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I was never the girl without the attention of men, popularity, funny jokes, witty comments, good looks, nice things, great style, or talent. And it almost destroyed me.

The past two years in Atlanta have lead me to some dark places. All kinds of questions have challenged me since I moved away, questions that shook the core of my identity.

Was I ever truly confident?

Was it a likeness of it? Was it a close cousin?

Do I really know who I am?

Am I as great as I thought I was?

Will I ever be what God said- all that I imagined and dreamed?

Is it too late for me?

If all of my "cool things"- the things that have made me ME- if all of that is taken away do I still have full confidence in just me? Me without the popularity, funny jokes, witty comments, good looks, nice things, great style, or talent. JUST ME.

When I moved to Atlanta there seemed to be so much working against me. I have had some incredible highs, and some even more incredible lows. Shall we list them?


1) When I first moved here I thought who I was (a fanatical Jesus-lover, no sex having, non Southern booty, not-your-typical-snobby-Atlanta-girl chick) was insufficient. And I became very insecure. There goes the attention of men...

2) When I first moved here I didn't really know anybody and nobody knew me- there goes the popularity...

2) When I first moved here I was intimidated by the swarms of people who could do the same thing I could do and some did it better- there goes the talent...

3) When I first moved here I didn't fit in at all! Honestly, I thought I would be married within a year of transitioning and so all my hustling days were over :) (I know it's silly and I know you are judging me. Carry on.) Not to mention the ATL look around... I mean FULL daily beats, long weaves, big butts, nice cars, high heels, and nice clothes were everywhere I went. Well, I don't like to wear makeup everyday because 1) it irritates my sensitive skin and 2) it's just too much work. Then, my luxurious BMW truck didn't survive long enough to make it to Georgia (old and needed too much work); my hair was growing back from a cut; my butt has never been big without a bazillion squats a day; I'm half sporty-half girly so I don't wear heels everyday, and all my nice clothes were out of reach in storage units or had been given away when I moved (for ease of transition). Therefore, I was reduced to a couple pairs of jeans, a pair of tights, a few shirts, and a couple pairs of shoes- none of which were overly "fashionable", rather highly basic. #fail I didn't have the money to look like I really wanted to look, so I didn't feel beautiful. I was not feeling up to my usual level of "I-Got-This-Ness", which made me shrink into a corner, thus creating a constant second-guessing and removing all my witty comments and funny jokes. Aaaand there goes the nice things, great style and attention of men...

I became quiet. I became hesitant. Even when I would try to do things I've always done and should be great at, like music, I would choke. I knew that I had something amazing. That I was amazing, but I could not break free from this place. Even with the massive amounts of support around me, it was not making a difference. When you are insecure and therefore of no use to anyone around you, you become invisible. If no one can see you, you fight to be seen. You may not realize it, but you do.

'Well, maybe you just need to get out, girl! I mean you do live in Atlanta and it is 2017, right?

What do we do when we are empty? PARTY and GET MONEY! '

During the days? I focused on making money. The more I could make and hoard, the better I started to feel about myself.

During the nights? I pulled together my best "I-am-a-grown-woman-in-Atlanta" fit, hiked up my 'save the tatas', poked out my goods, put on my wig, and beat my face good enough to make Ike Turner proud in hopes that a fine, rich, hopefully somewhat-saved but not too ratchet guy would notice me enough to make me feel important again!

I filled my empty space with entertainment, people, food, libation, and busyness, and I made it look pretty good on the outside. I was still making it work, you know, surviving. I mean, I was still going to church (sometimes) and I know enough about Jesus to kinda carry me in the meantime. When all of the people were gone, there was nothing good to watch on television, nothing fun to do, or no money to do it with, my poor thumbs just could not scroll anymore and I was stripped completely naked I found myself anxious, scared, jealous, and unhappy.

What about you? What do you look like naked? #workinprogress

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