it

of Satisfaction, Survival, and sweet Surrender.

Photo by Quaritsch Photography on Unsplash

It doesn’t look the way we always imagine.

Whose life ever ends up the way it was initially planned? We sit with our dreams and our careful intentions, but most times we end up gathering pieces of the crash on the other side.

And it is what we find in the rubble.

Whether that thing is a sacred treasure buried beneath, or a new discovery that was only attainable upon our landing site.

It is that thing we spend our lives chasing after.

There are careers and empires. Families and love stories. Adventures and voyages.

These larger-than-life ideas look so beautiful on vision boards.

But when we go to sketch out the practicum, the ideology behind attaining such lofty goals, that’s where we stumble.

And it is what we find in the midst of that scraping around in the dark.

I find a lot of clarity in writing in this kind of abstract. I’m allowed, in this space, to dance around larger topics with mythical language and poetic phrasing. Because naming it can feel scary, vulnerable.

Sitting with your it can be like staring into the barrel of a gun. Only you’re also holding the trigger.

I think as we age, we hopefully become less afraid of the ammunition, of what will come once we do pull it.

I’m approaching a birthday next month, and I find myself a bit reflective, which is not uncommon for me. This year, I’ve been softer with the more childlike pieces of myself. I’ve leaned into those vulnerable spaces that felt altogether whimsical and unimportant growing up.

And I’m healing there.

Holding baby Aubrey’s little hand as my mother’s shadow lingers, wishing alongside her that we could enjoy her embrace together just one more time.

Living in the world of imagination alongside Aubrey the child, writing stories down on paper that used to only dance in my dreams.

Engaging with the hopeless romantic heart in teenage Aubrey, leaning into a new layer of my marriage, simply sharing the ways that I long (in the past and present) to be loved.

Introducing myself to “young woman” Aubrey, who spent most of her time fitting a facade and living in shame; her desires, once laid dormant, are now welcomed into the light.

It, for me, is rooted in knowing— being known, knowing myself. And the love that flows from it all.

I haven’t always given myself the room to simply be known; remaining amniable always seemed the easier route, not matter how much I was clawing out my insides.

So, it’s been a real journey, allowing myself a voice, a valuable place in the discourse. And in that, to voice my dissatisfaction. My therapist once told me that I had a real issue with admitting to disappointment, and ever since, I’ve really sat and looked at my life through that lens.

How heartbreakingly true.

There were so many moments that, in the middle of the deepest cuts and wounds, I found my smile. I assured the world and deluded myself that I could handle it—maybe a function of overcompensating as the youngest, wanting to keep up with the grown-ups. Maybe a way to pretend that the unpalatable truths inside weren’t real.

And to keep from disappointing myself.

But in that, I negotiated little pieces of my own needs and desires to put on a face of compliance and docility.

When I met my husband, at the ripe age of 17, I remember he called me out on just that. And I was immediately pissed.

“You don’t have to be a ‘machine woman’ for everyone, Aubrey.”

I remember those words like a record scratch, a moment in time where I felt something truly shift inside. So much of who I thought I knew was rooted in that kind of survival. And I thank God every day that Cam was bold enough to see it and say it when he did. Because it saved my life.

I got a taste of being known, and I was hooked (hence why I married him 3 years later).

It began to find me in this moment.

Photo by artem belinsky on Unsplash

I don’t think I knew what it was until I began being honest about what it was not.

Not some life of performative church positions.

Not a career filled with singing gigs and record deals.

Not a black token politician in speaking circuits throughout DC and the education world.

Not as the wife of the minister or music director or rapper (thank you Jesus for your hands of protection).

Not a woman fueled by fire and fury; filled with anger and vengeance for all the wrongs she’s faced in this life.

Not perfect, not totally healed, not even totally definitive.

This life does not look the way I wanted it to.

My mom is dead. My brother is estranged. My husband and I have student loans and three kids. I didn’t finish college. I gained more weight having babies than I’d care to admit.

But man, am I satisfied. Truly satisfied. Supernaturally, so.

I don’t even mean that on no super holy, woo-woo crap either. I mean, there is a deeply rooted kind of satisfaction that I can’t fully explain to you. And yes, I could simplify it to the fact that Jesus kept me, *quickens*.

(He did, incidentally.)

But the deeper and more raw answer? I stopped hiding from my truths.

I acknowledged the pain that I had neglected and gave it a name. Abuses I suffered in silence. The people and places that ignored me, that still try to overlook me. The credentials I don’t have that make me feel small. The perceptions that I’ve tried so hard to uphold that ultimately created this Barbie-doll version of me. And that version isn’t real.

I opened myself up to those deeper moral and theological questions. And if you want more of that journey, you can read through my diary of a reformed church girl series. In short, I found a more honest relationship with the Lord that allowed me to see Him more clearly…and became even more closely held in Their embrace.

I addressed the physical needs, wants, and desires I thought made me dirty. I explored in the sheets—alone and alongside my husband. Had deeply honest conversations with him, real intimacy rooted in truths that can’t be hidden. The passion I ignored and called sin has made me a much more sensual and in-touch (*teehee*) woman. Oh my, the beauty my body has; this body that God created that I ignored out of fear.

Go ahead and clutch your pearls. I’m through hiding what God has done.

Your girl did the work, y’all. And now, it isn’t so much of a chase.

These days, I’m slowly unraveling more of myself, and I’m trying to cherish the in-between moments.

Having children has made me especially sensitive to this.

And not so much that they grow quickly, and it’s hard to watch (though that is a factor). Rather, you watch this process start all over again. The chase, the hustle, the discovery.

And you find yourself telling your children to slow down; allow it to find you.

One day, my four-year-old mentioned to me how she planned to never have children, because she didn’t want to face the pain of childbirth (yes, my FOUR-YEAR-OLD said this, lol). I replied that I thought that was a completely valid reason and she was free to make that choice, but that it was also okay if she changed her mind. But she was ADAMANT— “NOPE. Never having kids,” she said.

And in that moment, I had one of those oh-my-God-I-sound-like-my-mom moments, when I replied, so casually,

“Just keep living, baby.”

We spend so much of our youth chasing and trying to understand and feeling behind. But the sooner we can sit and breathe deeply, observing how finite this moment is, the more we grow to appreciate our bruises and failings…we begin uncovering it. Or maybe, it uncovers us.

The beauty in the rubble, the hidden treasures, the gift found in the old.

The heartbeat in our chest, the blood pumping in our veins, shared laughter among friends and some foes, and the absolute mosaic of imperfection.

It, I’m learning, isn’t a destination. It is a presence.

A quiet knowing.

A discovery of, a return to, self.

The full-bodied exhale of a woman no longer running from herself or from the God who designed her.

It is honesty held with tenderness. Desire no longer swallowed. Worship without performance. A life less curated and more true.

It is what you find when the striving stops and the Spirit remains.

And if I never find another stage, another title, another moment of direct affirmation…

I’ve still found it.

And baby, that’s enough.

Thank you, truly, for your support. Your reading, sharing, and feedback are all treasures I hold close to my heart.