Dr. Venus Opal Reese

I don’t know how to refer to myself anymore.

#realtalk: I don’t know my name.

Can you imagine?

If you’ve been following me for any length of time, you’re probably used to me starting a Facebook live or online event with something like this:

“Hi, I’m Dr. Venus Opal Reese—your Millionaire Mentor™.”

But I don’t want to call myself “doctor,” anymore.

I don’t feel the need to say, “multi-million-dollar earner,” anymore.

I don’t need the “Black Woman Millionaire” label, anymore. #imsoblackidyblackblackblack

I don’t need people to know I graduated from Stanford with multiple degrees.

None of this is who I am anymore.

But who AM I now?

The problem is, I really don’t know.

And a lot of that “unknowing” revolves around the fact that I don’t know what God wants me to be, anymore. I don’t know what He wants me to do with my life, anymore.

Now, hear me—I do not doubt God. Not ever. I never have. You can’t come up from the streets and doubt God. I’ve lived too much life to ever do that.

I am CLEAR that everything IS in Divine Order.

I just don’t know what He wants from me, anymore.

I don’t know my destiny, anymore.

I honestly don’t know how to be useful, anymore.

In the midst of all of this “unknowing,” I find myself reveling in the smallest, most seemingly insignificant things. Moving my body. Combing my hair. Thinking about Happy.

I woke up this morning and, for the first time in years, I could feel my hip bones.

That may not seem like much … unless you are used to looking and feeling five months pregnant, due to the size of the fibroids in your uterus.

But for me, this was HUGE.

I am watching my body change.

I am now at the weight I was when I was a dancer … and that brings me a very real spark of joy that I’ve been missing for a long time.

It makes me realize that, even as I sit here in emotional upheaval, so full of questions … I am manifesting. What I want comes to me, even when I’m not expecting it.

I am creating a whole new relationship with my body, even while questioning who I am now.

I’m questioning something else, too. I hesitate to share it, because I get how it might sound. But I have to remind myself that right now, I am writing for me—for my own healing. So if you don’t like the way this lands, it’s okay. You don’t have to. You can stop reading.

Here it is:

What if the tumors—and the process of the hysterectomy—was ALWAYS the closest I would ever come to giving birth?

The fibroids didn’t just make me look and feel pregnant, because of their weight and size. They also caused pain that I understand is similar to contractions.

The removal of them from my body was similar to a c-section, as I understand it.

And following the procedure, my hormones are just all over the place … just like when a woman gives birth.

So maybe, just maybe, this was the closest I was ever going to get to feeling life in my body.

And maybe this was all God’s way of helping me have the experience of “being pregnant,” and “giving birth.”

Maybe, ironically, that was part of healing my own wounds. (This “season” of my life coincided perfectly with my choice to get present with the absence of my father—but I’ll save that for its own post.)

So much of this journey is me trying to wrap my head around everything.

Maybe none of this will make an ounce of sense to anyone but me.

That’s okay. I’m comfortable, now, with just BEING with whatever it is I experience and feel.

What I’ve realized recently is that I think I had a secret hope. A secret dream that was hidden even from myself … because I never TRIED to have a baby. It wasn’t something I thought I wanted, consciously.

But now that the option isn’t there, I realize that hopes and dreams can live inside us, undiscovered.

Until it’s too late.

And now that the option is gone—now that the choice has been made for me—I realize I have to give up that quiet hope that I barely even felt before, but that was somehow ignited inside of me, when they took my uterus out of my body.

I grieve the dream, now.

Maybe, when I am able to fully reconnect with my physical body, I’ll find myself again.

Maybe then, I’ll know my new name, and it will match my new identity.

Venus Opal

#realtalk: I don?t know my name.

Can you imagine?

If you?ve been following me for any length of time, you?re probably used to me starting a Facebook live or online event with something like this:

?Hi, I?m Dr. Venus Opal Reese?your Millionaire Mentor?.?

But I don?t want to call myself ?doctor,? anymore.

I don?t feel the need to say, ?multi-million-dollar earner,? anymore.

I don?t need the ?Black Woman Millionaire? label, anymore. #imsoblackidyblackblackblack

I don?t need people to know I graduated from Stanford with multiple degrees.

None of this is who I am anymore.

But who AM I now?

The problem is, I really don?t know.

And a lot of that ?unknowing? revolves around the fact that I don?t know what God wants me to be, anymore. I don?t know what He wants me to do with my life, anymore.

Now, hear me?I do not doubt God. Not ever. I never have. You can?t come up from the streets and doubt God. I?ve lived too much life to ever do that.

I am CLEAR that everything IS in Divine Order.

I just don?t know what He wants from me, anymore.

I don?t know my destiny, anymore.

I honestly don?t know how to be useful, anymore.

In the midst of all of this ?unknowing,? I find myself reveling in the smallest, most seemingly insignificant things. Moving my body. Combing my hair. Thinking about Happy.

I woke up this morning and, for the first time in years, I could feel my hip bones.

That may not seem like much ? unless you are used to looking and feeling five months pregnant, due to the size of the fibroids in your uterus.

But for me, this was HUGE.

I am watching my body change.

I am now at the weight I was when I was a dancer ? and that brings me a very real spark of joy that I?ve been missing for a long time.

It makes me realize that, even as I sit here in emotional upheaval, so full of questions ? I am manifesting. What I want comes to me, even when I?m not expecting it.

I am creating a whole new relationship with my body, even while questioning who I am now.

I?m questioning something else, too. I hesitate to share it, because I get how it might sound. But I have to remind myself that right now, I am writing for me?for my own healing. So if you don?t like the way this lands, it?s okay. You don?t have to. You can stop reading.

Here it is:

What if the tumors?and the process of the hysterectomy?was ALWAYS the closest I would ever come to giving birth?

The fibroids didn?t just make me look and feel pregnant, because of their weight and size. They also caused pain that I understand is similar to contractions.

The removal of them from my body was similar to a c-section, as I understand it.

And following the procedure, my hormones are just all over the place ? just like when a woman gives birth.

So maybe, just maybe, this was the closest I was ever going to get to feeling life in my body.

And maybe this was all God?s way of helping me have the experience of ?being pregnant,? and ?giving birth.?

Maybe, ironically, that was part of healing my own wounds. (This ?season? of my life coincided perfectly with my choice to get present with the absence of my father?but I?ll save that for its own post.)

So much of this journey is me trying to wrap my head around everything.

Maybe none of this will make an ounce of sense to anyone but me.

That?s okay. I?m comfortable, now, with just BEING with whatever it is I experience and feel.

What I?ve realized recently is that I think I had a secret hope. A secret dream that was hidden even from myself ? because I never TRIED to have a baby. It wasn?t something I thought I wanted, consciously.

But now that the option isn?t there, I realize that hopes and dreams can live inside us, undiscovered.

Until it?s too late.

And now that the option is gone?now that the choice has been made for me?I realize I have to give up that quiet hope that I barely even felt before, but that was somehow ignited inside of me, when they took my uterus out of my body.

I grieve the dream, now.

Maybe, when I am able to fully reconnect with my physical body, I?ll find myself again.

Maybe then, I?ll know my new name, and it will match my new identity.

Venus Opal

About a year ago, I prayed:

“God, please get whatever is in my way OUT of the way, so I can truly fulfill my destiny.”

I never thought it would be my marriage.

I never imagined it could be my body.

I NEVER dreamed I’d have to embrace my self-hate.

Let me start over.

Actually, let me start at the beginning—the very beginning.

My conception.

“Thus saith the Lord, thy redeemer, and He that formed thee from the womb, I am the Lord that maketh all things …”

So God gave me to Momma and Daddy.

Momma loved daddy.

Daddy used momma.

Momma became pregnant.

Daddy was proud.

Momma scheduled an abortion.

Daddy threatened momma’s life if she killed me.

Momma went to jail for daddy.

Daddy had a warrant, so he couldn’t come around.

Momma’s love for daddy turned to hate.

Daddy waited for momma’s release.

Momma got out of jail, because I was in her belly.

Daddy came to the hospital—so proud.
Momma said he will NEVER see his daughter.

Daddy tried to reason.

Momma picked up the phone to call in the warrant.

Daddy left.

Daddy left.

Daddy left.

Momma became a sadist—in the name of love.

“I should have flushed you down the toilet when I had the chance,” momma hurled on the regular.

“You ain’t sh$t. Just like your father.”

“You ugly, stupid, and dumb. You should never have been born.”

“I hate you. You make me sick. I can’t stand you. Get the fuck out my sight! You stupid b#tch. Ugly whore. You are good for NOTHING.”

“I dare you to cry! If I see one tear, I’ll beat the sh%t out of you! Go ahead and try me! Cry, b#tch, cry. I dare you.”

“Get on your knees. Apologize, b#tch, for making me hit you. You brought it on your d*mn self.”

“Take off your clothes. Sit in the tub. Turn the hot water on. I don’t want to hear SH%T from you!”

“You are a piece of sh*t. Always have been, always will be.”

“Who the HELL do you think you are??? Give me your money—I’ve been takin care of you all this time; you need to help out around here!”

“Momma loves you,” (wearing a saccharine-sweet smile barely masking malicious intent). “You need to pay the light bill if you want to stay here. At least you are good for something. You need to pay the phone bill next week or get the f$ck out!”

I have known my entire life I should never have been born. I was trained to believe that from the first breath I drew. I was breech, and it was my fault.

That wound—knowing I never should have been born—has haunted me my whole life. It caused me to focus on finding ways to be useful. Paying bills, tending to people who say they love me, self-sacrificing and acquiescing … all so I didn’t get aborted, kicked out, or turned out.

So when I prayed to God about my destiny, EVERY structure, relationship, ideal, belief, and stronghold came tumbling down …

… until all that was left was me.

With all the love my heart can hold…
Dr. Venus