The Prodigal Daughter

Hey Beautiful Souls 😍

Hello and welcome to Scribbled Scripts Start Stories. I hope you’re well.

You see, I have this quirky (perhaps annoying) habit of providing unnecessary background information instead of diving straight into the main point of the story. It’s as if I feel compelled to set the stage with a warm introduction before the actual narrative begins. I realize I don’t have to do this, yet I still find myself doing it. It seems my mind tends to over-explain!

“Yes Aicha, so just get on with it”, snaps my eager enthusiastic self.

Right, so it’s great to have you here and great to be here.

“Oh I’ve already done introductions”, there’s that other inner voice.

Call me the Prodigal Daughter.

That’s where it all began. Well, actually, it didn’t begin there, but I’m going to start there.

A little like the well known parable in the Bible, you know, in the New Testament, Lukes Gospel. Don’t worry if you don’t know it. There’s a whole bunch I didn’t know – until I knew.

The parable of the Prodigal Son can be found in Luke 15: 11-32. For those amongst us who don’t know the story, allow me to enlighten you. Shout me if it resonates.

In the parable of the Prodigal Son there’s a man with two sons.
One day, this man, let’s refer to him as a father with two sons — so, one day, the youngest of the sons asks his father for his share of the estate; essentially his inheritance. Being the good father that he is, he obliges.

“Say less”, he says. “I got you”.

Perhaps not like that, but that’s my attempt to make it modern. So, the dad divides the estate between his two sons. Sounds like the kind of father some of us never had, but that’s a story for another day. Let me keep the main point – THE MAIN POINT!

Whilst the sons inherited generational wealth , I inherited generational trauma. Just my luck.

Is there anyone else?

Now the oldest son, he did right with his inheritance. He put it right into his piggy bank, perhaps invested in stocks and shares. The younger son – he is I, and I am him. Now we, as in he and I, should’ve stayed at home and watched cartoons or something. He took himself, his bags with his inheritance, and spent his money on a wild lifestyle. A little like how Gen Y would get EMA (back in the day) depending on they’re parents income and we’d spend it on everything and nothing at the same time.

For context, the Education Maintenance Allowance (EMA) was a financial aid provided to students living in the UK. We received up to £30 per week, sent to our bank accounts. We don’t get these perks anymore, but it certainly brought joy during its time.

Now, let’s return to the story.

I can only imagine the kind of wild lifestyle this one son had in these biblical times. But he was living his best life – or so I read. Him with his socks and sandals. I get it, though. These days, if you don’t have a pair of sliders and socks or Crocs, are you even living your best life. This son was doing the most. All kinds of #YOLO to not risk #FOMO, if you know – you know. He didn’t know that the fear of missing out was actually the joy of staying in #JOSI

One day there’s a famine. Thought economic crises and recession were just a thing of the 21st century – well, think again. History is repeating itself with new characters. Whether you read the Bible or not, a believer or non-believer, cat, or dog. When I tell you what happened in the Bible in the Old and New Testament is happening in the ‘Now Testament’ believe me. Read your Bible and take notes.

When the famine broke out, the son was out of money. He hadn’t a penny or dime to his name. NISH! ZILCH! Penniless! All spent living wild and free. I personally believe that it was after this our great-great-great-grand parents started to save for a rainy day. This one son taught them all they needed to know.

Just BROKE!

Let me tell you how broke. So broke. it’s no joke. That’s how broke. Now, with no money, the young son famously known as the Prodigal Son is not only broke, but embarrassed and ashamed. Assuming his father will disown him if he returns home. So he doesn’t – he sticks it out for a while.

He goes on to live and work on a hog (pig) pen and is forced to eat pig food. If that isn’t broke, then I don’t know what is. Check this. He realises that even his fathers servants have a better life than him. He hits rock bottom, starving and desperate, and as a last result, he swallows his pride and returns home to be embraced by his father.

To his surprise his father is delighted to have him and welcomes him with open arms. They have a well-deserved feast and celebrate.
And that pretty much sums it up.

Unless there’s something Ive missed.

Whilst that’s the end of the parable its the beginning of my own.

Couple of things:

1. Now, I added a little more narration to the parable and encourage you to read the Bible version.
2. I don’t know about you, but his father embraced him on arrival. My mother would’ve probably cussed me out. As if I hadn’t received enough tough love from stubborn ways.
3. The number of Bible stories that I’ve seen myself in. Yeesh! Im surprised there’s no Gospel or Book of Aicha.

Now it’s the story in the story that just speaks volumes.

The parable significantly mirror’s my own personal experience of losing my way to self-sabotaging choices and finding my way to a new self. In fact it mirrors my late 20s to early 30s perhaps till 31. A woman never shares her age but, let me tell you – TODAY – the girl I was then is not the ‘still in my early 30s woman’ I am today.

Thank you, Jesus.

I was just a girl or at least behaving as one.

Years of ‘prodigal’ ways was enough for me. Life beat me up BIG time. Serious WWE. Now I’m about to tell you all about it in more ways than one. Believe me.

If it wasn’t for TONS of therapy and a truck load of theology I’d still be out in those streets with the Prodigal Son himself.

No matter how far I verge off track (not that I would want to again) there’s hope for a brighter future. First, I had to admit I’m the PROBLEM and the SOLUTION and get my backside home. Now I wasn’t on the streets exactly like the son was. But I wasn’t living right. As it happened, it wasn’t that I had to return home as in physical home but return to self as it were. My SELF My HOME. Plus, surrender to God and His Son Jesus Christ.

I didn’t even know I lost myself. That’s how far gone I was. At the same time, if it wasn’t for losing, SHE/HER, I wouldn’t have found ME (not to be confused with gender identity).

Let’s carve some detail in this picture I’m painting so you know what my life was really like.

Those five or so years of my life, from 27 to 31 or thereabouts, I spent in New Age spiritualism, Psychic Sofa (a psychic reading hotline) was my playground. Oh, and tarot, crystals – you know the jist. I’d either be giving a reading or call them every damn day of the week after the slightest inconvenience. Almost always about a romantic encounter going left field.

“Hi, I’m Rosey pin number 6545. What can I help you with?”

“I’m talking to a guy, Bob, and I want to know if it’s going to work out.”

Well, it didn’t go exactly like that, but it might as well as have. If I had to call Psychic Rosey, then it was already a right off. But you couldn’t tell me anything. I wanted to believe Rosey knew the answer, and she’d help me.

I was truly really, really truly mistaken.

Of course, every psychic told me what I wanted to hear, so I kept going back. I reached an all-time low, and psychics were my addiction.

I found that my deep fears, anxiety, and insecurities were the real problem and something I had to focus on and not whether Mr. A was my person or not. Honestly don’t even ask or get me started. I had bigger fish to fry. I shouldn’t be catching fish [men]. That’s was job for Jesus and His Disciples.

Oh, and on that note, romantic encounters embarrassingly I had one too many. I laugh now, but it’s not funny. It’s horrendous, horrible, and horrific. Now, romantic encounters should not be confused with sexual encounters. Whilst I’m no virgin – SEX is something I would pass up and did pass up for years as my first relationship convinced me I was the problem. I couldn’t reach the peak of the mountain. You know – point O. Turns out I had to learn about my body to tell him what to do with it. I expected from him what I didn’t know. Being that he was older I guess and assumingly more experienced, I thought he would show me a thing or two. Not quite in that department. It’s not his fault, though – let me make that clear.

No blaming or shaming.

If there’s one thing you learn from this, let it be COMMUNICATE.

Communicate your wants, needs, and desires as you deserve them to be met. I struggled with that because I’d communicated so many times before, and they weren’t met, so I gave up communicating. I became mute to my wants, needs, and desires. Things changed years after losing my virginity when a romantic interest asked me what I wanted, and I tripped over my ears but what he had asked me.

So basically, communicate. Especially your sexual needs. No more faking or moans for moaning sake. Whilst I’d like to tell you more let’s save that for another day.

For me, when it comes to romantic encounters, I refer to dating and talking stages. Talking stage after talking stage, the only emoji fitting is eye-roll. Painstakingly disastrous. If you know, you know. Anxiety didn’t help either – that blasted thing!

Then there’s that one romantic encounter. The ultimate romantic encounter. The encounter of all ENCOUNTERS. The one that catapults you into an expedition or odyssey of SELF. SELF discovery, SELF exploration SELF love SELF a-b-c-d-e-f-g. I’m sure you know what I mean. That encounter fucked me right up in ways but also gave me a new sense, meaning and purpose to life. It chose me and I chose it. Circumstance and choice all at the same time.

Stay tuned for that story.

Friends, you know what I’m talking about. That encounter with all the red flags that you threw glitter on so it looked pretty, yep – that one you swore you’d never be in a situation like that but there you are all up in it.

It’s the one that flips you and turns you upside down.

You get my point.

Well, that ‘love’ story taught me REAL LOVE. Self love to God love and all that in-between.

Long story short, like the many before me and those after me, my Prodigal Daughter era = I wasn’t in my right mind.

Let’s not get it twisted, though. There were moments in that season of my life when I stood on business. I started modelling. Landing 12 magazines travelled to Australia for my first shoot and embraced countries like Miami and Tanzania. Although some would say, by some, I mean some family members would say, I was wayward for travelling so far out, and the shoot in Australia was a little more on the mother nature side — if you know what I mean. But look, I was so proud I achieved a lifelong goal. Conquering the corporate ladder was also a goal, dream, and ambition at the time. It was the legacy I swore I wanted to live, lead, and leave. Until I lived it. A young black woman making a name for herself, earning silly money, many don’t make in a lifetime. More money than sense. So anyway, I got to the top of that ladder and rung that victory bell and thought, ‘Is this really life. What’s the actual point of this?’

Years later, I came across an interview with Mike Tyson, conducted by a young-rising female YouTuber. The entire conversation centered around one question: What kind of legacy do you wish to leave behind? The expected response would be something meaningful, profound, or uplifting. However, Tyson’s answer took a different turn. He expressed a perspective on the futility of the question and any presumed answers. He viewed legacy as mere arrogance; ultimately, he argues, “we are all dead and nothing, so why does it matter?”

His viewpoint resonated deeply with me regarding my own preoccupation with climbing the corporate ladder. Tyson’s insights struck a chord, and I found myself aligning with it. Echoed again in the Book of Ecclesiastes – read it if you dare.

So anyway, there was no way over or under my prodigal self. I had to go through it. Go back the way I came through the mud to get to me today. Just like when we’re told to go back the way we came, retrace our steps when we misplace or lose something. I went all the way back – childhood trauma back. Generational BACK. Way back when – back. Like bad parallel parking. You see when you go back and forward, forward and back before you’re in a perfect or near perfect parked position in parallel to the curb. I’d say Im now parallel with the best version of me. High five sisters.

One may say Im in alignment with the highest version of ME. I would say one is right on the money. Since then I’ve spent the recent years slowly finding my way back to myself. I had to go back through it to get out of it. I had to go IN to get OUT.

My wayward ways are now behind me, which led me to spaces and places, situations, and scenarios I had no business in being in. All up in grown folk business doing grown folk things instead of minding my business

“and to make it your ambition to lead a quiet life: You should mind your own business and work with your hands, just as we told you, so that your daily life may win the respect of outsiders and so that you will not be dependent on anybody”.

1 Thessalonians 4:11-12

I didn’t know the Bible back then to be quoting any kind of scripture, verse or wisdom nor any philosophy. Real grown folk would have anchored some kind of wisdom. I anchored something but it wasn’t wisdom. I can’t even tell you what it was. What I can tell you is, I wasn’t ready for any wisdom once upon a time. I consciously (let’s be real now) I consciously made the wrong decision. Today I’ve transformed and not transferred my mess into a message, just for you.

Like me, you may have already experienced your Prodigal Daughter (or Son) story, and it’s no longer a disconcerting part of your life. 
But perhaps you’re in your ‘prodigal’ era – right now. Well, now you know you’re not the only one. Be encouraged to feel, deal, and heal. Be inspired to be better: to reach your full potential, personal transformation, and soul growth. My experiences broke me open. Thrust me into a world of spiritual and personal growth. That’s when I had that go ‘back home’ moment. My ‘prodigal’ equated suffering, hurt, and pain yet ignited an untapped potential and passion in me.

Listen here – most people experience a personal crisis that calls them to surrender and ‘go home’. Whether you lost your way to sex, drugs, addiction, depression or anything else. It really doesn’t matter – know what you need, you already have, and that’s you and your story – anything else is a bonus.

I know this because I found what I need within me.

What happened to me happened for me. A deep sense of PURPOSE, although I wouldn’t have said this at the time. I’m no longer ashamed, guilty, or condemned by my story. Otherwise, I don’t think I’ll be here. Im empowered, inspired, and in my queen energy.

I transformed my life from the inside-out through the power of SELF.

Scribbled Scripts Starts Stories is a unique blend of soulful, self-reflection, packed into a storytelling that will transform YOUR life from the inside-out.

Oh, and that’s me. Repurposing those modelling photos.