I came home from work, wrestled out of my clothes and into a hot shower. This is my normal routine.
Before I could fully unwind, I stretched into my nightie and got a text. It was important. As a writer you can always tell by the words used.
They wanted to know when I’d be free to sit down and talk in person.
SIGH...
An “in person” talk, eh? Cajoling me with an offer of food... yikes- this must be serious.
I implored them to call me, there is no hunger with “invitations” like this. Only unnecessarily, unnerving anxiety.
Just call me- and say what you gotta say.
Without going too far in depth with what that convo was about it was a big announcement. One that definitely warranted sitting me down, and I appreciated how respectfully they approached me but now I had to grapple with the news over the phone.
The conversation was heavy but we carried it. I offered my sagest advice. I tried to sound calm and wise and happy and cheerful and then I hung up the phone with a classy yet classic “Everything will be fine- don’t worry.” And of course, an “I love you” for good measure.
Then I sat with the news all by myself.
I sat with it because it wasn’t my news to share (yet). Because it’s technically not MY business- really. But it effects me undoubtedly.
I sat there thinking about how everything changes and how we must all adapt and about how much I wish I had someone to talk to about it. And how I really need a fucking “person”.
You know what I mean?
The first person you want to share your news with. The first person you want to call to tell them about your day? The person that always answers your call on the first try (maybe not the first ring) but you know they are “there”.
Who is your person?
Is it your spouse? Or your mother? Or your best friend?
Is it your lover who listens well or an almost stranger who pretends to listen.
Is your “person” the person you use for everything?
Cause I’ve been trying to make my “person” out of people— but with limited success.
Your person has got to be a safe space.
Someone who knows that the conversation ain’t for everybody and someone who is going to offer you kindness, and empathy and patience and wisdom. Or at best, three out of four.
I don’t want multiple people to be my person. I just want one person. One.
When I got that call tonight. I realized I was that person’s person in that moment. I had to listen and not panic and be strong and secure enough to quell their insecurities but I also had to get off that phone and search my mind to find someone to be my person too.
Who could I share this with? Who could I trust to just listen to me? Who was going to be able to say just enough or listen loud enough to me, for me to not feel so all alone in what I was dealing with?
With all these people in the world... why can’t I find MY person?
How come some people have so many people?!
And how many people does it take to make one “person”?
If your person is just one person— do you know how lucky you are?
If you have multiple people you can categorize as your person— do you know how incredibly lucky you are?
Sure I’ve got people. But I don’t have that one person.
And I don’t feel like I’m asking a lot, cause I only need one.
I ultimately called a friend of over 20 years tonight to be my “person” but he’s not MY person.
He’s a great person overall but he ain’t the one.
Neither are the people I chat with all day. The niggas in my DMs. Or the people I see...
I’ve tried to make people into my person, but that shit is hard work and a lot of wasted energy that I simply don’t have time for.
It’s so much deeper than all of these words but it just hit me.
And I started thinking about how I don’t have a “person” and that sucks...
And I don’t want to have to use multiple people to be my “person”.
And I’m sure I’m not alone...
As cathartic as writing has always been for me, I grew fatigued by writing about bleak subject matter.
I staved off writing for as long as I could.
Today however, I felt this immense craving, it was time for me to say something.
I’ve been grappling with how to admit this, finding the right words to convey to the right “audience” of people who would be compassionate and nonjudgmental enough to understand, trying to come to terms with how in depth I wanted to go here with this subject matter altogether, because it is so personal to me. Because it is something, I’ve worked so hard to not have to acknowledge, and because I find most people really don’t “understand”.
Depression is not for everyone.
The Depression discussion isn’t for your casual acquaintances. Its not for your Facebook statuses. It’s not a conversation you want to have with your co-workers or your boss or your family or even your “closest” friends. It’s not an ice breaker. And It’s not how you reveal yourself charmingly in the early phases of a budding new relationship.
It’s not a dialogue you want to start when you’re unsure of how others are going to react. It’s not an exchange you want to engage in when you are anxiously terrified about what is happening to you but still polite enough to not want to worry anyone else around you.
I didn’t want to be babied. I didn’t want to be hospitalized. I didn’t want people to be afraid of me or worse- abandon me completely. There were times when I was scared for my life because I felt so hopeless. But in the next second, I would know, that I didn’t want to acknowledge that idea in any real way because once I did, I would be labeled and stigmatized.
ESPECIALLY WITHIN THE BLACK COMMUNITY.
And So, I isolated myself. It was time for me to put together a plan of action to save my own life. I reached out to my FB community very vaguely asking for help with finding a good (and affordable) therapist.
That was the easiest part of the last few months of my life. The QUEST that began to find a quality, licensed therapist inside of my network of shitty insurance who was taking new patients and wasn’t demanding all sorts of other large exorbitant payments from me on top of my copay was exhausting.
You’d think with all these health and mental wellness experts abound, that it would be easier-but it wasn’t. I am fortunate enough to have a decent paying job, and since I don’t directly benefit from any magical government subsidies, it seemed like it was harder to find adequate resources.
I was... NO, I am mentally ill. But since I haven’t had a complete mental breakdown, or done something so drastically dangerous to myself or someone else, I was... and am NOT considered- a high priority case.
I am a perfectly functioning adult, dying inside, right here in plain sight.
Truth is, I couldn’t afford a “mental breakdown” even if I tried. Although, a full on “mental breakdown” does sound glorious...
A few days locked up in a hospital, resting, highly medicated and regularly monitored actually sounds fucking delightful!
But I had life here, my beautiful 10 year old daughter, my bills and my commitment to my daily obligations to consider. If I stopped working, EVERYTHING in my life would stop working. That desperate realization alone was enough to keep going.
My pride and my misanthropic attitude made it difficult for me to find people “close” enough to talk to. It’s hard for me (personally) to ask for help. I understand everyone is busy, EVERYONE IS COPING. I’m an empath, so I already know this about other people and understand it well. I never want to be a burden to anyone. When you’re in the depths of a depression, like I was (I’m slowly coming out of it now) I wasn’t sure if I was really hitting bottom enough that I needed help. I just knew I was exhausted all the time, that my heart is completely broken and that I felt so stagnant that I just couldn’t figure out a good reason to go on.
I was so desperate. Something had to change, something had to stop, and it needed to happen quickly.
I couldn’t be fake about it anymore.
Couldn’t be preoccupied by a social life because I wasn’t living. I didn’t (still don’t) want to go out. I don’t want to be seen or social. And I didn’t want to let anyone in.
People say they are “always there” if you need them but they’re not. Especially when “there” is a dank, dark place that’s not particularly positive a majority of the time. So naturally, “Friendships” imploded.
Relationshits (not a typo) never existed to begin with.
I would get text messages occasionally that I couldn’t answer. I literally just could not (be bothered to) answer.
Some check-ins weren’t personal enough to tell them the truth.
Some were too personal to go into depth with.
If I tell you, I’m not doing too well and you press further (as a good friend would) how could I dance my way around delving deeper without offending you?
What about when I tell you and your response is as vague and generally unsupportive as some that I received...
I was at a complete standstill.
I didn’t and still don’t want prayers or positive mantras, suggestions on books to read, meditations to try. And Thank you!
But NO.
I needed definitive plans of action and new strategies to attack this and NO ONE could give me that but me.
Isolation is NOT good but I needed to be truly alone with myself. Not distracting myself with nonsense or nonsense people and not self medicating.
I thank God that I wasn’t truly suicidal, although some days, I wasn’t sure. For as hopeless as I felt, I was able to keep my wits about me for the most part, I was resilient enough to focus on getting into some sort of therapy and committing myself whole soul and heartedly to getting well.
My first few sessions with my therapist felt a bit pointless. I’d just sit here and talk and talk and talk. She’d say something wise, I’d cry like a blubbering lunatic and then she’d send me on my way.
My therapist was also adamant about me going to a psychiatrist and getting on medication. I was resisting because I didn’t want to admit that I needed antidepressants to be well and I also didn’t want to have to go back out on another QUEST to find another doctor in my network of shitty insurance who was taking on new patients and wasn’t going to charge me violent rates of $250-$350 an hour for a consultation.
Finding a psychiatrist in my network of shitty insurance took me another month and a half, which had me going to therapy wondering if it was ever going to work because I needed the 2 for 1 service to begin to feel relief.
I was suffering through insomnia every night. That tremendous pressure on my chest of wanting to cry but not being able to. Of wanting to breathe but not being able to, of wanting to STOP crying but not being able to.
Because I wasn’t sleeping, I’d be a zombie most of the day. So, I sleep whenever I can, and sometimes sleep comes when I should be the most present.
I’m checked out emotionally, mentally, physically and I hate everyone. Exhausted by frustration. When I tell my therapist I’m so tired, she always chastises me.
“You’re not “tired”- YOU’RE DEPRESSED.”
She tells me, I have to own it, not hide it.
And therefore, I am...
Although, I’m still not ready to “talk” about it. It’s become evident to me that I have to honor myself and my gift of writing by actually WRITING about it.
Writing and journaling is actually a part of my prescribed homework, even though I had sworn off writing about anything until I had found something happy or positive to talk about. Here I am—writing.
Writing from the deep beyond, the depths of heartbreak, in the midst of a self imposed Cold War. Little to no communication with the outside world. Rarely engaging with ANYONE, and releasing any guilt or shame I felt about not being social.
I hardly go on social media anymore, because it’s wildly triggering for me. I’ve blocked any relatively toxic person who could contact me. I live in an innocuous bubble of my personal daily routine.
What’s most peculiar is the randomness of the people who do reach out to me. Folks I don’t actually know, who DM’d me- “to check on me”. Those who still check in, no matter how sporadically I respond. Those truly understanding few who have left me alone completely and those who don’t AT ALL.
The longing in my heart for those I wish cared, the amount of time it’s taking me to sync the intellectual realities with my emotional fantasies or is it my intellectual fantasies with my emotional realities- at any rate- it fucking hurts knowing I’ve chosen- against my best self interest to care for people who do not care about me. And every so often, I get mad at myself for still even thinking about that fact.
There are things about myself and how I love and how I cope- that I am learning for the first time. There are new ways that I am learning how to love myself and understand myself for the first time as well. I’ve been on the precipice of all this before- but each time I discover how childhood traumas relate to present day wounds- and how they show up in my behaviors and I’m astounded in a new way.
I am reluctantly sharing all this because our people don’t talk about depression in the present tense. Most talk about it as if it’s something they’ve miraculously conquered but never as something they miraculously endure.
Depression may come to some in phases but it isn’t just a phase, and it’s okay to be depressed as long as you don’t give up completely. As long as you are seeking to find a way to conquer it, and not pretending your Cold War is over.
My writing is never about the transgressions of the other person. But more so about what I learned about myself from our exchange.
I do not wish to vilify anyone, and I am not a “victim”. What I hope you gain from reading this story and from the transparency here is about accountability, growth and self-awareness.
I could’ve ignored dude when he began following me again months later out of nowhere. I could’ve blocked him or cursed him out but that is not where my heart was at that time.
The truth is, I was happy he returned. I was hurt by the way things had transpired. I felt like we had unfinished business, I felt like this was a great opportunity to exercise forgiveness and to grow out of an uncomfortable situation.
Too many times we balk and run when we are presented with situations that are less than ideal. In today’s world, we ghost, cutting off people for the slightest disagreement or offense, forgoing the possibilities to challenge ourselves and others to learn something from the discomfort.
Dude (unbeknownst to him) had made me face a lot of insecurities, which I’d normally hide. Whether it was “right” or “wrong”, I wanted a better understanding of why he had affected me so much.
I had spent months, talking with a friend who had ghosted on a guy she liked too much, because liking him (and realizing he didn’t like her as much) dredged up all sorts of unresolved issues with rejection for her and I related so much.
We became sisters in our misery. Beating ourselves up for liking people who didn’t “like” us, reminding us both of childhood traumas and our fears of abandonment and rejection and hating ourselves for not accepting the truth as plainly as it appeared.
These guys were just not that into us. It didn’t mean there was something wrong with us, or them for that matter, it just meant that they liked what they liked and we were not it.
But for me, it was deeper because, I had never been curved before. What a new (ego crushing) phenomenon this was!
I was good enough to talk to all day.
Good enough to listen to his problems.
Good enough to confide in.
Good enough to trust my advice.
But somehow not good enough to be “valued”, I’m still not sure how that works. But I was looking for validation in something that in and of itself wasn’t even valid.
Dude would comment on how “strong and opinionated” I was and how much he admired that, but on social media however he was worshiping old girl for being “soft and supple, and kind and patient and generous and nurturing”; claiming that in today’s world, with “today’s independent women” these qualities were “rare”.
Did I need to be more submissive? More domesticated?
Was I not soft enough, because I was “strong” and had opinions?
Was I not generous and nurturing because I wasn’t willing to be utilized by a person who seemed perfectly fine with not reciprocating any of the energy I poured into him?
Did that make me a bad person?
I was a “strong, independent woman”. But somehow it felt like a troublesome negative. Why this concept is given such a negative connotation is beyond me?
Let’s end this myth, shall we?
Being an independent woman doesn’t mean you don’t want a man. It means you can function INDEPENDENT OF ONE.
But I know now that when men comment on my strength, it reveals more about them than it could ever infer about me. I listen differently to their remarks, I no longer hear: “That’s what wrong with you!”
Now it translates into: “that’s what’s wrong with THEM.”
My independence; my strength, my opinions, are not weapons formed to use against men. They are important tools for my survival. I now listen for the difference between men who comment on it with an understanding rather than those who comment on it because they feel threatened by it.
I promise you, if you are a man and you are reading this, and you think I am too independent, I’ll gladly relinquish my independence as soon as I meet a dependable man.
I don’t know of too many women who wouldn’t trade their independence or at the very least modify it considerably to make space for a strong, consistent, decisive and mature man.
Nor do I know many women who want to be an emotional support system for a man who never even acknowledges the job they’re doing. Let alone offers no reward to them of reciprocity. This was to be my biggest beef with dude.
I had spent months yearning for closure. Replaying events in my mind. Wishing I had pulled him to the side at that party and gave him a piece of my mind. Sometimes wishing, I cursed him out that day in a huge scene.
He had blocked me on social media so it had never dawned on me to send him a message throughout that time. I wasn’t allowing myself to grieve properly about it and I also had no recourse to avenge my bruised ego.
It was like having a funeral for someone who is *technically* still alive.
I was like a gun, jammed up with these emotions and had no means or way to fire. I didn’t want to write about it here. I barely wanted to address it (when I did) on my podcasts, but for transparency’s sake, I tried my best to make light of it.
The truth is he left me, but I never left him. I still dreamed about him. Prayed for him, hoped he was figuring out the various things in his life he was still working through. I’d still read through our old messages. I still thought of him often. I just pretended to be over it, but the power of thoughts and what we focus on proved to be a miraculous thing when he followed me again that day out of the blue.
I knew I had manifested that, I knew what I knew all along, which was that I had left an indelible impression on him, whether he understood it or not.
That was the magic of me....
When he came back to be my “friend”, I had reservations but I also wanted the reconciliation more than he could know. Imagine having an opportunity to be with the person you wanted most of all? Imagine how exciting that would be?
I had the opportunity to rewrite history and change the narrative. I wasn’t the victim of anyone. I chose to be in this position.
But this time, I had ground rules. I was going to be open and honest, with him and with myself. I didn’t want it to feel forced but I also wanted him to understand that I was being deliberate.
I was there because I cared for him and I wasn’t going to allow him an out. He couldn’t pretend to not “understand” like he had done previously. And at first, we got to enjoy a level of intimacy that was even more than I had hoped for.
I felt close to him, I got to be vulnerable and honest and even romantic. For a while, I trusted him completely. I trusted that he knew not to play with me again; I trusted that he appreciated me, and what it took for me to allow him to “befriend” me again.
For a while our arrangement worked fine. It was sweet and endearing. We had camaraderie. I felt relaxed and genuine. My heart swelled. This wasn’t the drama and torment of Teacher.
I trusted this guy (and that was a beautiful feeling, that I’m SO grateful I got to experience for once!). I spoke up for myself, I told him what I needed and he did his best to accommodate me. I trusted that he would recognize and acknowledge my energy and effort. We kept a good pace for a while. Seeing each other regularly, talking everyday, we grew to be consistent. We were grateful to have each other and had created a safe-space but I secretly wondered why he came back (all of a sudden- seemingly out of nowhere).
I started to feel insecure, because this was the same person who had completely marginalized by efforts before. I cared for him in much of the same ways from the start and he had audaciously downplayed our connection as mere “general conversation”, so I began to desperately need “reassurance”.
My intuition told me, his return wasn’t purely because he missed me. I began to get the sinking feeling that I was there to nurse HIS bruised ego as I was just a rebound...
He was in an uncomfortable transition period personally and needed someone to lean on, while he licked his wounds, still carrying torches for old girl, wanting to keep his options open in case she decided to give him another shot. He couldn’t be honest about that to me though, no matter how close and honest we had been with each other. He wasn’t really fully “prepared” to be there to pay attention to my wounds, no matter how hard I tried.
I began to feel the imbalance, because I was falling in love with the idea of him. I was finally happy to have a nice guy (That I liked) be nice to me. But that’s it, he was nice and “nice” should be the basics, it doesn’t make any man “the one”.
He was paying attention to me, because paying attention to me benefited him, but he wasn’t overly affectionate, or particularly romantic. I didn’t feel like he really cherished me at all.
Here was a guy who touted the concepts of loyalty and family and being there for his “friends” yet when I needed him in any capacity, even with all that I was doing and would do when called upon, he could never prioritize me in quite the same way.
And I wasn’t expecting him to be my man. I just wanted him to be what I was willing to be for him. I wanted reassurance that he actually liked ME, and not the things I did for him.
As much as I liked him and enjoyed what we had, I couldn’t get past the fact that I was potentially setting myself up for yet another one-sided relationship. And even after I expressed my fears and asked for the reassurance I needed to continue, he couldn’t give it to me.
Instead over time, he reverted back to emotional unavailability, apparently too afraid of just saying outright, that he couldn’t meet me where I needed him most.
Too many men expect/accept the love and dedication that we offer them and offer nothing but excuses in return for why they don’t show up for us emotionally.
Emotional unavailability is NOT okay, and I understand that many PEOPLE are not as emotionally intelligent as I am. But I often see so many sisters doing the emotional introspective self work required to grow, and I see so many of us working on self improvement to be better as well for our families. It’s because we’ve been socialized to believe the emotional labor part is OUR job.
But if we are doing this hard labor, who is laboring for us? The same world that is mentally and physically draining our men is tearing us apart as well. There are times when I feel as though the weight of the entire solar system is resting squarely on my shoulders, and yet I still show up others because, there isn’t a foreseeable option-to me, not to do so.
I’m constantly met with men my age, who are in immense emotional turmoil, emotionally immature and stunted and happy to “lean” on me but reluctant to even inquire about the sturdiness of my own emotional support system. They don’t want to do the introspective self work required, instead they just proclaim, “this is they way they are- because they don’t know better” and that’s supposed to be okay. Its not. We have to be equally yoked.
Intimacy is necessary for us all. Intimacy is vital. As is empathy and love. As is reciprocity (for me), I was there for him, and watched patiently while he was there for his peoples, but it felt like me expecting him to be there for me, was me being unreasonable.
And with that, I realized, it was him or me. I wasn’t going to be there for anyone in any way who wasn’t going to show up for me. I knew that I deserved better than to be stashed away and only pulled out and put to use when a nigga needed me, then left to fend for myself any other time.
That was just not fair, so with that I walked away. Feeling torn as fuck but grateful for the time we spent together. Thankful for the growth I experienced and thankful for the lessons and reassurance I ultimately provided myself.
I know my worth now. I know that I deserve to be poured into with the same passion as I give to those I love. I value my time and energy more now than ever. I value my peace. I realized that I deserve the world by way of passionate and soul shaking love, whether I am a strong and opinionated woman or a soft and supple one. There are no unlovable parts of me, everything about me is fire, and worth the challenge and the worth the effort.
I will always care for that guy. I will always appreciate what I learned from our exchange. Because of all of that, I learned to validate myself and to trust that I was not asking for too much by expecting to receive what I was willingly offering.
The fact is, I haven’t felt like writing in a long time. I got to a point where I just decided I didn’t want to share as much as I used to. I realized that every one who is watching isn’t rooting for me, isn’t cheering for my success and isn’t compassionate enough to respect my openness.
I stopped writing because I realized that I am a creator, and I didn’t want to write anymore-sad ass stories about awkward encounters or heartbreaking betrayals. I didn’t and still don’t want to be a poster child for all that. I wanted to take a moment to change my narrative.
I guess to Mr. Miller’s point, I was embarrassed. So, I made a pact with myself. I had essentially sworn off writing. I wasn’t going to write any more stories until I had happy stories to write. Stories of how I found the dream job or the dream mate. Stories of triumph, that would lend hope to other people who have ever related to something they saw me post somewhere.
The quintessential… “Don’t give up hope girl, I was once like you” story arch has failed me, however.
I’m just not there yet. All I can muster is a bittersweet, exasperating “sis”.
As in “sis…try not to give up”
Or “sis… I keep hearing it gets better”
Or “sis…I don’t know, what can I really tell you”
These responses don’t reflect negativity or positivity, but they do reflect a very harsh reality.
The fact that is, if you are going to be out here trying to date, for purpose, for preference or pleasure or for sport- you have to know that it’s not all going to be pretty and you are not always going to get a happy ending.
I’ve been carrying this long story around for more than a year. A story that I wasn’t completely willing to share because for one, I wanted to be past it. How many times can I be a willing participant in situations that don’t have to happen?
But Anyway. Let’s start.
More than a year ago as I was transitioning out of yet another dalliance with Teacher, I decided to look for distractions in all types of forms. The gym. Starting creative projects with friends, making new friends, making new potential boo friends, and expanding my social circle.
I knew Teacher was on his way out because he works in phases. I had dealt with him long enough to have learned his patterns and I could feel the switch, which is really just him turning his attention to the next new (woman) in his life. (But this ain’t about that)
Anyway, I was steadily working on all of those things. Distracting myself, in transition, trying to have enough things going on that I would be ready for whatever “shake up” awaited me.
While distracting myself one day, I remember being in a heated “men/women relationship” debate on FB when a guys comment caught my attention. The things some people reveal about themselves when spewing their personal opinions can often tell you so much that you make assessments on them. Whether it was right or wrong, I’m just stating this to say, I was paying attention.
I clicked on his profile and noticed two things, we had quite a few mutual friends in common, (and people I REALLY know personally) and he was fine.
That was pretty much all the co-sign I needed to go right on ahead and send him that friend request.
I don’t remember if he accepted me right away but I do remember after he did, that I went through his profile like a dossier.
Oh he likes, this. (Hmph)
Oh he’s into that, huh? (Interesting…)
Oh he’s how old, bruh. (Too young for ME)
But… certainly nice to look at.
Somehow, not after long, we were conversing with each other in these Facebook “hot topic” debates, or commenting on or resharing articles posted on each other’s page.
One night, while Teacher laid on my couch, watching a basketball game, I posted up in my bedroom, going through his photos and even went as far as DMing him to offer him a flattering review.
This was particularly noteworthy because.
1. I don’t DM men.
2. I think I thought I was being forward and flirting.
3. this was DEFINITELY NOT me.
But anyway, there I was. All up in a young nigga’s inbox.
I paid him my compliment and he smoothly returned one and I left it at that. I probably went to bed that night and fucked my transitioning his way on out of my life for the umpteenth time ass dude, a little prouder of myself because, I felt like I had strengthened some imaginary muscle that made me more confident to talk to dudes first.
I didn’t study dude too much after that but we definitely continued to tag each other, comment on each other’s shit more often and eventually inbox more often as well. I shared my blog with him (allowing him to see the deeply personal shit, I write here that I would normally make it a point to NOT share with someone, I was certain I was interested in.)
From either’s standpoint, there was nothing outright inappropriate at this point. So it didn’t feel wrong.
About a month or so later, he followed me on IG, I followed back and Teacher was GONE.
Now I’m seeing this guy’s posts waaayyy more frequently. Now, I’m thankful for this fine distraction, now I’m understanding why men with options, happily monkey bar from woman to woman without giving themselves that nasty post breakup emotional breakdown that I usually tend to get lost in.
One day, he DM’d me about a post someone made about Depression and HE began to open up to ME about some of his own struggles with it that really caused me to begin to REALLY look at him.
Social media is just a funny thing, people post their fantastic lives, their fabulously romantic relationships, them crushing shit all day, that sometimes we completely “forget” that there is even a possibility that everything isn’t awesome all the time.
Some of us, get lost and depressed comparing our hours of completely unedited “footage” of mundane lives to someone else’s, carefully crafted, highly edited, Jerry Bruckheimer production quality highlight reels.
His revelation to me, in that moment, made me so deeply intrigued that I was taken aback. I related to him so much. I was surprised because he appeared to be a very happy guy. I empathized with him. Trying to be the best person he could be, posting those “happiness is an inside job” quotes that often infuriate me, because depression doesn’t work that way!!!
We started to DM each other more and More. One day, I finally asked if he was single, (I was trying to deduce, what the purpose of our connection was and what my “options” were). When he told me he was involved with someone, i remember even talking to him about how depression can affect relationships, and about how you have to kind of let your partner IN, in order to give them a fighting chance at being able to deal with all that comes with dealing with a person with depression.
One day, I was talking on my IG story about being home alone all weekend and he invited me to come out with him to an event, the next night. It was to be our first time actually meeting in person, but I wasn’t even sure if I should allow myself to get excited about it because, it wasn’t a “date” it was just two people who had become fast acquaintances via social media “hanging out”.
So I justified it and went, and had a good time but was still secretly a tad bit confused. He didn’t make any moves on me, just a polite hug hello when I walked up on him outside of the venue. He didn’t send me any signals that said, he was checking me out or evaluating me in any sort of way. He was polite, opened doors for me, introduced me to the host of the event who was his friend, bought me a drink and proceeded to be a perfect gentleman. But I felt little to no chemistry between us if any chemistry at all.
At the end of the event he walked me back to my car, i offered him a ride to his, he accepted and once I pulled up to his car, I felt this strong pull of both of us not wanting to leave each other. I sat there with him in my car for FOUR HOURS talking.
FOUR
What the fuck was this?
A lot of it was me, listening to him. As an empath that’s what I’m prone to do. Listening to all levels of communication happening at once. He was telling me so much not only by what he was choosing to share with me but also by what he was choosing to omit.
I “counseled” him on array of different things going on in his life. I remember, drifting off at one point because my eyes were so tired, I pulled my seat back and was talking and listening with my eyes closed because, I was tired BUT didn’t want to leave.
Drifting off, wondering if he would try to kiss me goodnight; then I wondered why he wasn’t trying.
Then I wondered what all of this even meant.These mixed up millennials.
I gave him some gems to help him rethink his position in his current situation and also see it from her point of view but I also remember telling him how closely he dances near the line of being a complete fuckboy. He had a lot of fuckboy tendencies that he needed to be mindful of. And at the end of the night, I was actually grateful that he wasn’t “MY problem”.
That was some other woman’s man, over sharing all his shit with me (a woman he only knew from social media) suckling at my tit for emotional support in that moment. I was glad; I didn’t have to be connected to that, in any real way.
But instead of never speaking to him again. I continued. In fact, we “talked” all day, everyday.
I want to try to put this in a context you can understand. With text messaging, conversations never END. Most of the time you are just picking up from where you left off. “Time” isn’t really an important construct with texting. Unless you have a super fucking slow ass responder. But they can still be great communicators IF they are thoroughly responding to whatever you texted 30 hours before.
It’s all about the art of stacking and threading conversations. Dude and I would be talking on Facebook in our DM’s, commenting back and fourth in a hot topic conversation, tagging each other in memes on IG and still having our “good morning, how’s your day” convo in our primary conversation.
Now some of y’all, will think I sound crazy but to me, this was sensory overload. I was talking to him more than I was my friends, more than I was my own family. I would go to sleep at night and wake up to messages in the middle of the night, continuing conversations from hours before or starting new ones. I’d go back to sleep and wake up and respond to his responses.
Our conversations weren’t raunchy. But as a woman, I’m telling you, MY man shouldn’t be that overly involved with talking to another woman that isn’t me, all day long-like that.
I started to feel weird about it. He was offering me books to read about men and women and relationships and what we need to look for. (Hmph!)
A book written by his pastor…. (Interesting…)
Telling me to read the book and take studious notes. (This is different..!)
But was this game?
It started feeling mixxy (as I addressed in a podcast episode here)
The messaging wasn’t clear. Why are you talking to me all day, giving me books from your pastor to read and take notes on about relationships and over sharing as much as you do with me. What was the real purpose of all of this?
I started to think maybe he was a Jesus freak and was going to try to invite me to church. I became obsessed with getting to the bottom of what this was all about.
In the meantime, on his social media-he was transitioning as well. Right from posting about one chick, the girl I had advised him on that night in my car, to a whole other woman he started publicly courting for all the world to see. Taking her out on dates, buying her flowers, walking her dogs, romantic quotes about finding his Queen.
Meanwhile, I’m still here in this vortex.
What could I say? He had never crossed the line with me…. or had he?
I was so confused by the speed of his transition, that I began to just study that.
Part of me perplexed, by his velocity and also jealous that I was seated so high up in the nosebleed section that I couldn’t get a chance to compete….
The truth is I was just as much invested in this guy as any of those women were. I thought I had him figured out. But he didn’t seem the least bit interested in me in that way.
I was being dubbed y’all, and in the most polite and equally painful way. I didn’t even feel comfortable being angry or hurt about it because who was I? And who was he to me?
When I tried to broach the subject, to start the conversation, to ask him what happened to the first girl, and how he got so quickly into these deep stages with the Next girl, he seemed to always deflect.
When I tried to explain that I was grappling with my own personal feelings toward him, he would respond in emoji or pretend to not understand me saying that I was attracted to him, not understanding how *I* confused that spending hours and hours of my day in constant contact with him, wasn’t just some cure for boredom for me. He actually implied that we just had “general conversation” which he has with everyone he meets.
I probably should have flexed then. But, I let it sting, and tried to adjust my levels to make myself care less and be a little less accessible for his “general conversations”.
I’m not even going to lie; I was being so masochistic. Watching someone I knew I liked, pine after, demonstrate romantic gestures for and fawn over another woman all over his social media burned like hell.
I had found a new way to torment myself (and I’m not really sure why I felt the need to put myself through that).
But one thing it did teach me was that men who value you WILL GO OUT OF THEIR WAY TO SHOW YOU THAT THEY VALUE YOU.
So ladies, if you take nothing else away from this long story, know this:
The men who want to hang out with you, don’t value you. It’s like they want to try you on but don’t have any intention of buying in. The ones who are being mixxy and ambivalent are just killing time with you until they get to the stage and phase they need to be at where they can go after the ones they really want.
This guy who told me all his problems and hardships, was grinding to put together a plan and package to present to the woman he did see value in. And I got a front row seat to watch the show and see the difference.
He was trying everything he could to miraculously get his shit together for this woman. I could see her influence in him, just as I had began to see my own before her.
I continued to shift. Trying to re-purpose all the latent “unresolved feelings” I was feeling. If I can’t say anything else, I will say, he definitely became a distraction. I hardly thought of Teacher anymore. That heartbreak dissipated so quickly and it’s place was this transference. I did find myself feeling completely obsessed with understanding what I “lacked” and why I was never even a consideration, wishing I got to be a rung in his monkey bars, until I did.
One night after texting all day, he ended up coming over, and we sat in his car and talked, us both separately weighing over in our minds if we were going to put it out there completely. I could tell he was trying to reserve himself (trying to be a good guy, because after all he was trying to secure his Queen) but yet he was here, we both were.
We ended our car conversation. I went up stairs sulking, mad at myself for not just saying exactly what I wanted, which was for him to come upstairs…
By the time I got upstairs and he texted me again, he seemed more willing to push the agenda. He explained his reservations, I think he wanted me to absolve him of any of the guilt he was feeling but I was trying to absolve my own. I wasn’t going to corrupt him. If he wanted to come up and thought he could do so WITHOUT crossing a line in his current relationship, it was all on him.
He came up; with a ridiculous disclaimer of us being adults and that we could even “cuddle” as long as we both behaved. After that night, I regretted crossing that line. I was embarrassed that I had let it go that far because it just wasn’t “right”. I didn’t tell anyone. I wanted to forget it actually. Choosing to completely gloss over it and keep things status quo.
Instead, I tried to make him my friend. Reach out to him and talk about my dating life or lack thereof, and he almost never had time. Finally one day, I got pissed at the imbalance and checked him on it, his response was to passively and aggressively suggest we sever all ties (since I was so unhappy). He blocked me. And I was stunned, but also smart enough to realize- this nigga was trying to appease his new conquest. Maybe for himself or for her but I knew him blocking me had very little to do with what I had said to him and way more to do with all the shit we weren’t saying.
Y’all, I was hurt. He blocked me and it hurt just as bad as any REAL breakup. I took solace in a few things though. Things that I’m not even sure you will understand in reading this now but I know for sure.
For one, I took solace in the fact, that I had always been from day one the most authentic, loving, caring and honest version of myself. I was kind and patient and most of all vulnerable with him in a way that I don’t normally showcase. I was a gem. I also took solace in knowing that- HE WAS GOING TO MISS ME. And that is not arrogance, it’s faith in myself, because of all the things I offered him that he needed and took full advantage of without him even realizing he didn’t appreciate it.
I KNEW I was incredibly valuable, even if he didn’t value me.
I remember talking to a friend who sweetly tried to snap me out of it, telling me that maybe the energies exchanged between us were “all in my head” and that I needed to focus on how to keep that type of confusion from happening to me again in the future.
For me, it wasn’t a matter of trying to prevent anything but more so understanding how I could manifest more clarity going forward. I was grateful that I had recognized red flags in him early on (even if I still proceeded) and wanted to continue to fine-tune my intuition about people. Learning to really LISTEN to myself when my intuition is talking.
I was grateful; that I didn’t just go with the flow and asked questions when I started feeling uncomfortable or when something seemed to not add up. I was proud of myself for stepping into my own voice and speaking up for myself, even when niggas danced right on around my questions.
I knew he would miss me because I knew; he wasn’t getting ME from anywhere else. My “general conversations”, my perspectives, my profoundly witty and insightful opinions on shit. No one was challenging him in the way I was, whether he was physically attracted to me or not. I knew that my presence was a gift, and he would miss what he did get from me.
So, I got over it as best I could and kept it pushing. I even saw him at a party a few weeks later and when he tried to speak to me, looked at him like he had lost his god forsaken mind.
I wasn’t going to allow him to play mixxy, messy mind games another minute.
Months went by, and I still thought about him. Replaying conversations in my head, dreamt about him often. Wishing I gotten it all off my chest. My friend at the time would hit me with the most inspirational words,
“Fuck him sis, he’s a clown”.
She promised me, the moment I finally got over it, he would come back because THEY ALWAYS COME BACK.(Note that too, ladies).
I got to a stage of forgiveness because I realized the biggest liar in that situation was me. ME. I had denied to myself that I liked him as much as I did. I was dishonest about the nature of my interest and subsequently my feelings. I underestimated how strong they were and when I did begin to feel uncomfortable with it, I just lied to myself to pretend it didn’t hurt as much. All of these feelings that were taking shape inside of me that were creating all this turmoil that I hadn’t been ballsy enough to own up to outright had led me there. This guy really had no clue, all he really wanted was the attention, I offered him so willingly.
And once I was able to take complete ownership of it, I was able to forgive him and most of all myself. But I needed time to get there. I just couldn’t see past my bruised ego. I was undoubtedly haunted by all of it but I was determined to keep it pushing, because stewing in it wasn’t making me any better.
That’s why I think it’s so important to honor yourself enough to honor your feelings. Try and give others the space to know that they may have done something that hurt you (whether they did it consciously or not) let people know where you stand and how you feel so that boundaries are understood and respected. That was a big takeaway for me.
And after months went by, with me working my way through to my own resolutions.
This weekend I had the esteemed pleasure to participate in the first of what will be many events like #goddessglamping2017. This event which was created by @neffiwalker & amazingly executed by @thepathagency was designed to bring women together for a weekend of sisterhood. We came from all over, as far as Minnesota and Florida, to share our most precious resource: our energy, to go within and strengthen and rejuvenate OURSELVES & ONE ANOTHER. While many of our personal stories varied, the common themes we all felt (lost, loss, frustration, marginalization and emotional exhaustion) brought us together to share. To reaffirm none of us are alone, and that we are indeed as magical as we know we are! I'm so honored to have been there with you ladies, I am so grateful to have met all of you and to be able to look at you all as a reflection of myself. Thank you for the safe space we created this weekend, to be vulnerable and open and to trust one another to guide each other 💖 I can't begin to tell you how much my spirit needed it. "What a time to be aligned!" 😘 (at Tarrytown House Estate on the Hudson)
Because every year, like clockwork, I get into a serious funk when my birthday comes along, I've decided this year- I was going to make a serious effort to celebrate! Please join me in celebrating #adifferentkindoffunk #celebratinglife my first birthday party in a LONG ASS TIME. Please come armed with hugs and ready to dance and have a blast!! Thank you to my friends @neffiwalker and @indigostylevintage for hosting and @odetobabel for being the space which brings us all together! Can't wait to see how many of you all show up 🤗♥️ #honeygrip
When I say I want a man let me tell you what I mean…
Whenever I sit and ponder what it is I want in a man, and I communicate that in any outward way on my social media platform, and I formulate my thoughts into a lamenting sentence or meme about “wishing I had a man” or wanting some dick-I just want to clarify that I am expressing my desire as a general statement.
In other words, “Not YOU, Nigga.”
I feel like this clarification is necessary because *men often think a woman expressing a desire such as this is like an open call.
–It’s not.
Just so we’re clear.
When a man says something like “I want some pussy”, he may very well mean SOME from anyone! But when women make a statement like “I want some dick”, she rarely actually means SOME-from anyone, she usually knows exactly who she wants in her bed. She’s simply expressing the desire in a general statement.
As much as I may be accused of loving dick, loving to talk about it, joke about it, post about it, whenever I envision it, it’s not some anonymous, faceless, bodiless personality- less penis. It’s the penis of the man I want dick from (who may very well not want to give me the D!)
Getting to the act of actual dick, takes more than just having a dick. This is something I want more folks with dicks to understand. When my guy friends ask incredulously “You ain’t get no dick yet?” They make it sound as if I can just drive to a store and pick some up. And while I know many will say, “You can”, it really doesn’t work that way, it’s not like stopping at the Dick Depot.
It’s just not that easy. I don’t want dick from an anonymous source. Someone I don’t know well, trust, or feel comfortable with. I don’t want penis with out personality, its gotta be dick I can talk to, a whole entire person with a dick! So I want that to be understood, encrypted in my general statement.
So when you guys hear a woman saying she wishes she had “a man” –she doesn’t mean (ANY) man. She means the man- she wants. Just so we’re clear. And some of the ladies need to be clearer as well on, what you are summoning into your DM’s.
Loneliness does not equate desperation. Some people see those declarative posts, wishing you could find a good man as musings born out of boredom or isolation. What may be meant as a personal observation suddenly becomes a challenge or an invitation to the wrong guys. It’s not meant to be.
YOU HAVE TO BE THAT GUY SHE WANTS.
If I say I wish I had a guy to bring me flowers, that’s not a cue for any random ass nigga to walk up to me with flowers. What I really mean is that I want the guy that I WANT (THAT GUY pictured in my head) to bring me flowers.
If it were about ANY man, I could just walk up to random men and ask them to buy me flowers, so please understand it really ain’t about that…
I find a lot of men believing that women “don’t know what they really want” and as a woman, I’m here to tell you; most of us do know, fam. It’s just not YOU, fam.
There may be extenuating circumstances that are keeping that woman from obtaining the man she really wants, and she’s settling on you, bruh- so her uncertainty or indecisiveness should be seen as a glaring red flag. Just so we’re clear.
I hope all you “Nice Guys” out there who are constantly getting curved are paying attention, so you won’t end up in last place.
A woman doesn’t owe you anything simply because you were a nice guy to her. Not because you paid for dates or paid attention to her. If you feel shortchanged by that notion, reexamine the purpose you’ve assigned to women in your life.
So when I hear men maligning women who didn’t respond to their advances in kind, I just want to grab them by their ears, and say a woman is not going to appreciate your efforts, if she is not into you- and you have to learn to be okay with that, complete with a forehead kiss. It’s not that “women like assholes” or that women love “a guy who treats them like shit” It’s that just like guys who PREFER the women THEY like over the good girl that was down for them or willing to do whatever he wanted. She likes who she likes! It’s either that or you’re a
And that’s not an indictment on you, my guy. It’s just that she has a preference and even if you did all the things “women like” and she still didn’t bite- IT’s OKAY. It doesn’t make her a basic bitch who prefers thugs over gentlemen or one that doesn’t recognize a good man.
Maybe she recognized all that and STILL DECLINED.
You mean to tell me you poured all this energy into “paying attention” to her, sending her good morning texts or flowers or taking her out on costly dates and she still didn’t appreciate you??
Welp, maybe that’s Because she wants the man she wants, and who she wants is not YOU.
Doesn’t make her bad, or you unworthy. It just makes us all free to choose. I wish more men looked at women as human beings with other things to offer besides sex- like actual friendship!
Just because you’re a man and I’m a woman doesn’t mean you qualify.
So when you see me post one of those annoying “I want a man” post, please know, I already have an idea of who that guy is or what that man will feel like to me. It’s not a random invitation, because I have never in my life said; I want a man and had the man who answered that call, actually turn out to be the man I wanted.
