Growing up in Liberia, I was always a precocious child. I had thoughts. I had ideas. And by all means necessary, they were going to be heard, whether you agreed with me or not.
And for that, I earned the title: “Da geh (girl) frisky oh.”
Now, if you’re Liberian, you already know “frisky” can mean a few things depending on who is saying it and how they say it. For some, it was almost affectionate. Oh, she’s a strong-willed child. They would laugh and shake their heads while I carried on with whatever antics I saw fit for the day.
For others, it wasn’t so lighthearted. It meant I challenged what was expected of a child, and particularly a girl. Who was she to have a voice? Better yet, who was she to have an opinion outside of what had already been decided for her?
As you can imagine, that caused some friction. As a mother now, I can look back and admit that sometimes I absolutely deserved that punishment. I was, in fact, frisky. But as a woman, I can also look back and recognize something else:
Sometimes our environments teach us to quiet the very things God placed inside of us for a purpose.
And there has been a lot for me to unlearn.
I was well into my career and already at the management level when I came across an article that stopped me in my tracks. I can’t remember who wrote it or where it was published. I just remember where I was.
I was sitting in my OB-GYN’s office, pregnant with my second son and preparing to make what was arguably the biggest career shift I had made up to that point. The article talked about how some African Americans navigate the workplace differently because of how we were raised. Respect for authority can mean you don’t question. Being grateful that you “made it” can mean you don’t push for the promotion. Instead of speaking up or challenging something, sometimes you absorb it. You take it in.
And mind you, this was pre-George Floyd in the workplace, before so many organizations suddenly started talking publicly about bringing your “whole self” to work.
I had never really thought about what it meant to actually show up as my whole self.
But sitting there, I started thinking about all the environments that shape us long before we ever walk into a workplace. Our homes, communities, schools, churches, cultures and families teach us how to behave, how to respect authority, how to navigate people and, sometimes, how to survive. Much of that shaping is necessary.
But sometimes, mixed in with all those good lessons, we can also learn to make ourselves smaller. We learn to question less, speak a little softer, wait until someone asks for our opinion, or make sure everyone else is comfortable before we take up any space ourselves. Eventually, you can become so good at adjusting yourself to the environment that you don’t even realize you’re doing it.
Over the course of my career, I’ve been in rooms I still can’t believe I was blessed to be in. I’ve been part of U.S. delegations at United Nations meetings. I’ve written speeches for leaders. I’ve helped shape training programs for medical professionals responding to the wars and crises you read about in the news. I’ve advised the UN and the U.S. government.
And through all of that, I still had so much unlearning to do to show up in those rooms fully as me. Because getting into the room and knowing how to occupy it are two very different things.
That article held a mirror up to me, and I realized just how much I had changed to fit into the mold. The frisky geh wasn’t something I wore with pride anymore. She had become someone I tried desperately to tame.
I was so grateful to be in the room that I forgot the One who sent me there. He had not only called me into the room; He had also given me the words, the wisdom and the perspective I needed for that room.
My parents didn’t completely buy into the norm. Disrespect was never an option in our house. Let’s be very clear about that. But their ultimate desire for me was that I would fulfill my purpose and do the will of the Lord. So they found ways to nurture some of that frisky geh.
I was allowed to bring family members to “court” and present my arguments before my parents. My father used our dinner table to teach me how to harness my advocacy. He challenged me to root what I believed not only in faith, but in facts.
I had an older sister who realized I didn’t like to read, so she kept buying me books about things I was actually interested in until eventually I learned to love reading. I had a mother who had a gift for diplomacy, and I had the privilege of watching her use it up close.
And then there was Ms. Angie from church. She was the first person I remember calling me a leader. She saw those characteristics in me before I knew what to call them. She found activities for me, pushed me, and helped me learn how to harness those skills instead of simply trying to make them disappear.
Looking back, I understand the gift in that differently now. The people who nurtured me weren’t trying to remove who I was. They were helping me learn what to do with it. Ultimately, they were the ones who helped me grow into the woman who could fill her space in the room.
There is a difference between refining someone and shrinking them.
Some things in us absolutely need refining. Wisdom matters. Discipline matters. Humility matters. There is a natural growth and maturity that comes with experience and time. Learning when to speak and when to listen matters.
But refinement should prepare you to use what God placed inside of you. It shouldn’t erase it.
So by the time I entered some of those rooms, I knew who I was. More importantly, I knew WHOSE I was.
Even when the people in those rooms didn’t always value me. Sometimes it was, “You don’t fit the culture.” Sometimes it was my “tone.” I was still labeled “aggressive.” Too much of this. Not enough of that.
I would love to tell you none of it stung, that I walked away from every slight completely unscathed. I didn’t. Some things I could shake off. Some had the group text lighting up. And some had me crying on my sister’s lap.
But each one became an opportunity to learn where I really did need to grow and to recognize where growth wasn’t the issue at all. Sometimes the lesson was simply to stand a little firmer and fill up my space unapologetically.
That distinction has taken me years to learn. Not every correction is an attempt to diminish you. But not every request that you make yourself smaller is an invitation to grow either. We have to develop the wisdom to know the difference.
Oh, how I wish I could talk to my 32-year-old self reading that article.
I would tell her:
Girl, stop waiting. You’ve earned your place.
Your voice matters, and sometimes you need to just say the thing.
You don’t have to become a more acceptable version of yourself before you are allowed to contribute.
If I’m honest, I’m still learning in this season. Taking up space isn’t about being the loudest person in the room. It isn’t about refusing correction. And it certainly isn’t about believing every instinct we have must be right simply because it’s ours.
It’s about understanding that God created each of us intentionally. From the time we were in our mothers’ wombs, He had plans for us. He placed gifts within us, allowed certain experiences to shape us and gave us perspectives that come from where we’ve been.
So allow yourself to be refined. Learn. Grow. Listen. Let wise people correct you. But be careful about allowing an environment to convince you that becoming better requires becoming less of who God created you to be.
So it’s okay, you little frisky geh. Keep going.
He who began a good work in you will be faithful to complete it.
This Week's Piece
Turquoise and Cow Horn Statement Earrings — $42
Long, bold, and made to be noticed. Genuine turquoise meets hand-carved refined cow horn in a sculptural drop that does all the work when the rest of your look stays simple.
Origin and Craft: Handcrafted in Kenya using genuine turquoise sourced from the African continent and ethically sourced cow horn. Each horn spear is carved and etched by hand, then paired with a wire-wrapped turquoise stone. Because both materials are natural and each piece is made by hand, every pair has its own character.
Natural variations in turquoise, horn color, grain, and finish are expected and make each pair one of a kind.
1 comment
Beautifully written and well said.
Love It!!!