COURT IS STILL IN SESSION: Please Know Your Position

COURT IS STILL IN SESSION: Please Know Your Position

I took a break.

Not because court was adjourned.

Not because the case was dismissed.

Not because I ran out of evidence.

Court was simply in recess.

And baby, court is back in session.

So before we begin, I need everybody to understand something:

Some people come into your life for a reason.Some for a season.Some for a lifetime.

Please know your position.

And if something I say belongs to you, pick it up.

If it doesn’t, leave it right where it is.

Because the people who genuinely love me already know when I’m not talking about them.

Now, let’s proceed.

THE CHARGES

Count One: Mistaking my generosity for your entitlement.

Somewhere along the way, people started looking at me and seeing a dollar sign.

A resource.

A relationship.

A connection.

A phone call.

A donation.

A sponsorship.

A seat at somebody’s table.

A person who “knows somebody.”

A person who can “make something happen.”

And I need to correct the record:

I am not a dollar sign.

I am more valuable than the money I can bring.

I am more valuable than the relationships I can extend.

I am more valuable than my contact list.

I am more valuable than what I can build, fix, fund, solve, introduce, organize, calculate, negotiate, or make happen.

I am valuable because God said so.

I am worthy because I am here.

Before I accomplished anything, I had value.

Before the degrees.

Before the CPA.

Before the businesses.

Before the books.

Before the connections.

Before anybody knew my name.

God knew it.

And that was enough.

Count Two: Asking for fruit from a woman standing in harvest season.

I have spent years sowing.

Money.

Time.

Knowledge.

Connections.

Access.

Prayer.

Love.

Grace.

Mercy.

Opportunity.

Seats at tables.

And sometimes I built the damn table.

But this season?

I ain't giving shit.

And before somebody gets offended by the language, make sure you don't miss the theology.

Because there is a time to sow.

And there is a time to reap.

"For everything there is a season..." — Ecclesiastes 3:1.

And I have heard God clearly:

Daughter, reap.

So no, don't call me asking what I can do for you right now.

Ask me what I need.

Ask me if I've eaten.

Ask me if I slept.

Ask me if I need somebody to sit beside me without requiring me to perform.

Ask me how you can pour into the woman who has spent years pouring into everybody else.

Because my cup does not exist solely for other people to drink from.

Count Three: Failure to check your heart posture.

This one might be the most serious charge.

Because what does your heart look like when you approach somebody who has repeatedly told you:

I am tired.

I am grieving.

I am rebuilding.

I have genuine medical concerns.

My entire life has changed.

What makes your first thought:

"What can she do for me?"

I need somebody to explain that to me.

Because ten months ago, my child died.

And within four years and ten days, I lost two sons.

And yes, I said lost, but let's correct the imagery before anybody who knows me gets it twisted:

My babies are not buried.

That was a decision we made with intention and love.

But figuratively, I am a mother who has had to bury two children.

And somehow, after surviving something that should have taken me out, people still approach me with their hands out.

Make that make sense.

Actually, don't.

Check your heart posture.

Count Four: Misusing proximity.

Some people had access to me because I loved them.

That's it.

It wasn't because they earned permanent residency.

It wasn't because the position came with tenure.

And it damn sure wasn't because once I gave somebody a title, I surrendered my right to reconsider it.

I gave some people lifetime titles.

Turns out, maybe I misunderstood the assignment.

Maybe it was Lifetime Fitness.

Maybe it was Erykah Badu:

I'll see you next lifetime.

Because whatever lifetime we were talking about apparently wasn't this one.

And that's okay.

What isn't okay is believing that because you once had proximity to me, you are forever entitled to it.

Access can change.

Titles can change.

Relationships can change.

And boundaries can absolutely change when new information reveals that the relationship wasn't what I believed it was.

That isn't bitterness.

That's discernment.

Count Five: Calling every boundary "unhealed."

Let me help somebody with this one.

Stop telling people that every boundary is evidence that they need more healing.

Stop weaponizing therapy language against people who finally learned how to say no.

I've been doing healing work for most of my adult life.

I started intensive therapy at 18.

There are chapters of my story that many people don't know yet.

And when God releases me to tell them, I will.

Because I've learned something:

Testimony doesn't require perfection.

God can use the healed places.

God can use the healing places.

God can even use the places where the scar is still tender.

We are so busy trying to appear qualified to people that we forget God has always specialized in using people that humans would have disqualified.

"Before I formed you in the womb I knew you..." — Jeremiah 1:5.

So when people ask:

How did you get here?

Cue Deborah Cox.

Because according to some people's calculations, I ain't supposed to be here.

Except—

I am.

Because God knew exactly where I would be before I ever got here.

EXHIBIT A: THE WOMAN YOU KEEP UNDERESTIMATING

I am my mother's daughter.

I am my father's daughter.

There are stories attached to both sides of that sentence.

And one day, maybe we'll tell them.

But today isn't genealogy class.

Today is evidence.

And the evidence says:

I survived.

I learned.

I prayed.

I went to therapy.

I built.

I mothered.

I buried dreams.

I rebuilt dreams.

I lost people.

I discovered people.

I grieved.

I kept going.

I questioned God.

I still loved God.

I got angry.

I still worshipped.

I have been broken open without being destroyed.

And somewhere in all of that, I became something beautiful:

a thinking thug.

A thug who thinks.

A woman with a heart AND discernment.

Grace AND boundaries.

Love AND standards.

Faith AND receipts.

Don't confuse my softness with stupidity.

Don't confuse my generosity with weakness.

And please don't confuse my Christianity with an obligation to let people mishandle me.

Jesus had boundaries too.

THE EVIDENCE

The evidence is the phone calls that only come when somebody needs something.

The evidence is the relationships that disappear when I stop producing.

The evidence is the people who loved my access more than they loved me.

The evidence is the people who could find my number when they needed a favor but couldn't find it when my world was falling apart.

The evidence is every moment I showed up for somebody who couldn't figure out how to show up for me.

And here's the hardest evidence:

I allowed some of it.

Because I thought love meant endless access.

I thought loyalty meant staying.

I thought grace meant continuing to give chances.

I thought because I could help, I should.

That's evidence too.

And I submit it willingly.

Because accountability has to start with me.

THE VERDICT

The Court finds that I am no longer available for relationships built primarily around what I can provide.

I am no longer auditioning for roles I already earned.

I am no longer explaining boundaries to people committed to misunderstanding them.

I am no longer financing access to me—emotionally, spiritually, financially, relationally, or professionally.

And I am no longer giving everybody a lifetime title just because I loved them deeply in a particular season.

Some people were a reason.

Some people were a season.

Some people really are lifetime.

And wisdom is learning the difference.

So in this season, I'm checking heart posture.

Mine first.

Because I refuse to demand from others what I won't examine in myself.

Is my heart bitter?

God, clean it.

Is my heart angry?

God, show me what the anger is protecting.

Am I operating from grief instead of wisdom?

God, correct me.

But if my heart is clean and my boundary is necessary?

God, give me the courage to keep it.

Because peace without boundaries isn't peace.

It's performance.

And I have performed enough.

The woman standing before this Court has survived enough to finally understand:

I do not have to earn my worth by being useful.

I don't have to write a check.

I don't have to make a call.

I don't have to connect anybody.

I don't have to rescue anybody.

I don't have to prove I am a good person by exhausting myself for everybody else.

I am worthy because God said I am.

I am worthy because I breathe.

I am worthy because I exist.

And after everything I've poured out?

I'm finally standing still long enough to receive.

"Let us not become weary in doing good, for at the proper time we will reap a harvest..." — Galatians 6:9.

Well...

It's harvest time.

And for once, I'm not apologizing for picking the fruit from seeds I planted.

FINAL RULING

Know your position.

Check your heart posture.

Respect the boundary.

And understand that losing access to me does not mean I hate you.

Sometimes it simply means I finally love me too.

Court is still in session.

And this time?

The woman who spent her whole life advocating for everybody else has taken the stand on behalf of herself.

Case closed—for today.

Because y'all already know...

Court will reconvene.

I said what I said....and Who gone check me boo?????

ABBA, is my source and if he cool and I'm Cool.....Then WE COOL!!!!!

~ST