Dear God,
Today was my first day of training—but You already knew that. I just want to thank You for everything.
Thank You for my new friend, Amarya. You know how much I love autistic folks, and here she comes—first thing she says to me: “I’m a little autistic, just so you know.” She’s perfect. I love our height difference. I have to look up to her, and I love a tall girlie—it forces me to stand a little straighter. We look out for each other, too. If I get myself a drink, I get one for her. If she goes to take a nap, I let her know when to come downstairs. If I go to the bathroom, she waits for me so I don’t get left behind. She even comes with me to get coffee, though she doesn’t drink it. People think we came here already knowing each other. Our bond is already that strong.
At lunch, most of the women sat with us. I prayed over my meal, and everyone joined in and said Amen. One of the girls told me she could tell I was religious. I prefer the term faithful, but I took it as a compliment.
When people look at me—I sometimes wonder what runs through their minds. I try not to judge, but I am human. Today, though, I led with discernment. I felt like I belonged, even though my future colleagues are biochemists, former pilots, people who’ve worked for three or four airlines, former Army or naval base brats—and even our instructor worked with the CIA. Everyone here has an extremely high IQ. I don’t feel intimidated—only encouraged to strive for greatness.
I’ll admit, I’m a bit nervous. There are a few know-it-alls here—mostly men. One said, “Just ask me all the answers since I already know them.” Another said he was going back to his hotel to rest because he studied and knows everything by heart. I bet they’ll turn the exams into a competition to see who finishes first. As for me, I don’t care if I’m the last to turn mine in. I just want to do well and pass. Passing requires a 90%. Anything below that is failing—so you can’t even squeak by with a high B.
I also love how You set up my sobriety journey. This job requires no alcohol or drugs—even on days off or vacation. Somehow, I managed to get tipsy one last time before leaving the airport. You knew exactly how to turn my life around—this job. I won’t miss smoking when I’m finally making enough money to cover my expenses. This will be the financial stability I need to truly succeed as an independent artist.
Please protect my health. Three girls in my class are really sick—one of them is Amarya’s roommate. I pray You protect us from illness so we can focus on our studies.
Today everyone wore black slacks, and I was the only one in khakis. I told my dad, and he said, “God is just making sure you stand out. Don’t worry about it. As long as you’re in compliance, you’re fine. By the way, you’re so beautiful—you definitely got your looks from my side of the family.”
My mom also spent over $75 on three white shirts and mailed them to me right away. They shopped immediately and sent them to arrive by Thursday. My parents may not have supported me during college, but they support me now. I feel a little guilty bringing up the past, and I hope it never comes back to bite me—but this is my diary. I’m allowed to speak my truth. Still, these days, honesty can be dangerous.
Just last week in North Hollywood, a woman was axed by her husband after he read about an affair she’d written about in her diary. She was literally chopped to pieces. I remember when my ex read my diary. I never wrote in one again after that—switching only to online journals.
I just got off the phone with Alex—a 23-year-old. I wonder what it says about me that I often relate more to younger people. It amazes me how mature some of them are. At 23, I was doing the opposite—having Shervy chase Lindsay Lohan in her car for fun until her mom pulled up and asked us to stop (true story). I was doing all kinds of drugs, stuck on a floor, watching Shemar Moore have sex with two blondes just feet away because I couldn’t move.
At 23, I was lost. And here’s Alex—my colleague—mature, focused, already securing the same job my 41-year-old self is just now beginning. There are older folks here, too—but they’ve already lived full lives: worked for multiple airlines, have families & spouses. No one knows my age yet, though I’ve already been asked three times on my first day.
“Girl, embrace your age,” says the 43-year-old with three kids. Nah—I’d rather keep them guessing. I don’t want to be judged by my mannerisms or maturity. Funny enough, when I told her I was closer to her age, she believed me. Maybe she senses my maturity.
People say I look young, but I speak my age. No one ever says I sound twenty. Not that I care what people think (ha—You know that was a lie), but I do want to be seen as mature.
It’s 12:25 a.m.—or 0025 in military time. We have to know military time tomorrow, along with all these abbreviations. Please help me. I need a miracle because I’m choosing sleep over studying. I need at least seven hours of rest.
Father, thank You for all these blessings: meeting Grammy-winning producers, having the McKinneys as my vocal coaches, meeting Irock, developing my talent over the years, helping me confront my addiction, and guiding me into this new life—traveling the world as a flight attendant while becoming a known singer and actress. Thank You for leading me toward the lifelong friendships I’ve always wanted.
I realize that many of my friendships over the last 15 years were centered around people who wanted more from me. I never really had a genuine friend. Clark is different—he truly just wants to be my friend. Paul was like that, too, before he got a girlfriend. Now I finally get to be a girl’s girl—to meet like-minded women who genuinely want to see me win, and whom I want to see win too. Please guide me to the right women—hopefully lifelong friends. And please make them stop asking my age and just accept my friendship.
Thank You for the family You gave me—the right one to help me learn and grow. We are far from perfect, but how else would I evolve without struggle? Some family members taught me that not everyone wants to see you succeed. Some friends taught me they only like you at certain levels. You’re giving me wisdom and discernment. My difficulties are opportunities for growth. Please let me not bear more than I can handle—I want to forever rest in the palm of Your mighty hands. Guide me, mold me, lift me up.
For anyone reading this, let them feel a peace that surpasses all understanding. Give them healing and restoration. Hold them in Your loving arms so they can feel Your presence. I didn’t always pray. I didn’t always believe. I often saw no hope. Yet You were endlessly patient with me.
Let my life never become a burden. Let me never be competitive or inauthentic. Let me never buy streams, awards, or chase trends that don’t matter. Let my fans be real. Let me perform for stadiums full of people who truly love the music. Protect me from being taken advantage of. Surround me with good people. And above all, let me enjoy my life.
Thank You for everything. I love You.
Amen.
Loading comments...