It was not okay that I had married a man who could not and did not seem to want to take care of me or our family. Of course, I said nothing while my heart began to harden against him. And, of course, he said nothing when I snapped at him or ignored him throughout the day. It took almost three weeks of sleeping on the floor and showering in my son’s basement apartment before I had another flash of brilliance. I walked into Gemmia’s office, where she was busy working as usual. She thought I wanted to talk about my schedule. Instead, I told Gemmia that perhaps it was time for her to leave home. I reminded her that she was 25 years old with a perfect credit score, and that there was no reason to allow the mess of my life to fracture hers. I let her know that I had no problem with her and her family moving out of the office and into their own place. We would still see each other every day because we worked together. When she started to object—she didn’t want to abandon me—I apologized for holding her captive to my craziness. It was not, I told her, her responsibility to take care of me.
This was one of the heart-to-heart, woman-to-woman, friend-to-friend talks that made my relationship with Gemmia so rich. I could talk to her in a way I wanted to talk to my husband, but couldn’t; and she could talk to me the same way. This was my turn. Both of us had tears in our eyes, but we didn’t do the touchyfeely stuff. Instead, we sat, two strong women trying not to cry in each other’s presence, until Gemmia broke the silence:
“You, Iyanla Vanzant, are a remarkable woman, and he does not deserve you.”
Four days later, Gemmia had a beautiful apartment and a moving truck, and I had a place to live. Her apartment had a loft. My husband and I not only helped her move, we moved in with her. As frightened as I was by the feelings about him that were brewing in the pit of my stomach, having him there made what we were going through seem doable. I wish I had understood that his silence was not indifference. He was just happy to be with me, no matter where we were. He felt that the love between us was all that we needed to make it through to the next step. But I felt alone, on my own, and abandoned. With a different kind of father, perhaps I would not have entertained so many fearful thoughts about my husband not doing right by me, would not have wondered when he was going to leave me. Not if, but when. I wish the women in my life had taught me about sharing, cooperation, and the strong one carrying the weaker one until they regained their strength. I wish I had known what to say and how to say it to him so that he would understand I was afraid and ashamed. In fact, I had one such friend—but to her I said nothing. How could I? It might mean that I had married the wrong man, and that was not a mistake I was willing to acknowledge. Denial takes on many forms. Silence is one of many.
We lived with Gemmia for three months, while I worked to amass money and we hunted for a house. We refined our wish list almost daily and used it as the measuring rod for every property we visited. We were about to make an offer on a house that was almost perfect when I had yet another flicker of brilliance. I needed to pray.
I was a meditative woman. I was a praying woman. There were only a few things, a very few things in my life that I would do without first engaging in deep, contemplative prayer or knowing that I had received divine guidance. That is what made me who I had become! That is how I had healed so many of the deep wounds in my soul. But in the period of upheaval, I lost sight of who I was.
Since the wedding, since welcoming a husband into my life, I had done very little praying and even less meditating. Sometimes it is like that—we fall in love and forget what sustained us prior to the fall. My husband and I often prayed together, but it did not feed my soul the way deep, contemplative prayer did. For that kind of prayer, I had to be alone. I had to get still. I had to surrender my thoughts, my feelings, and my will. I told myself that I couldn’t or shouldn’t pray that way with my husband around. Don’t ask me why. I made it up. By the time we moved into Gemmia’s loft, I had broken the discipline of my daily practice. But now, facing this monumental decision that would affect the rest of my life, I knew I had to pray. My husband respected my space by leaving the room or sitting quietly beside me.
God doesn’t do anything halfway. When you lay your heartfelt desires before God, he will bring them to fruition in their fullness. When you trust God with your dreams, they will materialize better than you expect. Within a few days, I had the answer I needed: This was not a house we should settle for. When I shared this with my husband, he agreed and we kept looking. That was one thing I did love about him. He honored who I was when I was on my game.
It didn’t take long after I prayed about it. The very next weekend, a friend gave me the number of a private Realtor. We told him what we were looking for, and he drove us out to an area in Maryland that we had never seen. We walked into the perfect house. The Realtor brokered a private sale between us and the owner. I had to come up with a bigger down payment, but our credit was not an issue. In fact, the deal was so private, the closing took place in my office conference room. All of the parties involved met there, in the same room where my grandchildren had slept on the floor in a fort made from sheets three months earlier. When you are in alignment with the desires of your heart, things have a way of working out.
The hard part is keeping track of what you learn along the way. I learned that I really can do anything for a little while. I learned that even though I thought I had been a bad mother, my children really did love and respect me. I learned that I still had many unhealed wounds from my relationship with my father and the women who raised me. I learned that I had married a man who had a very different view of life than I did. More important, I learned that I was afraid—afraid that I had made a mistake. I had married the wrong man for the wrong reasons. Or, the right man for the wrong reasons. Or, the wrong man for the right reasons. It really didn’t matter which it was. All that mattered was that I had done it and that I would be judged for it.
When God looks in my direction,
change is on the way.
He proves my strength behind the scenes before putting me on display.
— Iyanla Vanzant Journal
February 1994
CHAPTER 9
PUSHED TO THE
BREAKING POINT
There was a period of about three years in which I simply was not fully present to what was going on within me or around me. The re-release of Acts of Faith, coupled with the simultaneous release of two new books, In the Meantime and One Day My Soul Just Opened Up, took my work to the New York Times bestseller list and put me in such demand that I was traveling four or more days a week, every week, month after month for more than two years.
And it was during this time that Spirit and I became all but strangers. On most days, I lost track of my spiritual practices and my faith. I prayed and I meditated, but I was no longer sure what I believed or how I felt about what I believed. The thing that saved me and kept my faith alive was when I sat to write, stood before an audience to speak, or coached another person, I could feel the living presence of Spirit in my being. These were the times when the failure of my marriage and my feelings of unworthiness didn’t matter. When I was on purpose, doing my work, I knew without a shadow of doubt that God had my back. Yet, for some reason, I slipped out of the Presence when it came to handling my personal life. Then, in the midst of my human madness of living out my personal lie, I got the telephone call that would change my life forever. I was invited to be a guest on The Oprah Winfrey Show.
Long before the young Eminem penned the lyrics, some part of me knew “You only get one shot, do not miss your chance to blow!” I got my hair and nails done, put on my best suit, and flew to Chicago to seize the opportunity of a lifetime. I was going to be on the show to talk about love and relationships. Lesson number one: Never talk about stuff publicly that will be broadcast around the world unless you are really clear that you mean what you say. My relationship with God was hit and miss at best. My marriage was on the verge of being a mess. My relationship with myself was a complete disaster, and I was slate
d to appear on Oprah to talk about things that I was still trying to master.
I was totally numb until I walked through the door of the studio. In that moment, a fleeting thought caught my attention:
She is going to do your show.
What show? I don’t have a show.
Then the security officer beckoned me forward and the moment passed.
Everything went beautifully on the set. I connected with Oprah, and I felt that she connected with me. I sat across from her, sharing what I knew to be true about love and relationships, even though I had not mastered it in my own life. Then I left the studio the same way I had entered it: numb.
Back home, Gemmia was beside herself with joy. She knew, in a way that I did not, that something magnificent had been set into motion from that one appearance. She was always right. Within a few months Oprah premiered what she called Change Your Life Television, with a faculty of experts that included Dr. Phil, Suze Orman, and John Gray. I was invited to be a part of that faculty. It meant that I would appear on the show once a month. My area of expertise would be love and relationships. Oh joy! Oh rapture!
Working with a few of the show’s different producers, I appeared in several segments that were widely popular. One, which told the story of my life, was particularly meaningful to many viewers. Many of them knew my name, but few knew my story. With my entire family in the audience, I shared things about myself that had been healed but not exposed to public light. Oprah, an excellent interviewer, asked me a number of probing questions. The one that really caught my attention was “How do you know when you have healed an issue?”
From a deep place within my gut I responded, “When you can tell the story and it doesn’t bring up any pain, you know it is healed.” In that moment, on that stage, I was being as authentic as I knew how to be. I would not discover until much later that my personal lie was running my life and using my mouth.
One of the best shows during my time with Oprah was the men’s show. On one side, the producers gathered a group of men of all ages, my husband among them, to talk about their challenges with women. On the other side was a group of women who were ready and willing to talk about their disappointments with men. My job was to help both sides get on the same side of the table. It was meant to be insightful, inspiring, and instructional, and it seemed pretty innocent—until one of the men made a comment about women only wanting men for their money and what they could provide. I offered several counterarguments, but he and a few of the others were intent on arguing me down. So, to make the point, I put another nail in the coffin of my marriage. With all of the sincerity I could muster, I stood there on national television and said:
“That may be true for some, but it is not true for all. I love my husband and he doesn’t have any money. What he has is a huge heart and a lot of love for me. That is what really matters.”
As I spoke, I pointed at my husband. The camera zoomed in on him. He looked fine to me, or perhaps I needed to believe that my announcement about him would not have any effect on his masculine ego. Meanwhile, the man I was talking to told me that I was special and that most women were not like me. Oprah saved me by bringing in another point of view. It was innocent. It was a disaster. We never talked about it, but I learned from friends that my husband was devastated. What I had said was true, but he was still devastated. Although I apologized several times, he never really recovered from my unintended humiliation.
It really is true that being on Oprah can make or break you. While in one sense that appearance was the straw that broke the back of my marriage, it also injected a hot shot of adrenalin into my career. Everywhere I went, I became “the lady on Oprah. ” People were mobbing me for photographs and autographs in the airport and Target! My books were flying off of the shelves. The publisher was printing more to keep up with the demand.
Every organization that had anything to do with love, relationships, saving the environment, or anything else wanted me to speak. My travel schedule tripled. My office telephones were ringing off the hook. My husband and I were barely speaking, and I was, for the first time in my life, beginning to believe in myself. At last, I was loved and I mattered. I had something to say and people were listening. I could pay my bills on time and I had something left over. I could buy things without looking at the price tag. People knew my name when I walked into a restaurant or store. And yet I was always preoccupied with the next thing.
The first book royalty check I received after a season of appearing on Oprah was so large, I was afraid to touch it. I made a copy of it. I wept over it. I deposited it in the bank and could hardly sleep, thinking that the money would not be there in the morning. It was.
Gemmia told me that I needed to buy myself something special to commemorate the achievement. I thought about it for more than a week. I decided that I would buy two peach colored armchairs. I wanted to be able to sit in and on that money! I had them custom made and I still have them today.
The chairs were just the beginning. When my husband and I bought our home, I was determined to make it everything I ever wanted and more. I had started with the kitchen, which had to be torn down and rebuilt. Next, I wanted a sauna room with a hot tub. I decided to wait, and instead I built a sun room onto the side of the house. My husband was all for it until the work began. Then he got quiet. I asked him what was wrong. I asked three or four times before I got an honest response.
He said, “This is your house, not our house.” He felt bad that I was paying for everything and he could not contribute. I reminded him that we were partners and that I didn’t consider the house or the money mine. It was ours. I felt that my job as a wife was to make our home as comfortable and beautiful as possible. I wanted him to participate, and it did not matter to me who paid. The truth is that he had to participate because I was never home.
Since he was unhappy anyway, I decided to proceed with the construction of my sauna room. He bought into the idea and even suggested that we build a stairway from our bedroom down to the sauna room so that we wouldn’t have to walk through the house if we wanted to use it late at night. While construction was going on, I kept traveling and working.
During the summer hiatus after my first season on Oprah, I recorded my first spoken word album. It was a collaboration between the recording company and my publisher to put the message of the book In The Meantime to music. The producers understood my vision and pulled together a team of artists who could deliver the sound that supported the essence of the book. Working on that project gave me something that I had not felt for a long time—joy! I flew all over the country and met musicians who were my all-time favorites. The maestro himself, Mr. George Duke, crafted the title track, which was sung by Howard Hewett. Donnie McClurkin came into the studio to record, then flew to London to record a track with the London Tabernacle Choir. Maxi Priest sang the opening track, which was a remix of a Bob Marley song. Yolanda Adams gave us permission to use one of my favorite songs, “Just A Prayer Away.” Donald Lawrence served as the music director and produced a song with Kelly Price and Tulani Kinard. It was all so magical. It was divine.
At the same time, I had begun negotiations to make my role on Oprah’s show more regular. Of the Change Your Life faculty, Dr. Phil and I were the only two invited back for the next season. I remember the day my attorney and I went to the office for a meeting with Oprah and her attorney. This time, rather than just going to the studio, I got to go upstairs to the office. It was magnificent, dogs and all. The conference room was warm and comfortable. Oprah was gracious and very down to earth. We talked about my plans and my vision for the future. Oprah asked me if I wanted to do my own show or if I wanted to wait. In the back of my mind, I heard the message that I had gotten on the first day I walked into the studio: She is going to do your show. Now it made sense.
I also heard: Just who the hell do you think you are to be sitting here?
I tried to ignore that voice.
“I will wait,” I answered. “I want to be r
eady.” So we agreed that I would be a recurring guest every other Tuesday with Dr. Phil.
When something unbelievably phenomenal is happening in your life and you don’t believe you are good enough to have it, you will consciously or unconsciously find a way to sabotage your dreams come true. My sabotage was totally unconscious. My life had changed so much, I hardly recognized it or myself any more. I was going through the motions with no real emotional connection to any of it. My saving grace was Gemmia and my incredible staff. I had attracted a group of women, sister-friends who absolutely loved and supported me. They, along with Gemmia and my grandchildren, kept me sane. They ate chicken wings and drank Pepsi with me. They encouraged me when fear and doubt crept in. They answered the telephones and the mail. They supported the hundreds of people who flocked to my workshops and classes. They kept reminding me of the importance of the vision I had to build an international spiritual institution. They became the family I always wanted and thought that I never could have. They became the soft place I could fall as I realized that my marriage was falling apart.
Between recording sessions and speaking engagements, I would fly home. I remember the time I landed in my homesanctuary just before the sauna room was complete. It was so beautiful! The walls were all glass, and from the hot tub I would have the perfect view of the three and a half wooded acres that surrounded the house. The one solid wall was built of blue marble that matched the tiles on the floor. The inside of the tub, also blue, was lit with rotating lights. The sauna was made of cedar, which gave the room an earthy smell. There was a spiral staircase up to the new redwood deck outside the master bedroom and a French door that led into the living room. It was just about done. By the next time I came home, my husband and I could float in the tub together and perhaps find our way back to each other.
Peace From Broken Pieces: How to Get Through What You're Going Through Page 15