Cleaning House - Me at 25

As I am cleaning out rooms in my house preparing to move I find things that I haven’t touched in years.  Tonight I found CDs that I haven’t listened to – Happy Anniversary Charlie Brown (don’t judge me), Barry Manilow (I just asked you not to judge me), Levert, Club Nouveau, New Edition, Troop.  Let’s not talk about the cassette TAPES.  I found a size 6 bathing suit one night and I’ve not worn a size 6 since…hell, I don’t know.  Anyway, I’m laughing my way through it…when I get unstuck and am able to move.  (A story for another day.)

Well, tonight I found an old journal.  I read through it (had only a few entries) and I realized that I haven’t changed a whole lot emotionally.  I wondered if it’s a good thing or bad.  I guess it’s all about how you look at it.  I’m sure I’ll analyze it over and over again (read: overanalyze to death) and still not decide.

I wanted to share what I thought back in 1998 at age 25.

·        What I like to do

o   Read

o   Write

o   Go skating

o   Go to Bell Bottoms (club)

o   Exercise

o   Play on the swings

o   Sing

o   Go out to eat

o   Dance

o   Cook

·        If the job paid enough I would…

o   Teach chemistry

o   Teach aerobics

·        If I had this/these talent(s) I’d think I was the bomb…

o   Singing

o   Writing

·        If I could, I would…

o   Write a book

·        I wish that I was a lot less…

o   Sensitive to what other people thought about me

·        Other people tell me that I am…

o   Very comedic

o   Very sensitive

o   Sometimes the life of the party

·        I really get inspiration from

o   Iyanla Vanzant books

o   Bible

o   Muffin

·        Physically I feel that I have…

o   A lot of room for improvement

·        Emotionally I feel that I have…

o   A lot of room for improvement

·        I feel that I am…

o   A good friend

o   A good person

o   Overly protective of people

o   Always a good supporter

o   A nurturer

o   Very loving

o   In need of love and support

o   Too afraid to ask for what I want for fear of rejection

·        I am afraid of…

o   Dying

o   Rejection

o   Not having kids

o   Dogs

o   Snakes

So, that was me.  I see a lot of 2013 Single Lady in these responses too.  Can’t get into it right now but I’ll give my 2013 answers next.

Until then I’ll keep going thru my shit…physically, emotionally, and mentally.

Role Models

So I’ve been thinking a lot about children.  (You: what’s new?  Me: shut up.)  It’s not about what you think it is.  A girlfriend of mine sent an interview with Harry Belafonte basically ripping today’s Black celebrities for not being activists and great role models in our community, specifically Beyonce and Jay-Z.  My questions:

·        Are they responsible for the plight of the Black community because they have money?

·        Are they MORE responsible than us regular folks because they have MORE money than we have?

·        Why do we give THEM more power over our community than we assume for ourselves?

·        Are they REQUIRED to be role models in our community because they are artists that we support financially?

 

For me, I think it would be NICE if they looked at the community, saw the needs of the community, and tried to fill them, but I don’t think they are RESPONSIBLE just because they have money.  (Maybe because I don’t like anybody to count or spend MY money for me, I don’t like to spend anybody else’s money for them.)  They are singers, dancers, and rappers, not community activists.  They have committed to entertain, not be our role models.  What did Charles Barkley tell us years ago?  “I’m not a phuckin’ role model.”  Be your own kids’ role models because he is not the one.  (Keep it 100 Charles.)

 

I’m feeling like Charles is right.  When I have kids, I want to be their role models.  Me and the people I choose to expose them to.  Sure, they will be exposed to folks I don’t want to influence them, but I want my influence to be so strong that they are not swayed by foolishness.  I want my kids to say

 

“I got my love of science from my mama.” 

“My mama said to treat women the way I want somebody to treat her.”

“There is no other school than Spelman (or Morehouse) for me.”

“My daddy taught me to do computer programming.” 

“My daddy says a real man is a priest, protector, and provider, not a deadbeat so I’m not having a baby when I’m young, dumb, and can’t find a job.”

“My daddy said ‘wrap it up’.”

“My PawPaw taught me how to pray.”

“Auntie Taki got a PhD even after she was married with a child so I can do it too.”

“My aunt Adrienne was an engineer so I want to be one.” 

“Auntie Natasha is taught me how to do beautiful crafts since Mama can’t even glue straight.”

“Auntie Lisa went to business school so I can get my MBA, too.” 

“My aunt Nicole is a lawyer so I can be one too.” 

“Auntie Nic runs 5Ks so I am going to stay fit.” 

“Most of my aunts are Deltas so you know what I’m going to do!” (LOL) 

“My uncle Kenny taught me how to pitch.” 

“My cousin introduced me to the Boy Scouts and now I’m an Eagle Scout.”

“No weapon formed against me shall prosper.”

“I don’t have to take a bunch of BS from anybody.”

“Uncle Nick is a Que but Uncle Maury is an Alpha…so I’m confused.”  (HAHAHAHA)

I do not want my kids to say that Steebie, Karlie Red, or Lil Scrappy from “Love and Hip Hop: Atlanta” (or whoever is on TV at the time) is who they want to be when they grow up.  If they look at Beyonce and think what she does and says as more important than what I and the “village” I have built around them has done and said, I have failed as a mother. 

I’m scared as hell of failing as a mother.  Failing as a wife would be even more devastating (it would impact the husband and the children) but you can work on a marriage.  And it takes 2 for a marriage to work or fail.  Making a mother-child relationship work is all on the mother until the child reaches adulthood, and even then it’s on the mother because the relationship was built from childhood.  Trying to make it any other way puts too much undo and unfair pressure on a child.  I need to get on my knees about this now, before I even get in either role.

 

 

Two Sides of the Same Coin: Hurt Vs. Love

On today’s Strawberry Letter (Steve Harvey), a lady spoke of her hesitation to get involved with a seemingly great gentleman.  You see, she was previously in a verbally, mentally, emotionally, and physically abusively relationship and had a baby by this man.  She got out of the relationship and is currently raising her daughter alone.  The new guy is telling her everything she wants to hear but she feels she is meeting his representative and is nervous because her baby daddy/abuser did and said all the same things but changed as the relationship progressed.  She is afraid of getting hurt again.

Now, it’s easy to say “get over it” and “girl, you have to give this good man a chance”, and, frankly, I want to say it too, but…see, I’ve been there.  No, I’ve never been physically abused (notice I only said physically) but I’ve been hurt.  BAD.  And I’ve been scared to open myself up to anyone else for fear of getting hurt again.  Not just scared…. Standing there with my mouth open looking stupid kind of scared.  Can’t move forward, backward, or to either side kind of scared.  (Please don’t sit there, lie, and say you haven’t been scared, too.  If I can be honest, so can you.)  I’ve even kept dudes at bay that I KNOW I WANTED…and they wanted ME.

You know what the problem is with all this:

You might not get hurt but you definitely won’t get loved.

And who doesn’t want love?  Sure people say they don’t care if they ever get married or have children.  That’s true.  Some people are comfortable being single and child-free.  But I don’t know anybody that doesn’t want to be loved, honored, and cherished.  (Maybe obeyed, too, but you don’t get that without a ring…maybe not even then, especially fooling with women and men who have been handling their own business for a long time.  “You ain’t the boss of me,” says me.)  Everybody wants someone to put them first and to have someone to put first.  Someone to hold their hand in love.  Someone other than their girl to hug (or give them that chest bump and back slap if they are dudes) to congratulate them when they get that promotion they’ve been working on.  Someone to whisper their fears to.  Someone to give “the look” (and you know what comes next…if you don’t, you REALLY need somebody in your life STAT…preferably with a little more experience so they can explain the look and what it means.).

Maybe I’m just romantic.  Maybe I’m stupid.  Who knows?  I put myself out there like a fool for love, risking getting hurt every time.  Marvin Sapp said that everybody is going to hurt you so you just have to find someone who is worth the pain.  Man that SUCKS!  But it is sooooo true.  So effing true.  The one you love the most is the one who can hurt you the most.

So I’m out there again…a fool for love.  Trying to enjoy every day.  Doing my part.  Keeping my expectations reasonable (okay, TRYING to keep my expectations of BOTH of us reasonable).  Fighting fear and paranoia.  Trying to add him without subtracting me.  Holding myself accountable for my behaviors.  Trying to stay honest with myself and with him.  Waiting on enough love to build up so I can fall in without breaking my neck.

There For Me

I have been in my house 15 years this year and I am blessed with some great neighbors that really look out for me.  I try to be a good neighbor to them, too.  (If I hear anything suspect I climb in my tub to peek out of my bathroom window.)  Two weeks ago, the daughter of the family passed away and it was a devastating loss that, even though I was not close to her at all, I felt as well.  Such a young girl.  28 is just too young…

In her program, she had the best pictures of her growing up and of her family.  I was taken aback looking at pictures of her mother.  You see, her mother is now wheelchair-bound and bed-ridden because she has been stricken by MS; she is bent and I’m not sure if she can move on her own.  But on these pictures she is healthy and beautiful…and healthy…and robust…and healthy.  It was amazing to see considering I’ve only seen her in a wheelchair and declining. 

Looking at her, knowing of her condition, makes me wonder sometimes, who would care for me if I ever declined so drastically?  Better question: who would be there if I got sick or was in serious need, period.

Is that something all single people question, or is it just me?  (For some reason, I don’t think it’s just me.)  It’s hard to imagine being alone or to have to count on people who may or may not be available at the time I’d need them.  (Kenny, Mama, and Daddy don’t live here and would have to put their lives on hold to come here and help me.  And they are old and have health issues themselves. Friends have their own families and lives.)  Even asking for help…admitting that I needed help is not easy for me.  Accepting help might even be harder.  My issues, my issues…. When I think like this, I get very sad about my singleness.

Marvin Sapp (my gospel music boyfriend) said in his relationship book (paraphrase): “just because you are single doesn’t mean you are unwanted”.

Hmmm…Really?  Feels like it, sir.  Really feels like it.  Unwanted and uncared for, even.

I realized recently that this is why I was hurt when me and old boy stopped dealing.  I felt wanted.  I felt cared for.  I felt that I would STAY wanted and cared for.  I felt that there would be a constant – not fickle – connection, full of compassion and free from judgment.  And then…POW!   Disconnection.  Devastation.

I felt “if not you, then who?”  Who would want me?  Who would need me?  Who would protect me?  Who would support me?  Who would have my back?  Who would be kind to me?  Who would hold me?  Who would love me?  Who would let me love them?  Fuck it, let’s be honest.  Who would marry me and be the father of my children?  I was lost…completely at a loss, with no answers, with no hope.  I thought I was out of possibility.  I thought I had lost my last and final option.

I would have no one to be there in the sickness as well as the health.  I would have no one that I automatically be there if I needed them, without me having to ask.  That makes me sad.  And scared.

Method of Conception - F U Paul Ryan

Paul Ryan is an idiot.  He’s not the only idiot but he’s a big one.  As we are being bombarded by foolery about rape, incest, conception, and abortion, we get another bit of nonsense from Paul Ryan, the man who may well become the VP of the United States of America.

In an interview (I don’t know who the interview was with but I did hear this with my own two ears), Paul Ryan was asked about abortion.  He stated that he, in fact, was a strong pro-lifer.  Blah, blah, blah.  Interviewer asked if a woman should be required to have the child conceived during a rape and this jackass said something like “rape, or any other method of conception….”  Huh?  ‘Scuze me, sir.  Did you just equate rape with a “method of conception”?  No, really?  Do you think RAPE – a complete mental and physical violation of a woman with long-lasting mental, physical, and emotional impacts – is a “method of conception”? 

Do you REALLY think that RAPE – an act where a woman is taken against her will and forced to perform sexual acts with someone she either does not want to perform these acts with or does not want to perform these acts with at the time – is a “method of conception”? 

Do you SERIOUSLY think that RAPE – where a woman may be beaten, tied up, and gagged, have her body torn from the inside, and that just be her physical scars, for a man to assert his power – is a “method of conception”?

You’ve got to be fucking kidding me if you believe that RAPE – an act where a woman is made to feel powerless, vulnerable, abused, small, unworthy of respect and decency; an act that causes her to question her complicity – did I lead him on? Was my skirt too short? Did I make too much eye contact?  Was I too dismissive? – You believe that THIS act is a “method of conception”?

I’ve never been raped, praise God, but I have enough sense to know that there is nothing “method of conception” about it.  SEX is a “method of conception”.  Preferably loving sex, sex that is intentional in the creation of a life, in conception.  But RAPE is not about SEX.  It is about power.  It is about control.  It is about hatred.  If a rape victim does not get help she becomes infected with the hatred that her attacker carried.

If I wasn’t a Christian woman I would wish that someone would “method of conception” Paul Ryan but karma is a bitch and I have too much going on in my life right now to let more bullshit flow into it because I was acting like the devil.  But I will say this, in some unladylike language: Fuck you Paul Ryan.  Fuck you and your monkey.  Fuck you from every woman that has ever been violated.  Fuck you from every woman that knows a woman that has been violated.  Fuck you from every woman that is vulnerable (that’s all of us, you jackass).  Fuck you from every man that has had to love a violated woman back to mental and emotional health.  Fuck you from every man that has had to suffer the consequences of another man’s crime.  Matter of fact, just fuck you, period.  And the horse you rode in on.

Sex Made Me Ugly

Sex made me ugly.  Really.  It really made me ugly.  How, you might ask?  Well, here is the story.

I have had many droughts in my life.  Times when I haven’t dated anybody, much less slept with anybody.  (Lawd, I’m so glad my daddy doesn’t know I write this blog!)  2010, and maybe even some of 2009, was such a time of remarkable dryness so I decided I would not take birth control pills because of my migraines.  (Estrogen drops cause migraines.)  Well, I met somebody…and I wanted to get a little bit.  So I had to get back on the pill and change my hormonal make-up again.  No big deal, right?  Wrong.

My face broke out so bad I looked like I was 13 again.  My jaw line looked like I had a beard of pimples.  And when the pimples went away (for a minute and a half…because they came back…and back) they left black spots.  Not “hyper pigmentation”. 101 Dalmatian spots.  On my forehead too.  I looked like a damn leopard. 

And then that joker broke up with me.  Left me heartbroken and UGLY as shit. 

This was early 2011 and I’m still fighting with this acne and these fucking leopard spots.

I got a facial a few weeks ago and was informed by the esthetician that our face was basically a map of our body.  The forehead showed what was going on in our bowels.  (If we had acne our bowels were not clear; we were constipated.  There is truth there but I won’t go into my tummy troubles.)  The jaw line and chin showed what was going on with our hormones.  I thought back.  Got dammit!  It was those fucking birth control pills I started taking to get some from my boo in 2010 that caused all these cursed problems.  Made me ugly as shit.  Cost me about $1000 in chemical peels, foundation, concealer, prescriptions, and facial products to try to fix…and I’m still not “fixed”.

So now you know how sex made me ugly.  If I would have said no to giving up the booty I wouldn’t be so ugly or broke.

One Is The Loneliest Number

I’m in a weird place.  I’ve been alone for a long time but right now I am actually lonely.

Isn’t that a sad word?  Lonely is a word that makes me think of someone completely alone, with no one in her life.  Completely alone, with no one to call in good times or bad.  Completely alone, with no one to visit or invite over.  I’m not completely alone but I do sometimes feel like I am imposing when I call unless it is great news, being mindful of family time and children’s bedtimes, or feeling funny when I want to visit but haven’t been invited over.  I feel like I’m in the way and I worry about overstaying my welcome.  (To be fair, that is my own issue because I don’t like it when people come to my house without calling first so I would never do that to anybody else AND I have open invitations to folks’ homes that I most like to visit.  I just don’t exercise the option.)

I feel like I’m the only person without someone in their lives.  Of course that is being dramatic because, although I have no one romantically, I am surrounded by friends and associates.  I want someone in my life romantically and I want a family.  I don’t want to be the odd-man-out.  And I often (more often than not, honestly) feel like the odd-man-out.  Like one of these kids is doing his own thing…and that kid is me.  I feel unattached, that I have to stretch real hard to reach out to touch someone who might be able to grasp my hand in a time when I’m in need of support.  Even those people who are more than willing and able to be there as strong support for me. 

People don’t understand why I don’t like to do long distance relationships but I need access to the man I’m dating.  I need a hand to hold, a chest to lay on, a literal shoulder to lean on, a smile to see…on a random Tuesday.  On a bad day.  On the day I get a promotion.  On the day I have a fight with a friend.  On a day when my legs are on fire from spin class and I need to be rubbed the right way.  (Sorry I just heard a little Johnny Gill this afternoon.)  I needed that hand, chest, shoulder, smile, and rub this week when it was revealed to me that someone I thought was a friend – a good friend – actually wished me GONE from our joint space.  And I feel very vulnerable right now and I need some validation and confirmation that it is okay to feel hurt but that I am okay.

I’m questioning myself in a lot of ways right now.  Questioning my motives for moves that I am considering and things I am avoiding.  Moves like actually picking up and moving from Atlanta…and I’ve been here for most of 21 years…and I’m deathly afraid of change.  Not sure if I want to leave my company because of personal dynamics and the fact that I no longer feel emotionally safe or if I am just ready to make a career change after 14 years.  Not sure if I want to move back to my hometown because at least I will have family around or if I really think it is a place I can be happy and successful and thrive.  I will be the odd-man-out and unattached in a way there too but I can move around enough to avoid being sad…I think…I hope.  At least I know I can trust my family to have my back and I wouldn’t feel funny going to my Daddy’s house when I felt like looking at him.  And I’d be close to Mama…and I have a key to her house so… LOL!!  Have been thinking about adopting a baby but not sure I want to be a single mother.  No, I KNOW I don’t want to be a single mother, but I’m wondering if this is on my mind lately because I want to have someone in my life so I’d no longer be lonely.  Someone that is MINE.  (If that is not selfish I don’t know what is.)

I’m rambling but that is how my mind is going.  Random and rambling.  That’s why I haven’t posted in a while.  My mind is jumbled.  And yes, I have been taking my meds.