As I sat by the lake in the cool of the day, I took in both the sights around me and the wave of emotions in my heart.

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It may not be appropriate.

I had gotten ready for church that morning much like I do any other morning.

Hear/feel the alarms.
Ignore the alarms.
Stretch and crack various parts of my body.
Look over at my closet and clothes, mentally selecting an outfit.
Stay in bed until the very last alarm sounded.
Wake up finally.
Head to the restroom.

Yet I did not know at that point in my routine that this particular Sunday would not go as I had planned. There was no way that I could have known that in 2 short hours, I would be leaving the church in tears, unsure if I would ever return again.

Sweet friend, you’d be surprised to know just how often I think about the clothes that I will wear on any particular day. As a survivor of childhood rape, every morning I have literal panic attacks as I wonder if what I want to wear that particular day is appropriate or not. I think about the pandemic weight that found and fell in love with my midsection and thighs, wondering how they will compete with the clothes in my closet that so desperately love to cling to every curve on my body. No matter what I wear or where I’m going, a part of me worries that my clothing will unintentionally speak to a man’s loins, silently beckoning him to stare in my direction and undress me with his eyes. Although I did not (and no woman ever does) invite a man to rape me, he did and internal fear reminds me daily as I dress in the morning.

But on this particular Sunday, I grabbed the cute baby doll dress that my Love and Bonus Love helped me buy, threw on my comfy sandals, and prepared to lead worship service at church. The dress passed the fingertip test and coupled with a lap scarf, I thought I would be ok for the mere 2hrs that I would be in service. Apparently, I was wrong. My dress, albeit very cute indeed, was deemed too short, garnering once-overs as I prepared to head to the pulpit. The dress was cute, but it was not appropriate.

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You are not appropriate.

Just 2 minutes before I was supposed to greet the waiting congregation, I was storming into a backroom being led by my tears and a broken heart. No matter what those church leaders (whom I’d always considered my friends and sisters) had said to me, all I heard was “you are not appropriate.” Their comments to me- though said from a place of love- hit my heart like daggers, finally killing the last part of my weary soul. All of my life I have never felt accepted at any of the churches that I’ve attended (for one reason or another) and since joining the ministerial staff at this particular church, I had always felt excluded. Though it was never explicitly spoken, commenting on my attire was- to me- the equivalent of commenting on me.

I was the one with tattoos on top of tattoos.
I was the one with piercings.
I was the one who openly battled depression, anxiety, an eating disorder, PTSD, ADHD, OCD, rejection, and substance use.
I was the one who didn’t preach or teach the way the others did.
I was the one who was in her 30s and unmarried (oh, the horror!!!).
I was the one who was seemingly too different to be invited to celebrations, gatherings, and external serving opportunities.
I was the one who was visibly broken, only being held together by the duct tape of our Sovereign God.

It was M.E.
Not my attire on this particular day.
Not my locs or my marriage status.
This is how I felt-
It was M.E.
I was too different and I was inappropriate.

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So, I ran.

I gathered my composure as best as possible and swiftly left the church. I walked to my car, barely uttering a word to anyone else, and drove away. I called my bestie first because I just needed to cry. I knew she would listen and pray simultaneously… but she didn’t answer. So I texted my Love “good morning”… secretly praying that he would answer so that I could vent to him. In between my conversations with them both, I created distance between me and the church… both literally and figuratively.

My heart had endured more than a lifetime of hurt and I had no room for any more. I needed a reset and this moment of distance would hopefully give me the reprieve that I so desperately desired. In my running, I ended up in a city about 25 minutes south of my home. It was there that I observed the beauty of the water and the peace of God.

I love everything about M.E. I’m not perfect by any means, but I’ve come a long way and I’m so proud of my growth through God. I’ll admit, when I left the church I was devastated but the water helped to recenter me. After the re-centering, I realized one thing- I will authentically be M.E. no matter what anyone thinks or no matter how anyone else may feel.

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Beloved, I wish I had some beautiful words of inspiration for you today but the truth is, all I have is an open heart and access to space on the Internet. With those two things, I lovingly share this with you:

Not everyone will love you. Not everyone will appreciate the beauty that you bring to the world… but shine brightly anyway. You were beautifully and uniquely made and I never want you to forget that. Even if the world can’t see it, know that you were graced to be you.

Be blessed.