Validation is for Parking.

My hair was laid. I spent extra time on my make-up. My nails and toes were done. I had on a gorgeous dress. This particular day was the most beautiful I had ever felt.

I walked out of the room for a reaction and nothing.

No compliment. No, you look beautiful, amazing, pretty. Hell, I would have even taken cute. I got nothing. I went about my day, but deep down I was hurt. The one person I needed validation from, didn’t give it to me. Looking back on that moment now I realize that I was so busy wanting someone to see me, that I didn’t really see myself. I didn’t affirm myself. I was waiting for someone to confirm my reality because deep down, I didn’t know if it was true.

It’s not just looks that we try to find validation for, it’s our self-worth as well. We wait for that boss to recognize us and pat us on the back. We wait for that parent to finally say that they are proud of us. We sit on social media waiting for the likes and comments to pour in. We have become a society hungry for attention, validation, and approval.

So what happens when we don’t get it?

Depression happens. Suicide. Low self-esteem. Isolation. All because someone didn’t say we were pretty.

We have to affirm ourselves. We have to validate ourselves. Even if we have to stand in the mirror every morning and night saying affirmations until we believe it. For me, now when someone says, “You’re beautiful”, it’s only an addition to what I already know. I already said that to myself three times before they even got to me.

We are enough. We do enough. We have enough. We are beautiful. We are strong. We are smart. We are amazing. Now let’s go be these things because they true, not because they were told to us.

Husbands Love Your Wives.

“This is Us”. Probably one of the most beautiful TV shows ever written. The way the stories intertwine is genius. It’s thought provoking. It’s realistic. It’s tear-jerking (I swear I cry about something in every episode). This particular episode this week was no different.

I won’t go into the details because I’m an awful storyteller and it’s too much to unpack, but one scene had me ugly crying and made me go into deep reflection.

Randall (a husband) while watching Beth (his wife) on stage whispers to his daughters, “You’re going to forget a lot about these years. But look at your mother right now and remember this: Don’t you ever forget how incredible that woman is.”

It was a beautiful scene, but it saddened me to think of how many women have not been able to experience this including myself. I know, I know, it’s just a TV show, but hear me out. These characters did not come out of thin air. I believe any characters we see are inspired by real people, real life, no matter how exaggerated it may be. I believe there are men out there, husbands who look at their wives with adoration. With admiration. That boast about them. That are proud of them. That are grateful for them.

Unfortunately, many of us have not had that.

We settle for breadcrumbs. We stay in spaces where we are not valued or loved or cared for. We are tolerated and kept around for convenience. And many of us do not know any better, due to our upbringing or childhood traumas. Or even worse, do not believe we deserve any better. We struggle with self-esteem and low-value thinking and choose men who prey on it instead of uplifting us.

Wives and future wives, I wish for you to be seen. I wish for your husband’s to boast about you. To brag about you. To love you. Care for you. Hold you. Cherish you. Desire you. Honor you. Affirm you. Validate you. Uplift you. Protect you. Provide for you. Lead you.

I know that not all women desire to be wives, but the ones that do, know what to look for in your potential spouse:

Ephesians 5:25-33: Husbands, love your wives, as Christ loved the church and gave himself up for her, that he might sanctify her, having cleansed her by the washing of water with the word, so that he might present the church to himself in splendor, without spot or wrinkle or any such thing, that she might be holy and without blemish. In the same way husbands should love their wives as their own bodies. He who loves his wife loves himself. For no one ever hated his own flesh, but nourishes and cherishes it, just as Christ does the church.

Today is Valentine’s Day.

Ladies, it’s that time of year where men are going to convince you that Valentine’s day doesn’t matter. That it’s a commercialized day. It was created by “the man” to destroy men’s pockets! Basically, this argument is to prepare you to get nothing or the bare minimum from them.

Listen. I get that one day shouldn’t be more important than another. I get that it’s a Monday. I understand that one day of gifts are not going to save a relationship, marriage, or courtship. However……

If you think the day is important, then the day is important. Period.

Just like Christmas or Thanksgiving or St. Patrick’s Day, if you want to celebrate it, than do that. Do not let anyone convince you that you shouldn’t. Find someone who is aligned with your beliefs or at least knows that it’s important to acknowledge.

No more down playing your desires because one man doesn’t want to give them to you. No more shifting your thoughts because a man doesn’t think they’re important. Also, don’t let a man totally skip the day like it doesn’t exist. Please see how dumb I was a few years ago here —–>

So recieve/ask for all the flowers. All the candy. All the cards. And if one won’t, another will. The right man will care about what you care about and will do whatever it takes to make you smile.

Happy Valentine’s Day❤

God is Not on Your Timeline.

When I turned 30, instantly there was this imaginary timer over my head. Society says, by 30 you’re supposed to be married. By 35, the doctors tell you that pregnancy becomes high risk. And now we have men telling women that our value goes down as we get older. Like we are cars. Like we are nothing more than a body.

From the beginning of time, our value has been placed on the ability to have children. Think about the Bible stories of Elizabeth and Rachel who were at first unable to conceive. Then there’s the story of Sarah who was so desperate to give her husband a child that she allowed him to impregnate their servant Hager. She got so tired of waiting on God’s promise that she made her own moves. But her plan led to confusion and resentment. And this is what happens with women when we try to met these invisible timelines on our own instead of waiting on God.

Despite the women’s ages and deviation in plans, God still rewarded these women with children. It just wasn’t on their timeline. Of course in these days, we don’t and shouldn’t wait until we’re 90, but we shouldn’t be panicking by 30 and 40 either.

My grandmother had my dad when she was 42. He is healthy, intelligent, and self-sufficient. Not only this, but she got to see it happen because she lived until she was 98. That’s 56 years she had with him. There are women who become mothers at 25 and die at 28. There are women like my grandmother who had children “late”, but lived long enough to see them get married and have their own children. These timelines we have in our heads mean nothing to God. We can plan out our whole lives, but be gone tomorrow.

What I am learning is not to stress over timelines. Not to be strict about life long plans. God is teaching me that I am not in control and when I try to be, He shows me exactly why I shouldn’t be.

ECCLESIASTES 3: There is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under the heavens

You Don’t Own Me.

I have a sticky note on my mirror that says, “People are experiences. I do not own anyone and no one owns me”. I look at it daily because I’ve always valued loyalty, commitment, and longevity. I once believed that when I opened my heart and my life to you, you will and should remain there forever.

You’re mine. You’re my friend. You’re my spouse. You’re my family member. Mine. Mine. Mine.

That way of thinking made things difficult when people left my life for any reason. On the flip side, I would remain in other’s lives no matter how uncomfortable it was to be there. Because I’m yours. Forever. I wanted to be “claimed” by others. It made me feel valued and worthy. Endings would devastate me.

What feels like so much loss in my life, I had to learn how to release. Release relationships that didn’t serve me. Release myself from the clutches of people who drained me. Allowing myself to be released by people who didn’t value me and to be real, maybe I didn’t enhance their life either.

People are experiences. This whole life is an experience. You can own cars, property, assests, but we don’t own people. When we view people this way, we are more grateful for the time that we have them. We appreciate what they mean to us in the moment. We appreciate them for the lessons they bring, whether they leave or if they stay.

We owe nothing to each other. You don’t own me. And I don’t own you. Let’s just enjoy the experience.


Traveling can show you alot. I love people watching and the airport is the perfect place to do so. Today as I was traveling back from Puerto Rico, I noticed lots of couples and families. I particularly paid attention to the men and how they moved with their girlfriends and wives.

I saw care. I saw attentiveness. I saw love. I saw chivalry.

The “chivalrous gentleman” is an individual who uses courtesy and thoughtfulness to demonstrate commitment, respect, compassion, and trust.

I saw men carrying their women’s bag along with their own. I saw men holding their babies tight. I saw men ensuring that their families were safe. I literally saw a man tie his woman’s shoes because she didn’t have room to bend down. I looked at these couples with admiration, but also (I hate to admit) envy. When I used to travel with my significant other, it was a time of dread and anxiety for me. Flying makes me nervous because I’m always afraid that I will forget my ID or passport. Or I will hold up the line. Or I will miss my flight. Flying with another person, especially one you love should put some of those fears at ease, but for me, it heighten them. I always felt rushed. Or that I would be easily left behind (and sometimes I was).

If you walk behind me, you might as well walk 10 steps behind”.

This has been said to me several times as a “joke”, but it made me feel small. Unimportant. I felt no sense of security or protection. There was no holding of bags. Or holding my hand. There was no gentleness with me. No concern or care. She’s strong and independent, so there is no need to look out for her, right?

Today, on the flight back to Atlanta, I traveled alone. I sat down next to a couple and the man was in the middle seat. When he saw me preparing to sit in the aisle seat, he opened the seat belt for me. I sat down and he ensured that I was able to buckle myself in. At first I was nervous because my first thought was, “His girl is right there! He shouldn’t even be looking at me!” But she was not phased. I assumed she was secure in her relationship and knew her man was just showing kindness. I thanked him and gave my greetings to her and we were well on our way.

I fought back tears during the flight because of this small gesture. It seems crazy, but I believe this was God’s way of showing me that there is still chilvary out there. There is still kindness out there. I don’t have settle for being left behind. I don’t have to accept feeling alone in a relationship. I am deserving of a gentleman.

I am a woman. No matter how strong I appear to be, I appreciate and value the protection and provision that a man can provide. And one day I will have it.

I Remember HER!

Between becoming a mother just a few short years ago, the pandemic last year, and just life in general, my femininity had taken a hit. Not only that, but I didn’t know what my identity was. Looking back now that I’m in a better place, I think I was fighting postpartum and some depression (or just hella sadness), but because of this “I have to be strong” mindset, I didn’t fall into those feelings.

I remember rolling out of bed most days even when having to go to work, not putting on makeup. Not ironing. Not caring. As long as I was clean, I was fine. No need for the razzle dazzle. And then when the pandemic hit and we were working from home, I really had no need to do much. I worked in my pjs, lounge wear, and forgot what make up was. I was doing double duty at that point. Working as a mom and at my regular job so who had time to worry about looking “cute”?

But the thing is, I like feeling cute. I like putting in effort in my appearance. I love clothes, shoes, and accessories. I love a fresh pedicure and manicure. I love putting on makeup and enhancing my beauty. I love everything that comes with being a woman. I just started putting everything and everyone first.

For the past few weeks I challenged myself to wear a dress everyday, put on heels, and put on makeup. For some this is a normal everyday routine. For others, you maybe like, “ummm but why”? For me it’s big. It’s a statement. It’s saying, “I am going to take some extra time out of my day to pour into myself”. I will no longer pour all of my energy into other people. I will no longer feel guilty in taking the time out to feel and look pretty.

There will never be enough time, until you make time.

Yesterday I put on a black dress, put on a statement necklace, pearl earrings, and bunned up my locs. I made up my face and slipped on some heels. I got so many compliments from my colleagues and even a kid stopped me in the hall to tell me, “I like your style”.

Look at that! I have style! Sherron has style.

Now I’m remembering who Sherron is.


I’m a black woman. I’ve always known I was black. From the moment I understood what race was. However, I never let it define me. I’ve just been a girl who became a woman. I never felt the need to put my blackness in the forefront. Never really saw how it affected me until recently.

When we talk about race, we automatically assume it’s about racism. Although I recognize that racism is all around us, this is not that kind of post. This is about me. A black woman. A black woman who doesn’t feel protected and I’m not sure if I ever have (with exception of my dad). And I’m wondering whose fault is that?

Protection does not just mean physically. It means emotionally as well. I have not felt emotionally safe in my relationships. I have not felt safe to rest. I have had to be strong constantly. I have had to be a work horse; always with 2 jobs or more. I have had to worry about everyone around me, take care of everyone around me, and neglect myself. I mention my blackness because this seems to be a theme for other black women I surround myself with and encounter.

And we are tired.

Who protects us when we have breakdowns? When we’re depressed? When we are exhausted? When we absorb all the anger and pain of our loved ones? When do we get to be soft and rest in our femininity?

Who takes care of us?

Is it our fault that we exude too much strength? Does it come from our distant past of being slaves? Working in the fields, in the house, taking abuse, being raped, breastfeeding all the babies, cooking all the food? Being ripped away from our husbands and children? Has that ability to take on pain just been passed down from generation to generation and we accept it as gospel?

Some could blame our men who have not learned to art of protecting, providing, and leading us. Most of them (including us) have been apart of broken homes and we have not been shown or taught what that type of household looks like.

I could come up with many excuses and reasons to why black women don’t feel safe. Many reasons why I don’t feel safe now. But the real issue is, how do we change it? Based on Malcolm X’s famous quote, this feeling, this issue is not new. But it’s something that needs to be addressed.

Protect the black woman.

Loving You.

My daddy tried. He tried to teach me how a man should treat a woman. He opened the doors for me. Took me on dates. Walked on the outside of me when we walked down the street. Showed me what affection looked like. And somehow I still ended up with men who did none of those things.

What I’ve realized is, no matter what he might have tried to show me or tell me I deserved, deep down I didn’t believe it. My self-esteem was non-existant growing up and even up into adulthood (I’m still working through finding the root of it).

I would write on sticky notes that, “I am the prize” and place them all over my house. I was hoping that if I saw it enough, I would adopt the mindset.

But I didn’t.

Every relationship I’ve ever been in, even in marriage, I’ve treated men like they were the prize. Like I was the lucky one if they gave me the time of day. If they called or texted me. If they took me out. If they wanted to be with me or marry me. Somehow that approval made me feel like I was worth something. Being something to somebody. But in reality, it is only made me feel even more unloved. Bitter. Resentful. Angry.

Until I love myself properly, I will never be loved properly by others. Until I see myself as worthy, no one will see that either.

I should be telling myself I’m the shit because I am. I’m as humble as they come, but I have to hype myself up. I’m intelligent, I’m ambitious, I’m hard-working, I’m savy, I’m financially stable, I’m a damn good mom, I’m sensitive, I’m compassionate, I’m empathic, and I don’t look too bad either. When I exude that confidence in myself, everyone around me sees it and responds to it.

That’s what I’m working on. Loving myself appropriately. That’s what we all should be working on. Doesn’t matter if you’re married, single, black white, green, or gold. When we treat ourselves with respect, kindness, and love, others have no choice but to do it too.

So how are you loving you?

Jayden’s Mom

I’m a boy mom. I’m praying that I don’t become the mom that everyone complains about.

The “My son is my King” mom.

The “Nobody is good enough for my son” mom.

The “My son does no wrong” mom.

I’m not gonna lie, it’s going to be hard. Because my Jayden is just a great human. He’s so full of life! He’s curious. His laughter is infectious. He’s bright. He’s bold. He’s absolutely adorable (which he gets from his mom by the way).

He’s only been on this earth for a few years, but he’s taught me so much about patience, patience, and more patience. But oddly enough, he’s taught me a great deal about love.

Like this dude loves me. Like really loves me. Likes me even. I realize that this may change as he gets older. He’ll get mad at me for taking his phone away or not letting him go to a party or giving my opinion about a girlfriend. But for now, my toddler likes me.

He looks for me when I’m there and not there. He gives me hugs and kisses when I ask and even when I don’t. I think he thinks I’m funny and fun to be around. He dances and sings with me. He enjoys me. He’s taught me that I’m a pretty great person to be around.

He sees me. And boy, oh boy I can’t tell you how important that is.

To be seen.

This little dude has set the standard. He’s shown me how to love myself better. How to take care of myself so I can take care of him. And he’s shown me in his small, unawaring way, how others should be treating me.

Like I’m somebody. Because I am.

I’m Jayden’s mom.