Thoughts From My Table

"Ungorgeous?" Not So.

I was cleaning—nothing deep, just tidying up the edges of my day—when a song I’d never heard found its way into the room.
The lyrics were unfamiliar, but the feeling wasn’t.

It echoed with the ache of so many Black women I know.
Women who say it with their eyes,
with their silence,
with the way they shrink in rooms not built for their light.
Women who say it when they scroll,
when they apologize for taking up space,
when they carry beauty like a burden.

I knew it because I’ve felt it too.
That quiet haunting:

“Am I…ungorgeous?”
Not just in body—but in soul. In spirit. In story.

When your laughter feels too loud.
Your dreams too distant.
Your prayers unanswered.
When your existence feels unbeautiful.

But right when the song finished singing my sorrow,
another song entered the room—
and it sang my truth.

I am fearfully and wonderfully made.
(Psalm 139)

Dark am I, yet lovely…
(Song of Songs 1:5)

The words weren’t just lyrics. They were a holy interruption.
A reminder that I am seen in the secret place.
Desired in the sun-darkened places.
Known and cherished.

That even when I say,

“Surely the darkness will hide me…”
God says:
“The night will shine like the day.”

So, to the woman who feels “ungorgeous” today—
May this moment be your interruption too.

May a song find you.
A scripture stir you.
A smile remind you.

Because you are not “too much.”
You are not forgotten.
You are not failing.
You are not fading.

You are woven, not wasted.
Desired, not dismissed.
Dark, and lovely.

And the Most Beautiful One calls you darling.

If you would like to go deeper, click to preview the 7 day Soul Pour devotional

To Be Seen

There are days when I wonder what it really means to be seen.
Not the kind of seeing that notices your outfit or your smile,
but the kind that recognizes your soul —
the quiet ache, the shifting light, the parts of you that words don’t always reach.

Sometimes, I feel like no one truly sees me.
Yes, people see the body standing in front of them.
They see me doing, showing up, leading —
but do they see the me underneath it all?
The one still learning, still healing, still becoming?

If I’m honest, I don’t think I see me all the way either.
At least not in one view.
I feel like a faceted piece of glass — depending on the angle, a different light catches, a new shape appears.
But I’m not sure anymore which reflection is truly me and which one is just what I’ve learned to show.

There are moments when I catch glimpses of myself and hardly recognize her.
Some of that I welcome — because growth always brings change.
But other parts make me pause, wondering where the familiar version of me went.
I find myself hoping for her reappearance — the one who felt lighter, more certain, or maybe just more known.

Lately, I’ve even avoided looking too closely at my reflection.
Not sure if I like what I see — or if it’s just that I don’t know this new person yet.
She’s different.
Her eyes carry both strength and sadness, and sometimes I can’t tell which one is leading.
There’s a distance between who I was and who’s standing here now.

Maybe that’s part of change — losing sight of the version you were comfortable with
before you learn to love the one you’re becoming.

So, for now, I’m standing here — unsure, uncomfortable, but still looking.
Because even if I’m not sure if I like her yet, I owe it to her to see her.

Maybe that’s what transformation looks like —
not instantly loving every version of yourself,
but standing long enough to see her clearly.

To notice her without judgment.
To make peace with the parts that feel foreign.
And to trust that, in time, love will catch up to recognition.

Maybe the mirror isn’t showing me someone lost,
but someone new.
And maybe the work isn’t to search for who I was —
but to welcome who I’m becoming.

When you look at yourself lately, what do you see?
Can you stand long enough to notice — not to fix, not to compare —
but simply to see the woman emerging, even if you’re not sure you like her yet?