Yesterday, I Cried_ Celebrating the Lessons of Living and Loving - Iyanla Vanzant [11]
“How,” I thought to myself, “do you get from begging for a job to keep a roof over your head, to being in a position to fire somebody, all in less than ten years?” I had done it, and done it in a big way. I had gone from not having a roof, to owning a half-million-dollar roof. From begging and pleading for what I needed, to having people beg and plead with me to share what I had to offer. I had grown through the dark, dank, funky pits of hell to a corner of heaven in such a short time that I was having trouble catching up with my own life. Still, in my own little corner of heaven, there were piles of crap that needed to be cleaned up. There were things in my life and about my life that had absolutely nothing to do with who I now was, what I did, and what I now knew to be the truth about me. I had to figure out what that truth was. I had to figure out how to rid my life of the nagging little struggles, bits and bouts of confusion, and unexpected chaos that continued to crop up. It was time to tell the truth—again.
Although I would be the first to gratefully and humbly admit that things in my life had gotten infinitely better, there were still some things that simply did not belong. Obviously, I had missed some part of some lesson that I, “The Lesson Queen,” thought I had mastered. Admitting that to myself was half the battle. I had built my career on helping people to find and accept their lessons. Now it was my turn—again.
Over the years, I have discovered that hot water has a way of bringing things to the surface. I closed the bathroom door to keep the dog out. I had run a nice hot bath. I had scented it with lavender and chamomile bath salts. I was prepared to stay in the water until I got an answer to my least favorite question relative to my personal and spiritual growth: “What is it that I am doing to create the present situation in which I find myself?”
Lowering myself into the tub, I did a quick review and a mental celebration of the place in which I now sat. Spiritually centered. Decent person. Minister. Wife. Grandmother. Priestess. Bestselling author. Internationally heralded speaker. Home owner. Business owner. And I was clean! I closed my eyes and sank lower into the water, and Rhonda’s thoughts filled my mind. Confused wretch! Overweight and ugly! Whore! Tramp! Misfit! Frantically, I felt around in the water for my washcloth and remembered Rhonda, the person I used to be. I decided not to respond, not to fight myself. Pig! Dog! You really think you’re hot s——t! I pulled the washcloth out of the water and squeezed the warm water over my head.
“Talk to me,” I whispered. “Tell me what you want.”
“I want you to die! You don’t deserve to live.”
“Shut up! You’re just being dramatic. What do you want?”
I closed my eyes and listened to myself. Rhonda was raging again.
She was angry and she wanted Iyanla to know it. Rhonda was the part of me that simply refused to change, refused to grow. She was the part of me in need of healing. The part where all of my fears, foibles, and character flaws were hidden. I knew this was not about having a split personality. It was about history. Rhonda had a history; Iyanla was creating her own. Rhonda had a history of pain, abuse, and neglect. She had a history of doing things in a certain way, with certain expectations, based on those painful and abusive experiences. Her history and those experiences often allowed her to neglect herself in pursuit of the approval and acceptance of others. She also had a history of putting off the unpleasant, waiting until the last minute to do important things, and doing whatever was necessary to make other people like her.
I understood Rhonda’s history and behavior. But I also understood that I had the power to change. I had the right to live in peace. I had the ability to transform my way of thinking and being, and to become a productive member of humanity. To do so, I would have to merge