Alicia Cook Quotes

I need to stop renaming the decisions I've made as mistakes just because I wish I could take them back.

Your life will never be the same, ever, so you can never be the same, ever. Pain will make you stronger, but it will make you a lot of other things first.

I've read about people who were so sad, they stayed in bed all day. That alone motivated me to want to get up, even if I just moved to the couch. The couch is not the bed.

If you are feeling lost, helpless, down, sad, angry, betrayed, you name it, you can rise from it, you can create from it, you can grow from it. I am living proof the most turbulent year of one’s life could also turn out to be the greatest, more rewarding year, too.

I am going to be the woman you fear. my true self. (Track Twenty-Five Remix)

The strongest people I know have been overtaken by their weaknesses. They know what it’s like to lose control. The strongest people I know have cried in the shower and in their car. They know loss and guilt all too well. The strongest people I know aren’t bulletproof. They have felt the searing pain of life’s shots. The strongest people I know make the decision every day to wake up and place their two feet on the ground even though they know the monsters beneath their bed will grab at their ankles. The strongest people I know are not strong by definition, at all. They are mistake-makers. They are mess-creators. They are survivors.

You always want one more day. You always want one more picture as the old ones begin to fade. You always want that one final hug to have lasted just a tad longer. You always want the fondness of the remember-whens to outnumber the might-have-beens. You want more years, more months, more weeks, more days, more minutes, and more seconds. You want the happily ever after you always thought you deserved, but the only thing actually promised in this life is uncertainty.

No one knows how much she cried last Wednesday because she was quiet about it, and to some, pain is only noticed when it is public, and loud, and obvious.

Just because I don't trust you doesn't mean I have trust issues. Just because I won't commit to you doesn't mean I have commitment issues. Just because I watch what I eat doesn't mean I have body image issues. Just because people have left my life doesn't mean I have abandonment issues. Just because I yearn to grow and evolve doesn't mean I have identity issues. I know exactly who the hell I am. (Track Fourteen)

Reality disturbs some of the same people who plead for authenticity.

You will heal as long as you don't turn around. Ever. Sometimes even a glance into the past can kill you.

If you are lucky enough to have a childhood friend, try your hardest to grow old with them. These friends are a unique, irreplaceable breed. These friends lived through curfews and Polaroid pictures with you. These friends know your parents and siblings because they had to call your house first to speak with you. Your memories are not frozen in time on social media, but live on nonetheless. Most importantly, they remember the person you were before the world got ahold of you, so they have this crazy ability to love you no matter what. They are the living, breathing reflection of where you have been. And so, just when you think you’ve lost yourself for good, they are there to bring you face-to-face with your true self, simply by sharing a cup of coffee with them. As your world grows and becomes larger and more complicated than your backyard, even if you establish a life elsewhere, I hope your childhood friends remain lifelong allies, because mine have saved my life on more than one occasion.

We may sleep together, but my dreams are my own.

It's as though you're not just the love of my life, but the love of all my lifetimes.

self-destruction destroys more than just the individual.

I flip through photo albums and see my likeness in someone I can't manage to recognize anymore, even when I squint

I'm not the one who got away. Late nights and loneliness have built me up in your head...the next time the smell of Chanel fills up a room, and you find yourself reminded of me, try to remember: I never even wore perfume. (Track Thirty-Five)

The first time my heart broke, I thought back to the day in my childhood when a piece of glass went through my finger after an ill-fated cartwheel. I was eleven years old. My mother and I were in our bathroom cleaning up the wound. She dribbled peroxide onto the cut. It fizzed and burned; I winced at the pain. It needs to burn so you know it’s healing, she explained. That small exchange during my adolescence helped me learn to appreciate the pain pulsating from my broken heart. In spite of the severity of my wound, I knew the healing process had already begun.

It’s one thing to have a support system in your life to cheer you on during the instances when everyone is rooting for you. However, it’s another thing entirely to look back in your darkest moments and still see them standing in your corner, encouraging you to stay in the ring and FIGHT, when the odds aren’t in your favor and all you want to do is throw in the towel. Not many people in this life will be on your side even when they aren’t on your side. Even less who momentarily will slam doors out of frustration but never actually lock you out. Unconditional love; the definition of sister.

A picture never fully captures the reasons behind why I want to freeze the moment in the first place.

I was kind to you because I desperately wanted You or the idea of you (Track Forty-Five Remix)

To do better, to be better, to make other things better. My whole damn life is my passion project. You think I have big hair; you should see my dreams.

Imagine the anguish felt by having your very own existence on the tip of your tongue.

Memories are mere echoes of the actual occurrence.

There have been nights I’ve shared a twin bed with him and still couldn’t get close enough. Then there have been nights spent in a king bed where I’ve felt as though his annoying ass was still in my personal space. We e b b and f l o w. But there’s no one else I’d rather crash into every night when the tide hits its inevitable peak.

The strongest people I know make the decision every day to wake up and place their two feet on the ground even though they know the monsters beneath their bed will grab at their ankles. The strongest people I know are not strong by definition, at all.

There are lay ers to loving me. In the beginning, I am quite easy to love. My surface is smooth, my smiles tender. But as time undresses, my insides are revealed to be rough and ragged. It will become awfully difficult to love me. At times, borderline impossible. Many have left; for people would rather see a car accident unfold from afar, than be the shotgun rider. Until you. Only you can see all you see, know all you know about me, and still look at me like this.

There’s stability in the aftermath of instability. There’s beauty in hard transitions.

I tell you, and tell you, and tell you and you never get it. Don’t worry. It’s not your fault . . . I get it.

But we are still here. We are still fucking here.

There's a deep security felt when a simple scent floods me with memories that only a handful of people I love could recognize.

When they ask me how long you've been dead, you die in my head all over again.

To cope is to remember but still rebuild.

I wish I could convince you to forgive the dark and create a home in hope this year.

I'm sorry you miss the person I once was; I promise I miss that person too.

The darkness of being gifted a second chance is that it means something went wrong in the first place.

She was so far gone, even her own shadow kicked her when she was down.

I don’t go to church anymore unless someone is baptized, married, or dead; but I still bless myself whenever I am about to run a red and keep the palm cross tucked in my car above my head.

You can taste sorrow in salt tears and in the bitterness of spoiled words left in your mouth for far too long. You can hear sorrow in a familiar song. You can hide sorrow behind closed doors and inside screams muffled by pillowcases. You can stick to sorrow as if it were gum in your hair; too mangled to brush out, too jarring to chop off. You can see sorrow in bloodshot eyes and shaky hands. You can get lost in sorrow when it knocks your life off course with no detour signs to redirect you. Most importantly, you can be found in sorrow by becoming a different version of yourself, here, on the other side of tragedy.

At some point, sisters began to talk about how unseen they have felt. How the media has focused on men, but it has been them - the sisters - who were there. They were there, in overwhelming numbers, just as they were during the civil rights movement. Women - all women, trans women - are roughly 80% of the people who were staring down the terror of Ferguson, saying “we are the caretakers of this community”. Is it women who are out there, often with their children, calling for an end to police violence, saying “we have a right to raise our children without fear”. But it is not women’s courage that is showcased in the media. One sister says “when the police move in we do not run, we stay. And for this, we deserve recognition”. Their words will live with us, will live in us, as Ferguson begins to unfold and as the national attention begins to really focus on what Alicia, Opal and I have started. The first time there’s coverage of Black Lives Matter in a way that is positive is on the Melissa Harris-Perry show. She does not invite us - it isn’t intentional, I’m certain of that. And about a year later she does, but in this early moment, and despite the overwhelming knowledge of the people on the ground who are talking about what Alicia, Opal and I have done, and despite of it being part of the historical record, that it is always women who do the work even as men get the praise. It takes a long time for us to occur to most reporters and the mainstream. Living in patriarchy means that the default inclination is to center men and their voices, not women and their work. The fact seems ever more exacerbated in our day and age, when presence on twitter, when the number of followers one has, can supplant the everyday and heralded work of those who, by virtue of that work, may not have time to tweet constantly or sharpen and hone their personal brand so that it is an easily sellable commodity. Like the women who organized, strategized, marched, cooked, typed up and did the work to ensure the civil rights movement; women whose names go unspoken, unknown, so too that this dynamic unfolds as the nation began to realize that we were a movement. Opal, Alicia and I never wanted or needed to be the center of anything. We were purposeful about decentralizing our role in the work, but neither did we want, nor deserved, to be erased.

Wanting All Husband, it's fine the way your mind performs Like a circus, sharp As a sword somebody has To swallow, rough as a bear, Complicated as a family of jugglers, Brave as a sequined trapeze Artist, the only boy I ever met Who could beat me in argument Was why I married you, isn't it, And you have beaten me, I've beaten you, We are old polished hands. Or was it your body, I forget, maybe I foresaw the thousands on thousands Of times we have made love Together, mostly meat And potatoes love, but sometimes Higher than wine, Better than medicine. How lately you bite, you baby, How angels record and number Each gesture, and sketch Our spinal columns like professionals. Husband, it's fine how we cook Dinners together while drinking, How we get drunk, how We gossip, work at our desks, dig in the garden, Go to the movies, tell The children to clear the bloody table, How we fit like puzzle pieces. The mind and body satisfy Like windows and furniture in a house. The windows are large, the furniture solid. What more do I want then, why Do I prowl the basement, why Do I reach for your inside Self as you shut it Like a trunkful of treasures? Wait, I cry, as the lid slams on my fingers.

It’s as if I am wearing hand-me-down memories from a life that doesn’t fit quite right. They were a gift, so squeeze into them. I experience that familiar itch of frustration as I struggle to name the girl in the photo. Imagine the anguish felt by having your very own existence on the tip of your tongue.

Sometimes you don’t realize you are h o l d i n g yourself together until you aren’t anymore. Suddenly, you’re not the same person you thought you were j u s t m o m e n t s   before. No. You are not okay. You are not fine. But you will be. When I say, you will be okay, I do not mean you will wake up one day and be the same person you were before the pain. Pain changes a person. But, you will discover a new version of yourself. One who has experienced the great sadness that only follows a great loss. One who knows the value of a good cry. One who knows that even after the coldest of winters, spring will still arrive.

Where from here? Three pint-sized words shouldn’t be able to pose such a fatal and final question, but alas, they do. If you go right, you can’t go left. Even if you backpedal to take the other route just a second later, your fate will already be altered. It’s this or that, never both. It is a hard pill for me to swallow, but I do believe it is in the navigation that you find your way, and inevitably find yourself. Currently

The new normal is rarely an easy adjustment and never truly feels, well, normal. Let’s be honest. Plan B is never preferred. Detours and alternate routes are never quite as scenic. The darkness of being gifted a second chance is that it means something went wrong in the first place. And yet, I would rather have a few speed bumps slow me down, causing me to spill coffee on my dress, than ever hand someone else the keys to my life.

I spend so much time trying to outrun who I once was that I sometimes throw away the notion that there are pieces of me worth salvaging. Like the part of me that always pauses for a sunset. The part that watches fireworks, lips parted in awe. The part that walks the shoreline and collects shells for my mother. The part that tries to catch soapy bubbles on my fingertips. The part that hasn't eaten meat in years, but still thinks of my childhood home whenever I smell bacon.

Spiritual disciplines more easily introduced into daily activities ▪   School calendar formulated to dates that work best for our family’s needs ▪   Free time in our days for relaxation, family fun and bonding (instead of time spent driving from school to school) ▪   Strong parent-child bonds and sibling-to-sibling bonds more easily developed ▪   Removal from negative influences and peer pressure during the early impressionable years ▪   Difficult subjects discussed at the appropriate age for each individual child ▪   Difficult subject matter presented from a biblical worldview and within the context of our strong parent-child bond. ▪   Real world learning incorporated into lesson plans and practiced in daily routines ▪   Field trips and “outside the book” learning available as we see fit What We Hope to Give Our Kids: ▪   A close relationship with Christ and a complete picture of what it means to be a Christ-follower ▪   A strong moral character rooted in biblical integrity, perseverance and humility ▪   A direction and purpose for where God has called them in life ▪   A deep relationship and connection with us, their parents ▪   Rich, ever-growing relationships with their siblings ▪   Real-world knowledge in everything from how to cook and do laundry to how to resolve conflicts and work with those that are “different” from them ▪   A comprehensive, well-rounded education in the traditional school subjects

The strongest people I know have been overtaken by their weaknesses. They know what it’s like to lose control. The strongest people I know have cried in the shower and in their car. They know loss and guilt all too well. The strongest people I know aren’t bulletproof. They have felt the searing pain of life’s shots. The strongest people I know make the decision every day to wake up and place their two feet on the ground even though they know the monsters beneath their bed will grab at their ankles. The strongest people I know are not strong by definition, at all. They are mistake-makers. They are mess-creators. They are survivors.

I carry you with me all of the time, but I feel your absence most on the days when I’m the happiest. Not when I need you here the most, but when I want you here the most. I believe grief is like a shadow. It’s always there, it follows you everywhere you go, but you only see it when the sun is shining on a beautiful day.

This drugstore lipstick is doing a poor job at covering my chapped, bitten lips. My sunglasses are doing their best to hide the dark circles surrounding my light eyes. Would the wind feel this cold today if you were still here? I think back to the last real day we spent together; there was nothing special about it. It was rushed, and I remember the coffee tasting bitter. It’s only special now because it was our last. Though I wish we had traded everlasting last words, we didn’t. And we won’t. However, now when I have a cup of bad coffee, it will taste less bitter and more sweet. I will smile and savor it, like the last real day we shared together.

My brain is a l l o v e r the place. Grief will do that to you. Today I sat in my car in my own driveway for twenty minutes staring blankly at my glove compartment. My mind d r i f t e d   o f f. Grief will do that to you. I found myself wondering why we still call this thing a “glove compartment” when no one keeps driving gloves, or any gloves for that matter, in there anymore. As a society, we are always talking about progression. We are renaming TV stations and street names—but can’t rename this storage box within our cars. Don’t fix what ain’t broken, I guess. Something broke me, and I need to be fixed. Grief will do that to you. What else would we call it? Crumpled tissue holder. Registration and insurance safe. I question everything now, even things that don’t matter. Grief will do that to you.

It’s one thing to have a support system in your life to cheer you on during the instances when everyone is rooting for you. However, it’s another thing entirely to look back in your darkest moments and still see them standing in your corner, encouraging you to stay in the ring and FIGHT, when the odds aren’t in your favor and all you want to do is throw in the towel.

You always want one more day. You always want one more picture as the old ones begin to fade. You always want that one final hug to have lasted just a tad longer. You always want the fondness of the remember-whens to outnumber the might-have-beens. You want more years, more months, more weeks, more days, more minutes, and more seconds. You want the happily ever after you always thought you deserved, but the only thing actually promised in this life is uncertainty.

Sometimes prying your power back from the hands of someone accustomed to abusing your love means breaking your heart one last time. Hurting to heal will be painful at first, but nowhere near the agony of hurting to stay.

My own absence barely fazes me; because the less I post, the more I reveal and the less I scroll, the better I feel.

And if you knew what my mind was like before, you’d get what I meant that gray morning, when I said you were the only one who could make me forget it was pouring.

You tell me you are here if I want to talk. You tell me I better sleep tonight because the bags under my eyes are atrocious. You tell me I better eat and take an iron pill. I don’t push back. I sincerely tell you that I am trying. You believe me, and you believe in me. And that’s the precarious, precious cycle that keeps me going.

It’s as though you’re not just the love of my life, but the love of all my lifetimes. Like we’ve been here before, like we’ll be here again.

I would have missed out on so much. I would have missed out on the person I became since knowing you.

It’s easy to feel out of place lately. Like you’re a day behind everyone else or in the wrong decade altogether. Maybe this is just a symptom of a larger virus. The disease of living through a shitty time.

So overwhelmed by what I need to do that my to-do list goes untouched.

I am constantly caught between being afraid I will always remember and being afraid I'll forget one day.

Because of this, and so much more, I will never settle on simply surviving ever again. I choose to live.

Still, too many I know are hunting down nightmares, pissing away the same time life allots to chase dreams.

Self-destruction destroys more than just the individual.

Most importantly, you know how to pry open the jammed doors so many others confused for locked.

My whole damn life is my passion project.

If I still have the pieces, why wouldn't I keep rebuilding?

The new normal is rarely an easy adjustment and never truely feels, well, normal. Let's be honest. Plan B is never preferred. Detours and alternate routes Are never quite as scenic The darkness of being gifted a second chance Is that it means something went Wrong in the first place. And yet, I would rather have a few speed bumps slow me down, causing me to spill coffee on my dress, than ever hand someone the keys to my life.

You miss me? Tell me. You want me? Tell me. Because I am tired of moonlighting as the person who’s not in love with you. You’re hurting? Tell me. You’re worried? Tell me. Because it’s nice and human to have these things in common.

Sometimes time, try as it might, can't keep it's word and doesn't heal you from what occurred. When they ask me how long you've been dead, you die in my head all over again.

You always want the fondness of the remember-whens to outnumber the might-have-beens (an excerpt from Track Two)

There were things that adults needed to know (that they might pick up in a classroom): how to take notes, how to prepare for a job interview, how to solve problems in a group, how to balance a checkbook, etc. There were also things that adults needed to know (but that they wouldn’t learn in a typical classroom): how to do laundry, how to cook for a dozen people, how to clean a house, how to be a good host, etc. And of course there were the deeper questions of life (that many adults are still trying to figure out): “Who am I?” “What is my purpose?” “Why was I made this way?” Clearly, preparing a child for the real world—in the way she was speaking of—went way

And yet, I would rather have a few speed bumps slow me down, causing me to spill coffee on my dress, than ever hand someone else the keys to my life.

My whole damn life is my passion project.

It's as if I am wearing hand-me-down memories from a life that doesn't fit quite right.

Days in a daze become weeks of being weak. Months become moths that eat holes into my favorite moments.

You can see my growth simply by the fact that I am still standing here, believing that this world is still an inherently good place to laugh, to hurt, love, to lose, to exist.

It’s not easy looking after a child. It’s even harder, I imagine, if you’re an old woman. All that cooking, cleaning, running around. Can you blame her for wanting to switch off for a little while? Who knows,” she muttered, turning back to the mantel, “maybe Grammy is enjoying her little vacation away from you?” Alicia felt like she’d been slapped.