Yesterday, I Cried

by IYANLA VANZANT

  “You’re not finished, are you?”

  “I am trying. This stuff is very hard and very confusing. Why do I have to read this?”

  “Because you are a priest. A priest has to know what the people need. How do you expect to serve people? You have to be prepared.”

  “I want to be prepared, Balé, but how do I get prepared and earn a living?”

  “God prepared you. Your job is to remember what you have been prepared to do so that you can do it with excellence. Come Saturday at 7 P.M.”

  It was on that evening that Balé performed my naming ceremony. It was on that day that my life totally changed. At first, I didn’t notice the change, but Balé’s words, his description of Iyanla, the person I was destined to be, kept ringing in my ears. I wanted so badly to believe that Balé was wrong, but I knew he was right. I knew that I had not been living up to my potential. I knew that I was repeating certain patterns in my life, patterns over which it seemed I had no control. Your name is your nature. I knew that there was something different, something powerful about me. I had experienced it in fleeting moments, moments in Snapper Five, moments when I went deep into prayer and silence. I knew that I had seen things and heard things that could only be explained in spiritual terms, but I was so afraid of what it meant that I had shut down on my own inner exploration.

  What if Balé was right and Grandma had been wrong? What would that mean? How much time had I wasted? And how would I ever make it up to myself or to God? What if I was crazy? Or Balé was crazy? What if he was right and people thought I was crazy as a result of what I would become—a teacher, a healer, a woman of great power, prominence, and importance? I thought about all the powerful women I knew. More important, I zeroed in on all the powerful, spiritual women I knew and realized they all had one thing in common—they were alone. They had no man! Oh my God! I had to admit to myself that I wanted a man. No. I needed a man. Was it possible that if I stepped into my power I would be alone? Manless for the rest of my life? It was on that day, sitting at my godfather’s kitchen table, that I realized I had to make a choice. I had to choose a way of living and being. I had to choose God’s way or my way. It was in the process of making that choice that I began the work of integrating Rhonda and Iyanla in order to become a whole person.

  I didn’t sleep much that night. I thought about all the mistakes I had made, all the mistakes I made trying to correct the mistakes. I thought about all the things I had done and not done that demonstrated I had not yet developed the kind of character that Balé was talking about. I wondered if I ever would become who and what he said I was destined to become. Just how was I supposed to know? Why didn’t somebody tell me that God had a plan? It would have been nice to know that every experience was a part of the plan. Why didn’t God tell me He had a plan? And if He had one, why did it have to be so harsh, so cruel? What if I had died? Suppose I had succeeded in killing myself. I realized that the attempt at taking my life was also a part of the plan. It was confusing! It was all so confusing! No. I was confused.

  I realized all the things I had done and not done to put myself in harm’s way. Bible verses kept popping into my head. “Desires of the flesh … The ways of the world … Seek ye first the kingdom … Suffer little children …” I thought about the children, my children. All of a sudden a chill went through my body. I thought about how my children had suffered as a result of my suffering. I thought about all the days they hadn’t eaten, all the days I had left them alone. I thought about how often I had spoken to them, or treated them, the way I had been spoken to and treated. I thought about how painful and confusing that must have been for them. And, while I could not find the compassion to cry for myself, I cried for my children. I cried for the rotten, abusive, neglectful mother I had been. I cried because I could not remember ever telling them that I loved them. I hadn’t told them, because I had never told myself.

  Then, just before dawn, I stopped crying. I walked to the bathroom mirror, looked myself dead in the eyes, and quietly whispered, “I love you.” A chill went through my body as I quickly averted my gaze. When my head stopped spinning, I opened my eyes and said it again: “I love you. I love you.” The thought of it made me cry. How could I love myself when I didn’t know anything about me? I knew what I had been told. I knew what others had said to me, about me, but I honestly did not know myself. I felt so wounded and battered. I felt tired. No. Exhausted. I wanted to love myself, and I knew in order to do that, I would have to understand myself. I remembered the questions Balé had given me. I ran to my purse and retrieved my notes. Sitting on the edge of my bed, I tried to answer the questions on the list. I was surprised how difficult it was to answer some of the questions, but I worked until long after the sun came up to find a suitable answer to each one of them.

  What is your favorite color?

  Orange.

  What is your favorite food?

  Chicken.

  What is your favorite song?

  “Lean on Me.”

  What is your most valued possession?

  My Bible.

  What is your greatest strength?

  Sense of humor.

  What is your greatest weakness?

  I usually jump to conclusions, expecting the worst.

  What is your best skill?

  Oral communication.

  What was your greatest mistake?

  Mistaking sexual attraction for love.

  What is your greatest fear?

  People will not like me and will talk about me.

  What is your greatest accomplishment?

  Telling Aunt Nadine about Uncle Leroy.

  What is the one task that you are least fond of doing?

  Paying bills and handling money.

  If your life ended today, what is the one thing everyone who knows you would say about you?

  She had a great sense of humor.

  What would you want them to say?

  She was a person of good character.

  Why wouldn’t or couldn’t they say what you would want them to say?

  Because they don’t know Iyanla. They only know Rhonda.

  One day, several weeks later, I returned to my office after a brutal morning in court and visiting clients at three different prisons. The office was dark. I flipped the light switch, but the lights did not come on. I tried again. Nothing. I walked to the office next door and asked a colleague if her lights were working. “I think so,” she said. She got up from her desk, where she had been working by the light of her desk lamp, and flipped the light switch. Her lights came right on. I told her I couldn’t get my lights to come on. She returned with me to my office and flipped the switch on and off—twice. The office was still dark. She did it one more time.

  “You’d better get your eyes checked. These lights are on. They work fine.”

  I stood watching her as she left my office. When I sat down in my chair, trying to figure out what was happening, I heard a voice. It was so clear, I turned to see who was standing behind me. Leave this place. Leave now and never come back.

  Gemmia met me at the office late that afternoon so that we could go shopping. When I left, the framed pictures of my children were on the desk, my law degree was hanging on the wall, and I had tea bags and honey in the bottom drawer. I never set foot in that office again.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  What’s the Lesson When You Don’t Love Yourself First?

  It is through hearing—and obeying—the demand to make a life adjustment that the ability to face oneself grows. In fact, many abilities grow along with self-trust … As each correction is made, the bond between self and Self grows stronger, thus giving more power to the voice of Self, more clarity and purpose to the individual life.

  Marsha Sinetar, in Ordinary People as Monks and Mystics

  I HAD BEEN UNEMPLOYED four months before someone told me that I could collect money because I wasn’t working. My employer paid me for two months while I was trying to make up my mind about what I
was going to do. I knew I would have to take the bar exam again, but I also knew that I did not want to practice law. By the time I got to the unemployment office to file for benefits, things were pretty tight, but they were also pretty exciting. I had finished reading all of the books Balé had given me, and probably fifty others. I stopped seeing Adeyemi, and he moved to Atlanta—without his wife. Gemmia had gone off to college. Nisa was making it through high school, and Damon was still chasing his wife around the globe.

  I was making the changes I thought were necessary in order for Iyanla to emerge. Although I still didn’t know what I wanted to do, I didn’t feel lost or idle. I was spending a great deal of time in prayer and meditation, and a great deal of time with Balé. We talked about everything, and he taught me many things about the duties of a priest. I watched how he handled the people who came to him for counseling. Before long, I too had developed a client base, checking everything first with Balé, including what I said and what I advised the clients. I was very careful to do the necessary follow-up. My satisfied clients always recommended me to their friends. My name and reputation spread pretty quickly, which did not make the other priests in the city very happy. I was stealing their business. I was taking people away from them, and they had been in the priesthood much longer than I had.

  One of my clients asked if I would be willing to talk about Yoruba culture on the radio. I was delighted. During the show, I talked about the culture of the people and spiritual philosophy. Most of the callers were interested and receptive. Others were downright angry. They called me a heathen, the “anti-Christ,” and had no problem telling me that I was going to burn in hell. That helped my support base. The host of the show got so many calls, he asked me to be on his show every week. This grew into me sitting in when other hosts were on vacation. Before long I was cohosting a show. The show helped increase my client base, and the clients in turn supported the show. Looking back, I recognize that, thanks to Cody Anderson and the WHAT family in Philadelphia, this was the beginning of my public image and career. Things were moving along great until I lost track of what I was doing.

  Doing spiritual work purely to make money is not a good thing. I am not saying that people who do spiritual work for other people should not get paid, but making money cannot be the only reason you do spiritual work for other people. When the unemployment benefits ended, I was doing spiritual work as a means of supporting myself. This means that I accepted clients not because I loved them or the work, but because I needed to pay the rent. I accepted clients who had all kinds of problems not because I could help them, but because I had a child to feed and a daughter in college. It meant that when I was tired or in a bad mood, when I didn’t have time to pray or meditate, I accepted clients. It also meant that when I had no clients, I would panic because I was focused on the money, not on the work. I panicked because the clients had the power and the control. I did not.

  Whether you are doing spiritual work for the joy or for the money, you must be very careful that people do not make you responsible for running or ruining their lives. I hadn’t learned that lesson yet. Once you do a counseling session with someone, they believe it is no longer necessary to make their own choices and decisions. Some feel they have a right to call you for every little thing. If you are working for money, they can call you. You talk to them because you are afraid that if you don’t, they won’t call back. One woman I counseled was in a very bad relationship. I tried every way I could to tell her that the man she was seeing had other women, and that she should not bank on marrying him. She wanted me to make him marry her.

  “I don’t do that kind of work.”

  “Well, do you know somebody who does?”

  “No. I don’t. Perhaps you should start seeing other people. Perhaps if he thought he was going to lose you, he would take the relationship more seriously.”

  “Well, who should I see?”

  “Oh, I’m sure if you put your mind to it, you will meet somebody.”

  “Can you ask your shells who I should see?”

  “I can only ask a question that can be answered with a yes or no.”

  “Well, can you ask if I’ll meet him at work?” Without thinking, I asked the question. The answer was no.

  “Can you ask if I’ll meet him on the bus?”

  I knew where she was heading, but she was a good client and I didn’t want to upset her. The answer again was no. By the time it was all over, we had asked about the supermarket, the laundromat, the bank, the elevator, and whether or not she should put an ad in the singles paper. When she asked me if she should join a church to meet her intended, the answer was yes. When she asked for the telephone book so that we could figure out what church she should join, I ended the consultation.

  Many people who seek out spiritual consultation have the wrong idea. They think that a spiritual consultant is tantamount to a magician. They want you to make specific body parts bigger, or eliminate particular body parts of others. They want you to make people do things or stop doing things. When you explain to them that you are not equipped to do those things, they ask for a referral to someone who can. Others believe that everything that happens to them has a spiritual meaning and significance in their lives. If you are a spiritual consultant, they expect you to know what the significance is. One male client came to see me because crows kept circling his house. He wanted to know the significance. I had to choke back a laugh when he told me he lived near a cornfield. I suggested that perhaps the crows were just passing by and not looking for his house at all. A few days later, I got another call from him at 7:30 in the morning.

  “Iyanla, I had a very profound experience this morning and I wanted you to help me make sense of it.”

  “Tell me what happened.”

  “When I woke up, there were three pigeons sitting on my windowsill. They were just sitting there, looking in the window at me. I watched them for a few minutes, but they didn’t move or anything. Then, when I got up to walk over to the window, all of them flew away. But it’s not just that they flew away. They flew away one at a time. First the gray one, then the one with the black spots, then the other gray one. What do you think it means?”

  “I think it means you need to clean off your windowsill.”

  “Is there some special spiritual cleaner you can make for me to use?”

  “No, baby, soap, water, and a little bleach is all you need.”

  The purpose of individual spiritual development and spiritual work is empowerment and to remind you of your divine, spiritual identity. Through the power of your spiritual identity, you become conscious of your ability to create life experiences. Spiritual work must be done in service to and recognition of God. God expects us to serve one another. This requires discipline, focus, and knowledge of spiritual law or principle. It also requires purity of intent and heart. When these elements are absent, you are not building a good character. You are not doing spiritual work for the good of the world. You are doing something else that is bound to blow up in your face. I learned this through experience.

  Clients mixed with fans. Fans became students. Students were coming to learn about Yoruba culture. Fans, who thought I was famous because I was on the radio, were asking for my autograph and other favors. I had become a fad. People thought I could and was doing things that I actually knew nothing about. Clients, fans, and students do not mix well. They each want something different from you. People I had no business being around surrounded me. People were beginning to whisper. The other priests heard the whispering and joined in. Clients and students began comparing what I was doing with what they were hearing. The gossip was running rampant. People who were in my home and in my face were talking about me behind my back.

  I was so focused on keeping the rent paid, I didn’t know what was going on.

  Because people are defective does not mean they cannot see your defects. They see your fears, the contradictions, and your weaknesses. When they see them, they judge them. They assume an interpretati
on that may have nothing to do with what is really going on. When you hold yourself out to be a teacher, a healer, a light, people will criticize. It goes with the territory. When you are, as I was, unclear, unfocused, and sensitive to criticism, it will cripple you. You will become defensive. You will eventually say or do something that appears to support what people have judged to be wrong with you. If you react, or try to defend yourself, that’s when they will get you.

  I held a public event aimed at exposing the community to Yoruba culture. It was a free event, not because I could afford to host it, but because I wanted to dispel the rumors that I was taking money from people for other than spiritual reasons. When the other priests heard about the event, they went on the attack. A letter was sent to all priests, warning them not to attend. I was called a series of names, casting doubt on my character and integrity. Some clients and students believed the rumors. Others didn’t care. What could have been a beautiful event turned into a community war between those who believed me and those who believed my critics. Articles were written in the newspaper, people talked about it on the radio. I was defensive and angry and hurt. In the end, over two hundred people attended and thanked me for having the event. But the shadow was cast. The client base dwindled. I was estranged from the other priests in the community, and I had a serious case of self-doubt. I needed to regroup.

  What do you want to do? I wanted to use my spiritual gifts to help people. What are your spiritual gifts? When I am rested and focused, I can hear the voice of Spirit. I can see the presence of Spirit. What do you want to do? I want to use the ability to hear and see Spirit in a way that helps other people. How are you going to do that? I didn’t have a clue.

  I stopped accepting new clients. I kept my students and continued teaching about Yoruba culture. My radio job was paying me, but it wasn’t enough to sustain my household. There were times when Gemmia needed money, and I didn’t have it to send. At times, she would have to walk fifteen blocks to Western Union to pick up twenty-five dollars so that she could buy food. If the electricity was on, the telephone was not. If the telephone was on, the gas was not. If the utilities were all on, we had no food. I was too afraid, too wounded to take on more clients, and my students were watching me. What do you want to do? Right now, I want to eat. What is your greatest strength? Oral communication. What is your greatest weakness? Jumping to conclusions, always expecting the worst. What are you expecting right now? To fail. To fail miserably and have people talk about me. Why? Because I am bad. I don’t matter. I am nothing; I will never be anything good.