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THIS is a time of new beginnings! 

In just 4 weeks, I’m moving to sunny, beautiful San Diego!

Dallas has been my home for 15 years, but it wasn’t the city I chose. I came here because of work … not because it called to my heart. 

But San Diego is my choice! And I’m SO excited. 

I’m going to give you a “virtual” tour of my new condo on the 29th floor. 

As you come in the front door, you immediately get the view in the background through the floor-to-ceiling windows. The mountains are glorious! You can see the water, too.

There is so much open space. It feels so clean, so full of possibility. The floors are all wood, which I love.

There’s a washer and dryer, a closet … the guest room with its own walk-in closet. (I’m already picturing my little sis—my best friend!—here.)

Oh, and the guest bathroom has a soaking tub! #realtalk: I want in already.

Then there’s the kitchen (y’all know I don’t cook, right?). LOL.

One of the things I love most about my new place is the balcony and patio. I’m going to lay some grass down out there so Happy doesn’t have to go down 29 levels to relieve himself. Oh, and from the balcony, you can actually see two dog parks down below. (Happy is HAPPY!)

The master bedroom has floor-to-ceiling windows too, which I just love. There’s a sort of industrial look and feel in there and I love that too! 

So I wanted to share this with you today because you’re my tribe, and you walk with me through my changes. I wanted you to know about this big one. 

But more importantly, I want to give it up to God. 

God did this. ALL of this. Please don’t ever think I did a damn thing. This was not about a goal, or ambition, or willpower, or prayer, even. This is all what God brought me. 

Looking back over the last 13 months, I didn’t always understand His plan. If you follow my blog, then you know we straight up boxed sometimes. But here’s what I know: you’ve got to give it to God. 

You’ve got to let God do God.

The beautiful thing is that, when you tell your truth, when you heal, you create the space to manifest. And when you start to manifest, what starts to arise, what starts to be revealed, is your destiny. 

Healing is the key. And you know I’ve preached this for years, because I LIVE it. 

The emergency hysterectomy knocked me on my ass, no doubt. But I CHOSE to heal. 

As a human being, it’s normal to have doubts. It’s normal to be bone tired when you’re hit with shit … when you face loss. It’s normal to be scared—to want to give up sometimes. It’s easy to say, “Fuck, I don’t want to deal with this no more.” That’s human.

But if you want to be whole, you have to let yourself grieve. If you try to be all positive on top of some bullshit, it will mess you up.

I’ll say it again: I chose to heal. I chose me. 

And choosing me means I tell the truth. 

Yes, I am still sad. I will never have a child, and that still hurts. Healing is a process. 

And God is a big part of that. I believe God broke me. Shook me. Thrashed the fuck out of me. 

All to evolve me.

And on the other side of that, I am blown away by His grace. 

I never would have given myself all of this—this new life. But God is so good. So faithful. 

My God is a gangsta, and I’m His favorite. 

I am SO grateful to Him for giving me beauty for ashes.

I’m starting all over again, and I am genuinely excited about the future. 

I’ve walked through the fire, and now, I breathe it. 

VenusOpal

Well, I did it … I cut my hair! 

And #realtalk: I have not felt this much joy in months!

Finally … finally … 

I have arrived! 

Allow me to reintroduce myself …

I am Venus Opal. Your artist. Your CEO. Your CCO (Chief Creative Officer). 

Your bad ass. 

This transformation of my hair is transforming ME, y’all! I feel like a new person. My confidence is up. I feel ALIVE. I feel happy. And Black as f#ck!

I am the hottest thing up in these streets I walk with Happy! #aintafraidtosayit

My hair is curly. Curly! And I LOVE the cut—it’s mohawky. LOVE how it makes my cheekbones pop. 

But the thing I love the MOST is the color.

It’s so wild! It looks like a flame. And it wasn’t even intentional.

Let me explain—because there’s a lesson in this story, too. 

When I went to get it colored, I didn’t know that I needed to tell the stylist that I had some black color in it. #hidethegreys 

(If you’ve bleached your hair before, then you probably know where this is going …)

When she put on the color, the toner (which is used to calm “the brassiness”) somehow turned my sh^t pink! LOL.

I was not prepared for that. But this stylist was just so good. She didn’t trip. She just said, “No, I’m going to fix it.” And she did. 

And then it got reddish. 

And I f@cking LOVE it.

THIS is who I am—a flaming dragon.

It FITS me now. It came from a “mistake” (that wasn’t a mistake, I know now), but it is actually perfect for ME, in all my imperfection. A perfect match. 

It reminds me every single day that I AM an artist.

And I’m back to the gym. I’ve got a power-fit body and dragon energy!

It’s hard to put this feeling into words, but I feel FREE. Self-expressed. Bold. Daring. Sexy. I feel like a f%cking rockstar!

Maybe I’ll do poetry readings. Maybe I’ll keep writing and writing and writing. Maybe I’ll take on screenplays. Playwriting.

What I know for sure is that I am surrendering to my destiny—embracing and manifesting my purpose. 

I am ready to pour into my artistic self the way I’ve poured into my business self all these years.

I am taking on my dreams!

The sun has finally come out, everyone. 

I’m not crying all day anymore. I’m not mad at anyone.

I’m starting to dream again, believe again, hope again.

I am present with the fact that God is good. God is faithful. God is brilliant. God is just so f!cking cool.

I’m reading a book right now by TD Jakes. It’s called Crush. Hear me when I say “divine timing.” 

Check this out: 

Referring to his new book, Jakes says, “Life has a lot of ways to crush us. And the reason I wrote the book is that in the process of the crushing, there’s always the gift of wine that flows out of it, that you come out of it stronger and in another form.”

A.F*cking.Men!

I finally understand. I finally get it. 

This whole idea of pruning and pressing and crushing as necessary preparation. That it’s required to reach your next level. 

I’m over here like, “Okay God. I get it now.” And it’s so consistent with everything in the Bible. And everything in all the holy books. There’s always some kind of break, some tearing up before you reach your next level.

Change is coming. I can FEEL it. I can hear the whispers again. I can see it. I can tell that God is up to something. 

I don’t know why it took so long, but I get it now.

And out of this realization—this knowing—I wrote something that I want to share with you now. 

VenusOpal is born …
No, she is not a beautiful butterfly.
No, she is not a phoenix rising from the ashes of life.
She’s a f*ckin’ dragon from the streets.
She’s got a serious edge on her.
She’s Black As F*ck.
She wields truth like a weapon.
She’s in love with the most gangsta nigga that ever was and ever could be—God.
She loves her puppy like you love your child.
She’s known for manifesting millions.
She’s switching lanes.
She now manifests miracles.
If you f*ck with her, for real for real, she will teach you how to do both.
She is the way, the truth, and the light to surrendering to your purpose, embracing your destiny, so YOU can live your authentic and abundant life NOW.
Simply put, she’s her father’s daughter.
In street parlance: she’s a bad b&tch.
She has NO RESPECT for respectability. She is spiritually subversive and biblically based.
She is a hot mess on a good day.
She knows she is a street urchin who God anointed and appointed for those of us who have been hurt, crushed, annihilated by life. We wounded ones don’t fit into the boxes we are supposed to. And we need a new way in, a new way to win, to get real with God by being real with ourselves.
VenusOpal—from the streets to Stanford Ph.D to self-made multi-millionaire—had to lose it all to find herself.
Oh yeah, you should know she’s an artist and into cute, kink, and queer.
She’s a CEO…

… and she BREATHES fire.

It’s nice to meet you (again). 

Venus Opal

I’m thinking about straight shaving my head.

Just … skew it. Cut it off.

I am. I am. I am. I am.

Why not?

What would it be like to be totally bald? To just get rid of it? What might it be like to do something as drastic to my hair as the doctors did to my body?

Think about it: as women, we wrap a lot of our identity into our hair. Right? I mean, I LOVE my hair.

But changing it now feels like a natural extension of all of the other transformation that is happening in me.

I’ve done it ALL, y’all. I’ve shaved it before—twice, I think. Maybe three times. Not totally bald, but very close.

I’ve done the perm. Had it straight. I’ve had the blow out. The braids.

I do what Black Women do—whatever the hell we want with our hair!

So this is not about style.

This is not about right or wrong.

I just don’t know who I am anymore, so of course I don’t know how I want to look. I don’t know how I see myself anymore.

When I was about ten (maybe 12), my Momma cut my hair off. I’m not even sure why. But when she did it, amid all of the hate that came out of her mouth, I knew I wasn’t pretty anymore. Without my hair, I was ugly.

That was my truth.

Our hair carries stories. And right now, I don’t know my story.

Here’s what I DO know:

I’m moody as hell. Not regular moody. EXTREME moody.

Sad a lot. Tired a LOT.

And I’m angrier even more. I’m talkin’ rage angry. Zero to 150 in about 10 seconds. Spoiling for a brawl.

I’m lonely.

My hormones are on parade, and I’m all over the place. (You cannot understand the gravity of those words. #realtalk: The doggy daycare that had Happy wasn’t calling me back and I convinced myself—I’m talking for real, for real—that they were taking my puppy. That they had turned him into a drug mule. Or a sex trafficking puppy. Or they were pimping him out for somebody who was dying, and they didn’t want to tell me. Now, you may be laughing, but I am dead serious when I say I got all kinds of twisted about it.)

I find it very difficult to make a decision. I’m indecisive.

I have no direction.

I’m not attached to anything. I surrender.

I just can’t figure out what I want.

I know how to survive. That’s the street in me.

But I don’t even know how to consider what I actually want. I have no practice in that. I can tell you what I DON’T want much quicker.

But my hair … what am I supposed to do with my HAIR?

What if I just let it go?

Sitting in the unknown. That’s where you’ll find me.

Telling my truths.

Venus Opal

I combed my hair today. I know it doesn’t seem like much, but I consider it a small triumph. I mean, my doctor gave me permission to bathe. It’s the little things, right?

I am so tired. My energy is super low.

I’ve been struggling (hard!) with nausea and vomiting, since the procedure. I have no appetite, and I’m losing weight.

But I’m better than yesterday, I think, when I was dealing with cold sweats and desperately trying to get warm. The pain is a little less.

Now, here I am in the middle of the night, unable to sleep, no matter how much I want it.

I am weepy.

But that’s what brings me to my pen, too. Writing helps. It gives me solace.

It’s challenging for me to be so still.  To stay in bed with just my thoughts. (I keep thinking about how I had to cancel everything for 2019 – all my tours and travel plans. It’s so hard, to watch it all go up in smoke.)

It’s hard to not feel disheartened.

And lonely. So, so lonely. (I can’t even describe how much I miss my Happy.)

I turned to my Facebook tribe tonight, to keep me company. I was surprised anyone was awake, but was comforted when people joined me.

I was relieved that they didn’t want anything from me. Because #realtalk—I don’t have anything to give.

No points or tips. No advice or wisdom.

All I have right now are MY truths.

And in the interest of honoring the title of this series—to be real and RAW—I didn’t do the LIVE for you. I did it for me.

Because I don’t like lonely.

That’s what I’m contending with today.

Simple, heart-wrenching loneliness.

And right in the thick of it, I realize … I really don’t know who I am, anymore.

Venus Opal

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