Then he gave us the honey. What a relief! He told us how to attract goodness and sweetness into our lives. He talked about sexuality and lust. He talked about babies but told us we were too old to have more, that we already had enough children. We danced for each other as before, our mouths full of honey. Next came the egg.
Baba held an egg in his hand as an example of how delicate life is. He explained to us the necessity of being gentle with life and with each other. He explained how fragile the heart and the mind can be, and what happens when they are not handled with care. He placed the egg in my hand, then instructed Adeyemi to take my hand in both of his hands. Together we danced, holding the egg. It was all so beautiful and meaningful, but it was the suitcases that brought the whole room to tears.
Baba presented us each with a separate worn and ragged suitcase. He talked to us about the necessity to come to each other “empty.” Our hearts and minds, he said, needed to be empty of every past relationship, every past hurt, everything we had done in the past that could in any way harm our marriage. He made us each visualize taking people, things, and thoughts out of the suitcases. When we thought we were done, he asked us if we now thought the suitcases were empty. Then he made us do it again. I don’t know what Adeyemi did, but I pulled Gary, John, Eddie, and Curtis out of my suitcase and threw them into the bushes. I took Grandma, Daddy, Nett, and the old Ray out of the suitcase and offered them each to God. I took my children out, and his children out. I kissed each of them on the forehead and shooed them away. Next, I imagined words floating out of the suitcase into the sky. The words I remember were fear, anger, hate, resentment, jealousy (that was a big one for me when I was with Adeyemi the first time), worthlessness, valuelessness, dishonesty, neediness, and doubt.
Finally, as I began to cry, I pulled Rhonda out of the suitcase. She jumped back in. I pulled her out again. She started to fight me, so I opened my arms and asked her for a hug. When I did that, she ran off by herself.
Baba kept peeking into the suitcases. When he felt the completion, he showed the empty suitcases to Balé who nodded his approval, and the suitcases were taken away.
On a beautiful cold day in May, Iyanla married Adeyemi. We have a “no way out” clause in our commitment to one another. We understand that our marriage has a purpose. Our purpose to is help one another heal. It is not always easy, but we are committed to each other and the process of being healed. Every now and then, Rhonda shows up, as does the child in Adeyemi’s mind. When they get busy in our lives, we want to get away from each other as fast as possible. We entertain the possibility of separating. But when we remember that there is “no way out” of the healing process except by learning to love, we get clear. We remember that we have so many things to celebrate, we do not have time to remember the tears.
Epilogue
Life hurts. Life is painful. Life is suffering. There is nothing in life that does not involve trial. There is nothing worthwhile that doesn’t have a cost. Yet, we must go on. There is nothing great that does not require a series of small acts. We must persevere. If we do, good times are sure to follow. If we constantly seek, even in darkness, guidance is sure to come. If we strive against evil, no matter what the cost, righteousness is sure to triumph.
Deng Ming-Dao, in Everyday Tao: Living With Balance and Harmony
GIVING BIRTH TO THIS BOOK has been one of the most challenging experiences I have faced in quite a while. It was yet another opportunity for me to review my life. It was a blessing in disguise that forced me to search my soul, revisit old wounds, assess where I am, and make some decisions about where I want to go. It was frightening. It has led to many new revelations. It has given me something else to celebrate. It has reminded me of the mistakes I relived because I did not celebrate my learning the last time. Most important of all, this project, unlike any other, has helped me to rededicate my life and my work to God.
When the press interviews me, I am often asked about the tragedy and hardship of my upbringing. On many occasions, the interviewers have been put off or upset by the way I brush over the details and get to the lessons. One interviewer asked me about my unwillingness to discuss my past. I explained that those incidents have nothing to do with me. That history is not mine. It is not Iyanla’s. While I am well aware that without every incident, every event in my past, I would not be who I am, I no longer have the need or even the ability to promote that pain. I have told the same story many times. Many people know it by heart, as I do. My goal is to use the story of my life as an example, a reminder that you too can be healed.
I have learned to look at my life as an observer. I stand back, look at what happened, and focus my attention on the place where the wound was inflicted. I do not look at who inflicted the wound or how it was inflicted. That it was inflicted is the essence of healing. Find what your wound is, where the wound is being played out in your life, and heal it. Only by doing the work on ourselves that is required to heal mental, emotional, and psychological wounds can we ever hope to be whole in our spirits. I chose to do the healing work because I didn’t want to be mad anymore. I didn’t want to cry anymore. I wanted to heal so that I would have something to celebrate—myself.
I have also been asked many times who my inspiration was. Who were my role models? Again, people have not been pleased with my response: I wasn’t paying that much attention; I had no idea that people were trying to show me anything; I was in too much pain; I was too busy trying to survive to look for role models. The only role model I have had in my life has been the Holy Spirit. It has been the presence of God in my life that has given me understanding. Without that presence, I never would have been able to comprehend what I was looking at, or looking for. I hope that after reading this story, people will have a better understanding of my meaning.
My journey is not over by a long shot. I still have some deep wounds that require intensive care. There are places in my heart that are still closed. Writing this book has helped me to realize that. The difference between Iyanla and Rhonda is that Iyanla is equipped with the skill, knowledge, and ability to do a great deal of healing on her own. I also have sense enough to know when I am not equipped. In those times, I call my teachers, Balé, Dr. Barbara King, Ken and René Kizer, Dr. David Phillips, and Gemmia. I call my friends, Adeyemi, Shaheerah, Marge Battle, Tulani Kinard, Vivianna Brown, and, again, Gemmia. And there are those times when I still call Dial-A-Prayer.
My point is that it never stops. Healing, growing, and learning never stop. Not as long as you are breathing. This does not mean that there is always something you need to fix about yourself. Nor does it mean that there is anything wrong with you in the first place. It means that there is always something more for you to learn. Something for you to recognize at a deeper level. Something for you to grow through. It means that each time you learn something, you also learn how to handle the learning better. Learning is a part of living. I am so glad to be alive at a time when it is okay to say, “I need help. I need healing.” I believe we are blessed to share the planet with people who have mastered healing techniques and are writing about new ways to heal. It is an absolute blessing to know that whatever you need, God’s got it covered.
If there is one point that I hope has come through in this story, it is that children must be celebrated and taught to celebrate themselves. Positive reinforcement is absolutely essential to the development of a healthy sense of Self. When children are allowed to live day to day, making strides, learning, and accomplishing without being recognized or celebrated, their sense of value is diminished. More important, children must be celebrated, honored, and valued, not for what they do, but because they are. We must not only let children know that we love them, we must be glad about loving them. We must begin to have parties for our children “just because.”
If, as an adult, you cannot find or do not feel the necessity to celebrate something about yourself, it is probably a reflection of what you experienced as a child. It is a pattern you may choose to want not to
continue. I was never celebrated, not my birth, my life, or my accomplishments as a child. As a result, I did not feel welcome. My existence did not matter. I learned what to do but never that it was okay to “just be.” In preparing this book, I realized that of all the experiences in my life, the one that had the most devastating effect was not being celebrated or being made to feel welcome. It was worse than any beating or cruelty I experienced. It seems like such a small thing to have someone say, “Thank you for being alive.” Or “I am so glad you are here.” I will never know for sure, but I feel that to have heard that would have made a major difference in my life.
Hoping that this story is your story and that my healing is our healing, I remind you to celebrate yourself and your life each and every day. There is always a good reason to have a party. The reason is you! In closing, I share with you something that I pray will make it easier for you to move through your life experiences. It is something that Grandma taught me when I was six years old.
But they that wait upon the Lord shall renew their strength; they shall mount up with wings as eagles; they shall run, and not be weary; and they shall walk and not faint.
Isaiah 40:31:
I am not sure why Grandma, of all people, made me memorize this particular verse, but I do know that in everything there is a seed of good.
Be Blessed! I am!
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