Being Crazy Shouldn't Be So Hard
I'm on a beautiful journey to self discovery, life and love.
Thursday, June 12, 2025
"How are you?"
Wednesday, June 11, 2025
Dres
Sunday, June 8, 2025
Happy Birthday, Pete
Hey Pete. You left me just over 8 years ago. And as cliched as it sounds, it really does feel just like yesterday. I wish you were here for me to tell you how much you taught me. I'd give anything to hear a dirty joke from you. I'd love to tell you and show you how much I've grown since you met me. And how bittersweet it is to know that your passing is a big part of what got me here. I'm preparing to spend my birthday with a homegirl of mine, and I want to thank you for encouraging me to chase my passions and to enjoy the beauty and simplicity of art and travel. You'll never know fully how much you've changed me, but I'll always cherish our limited time together.
One day, we'll meet up on the other side, and I'll get to tell you all of my stories and adventures. And we're gonna hold hands and you're going to show me all of the beauty that meets me on the other side. And you will also hopefully explain what the hell is following me around my home and why it keeps throwing shit around. And I'll get to tell you all of my freaky ass stories from my hot girl days. I just miss you so much. And I'm grateful for all you brought to my life, both in life, and in death. You were, are, and always will be the definition of a hot mess and I will always love you for that reason.
Forever yours,
Malika
Thursday, June 5, 2025
Apathy
Sunday, June 1, 2025
Broken
I said a while back that I'd stop writing about men. I don't want to be defined about who I am or am not fucking. My life is so much bigger and more expansive than that. I love this space that I'm navigating. And even though I've been sex-free for nearly 6 months now, I'm still so shattered in many ways that I'm not even interested. And I have two die-hard examples of just how far gone I really am.
I'd said before that when FAMM came to fix my air conditioning, we were good. We didn't feel the need to rehash anything, we were where we were, and we both seemed pretty good with that. We chatted and checked in with one another, but neither of us were pressed for more. But then, a couple weeks back, he called me out of nowhere. He told me that his favorite uncle died and he was pretty fucked up. I could hear in his voice that he'd had a beer or two (or way more), and I didn't want him in the streets like that. I told him to come to my house instead.
He got there in 15 minutes and thanked me. He admitted that he wasn't really good with emotions, and since my job is what it is, he figured that I'd be the perfect person to talk to. I was actually quite flattered that he chose to come to my home when experiencing so much distress. That meant he felt safe with me, which I appreciated. He lay in my bed, and we chatted a lot, not much about the death though. I felt like I'd let him guide the conversation, and discuss things when and if he wanted to. He stayed the night and squeezed me the whole time. I'll be honest and admit that I liked the time and affection, but I was also clear with myself that he was over here like this, because he was emotionally fragile, not because he wanted me, Malika, as a person or woman. But nevertheless, it was good. We didn't have sex, although the proximity was certainly there. I mean, we were thisclose, had he sneezed too hard, he would have slid in. But I was on guard the whole time, and at no point in that interaction did I want sex.
The next day, we sat around in bed again, I went and got us Jamaican food (that he paid for), and we sat in my room, watching YouTube videos. It was nice, and it felt intimate. But again, I reminded myself that his presence wasn't about me. It was about his own emotional needs, but even still, I enjoyed it.
Next up was the surprise of all surprises. A homegirl, whom I'd met through Fred, moved to NYC, but she and I managed to stay in touch. I made it a point to have discussions that had nothing to do with him, to build our own rapport outside of him. I even saw her when I went to NYC in October. She reminds me of myself, a bit too much at times lol. We both have our ratchet moments, combined with a heart of gold, and open for adventure, pro-Black creatives with a penchant for fucking the wrong men.
I'd been meaning to check in with her, when she texted me to let me know that she'd be in town for Memorial Day weekend. Sucks that I had to work that weekend and Monday, but I was still down to see her when my schedule would allow. I grabbed her from her son's home and we checked in about her personal exploits. I broke my rule and asked about him. I hated myself for mentioning it the second it came out of my mouth. I'd made peace that we'd never see one another again, and after nearly 2 decades of back and forth, I knew that never seeing him again was for the best. I figured that he'd shared my feelings of "good riddance" and in spite of planning another trip out to L.A. soon, I fully planned to check in with my other friends in the area. Confession time though- I'd planned to drive around the DTLA (downtown LA) area where his apartment is. No, I didn't plan to see him, but I planned to possibly buzz by his home, like the little weirdo that I've always been.
Anyway, I broke cardinal rule and I asked her how he was and if he'd thought about me. And she dropped it in my lap- "he feels bad about how things went last time." What?! That was news I wasn't ready for. I missed him and I wanted to see him. But I didn't see that one coming. I'd made peace with our ending, that we'd never see one another again. And at least he was on the other side of the country, so there was no chance of bumping into one another and sparking something again. I was just over it all. I know that guy, and he seems to double down on a lot of his fuckery, and finding ways to justify his bullshit. Plus he's stunning and women cling to him like flies to shit, why would he miss lil' old me? Ya know?
Funny enough, while my conscious mind said that we were officially a thing of the past and I was ready to move ahead from our clusterfuck of a friendship, my intuition said that we would actually see one another again. But for me, after it all, I just couldn't accept that, and I stood fast on that it just wasn't happening again. My intuition is pretty strong about knowing when I'll see people in the future. I can never quite pinpoint when, but I just always know there are certain people that I will see again. And he was one, no matter how much I tried to tell myself that would never happen. And then she really dropped the bomb in my lap. "He's coming to Atlanta too. He'll be there this weekend and I'm supposed to meet him at the Jazz Fest. He'd like to see you." Yeah, so anyway, my soul left my body.
Y'all, I never thought I'd see him again. We live opposite sides of the country, literally a continent apart, not like I'll see him in my local Trader Joe's, ya know? Like I legit killed him off in my mind. Our friendship, connection, sex life, all of that was dead in the water, as far as I was concerned. I had to kill him (figuratively, of course), to move forward. I know I'm making something big out of something pretty small to the average person (rightfully so), so I just wasn't ready. But truthfully, I wanted to see him. Not sexually though. Forreal? I'd kinda missed my friend. I'd told my bestie how every time I watch Insecure, I'm taken back to all of my Fred shenanigans, and even though I had no intentions to see him, it did make me miss our "thing."
It's been nearly 20 years. He was the person I was seeing right before I started seeing my son's father. So like 19 years back, I guess. That's a long time. I wanted to marry him at one point. If I were ever in a serious relationship, I already told myself that I'd have to stay the hell away from him, he's just so... UGH. And he was here.
And even though I was shocked to see him, it wasn't sexual. We arrived at the park and my heart was beating. We'd looked around for him, and I immediately recognized him from behind. His thin, athletic frame and that head full of curly hair and his all-American boy look, I'd know that shape and frame anywhere. I said hello to the people he was with and awkwardly looked at him. "Bring it in" he said as he reached out to hug me. The only thing I could muster to say was "I never thought I'd see you again." I wasn't relaxed. I don't know why I was so tense and anxious. I knew there was a lot to address, but naturally, in a crowd full of people, while John Coltrane's son performed mere feet from us, was not the best time.
What shocked me, partially, was although I'll always think that Fred is the sexiest creature I've ever seen, I didn't want him that way. At any other point of our relationship, I'd demand he meet me at a hotel, to knock the dust off. But I couldn't. Since I had to head to work, he walked me to my car when it was time for me to leave. He apologized. And I appreciated the apology, I really did. But how many apologies can one woman take? At some point, you want changed behavior, not an apology, ya dig? While walking, I described to him how I've taken a bit of a sexual sabbatical, but on steroids. It's not just that I'm avoiding sex, I'm so emotionally spent, that I honestly cannot even begin to allow my sexual organs to even pretend that we're back outside. I have some serious healing to do over here, and a pretty smile, head full of gorgeous hair, perfect body, and apology just aren't enough anymore.
We did see one another again, the following day. We chatted about life, and caught up over the last year. I continued to repeat that I never thought we'd see one another again. He accepted that. I shared with him that I intend to visit Los Angeles this summer and perhaps we can see one another again. He gladly accepted that.
***
So yes, all of those additional details to explain that I recently surprisingly interacted with two men who I've extensively lusted after, and at no point did I even remotely crave sex. Not even a little. Not even when down to my underwear, in bed with a man who wanted to ravage me. Although I swore off discussing men in this space, for now, I decided to mention them in this particular post, more so to talk about how my mind and spirit are so removed from the idea of enjoying sex and romance.
I met up with my cousin last night and I'd told her in passing that Fred was in town, and how that man and I have been to hell and back. And then it hit me- hell and back. Our whole relationship has been this draining back and forth, and the truth is, I just don't want to do that anymore. I don't want to go to hell and back with any man.
The fact is that I used to find so much romance in the back and forth. It was so dramatic, like a tv show. The ending it all, just to find our ways back to one another, in each other's arms. I used to think it was so romantic. Ya know, like kismet? But I'm just not there anymore. Now I see it as clingy and codependent. I don't want the pain and the headache and the tears that comes with the back and forth. In trying to find the way to describe how I feel, I started thinking about the human brain. You know how the brain has the part that controls the eyes, the part that controls, memory, the part that controls processing scents, etc.? I feel like the part of my brain that controls sex, romance, and affection is broken. I feel like there's just an empty spot or a cotton ball in the area that's supposed to make me crave lust and romance. I feel like that light switch just went completely out and I have no idea how to turn it back on, but I don't even know if I would if I could, at this point.
Even when I see a man who is sexy af (and yes, I see plenty of them these days), in no way am I interested to know more. Occasionally, I'll see a sexy face on my Facebook "People You May Know" section, and even when I see a hottie, even if I look at his profile briefly, I have zero desire to add them as a friend. Coincidentally, if I seen an interesting woman's profile, I add her, quickly. But men? Absolutely not! When I see an attractive man, all I see is another problem. Another man waiting to hurt me. And I just don't have it in me anymore. To put myself out there and risk being lied to and gamed, just so some emotionally void creature can get his sick fill.
I hate feeling like this. But I told my cousin that I don't see myself having sex again, until I feel safe with a man. I don't know when or if that'll happen. But I'd rather not open myself up to it, if it could result in more bullshit. I just don't have it in me. I'm broken.
Thursday, May 15, 2025
Have You Seen My Childhood?
I've always been basically a grown ass kid. Even as a teenager, as people grew older, I remained childlike. I found that one of the benefits of adulthood was that I could spend my money how I want, and the weirder, the better! I've always known that in some ways, I'm making up for a childhood where I wasn't allowed to bloom. Children were often told that they can do what they want as adults and I took that message and ran with it! And as an adult, no one can tell me shit! So if I want it, I get it. Not harming anybody, so if I wanna buy a 6 foot teddy bear, dammit, that's my business. Go broke putting up Christmas lights on my house and that huge inflatable Black Santa? Yep, bring it on!
Exactly 30 years ago, Michael Jackson was getting ready to drop his HIStory album, which coincided with my 15th birthday, June 20, 1995. Advertisements were everywhere about it. With zero internet to lean on, MJ managed to hold us all in the palm of his hand. I recall bugging the hell out of my father, with the understanding that I had to get the album on that day. I was already a Michael Jackson fan like pretty much all of the planet, but this album dropping on my birthday (of all days) was a sign that this was meant to be!
When I got the cd, a 2-disc set, which included a disc of 15 of his hit singles, plus a disc of 15 new tracks, naturally, I took to the song "Scream" (his single with Janet Jackson) and later "Earth Song." To this day, I will be in my car and play "Earth Song" at decibels loud enough to shock ocean plankton. After all, that is the only way to do the song justice. If you aren't shattering windows and setting off car alarms, you aren't doing it right! The album spoke to my soul, as Michael sang his heart out about the recent allegations he'd faced about sexual abuse against young boys.When listening to the cd, I also loved the track "You Are Not Alone," a track written by none other than Robert Sylvester Kelly. This was before we were fully aware of the disgusting allegations against him. Being as zealoted as I am, when I switched all of my music over to digital selections, I never bought HIStory, because I did not want to buy the album and risk giving R. Kelly even a dime of my money. I'd buy my favorite singles, but never the album, lest I be supporting Robert's proclivities (this is before the Mute R. Kelly movement).
Recently, I thought to myself that since Robert is nicely resting in prison (where he belongs), I can finally step away and give myself permission to enjoy the album, in its entirety. What I hadn't expected was to be transformed back to that chubby 15-year-old who'd played that album to death! Songs I'd even forgotten about, like "This Time Around" which featured Notorious B.I.G. I thought back on how I'd mentioned something about the song to my ex, David. He thought that I was on hard drugs when I'd mentioned that Michael and Biggie had done a song together. And eventually, I was able to pull out the cd and play the song, to shut him up.I'd picked up my son from school while going down memory lane, and as the song "D.S. (Dom Sheldon)" came on, I explained to him how Tom Sneddon was the district attorney that went after Michael Jackson, and how MJ was actually singing "Tom Sneddon is a cold man" while claiming he was instead singing about a phantom named Dom Sheldon. Ah, the memories.
Next up was "Childhood." I was transformed back in time. I'd forgotten what that song meant to me. My childhood wasn't happy. I didn't know what a happy childhood looked like, but even at 15, I knew something was wrong with mine. I cried a lot. I was sad and I thought about my death often, even constantly contemplating suicide. I'd spent my young years being physically assaulted, often terrified to go home. I've learned to work through it, but I don't believe my mother liked me back then. My father being a narcissistic puppet master didn't help. Being in the middle of their legal wranglings nearly destroyed me. The song "Childhood" was my escape. How I'd go to my bedroom and cry, and listen to Michael Jackson, who seemed like the only other human being who understood what it was like to have an unhappy childhood.
In preschool, I attended a neighborhood nursery, called Kiddie Cottage. One of my few things I remember was that there was a woman who would occasionally visit the family-run business and us kids lit up. She just seemed to radiate happiness and positivity. I don't remember her name, or what she looked like, but I remember that she seemed to bring something into the room that just made us kids feel better. And in spite of me having limited memories of that young woman, I recalled even then, that I wanted to be like her.So in my teen years, when I'd go into my room to cry, I always envisioned an older, happy version of myself, coming to me and comforting younger me. And somehow, I always felt better imagining this older, accomplished version of Malika, coming in and telling me/her that I just had to get through this and that when I became an adult, things would be better. "Childhood" would play on repeat, as I cried into my pillow about how much I hated myself, and my life. The only thing that seemed to get me through was my connection to Michael Jackson and the visions older me, coming to comfort me.
As the song came over my song speakers, I was transferred back in time. I saw that little 15-year-old girl, with tears streaming down her face, and I wanted so bad to hug her. To tell her that she'd be okay. I wished like hell that I could tell her that her 20's would be a doozy and to not let any stupid ass dudes knock her crown off of her head. My heart absolutely broke for that little girl. And even at almost 45, with a master's degree, buying a home on her own, mother of a rock star of a son, an amazing therapist, and tons of accomplishments, I felt that wounded little girl, deep in my soul.In that car, in my mind, I walked into my childhood bedroom, and I hugged that little girl so tight. I told her that I love her and that she did her best. I told her that we ended up okay. And right there in my car, I felt those tears starting to fall. Out of nowhere, huge heavy tears fell from my eyes. My heart broke for her. She didn't deserve it. Any of it. And even though we made it to the other side, and now work in mental health, helping those who need it most, that little wounded girl will always be with me.
Michael Joseph Jackson spoke to my soul, and he understood more than anybody.
Have you seen my childhood?
Wednesday, May 14, 2025
Shielded Eyes
Some point, years later, after Tobey came up in conversation, I asked someone and they told me- he had been arrested for a string of rapes and robberies in Atlanta. There are other identifying things to his crime, but I'm intentionally leaving it out, as I don't want people looking it up and retraumatizing my family. Regardless, I clearly remember those crimes. It was pretty distinctive, and I remember how paralyzing it had been and how terrified women were. The reminders to stay vigilant and lock doors. And the person responsible for those horrible crimes had been the same guy who'd cut my lawn and slid me and my little friends a dollar bill on occasion.
Sunday, May 11, 2025
Decentering Men, and Centering Myself
Dammit. Dammit, dammit, dammit. Part of this growth journey is taking stock in myself and my actions, recognizing when I'm off my game and doing better. That's it. So I've been sitting with something that's been floating around in my womanist stratosphere- the concept of decentering men. I've shared how much I've been hurt and damaged by various scenarios involving men, and it's finally hitting home for me what I need to consciously, intentionally do.
Even here. My little bubble, my little safe space, all I do is talk about whatever penis is floating around and how his relation to me somehow seems to impact my whole life. The fact is that it is time for me to unlearn that behavior. I have a whole life outside of men. So why is it that when I'm here, all I seem to talk about is what man I'm infatuated with, even if I'm not even sleeping with him? Something's gotta give.
I'm still leaning away from dating and anything casual, but life is once again smacking me in the face with the understanding that the time has come for me to fully decenter men. I am who I am (and damned good at being her), outside of my connection to any man. As I get ready to turn the big 45 next month, I want to again focus on me, and just me. Which means that I shouldn't just talk about things, I need to be more consciously intentional about centering myself, and my needs.
All of that being said, I intend to begin being more intentional about decentering men. Less about them in conversations. More about my creative endeavors, my traveling, my amazing friendships, my goals, the achievements of my amazing child, and my hopes and dreams. Time for me to dig more into me and mine, because I'm so much outside of men.
I'm loving this growth journey.
Saturday, April 26, 2025
Malika, the Manic Pixie Dream Girlfriend
I was online the other day, when I'd learned a term I'd never heard before, the "manic pixie dream girlfriend." Being a woman who loves to learn, I quickly googled the term for a definition. What I'd learned shocked me. Apparently, it's a tv/movie character trope.
According to Google,
A "Manic Pixie Dream Girl" (MPDG) is a character archetype, typically a young, quirky woman, who exists primarily to provide emotional support and life lessons to a male protagonist. The term, coined by film critic Nathan Rabin, describes this character as one-dimensional, serving as a plot device to help the male character grow, but often lacking a well-developed storyline or agency of their own. MPDG characters are often depicted as bubbly, eccentric, and seemingly carefree, with a tendency to "spark" the male protagonist's life with adventure and meaning.
And I was awestruck by how much I felt like I was essentially reading out my life. One of the articles I read seemed to describe me to a tee! A woman who is quirky, often colorful, and "not like the other girls." A woman who marches to the beat of her own drum, and makes life that much more fun and exciting to the others around her. But one of the things that stuck out to me was that the MPDG was always seen as the accessory. A mere tool, utilized to improve the man's life. A one dimensional character, with no plot line or role in the storyline, with no purpose, other than helping the man grow.
It started to make that much more sense. I'd written before about feeling like an NPC (here) and this just solidified my feelings. That there really exist an idea that free-spirited women are not real characters, just tools used by men, to make them better versions of themselves, with no real feelings, emotions, or interests outside of his scope of existence. What's wild to me is how much I've seen this play out in real time. How I'll take guys to many of my favorite haunts and hideouts and I'll see that little spark in them come alive. How I'll drive guys to my favorite spots for stargazing, and they'll tell me that in their 40+ years on the planet, they've never bothered to look up at the sky at night. How I'll be on the phone with them until the wee hours of the mornings, calming their fears and anxiety. How I uplift and encourage them to follow their dreams, when they feel incapable of getting out of bed. And how it never fails, that the moment I'm having a bad day and need some support, they immediately dismiss me, accuse me of being needy, and are almost disgusted by the idea of me needing anywhere near the same degree of love and encouragement that I've endlessly poured into them.
What bugs me so much about this (in part) is how naturally likeable she is. Like everybody loves the bubbly chicks with the awesome jewelry. No one has beef with the funny, earthy girl. Everyone loves her! But it seems like when her place ends, that's kinda it. Or if she stays with him, she stays relegated to his living accessory. She's not allowed to have bad days or fears and anxiety of her own, lest she pop the bubble of the idea of her being impervious to pain and disappointment.
I took this topic to my therapist the other day. She chuckled when she first heard it, and allowed me to explain it, and I told her that I feel like this is who and what I am to people. She nodded in agreement that I did indeed fit some of that mold.
While I'm in the middle of getting my head together, naturally, I need more bullshit in my life like a repair in my home. And it's not just any repair, either. Nope, it was my air conditioner. I mulled over who to call for this. I called my new handy man (he's cute, but married, and I had to create a rule about no dating anyone who fixes stuff in my house), but he doesn't fix air conditioning. He gave me the phone number for his own ac guy. But as I'm trying to stack bread, I feared calling in a new ac person, scared that I didn't have history with him, so he'd tax me. With all of that, I ended up calling none other than FAMM. Dammit, he's an HVAC technician by trade, after all. And the weather is pretty mild now, but this is Georgia, so I expect my face to be boiling off within another month or so.
I just knew he'd pay me dust, and I wrote him off initially, but he surprised me by being open to fixing it. He showed up, while I was working from home. Naturally, he looked good. Our energy was different. But I guess in a good way. He told me that he got a job at a local shop, which is why he had to stop by so late in the day. We conversed briefly, but kept it light. I didn't ask questions, I didn't profess to miss him (in part, cuz I really don't). But at the same time he didn't either. He didn't ask what happened the last time we talked, and I wasn't really in a rush to have the discussion anyway. I think that we both finally get it that we just don't work that way and bring too much disarray to one another's lives, and none of want that for ourselves or each other. Its kinda cathartic, actually. That chapter is done and there's no need to revisit it again. Thank God.
I told my therapist today how having Jackson around is starting to soften my anxiety around a future of sex or dating. I appreciate this, especially because he's a therapist himself. We're not going to do anything as far as I can see. I love so much how he's not pressuring me. I guess because there's no reason to. We can just be friends with wild sexual chemistry. I think it's in part because he's not in that space and we just enjoy one another, whether we're physical or not. I really missed his friendship and male energy. I guess we're just made for that. And I'm cool with it.
I feel myself going internal for a while, which is greatly needed. I need to just do me. No dating, no sex. No holding anyone else up. No being some man's accessory. I'm just going to be my own pixie, and only spread my fairy dust where it will be respected. Isn't that all any of us want anyway? Shine on.
Tuesday, April 15, 2025
Pulling Weeds and Growing Plants, With a Broken Pussy
When I first bought my house, I wasn't overly concerned with the outside. It didn't look like a crack house, so hey, I was satisfied. But as I moved in and started to make it a home, the outside began to matter more. In my 44 years, it was not until I got into this house that I even learned what lawn weeds actually were. Of course I'd heard about them, and I'd heard of people pulling weeds outside of their home, but like I said in an earlier post (here), that wasn't something I was raised doing. I didn't even know what exactly what weeds looked like, but as I started exploring ways to get healthier looking grass, I learned that I have to pull weeds. So somehow, I instinctively knew which little bastards to be pulling. Never even saw a picture of what to look for. My intention is to pull them all and cut this grass down, and then start working on fertilizing what I have and planting some grass seeds.
I'm out there like a fiend in my front yard, almost daily. I'm not sure why I get a bit of a dopamine hit whenever I pull up one of those little bastards by the root. My backyard has it's own issues, which I'm proudly working to correct, but that front yard is going to be it's own project. I get out there and I'm almost hypnotized as I look up and see and immediately pull weed after weed. Perhaps it is the spring weather and extra rain, but I'm seeing my grass get greener and healthier. I've always been a lover of nature, so I guess it only makes sense that I put so much time and energy into building a lawn that most people would be envious of.Wildly enough, not only am I finally learning how to conquer this yard, I'm also seeing my green thumb finally develop for inside plants. I've killed more potted plants than I care to admit, which has always irritated me, especially with a last name like FLOWERS. I eventually decided to buy an aloe plant, with the hopes that the gel from the leaves would show this psoriasis my face some love. The plant seemed to kinda flourish at first, but then I figured it was growing too big for the pot it was in, and attempted to replant it in a bigger pot. And my dumb ass broke those roots something fierce! I was so angry at myself smh. I decided to allow my little plant a burial of it's own and just let it bow out gracefully, and I left it in its new Hello Kitty pot, to let it wilt in peace. Later, I was at Lowe's (course I was) and I saw a cute little plant. Didn't know much about, but it seemed healthy and relatively easy to care for, so I brought it home. It too was acting kinda funky, but I left it in a window and figured it would do what it does. If it died, it died. But I did at least buy plant food to put in the water. And then while out with my bestie, a woman was selling decorative succulents. I followed her instructions, and the poor thing seemed to be dragging. But I decided to add a bit more water than the woman had suggested. And dear God, it looks amazing now!
In all of these plants, I largely ignore them. They get sunlight, and whenever I remember to get around to watering them, I do. And it's wild to me to see that all I had to do was leave all of them alone, water them on occasion, and I mind my business, let them do the same, and now I have not one but THREE thriving plants that are comfortably living in my home, green and beautiful.
As I moved in and my more experienced homeowner loved ones visited, they'd often mention the many trees around my house. Again, I wasn't overly concerned with them, initially. But day after day of seeing them just made me see and appreciate them more. On either side of my driveway sits two smallish trees. I had no idea what kind of trees they were in the fall. They were naked as a newborn baby, and I feared them either falling, and creating a challenge for me, as I hadn't yet developed my green thumb or bought any serious yard tools. I was assured that they were healthy and not going anywhere, so I let them stay.Recently, as I was driving with my son, I mentioned to him the legend about how it is said that dogwood trees were initially thought to be massive and they were used to crucify Jesus. And that the trees felt so guilty, they shrunk up, to the point of no longer being usable in that way. And then, the other day, as I drove home, I saw those unmistakable white flowers on those two trees I was so concerned about. They're dogwood trees! I guess I'm just easily pleased, but I love knowing that I have two dogwood trees gracing my driveway. It just makes it that much sweeter.
I'd set up today to be my spring cleaning day, as I'm not working either job. And I'm not sure how successful I'll be, but I'm trying. I set out earlier to finally burn some twigs, vines, and roots I'd pulled up from the kudzu that was keeping my poor back yard hostage. I'm aware that the average person couldn't care less about the progress I've made in my yard, hell my kid lives here and he doesn't notice anything. But I do. I know the progress I've made and I'm so proud of it.I'm so in love with how peaceful my life is right now. It's wild that my life is so beautifully boring that the only major concern is pulling up weeds and growing/fertilizing my grass. I've thoroughly enjoyed having my friend, Jackson, back. I didn't anticipate that he and I would ever be close again. When he'd originally pulled away, I absolutely refused to fight for his friendship. I just didn't have it in me. And even when I reached out about the FVIP course, I didn't anticipate that we'd start talking again. I didn't even expect him to to respond.
What sucks about my past with Jackson was how extremely sexual we'd always been. Don't get me wrong, he's my rider (and not like that lol). Even today, when I reached out looking for a good kids' program for my homegirl, he immediately gave me his gym's info. One of my favorite things about our friendship was that he'd match my energy on interest in mental health. We'd always send one another articles about whatever the other had been experiencing, or what we knew the other would find fascinating. Even now, we frequently text one another throughout out days. It's nice to have this back in my life.
I haven't seen him in over a year, but I'd like to. We've discussed meeting up at a coffeehouse one of these days, and I really look forward to it. I know that our meeting will have to be in public, even though I'd love him to see the house. I just don't want to put myself in a position to possibly allow anything to happen before I'm emotionally ready. Although, as the days go on, my overall interest in sex drops even more. I'd told Jackson in passing that dating has my head kinda messed up at the moment. Not surprisingly (for him), he asked what I'd meant, for clarification. When he's present, he's always been attentive about my well-being.
I explained that I've entered a space where I seriously affiliate sex and romance with emotional pain. That even when I meet someone who is gorgeous, I mean drop dead stunning, I tell myself that if I allow myself to get close to them, they'll hurt me. I even get tearful when I think about it. I'm not opposed to dating. I'm opposed to allowing men to use my mind, body, and spirit for a quick release, followed by them acting like (or showing me) I meant nothing to them.
I didn't see it at the time, but I think the professor is the one that finally cracked me. That even though I'd said to him that I did not feel that sex for us would be emotionally safe for me, he assured me that we'd have no problems, and even though we never did anything, the second my guard was down enough to sleep with him, he immediately dismissed me. And he may have been the catalyst, but he's far from the only one.
As I'm still on my Insecure rewatch, I'm on season 4, and I'm loving how Issa is growing into her own and no longer chasing down Lawrence or Nathan. She's out there "I'm out here growing, and you gotta catch me, not vice versa!" Issa literally went from singing about he Broken Pussy early on, to making moves and creating her own event to uplift her community.
Jackson has been a total gentleman as I navigate this emotionally delicate space. He apologized for being a part of the men who have not always been as kind as they should have and for how I'm feeling. I thanked him for his apology, and reminded him that he did not know. I also took ownership for my past and admitted that there were several men who I'd allowed to spend way more time than they deserved. Jackson also stated that he's ready to redefine our relationship/friendship, however we need to. I'm grateful for that. I'll be honest, I still think about how we used to get down and I even occasionally make small dirty jokes, although I'm aware I'm making them from my home, from behind text messages. Sometimes I think that I'd love to feel him just one more time, but I'm not sure. I just know that at this exact moment, I'm not ready and he and I are both okay with that.
I don't trust myself right now. I've heard the statement "my man picker is broken" and I've never felt so seen. I don't know when I'll be on the other side of this or what that will look and feel like. Will I be happily sexual or will I grow cobwebs down there? I don't know. I'm familiar with the 4b movement, and while I completely get it (on literally every level), I just don't see myself committing to a life completely man-free.
I guess I have the faith of a mustard seed that things will be okay either way. All I have to do is leave things alone, water them and check in on occasion, and watch them bloom. I wonder if I can make that mustard seed grow?
Friday, April 11, 2025
"Fun"
I walked into my therapist's office today, and I knew it was going to be a doozey. Last night, while online, I saw a post that stuck out. A woman explained that men immediately size women up into one of 3 categories- wife, fun, or forgettable. That one stung, because I'd long felt that men met me and quickly categorized me as a fun time girl, even if I never indicated plans or desire to sleep with them. It's one thing to theorize this categorization, it's another thing to see it written out in black and white.
I recall a while back that my former trainer had suggested that I dye my brightly colored hair (here), because he felt that a subtler tone would attract a caliber of better men. And I refused, because I don't want a man who'd immediately dismiss me for my bright hair, without even talking to me. And a year later, I stick with that decision, I only removed my locs because I was ready to. But with some reflection, I now understand more of where my former trainer was coming from.
It's been infuriating to me when I've met men who grow irrationally upset and act as though I've somehow cheated them by not having sex with them. I've come across men who are genuinely angry and act as though I've somehow deceived them, all based on a whole idea about my personality that they developed in their mind. I've had discussions with women who are deemed "forgettable" and attempted to explain how infuriating it is for a man to meet you and reduce you to nothing more than a walking vagina, in spite of your intelligence, education, and accomplishments. And I've heard those women say how they'd love that kind of attention, while I abhor it.But I guess I can understand why a woman who gets no male attention would be elated to get such adoration. They'd love to be out and meet men who chat them up and want nothing more than to bed them in the worst way possible. And yes, I'll admit that I've had some fun in those times. But I've definitely grown out of it. Sure, bedtime moments have their purpose, but what sucks the most about being the "fun time girl" is that no one seems to ask or care about what you think or want. When you are slapped with that title, the expectation is that you show up, bend over, and pretend to enjoy yourself, lest you make some poor fellow feel uncomfortable for not wanting his creepy attention. And don't you ever try to change your designated station in life by talking about actual dates, relationships, or God forbid marriage. Nope, don't you dare! Guys won't even entertain that conversation with you, or if they do, they'll dangle that carrot of a relationship, until you get hip to the game and eventually realize that it ain't happening and block him.I grew tearful at how exhausted I get at the idea of men who will place me in the box that they created for me and then play all kinds of sick mind games to keep me there. My dear doc then asked about my childhood. I told her about the relationships with my siblings, and how I had gone from that to a mistake of an ex, followed by the mistake of the ex I got pregnant by.
Coincidentally, I discussed with my doc about my long-term love, Fred. And I admitted to her that I missed who I believed Fred to be, but I don't miss the real him. And then I'd thought about it, and I don't even miss who either of the other exes even pretended to be. Like they were so terrible as human beings, that even in this space of reflection, there is not even a small part of me that misses either or wants either back in my life Seventeen years with Fred, there's bound to be some good memories. Tons of them, actually. Until there weren't. But what kept me with the first ex was that he was my first "love" and my first lover. That was pretty much it. He was mean, shallow, manipulative, and a know-it-all. He had loyalty to no one but himself and I thank God that he got with that lice-infested cum dumpster and left me alone to flourish.
And the ex after that wasn't much better. So even though both of those bastards carried emotional weight, in their own way, neither of them left a positive mark at all. Nope, instead, they left an emotional mess that I've spent years trying to clean up.
But I'm glad that I took this to my therapist today. She helped me to realize how far I've come. That my boundaries are non-negotiable, because I've come to value my peace. That after kissing so many frogs that my love goggles are off and I'm finally able to utilize some serious discernment, by cutting off men as soon as I detect problematic behavior. And learning how to use this discernment is priceless.
Sunday, April 6, 2025
Insecure, But Not Really
I'm really settling in to my new house and neighborhood. Unintentionally, the location of my home is in a pretty decent lil neighborhood. I just wanted something in my price range, that wasn't too far out of the city and I lucked up on this little gem. It also happens to be really close to one of my favorite coffeehouses, which is located in a funky hipster neighborhood. I'd already spent tons of time at my favorite coffeehouse, when I lived further out, but now that it's only like a 10 minute drive from my home, I'm able to stop in and vibe there that much more. And to add to the blessings, a friend of mine who I'd met who worked at that coffeehouse, ended up opening a breakfast spot two doors down from the there. I finally managed to make it in for a visit, and fell in love with the food and the great atmosphere, and I now stop in about 2-3 times a week.
Although I go there to mainly stretch my legs and get out of the house, when I have writing or work to do, I still go to my warm blanket known as the original coffeehouse. My buddy loves to give me a hard time whenever I tell him that I can't stay in his place and write at the same time. He swears that I can, but our great conversations about life and relationships is often too much of a distraction. I've also started to become acquainted with many of the regulars, making this place like a mini-Cheers for me. And to add to the awesomeness of the situation, we recently found out that he lives in my neighborhood, like walking distance from my house. He's also a single father of an awesome 10-year-old and I saw her in the cafe today and I told her that I plan to take her for walks with me, which she jumped at the opportunity to do.It's really cool that as time goes on, I feel myself growing into this new era. My child is growing older and graduates high school in just over a year. I'm out in these streets, turning up, and looking forward to digging into this new and established version of Malika. I find myself walking through these Atlanta streets, attending events and loving my time with some of the most awesome and interesting people around. I can't help but to look around frequently and feel joyful to be able to live this amazingly fun life. And now that my son is entering young adulthood, it makes it that much more for me to look forward to.
I've slowed the yard work for just a second, but Pinterest has been a godsend by giving me ideas for my backyard, since I can't justify the $3k expense for the deck I wanted. I'm looking forward to buying an outside chair set and gazebo and lights, that'll create a perfect atmosphere for me to write outside. And as I get ready for my upcoming beach trip, my high school homegirl stopped in to braid my hair, something I haven't experienced since high school. They're mid-back length blonde braids, that we accidentally created the perfect beach waves on. I love that I'm building the aesthetic to match the era that I'm entering.
While working from home, Netflix has been my preferred way to pass time between calls. I decided that it's been a few years and high time for a rewatch on the show, Insecure. It's almost embarrassing to acknowledge that Insecure has been a big part of my hotgirl developments. Before I moved to Los Angeles, I saw parts of myself in Issa and saw parts of her fuckery in relationships to my former love of my life, Fred.
Wild how I'm no longer that mindless, stumbling Malika. I'm good and grown Malika. I've landed nicely on my feet. I was even telling a girlfriend earlier today how often I'll hear someone talk about how much they hate their life and the fact is that I just don't relate to that. I go on adventures constantly, my friends are insanely fascinating and entertaining, I'm okay alone or with a group/person, I'm solid in my career, just bought a house, my spirit is amazing, and I'm never lonely. Seriously, it doesn't get much better than this.
And this rewatch of Insecure makes me that much more excited about moving into the era of life where I can adult without being tethered to the care of a young child. Even though he'll always be my baby, now that my son is growing into his own young adulthood, it allows me to focus that much more on delving into who and what Malika is, on her own.
Watching Issa and crew navigate complicated relationships and have the fun social interactions that they enjoy makes me that much more happy to be that woman. And while I no longer anticipate a long-term Los Angeles living situation, I do expect to spend a hell of a lot more time there, once I no longer have to worry about getting my child to school and overall supervision. My season is here and I'm so excited. A season without sex or superficial attachments to men who will ultimately disrupt my peace.
Just me, my margaritas, gym time, the sun and the beach. Turn up, bitches.