow managed to save me.

It's easy for us to focus on all the terrible things 2020 brought (and continues to bring) us, but it has also personally brought me a deep appreciation for all the wonderful things (mainly people) I have in my life. These women—in spite of their own personal struggles in the midst of this shit-show we are currently referring to as "life"—have encouraged me, checked in on me, loved on me, uplifted me, and inspired me in ways that still leave me in awe. The ability to continually pour into others, even when you yourself feel mentally/emotionally/physically/spiritually depleted, I believe is a characteristic that is so specific to women, and I continue to be amazed by it.

“My friends have made the story of my life. In a thousand ways they have turned my limitations into beautiful privileges.”

— Helen Keller

I'll admit that when I was younger, I didn't have many serious female friendships. Hell, my mother had to basically bribe me to even go through my college sorority recruitment, because I had ZERO desire to expand my tiny female-friend universe (but I am oh-so-thankful she did). I am so lucky to have some incredible men in my life, but the older I have gotten, the more I realize that it has been the women and female relationships in my life that have truly shaped me into the woman I am today and continue to evolve into. From family members to besties...coworkers to mentors...acquaintances to those I admire from afar, they have all made a lasting impact on me in big and small ways.

So if you are a woman in my life reading this—regardless of how close we may or may not be—please know that I see you, I respect you, I appreciate you, and I thank you. And especially during this past year, whether you provided me with career opportunities, offered kind words of encouragement during my darkest days, made me belly-laugh when I needed it most, supported me and my passions, or allowed a safe space for me to be myself, I am forever grateful. Although still very much flawed, I am most certainly a product of all the phenomenal women around me, and I hope that from now on when you look at me, you will see that glimmer of yourself that is now a part of me reflected back.

“Women understand. We may share experiences, make jokes, paint pictures, and describe humiliations that mean nothing to men, but women understand. The odd thing about these deep and personal connections of women is that they often ignore barriers of age, economics, worldly experience, race, culture — all the barriers that, in male or mixed society, had seemed so difficult to cross.”

— Gloria Steinem

The First, But Not the Last

“... Because every little girl watching tonight sees that this is a country of possibilities. And to the children of our country—regardless of your gender—our country has sent you a clear message: dream with ambition, lead with conviction, and see yourselves in a way that others may not simply because they've never seen it before, but know that we will applaud you every step of the way.”

— Kamala Harris

It has been a long four years, friends. I think anyone—regardless of which way you lean or how you cast your vote—would agree with at least that. The division, the drama, and the deliberate attacks on our democracy have shaken our country to its very core, which when added to the dumpster fire that was 2020, has simultaneously numbed us to the point where we don't even bat an eye when we see "cocaine hippos" scroll across our timelines. It has been a struggle for me (and I'm sure many others) to find and hold on to moments of significant joy in the seemingly never-ending chaos and calamity. But on this day—January 20, 2021, the 59th Inaugural Ceremony—something so monumental occurred that it transcends political party or partisan divides...we watched the first-ever woman (and first Black and South Asian American and daughter of an immigrant) inaugurated as Vice President of these United States.

It's true we've heard it said countless times by the media and political talking heads since November, but like many things this past year, the turmoil that was 2020 essentially sucked the life out of what would be (and should have been) a momentous occasion. Through the prolonged election results to the fraud-proclaiming conspiracies to the violent insurrection at the Capitol, we were never really given the time to fully soak in this incredible milestone. 230 years and 48 Vice Presidents later, we have finally been given the chance to say the words: "MADAM Vice President." And I know for myself that truly didn't hit me until I watched Kamala Devi Harris raise her right hand as she took her oath of office. I felt immense pride as though I knew her personally. I also felt tremendous sorrow—not only because it took this long for a woman to ascend to the second-highest office in the land, but also because neither I nor the rest of the country could celebrate it the way in which it so rightfully deserved. But mostly...I felt significant, exuberant joy.

“...this is a collective win for womankind.”

Joy in witnessing history being made. Joy in embracing a new day and a turning point in our country. Joy in celebrating a woman stepping into her power, and thereby empowering all women and girls to step into their own power. Joy in knowing that if I'm fortunate enough to have children, they will never know a world where a woman cannot serve as Vice President of the United States. Joy in never again being able to say, “A woman can’t…” because she did. Because WE did. From the sacrifices of the women who came before her to the women whose shoulders she stands upon and who paved the way to the White House to the women (especially WOC) who fought and advocated and voted for us to finally arrive at this moment with our own custom-made seat at the head of the table...this is a collective win for womankind.

Like many things in this country, we have come a long way but still have such a long way to go. I am not foolish enough to believe that one candidate or one administration or one historic moment can mend all the things our country needs to repair, and I am committing myself—as I hope you will too—to continuing to do the necessary work and hold this administration accountable. But I also hope that you will join me in taking a moment to fully experience the joy in her becoming the first, but more so the joy in knowing that she will most certainly not be the last.

The Audacity of Misogyny

“I ask no favor for my sex; all I ask of our brethren is that they take their feet off our necks.”

— Ruth Bader Ginsburg

There have been several stories in the news lately with headlines spanning from women being told they're "too ambitious" to run for office, having derogatory comments made about their bodies, and being publicly accosted and called profane names by their male peers. It was even the main topic of discussion on our most recent episode of Alabama Politics This Week. But any woman existing in the world today will tell you this is nothing new. I certainly cannot tell you the number of times I have personally been name-called, objectified, belittled, or dismissed by men throughout my life.

And it starts early with the objectifying (and creepy) Little Miss beauty pageants and constantly hearing, "You (fill in the blank) like a girl!" as an insult. Then we begin to upgrade to the, "She was asking for it" and "Don't be a slut but don't be a prude" misogynistic adages until we finally reach the peak of the patriarchy at income inequality, assumed gender roles, and—my personal favorite—"Women are too emotional/dramatic/crazy/overly-sensitive/weak/etc. to do X-Y-Z." If we aren't wearing a full face of makeup, we're criticized for our flaws...but when we post a selfie of us feeling ourselves, we're "shallow" and "vain". If we're smiling at you, we're "asking to be approached or engaged with"...but if we're not smiling, we have "resting bitch face" (or as I like to call it—A FACE). If we choose to not work, we're called "lazy" or "gold diggers'...but if we try to excel in our careers, we're called "overly ambitious" or just a classic "bitch". I could go on, but I think I've made my point here...

Chances are you have been affected by or observed these incidents at some point in your life. And in many conversations I've had with other women, it's not until we get deep into the discussion of our experiences that we even realize how many times we have been the victim of misogynistic behavior. And that right there may be the worst of it all—the fact that misogyny is so deeply ingrained into the fibers of our society that we often don't even recognize it for what it is at first glance.

Sometimes it is subtle and indirect—like an offhand comment or "joke". But subtlety does not negate the validity of the harm that is caused by this type of behavior. Sometimes it is brazen and straightforward—like an elected official making public derogatory statements regarding another elected official's body. And although I could speak (read: rant) on this subject for days, herein lies the bulk of my anger and frustration: the AUDACITY of misogyny.

“And that right there may be the worst of it all—the fact that misogyny is so deeply ingrained into the fibers of our society that we often don't even recognize it for what it is at first glance.”

There are a million examples I could use, but for the sake of the length of this post (and the fact that this dude is, unfortunately, my representative) I am going to discuss the incident involving AL State Board of Education District 8 Rep., Wayne Reynolds, and his public comments regarding Governor Kay Ivey. For those unfamiliar with the incident, I am referring to, during a recent press conference where Gov. Ivey was addressing the state in regards to the extension of the Safer at Home order, Mr. Reynolds made a comment on the Facebook live stream of that press conference stating, "She is gaining weight." When asked about this comment by a reporter from AL.com he doubled (tripled??) down on it by saying, "She looked heavy in that white suit, yes. I don’t know what she weighs, I don’t know how much she weighs, I just made an observation. It wasn’t derogatory, it was an observation. I’ve seen her wear other pantsuits that were more slimming on her. When she came out [for the announcement], that suit made her look heavy. There was a lady in pink that came out before her that looked quite slim."

*takes slow, meditative breath* There are so many levels to this statement that I have to break it down into bite-sized pieces... First and foremost, her body/appearance/weight (or that of any woman) is none of his or anyone else's business. Secondly, she (nor any other woman) does not owe it to him or anyone else to appear "slim" or whatever he believes to be a "more favorable" appearance. His comments also insinuate that there is something inherently wrong with being heavier or gaining weight (which is problematic at best in and of itself, but I will have to save that rant for another time). Additionally, he appears to objectify another woman albeit with a less negative connotation, but I must reiterate that does not negate the validity of the harm that is caused by this type of behavior.

But the crux of the matter is how publicly and nonchalantly he made these comments—how emboldened and entitled he felt to do so—and towards the Governor of our state and an elected official of his own party for that matter. That can only leave one to speculate how he interacts with and speaks about women in his day to day life. But again, neither he nor this occurrence is a rarity. We know these incidents too well and too often because too many men just like him have engaged in this type of behavior without impunity for far too long. And the offense is often compounded by weak-ass apologies and/or the use of their relationships with women in their lives as some kind of Captain America-style Sexism Shield (i.e. "I have a wife/daughter/mother/sister/aunt/etc. that I love and respect so much."). Let me be abundantly clear: If you only respect women with whom you have a relationship or find attractive, or if that respect is based on a woman's relationship to other men (i.e. "She's someone's wife/daughter/mother/sister/aunt/etc."), YOU. DO. NOT. RESPECT. WOMEN. So please miss me with any and ALL of that.

“Sometimes it is subtle and indirect—like an offhand comment or "joke". But subtlety does not negate the validity of the harm that is caused by this type of behavior.”

Are there times when the offender is genuinely unaware that their behavior or comments are inherently sexist or misogynistic? Sure. But that doesn't make it any less problematic or wrong. And that is why it is imperative that we call out this behavior when we experience it or observe it. The greater call to action though is for men to start taking accountability and viewing their behaviors and the effects thereof through a different lens. To the men—I challenge you to be more critical in terms of how you speak to and about women... Is it relative to the topic at hand? Could it be perceived as harmful or sexist? Would you say/do it to a male peer? To continue to disregard and excuse this type of behavior or chalk it up to "just a silly/dumb comment" and not call it out for what it is—MISOGYNY—is to be complicit in and perpetuate the behavior.

But as upsetting and infuriating as this issue is, these stories are also showing us that this behavior is becoming tolerated less and less. And although I cannot speak on behalf of an entire generation of women, may I be so audacious to say that misogynists and those who worship at the altar of the patriarchy have officially been put on notice. Of course I don't mean that to be derogatory...just an observation.

The Lizzo Effect

"If I'm shinin', everybody gonna shine // I was born like this, don't even gotta try // I'm like chardonnay, get better over time // Heard you say I'm not the baddest, bitch, you lied..."

— Lizzo

I love to dance—I always have. I'm not talking about "So You Think You Can Dance"-formally-trained dancing (although I did take one "acrobatic jazz" class when I was eight years old where I gave an epic recital performance dressed in all the neon-colored polyester and set to the tune of "Joy to the World"). <insert hair flip> I'm talking about out on a dance floor with my best girlfriends...in the aisles of the grocery store...all up in my car (safely ((ish)), of course)...I just love. to. dance.

And a few months ago (after falling down yet another rabbit hole of dance videos on YouTube), I was feeling inspired to research adult hip-hop classes in the area. Now mind you I am certainly not the greatest of dancers, but ya girl has some rhythm and was known to drop down and get her eagle on from time to time back in the day. (You're welcome for the visual) There was nothing I could find at the time that was what I was looking for, so I just went back to twirling with my vacuum in the privacy of my living room a la Mrs. Doubtfire.

Fast forward to a week ago when—lo and behold—I received an email from a local dance studio advertising their new adult hip hop class! And not only that, it is reasonably priced, happening on a day/time of the week that I can easily attend, and literally located across the street from my neighborhood. It's as if the dance gods were all hitting the Woah whilst smiling upon me in unison.

But then I immediately felt that switch flip. You know the one—insecurity, apprehension, terror. I found myself looking down and taking inventory of my body: I'm not in the greatest of shape. Parts of me move and jiggle that didn't use to before. That knee injury from twelve years ago is starting to take its toll. What if others in the class stare at or judge me? What if I look ridiculous? What if I'm *gasp* the "big girl" among a gaggle of J-Lo backup dancers?!

I felt myself spiraling into this black hole of self-doubt and started to just delete the email from my inbox and my brain. But as luck (or maybe those dance gods I mentioned earlier) would have it, just as I was clicking through the email, Lizzo's Good As Hell came up on my playlist. I suddenly found myself singing along and doing some serious chair-dancing and hair-tossing. The switch had been flipped off...just like that. And it was in that moment I realized that I was about to allow my fears and insecurities to prevent me from doing something I love.

"We cannot allow anything or anyone to steal our joy—especially ourselves."

Am I currently in my "physical prime"? No. But I am still healthy and capable of movement. Am I carrying around more weight than I ever have? Yes. But my body is deserving of love no matter how many imperfections or the number on a scale. I know these things...and I knew these things when I first opened that email. And yet I—like so much of our society—have been conditioned to believe not only that the weight/size of our bodies matters, but also that they must reach a certain standard to be deemed "acceptable". As if there's a specific criterion we must meet in order to wear certain clothing, move on a dance floor, or just exist in the world.

And the craziest part for me is that if someone else were to talk to me that way—tell me I'm too big or too old or too inexperienced—I would be 100% that bitch and tell them all the way the hell off. So why would I allow myself to speak about myself in that way? Life is too short and the world is, at times, too ugly to not enjoy every pleasure it can bring. We cannot allow anything or anyone to steal our joy—especially ourselves.

"The hardest type of love is and will always be self-love—but it's also the best kind of love."

We are all deserving of love and the opportunity to pursue our passions. Full stop. Should being healthy and taking care of our bodies be a priority? Of course. But instead of taking physical inventory of myself—whether it be my pants size or that new roll that seemingly appeared overnight—at the end of the day, I'm going to take inventory of the things that actually matter: was I kind to someone today...did I accomplish a goal...am I allowing myself enough self-care mentally, physically, emotionally...did I learn something new...did I do something today that brought myself or someone else joy.

The hardest type of love is and will always be self-love—but it's also the best kind of love. We can speak about it, write about it, and even sing about it til we're blue in the face, but until we practice it—consistently—every day, we won't ever fully achieve it. That is why at the end of each day I am challenging myself to start writing down 3-5 things that I accomplished, that I'm grateful for, and/or that I love about myself in an attempt to shift my perspective. And when those icky thoughts start to creep in, I will reject those words as if they were being spoken by my greatest of haters. And I challenge you to do the same—because we are smart and kind and strong and hard-working and funny and loving and giving and so many wonderful things that actually matter.

And if you're wondering if I signed up for that hip hop class or not...the answer is not only did I sign up for it, but I also pre-registered and committed to taking the entire multi-week session. I'm still nervous and have some insecurities to work through, but I'm excited to step out of my comfort zone and do something that brings me joy. I owe myself that—nay—I deserve that. Because in the words of our Lord and Savior Lizzo: "I don't need a crown to know that I'm a queen." And neither do you.

No Dress Code Required

"She is clothed in strength and dignity and laughs without fear of the future."

— Proverbs 31:25

I'm not usually one for "social media rants/posts," so I decided to take my views to the blogosphere (also because who wants to read a 3 page-long Facebook post? *eye roll*). But I read an article this morning that really resonated with me, as it is an issue I have felt very strongly about since I was a young teen. And although I highly disagree with most of the views within the article (Ms. Erykah Badu's, to be exact), I do agree that it is a topic that deserves more conversation among ourselves as adults and with our children/youth in general.

Let me start by saying as I am not a perfect adult, I was also not a perfect child/teenager/etc. But as a teenager, I have to say I wasn't too bad, generally speaking. I was an athlete, I had a good group of friends, I was involved in several school organizations, I made good grades, and I rarely got into trouble. But the few times I remember getting into trouble at school was always for...my attire. Either my shorts were "too short", a sliver of my mid-drift would show if I reached over my head, or the straps of my shirt were "too narrow". Several times my mom would have to leave work to bring me clothes to change into, or I would be forced to wear my sweaty gym shirt for the remainder of the day. I would ask the teachers, and even the principal, why this was made such a big deal, and all they could tell me was, "Those are just the rules." When I posed the same question to my mom, she basically said, "I guess it's because they feel it could be 'too distracting’ to the boys in class." And my immediate reaction was: "Well, shouldn't that be THEIR problem, not mine?"

And shouldn't it be? Why does society feel it is our responsibility as females to "protect" males from their own "lustful desires"? Instead of talking to our young men and raising them in such a way to see women as more than sexual objects, we find it more appropriate to throw blankets over our young women and shove them into these "appropriate boxes" filled with shame, insecurity, and self-deprecation. In 2016, doesn't that seem like such an archaic ideology?

Some people may argue (as Ms. Badu does throughout the article) that it is more so to "protect our youth," but again, I disagree with this point. Because in my experience, it had an adverse effect on me. Although these instances initially made me feel ashamed and guilty, those feelings would later shift into feelings of hyper-sexualization, as though that were my main purpose on this earth—to attract male attention. And if I didn't do that, well then I must not be "worthy" or "woman enough." Basically, my thirteen-year-old thought process was, "Oh, so boys are only looking at me and being nice to me because they find me physically attractive? And even more so if I wear some clothes that are a little more revealing?? And so if I ever want a boyfriend, this is how I need to dress and act in order to get a boy to like me??? I can do that!" (Poor, poor little thirteen-year-old Lisa...)

But this is the message we are sending to our daughters and sisters and nieces—by doing this, we are saying to them, "YOUR identity is mostly based on your physical appearance and sexuality and YOU are the problem and it is YOUR responsibility!" Instead of empowering our young women by teaching them to use their brains, to know their worth, and to own their sexuality, we are perpetuating the idea that a female is not only defined by her outward appearance, but she should also tailor that appearance to society's views of what is deemed "appropriate" or "fitting". We are living in an age of Beyoncés and Hillarys and Oprahs, where women are finally coming to the forefront in all different fields and female empowerment is a growing movement...and then here we are taking 12 steps back by telling our young women, "You can do anything and be anything in this world—as long as you dress appropriately and don't distract the boys in the process."

It wasn't until my mid-20's that I finally had a breakthrough and was able to break away from these imposed notions. If I wanted to wear a pencil skirt with a silk blouse and heels to work, it wasn't to impress my boss. If I wanted to wear a form-fitting dress and some lipstick for a night out, it wasn't to attract a man. I wore it because I liked it...because it made me feel good...because it expressed my personality and mood at that moment. The clothes didn't change—my attitude and perspective did. It took me 25+ years to finally take back and own my sexuality and cultivate my identity as a woman. I am still a work in progress and learning every day, but I can at least say that I love myself, unabashedly and unapologetically.

And don't you want that for your daughter...for your sister...for your niece…for yourself? I know I do. And whether it's my teenage sisters or (God willing) my future daughter, I want them to grow up in a world where they don't feel defined by the bearing of their shoulders or the hemline of their skirts. I want them to be able to look at themselves in the mirror and love themselves for their thoughts, their talents, their aspirations, their hearts, their compassion, and yes—even their bodies. I want them to focus on their goals and dreams and desires...not what others' opinions or perceptions of them may be. I never want them to ever feel as though they need to cover themselves up or dumb themselves down for anything or anyone. That's the world I wish for more than anything for these young women in our world and for those to come—freedom to explore and express all parts of themselves without hesitation or fear of judgment.

That is the future I pray for. For my sisters and my nieces and my cousins and my future daughter—and for yours. But again, it is not only up to us to empower our young women, but also it is our responsibility to educate our young men on how to respect themselves and young women. So let's make sure we're doing our part to make a better future for our youth—no dress code required.

(Originally published April 12, 2016)