Thursday, March 14, 2024

Strange Places

I remember vividly what made me decide that hospice was what I want to do next. I was next to my beloved cousin Ali, who was just days from dying. A hospice CNA came in and sponge bathed him. I sat there, mere feet from him, in a chair, big heavy tears running down my face. The CNA kept a straight face and never even looked up to acknowledge me. And strangely enough, I was grateful to her for that moment. Because I had no idea how to function at the time when our close loved one is dying. In a moment like that, no matter what kind of education or experience you have, your brain seems to just seep out of your ears. But she was professional. She had a job to do, clean and check on him. While the family was all so emotionally spent, she came in and did what needed to be done. That was literally the moment I learned how important hospice really is.

I took two months after Ali died to finish writing a book (at least I thought I was done), before I went back to work. I'd been so distracted from the last few years that I knew that after being fired and losing my cousin, I needed a break. I'd tried so long to finish the book previously, that this was the first time that I felt like I could really work on it with no distractions, and once it was done, I would get another job. When I was ready, I started applying. 

After the job I'd gotten fired from, I wasn't really looking forward to going back into social work. I'd been bullied, lied to, lied on, gaslit and underpaid from many of my last few jobs. I was over it. But I decided to look at hospice jobs in the area. Coincidentally, my classmate from Clark was working as a hospice social worker and I remember vividly telling her that there was no way I could ever do something like that. She assured me it wasn't that bad. I had a hard time believing at the time that a job dealing with death and dying wouldn't emotionally drain me. But by the time I applied, I had a newfound appreciation for the position. And I landed at a place I'll call Chances Hospice.

Chances sat in the middle of nowhere in a small town, about 30 minutes from my old apartment. When first I interviewed, I told them that I'd just lost my cousin and I saw the importance of hospice up close and personal and I wanted to share that blessing with others going through a hard time. I was hired on the spot. Chances had an interesting cast of characters. It had the typical, small Southern town feel. The office wasn't too far from the local downtown area, which was only a few small shops and restaurants.


I was told that my list of clients would be south of I-20. I loved so much how I drove through all kinds of farmland to visit my families. Miles and miles of grass, as far as the eye could see. The job definitely put some miles on my car, but I was more than happy to collect them. They were so grateful for me, unlike working in crisis, where people drop all kinds of shit in your lap and it's then your job to put out their fires. Hospice was a much slower pace, less drama, less paperwork and I loved that it was overall based much more in compassion. When my uncle, Ali's father, died a month after I was hired, my coworkers were so kind and gracious. Not "so when are you going to get over this?" like the job I was fired from after Ali died. No, they were genuinely loving and allowed me all the time I needed and didn't give me mess when I had to fly to Denver for his funeral. When I met with a client's family right after my uncle died, I had to excuse myself to go cry, and my coworker was more than understanding.

I was heartbroken to have to leave Chances. I had every intention of staying there until my son graduates high school in a few years. But at the same time I was applying for Chances, I also applied for my current job. And when that major organization reached out to me much later, I knew what I had to do. Chances was great, but the other position that I'd been offered was too much to pass up. When this organization calls you, you pull up.


I offered to stay on part-time, but my coworkers at the time asked me not to do that, for fear it would cut their pay if the higher ups realized that my job could possibly be a part-time position. I respect it. I told them that I'd gladly stay on as a volunteer, and even emailed the volunteer coordinator twice, telling her that I was interested, but I never heard back. I assumed that management was miffed at my early departure, which is why I was never called. But even with that, I never lost love for Chances.

I stopped in to see my therapist today. Dr. R happens to be located in my old neighborhood, and the inviting weather told me that it was time to stop by Chances again, after my visit with her. I didn't expect to talk about Fred with her, but she's great at pulling things out of me that I'm trying to avoid. Nevertheless, when I emerged from her office, I called my old coworker, Sophie and asked if she would be okay with me stopping in for a visit. 

When I got off the exit, I was transferred back to the time when I started, just two short years ago. I remembered how peaceful I felt, driving through the small town to my office. I was also on the opposite side of town from all the traffic and I never had to encounter the hustle and bustle of rush hour, which I was also grateful for. I remembered those treatment team meetings, and how my coworker, Jennifer, and I would exchange funny memes as we updated one another on our clients.

Mostly, the old gang is still there. I was happy to learn that some of my old clients are still on the services and even still ask about me. I confessed to Sophie that driving through that small town into the office today helped me to recognize just how much Chances really saved me when I came in, 2 years ago, and I was far more broken than I'd realized at the time. Sophie encouraged me to reach out to the volunteer coordinator, but I told her how I'd done so previously, but never heard back. That's when she told me that the that the previous person in that position wasn't too good and that's why I never got a response. She told me that Chances desperately needed volunteers and encouraged me to drop my info. I anxiously filled out the application and emailed the woman before I left.

I came into Chances, grieving from the recent loss of my cousin. I was just a hair from leaving social work. I'd just broken up with my extremely shitty boyfriend, and I was still really processing my feelings regarding moving back from Los Angeles. And although I didn't realize it at the time, your girl was going through it! And driving out, in the middle of nowhere, and getting to support families, and being welcomed in, 5 days a week, from 8-5 was all I needed. I saw cows and horses. Heard all kinds of wild stories. Working there was like being transformed to a time when everything was simpler. I wasn't catching crap about dress codes and office politics. I wasn't bullied. When my uncle died, I was given nothing but genuine support. Chances gave me the work family that I so desperately needed.

Coincidentally, when I left Chances today, I called my friend Lisa, who I'd met through my work there. I was her mother's social worker, and Lisa and I just took to one another. Lisa had been caring for her mother with dementia for the last 4 years. Lisa's mother died recently, which I'd learned when I Googled her one day. I immediately called Lisa to offer my condolences, but she was with family. I told her that I'd drop by later. While I was out at Chances and in Lisa's neighborhood, I stopped on in.

She told me about watching her mother slowly decline. I knew she was still processing a lot and I allowed her to talk as much as she needed to about her mother, knowing the loss was only a month ago. Lisa's house happens to be on a lake, and we sat outside, talking, enjoying the 80 degree day. I told Lisa how I'm hoping to buy a home, but I'd been thinking about getting something in the city, so that ultimately, I could pass it on to my son, if needed. 

But being out there today, in the small town where Chances is located, made me rethink things. Maybe I really will buy a home in that tiny, country town, where I can be invisible and loved on at the same time. Chances did more for me than they will ever know. I am eternally grateful.

Friday, March 1, 2024

Balance

I haven't had vivid dreams in a while. Things are pretty tame in my life, so my dreams tend to match. But I had a pretty lively one last night. In it, my son's father and I were getting along quite well. So well, it genuinely surprised me. In the dream, I recall saying that I'd have to work out in therapy how to actually like my ex as a person, because I'd started detesting him so much, and he was so nice now, that I would miss my actual hatred for him. But then, the dream, he said the one thing that would set me off (which is par for the course with him) and I wailed on his ass right there. I woke up shortly after.


Like any typical Thursday for the last few months, I woke up this morning and dreaded going to see my trainer. Even though I've seen the benefits and observed my clothes fitting loser, yeah, I still hate it. On a good note, I've gotten to be pretty close with my trainer, and he loves to hear the stories about my debaucherous life. Actually, my life is pretty tame  now, compared to what it once was, but he's married, so any news of my ignorance, he's always happy to hear about. 

As I stepped in, he said to me "this is going to be a tough workout, you're going to hate me." I low key feel like he takes joy in hearing me whine about not wanting to do whatever he tells me to do. He told me that today would be a cardio workout that focused on balance. He had one of those workout tools I'd seen, that's half ball, the other half is flat, known as a BOSU ball. I'd seen those things frequently, but never stopped to figure out what they were.

He explained to me that I'd be standing on the flat side, balancing, while doing squats, and holding onto a pole. I surprised us both by getting through the set pretty easy. Next up I did the squats on the BOSU ball, without holding on. Then I lifted weights, while balancing on the BOSU ball. Then he had me standing on one leg, all while I did squats.


Once again, they were all pretty easy, and dare I say it, pretty fun. My trainer remarked on how wild it was that whenever he had me do lunges, I'd practically face plant, but here I was, doing one-legged squats like a pro. He marveled at how uncoordinated I often am, and while he gave me tasks today, he said that I'm literally only one of 2 people he's ever worked with that had this level of balance. It's probably attributed to the at-home workout routine that I've done on and off for years. I'd never really thought much about it, but at the age of 43, I'm glad to see that I'm doing so well. My trainer joking referred to my combo of terrible coordination with immaculate balance, as me being a "conundrum."

Not sure what made me ask my trainer, but out of no where I asked him what men would typically think about my hair, which is in nearly waist-length, multi-color locs, that I currently have curled up. My trainer said that most men would likely see my brightly colored hair and think I was a free spirit or easy. I wasn't surprised. The fact is, while I love my hair, I get sick of talking about it and getting complimented on it. I did it because I like bright colors, not because I wanted the attention. I told him that I wasn't shocked, because men comment on my hair the most. My trainer suggested that I darken my hair and appear on the Kendra G show, and internet show where people put themselves out there and look for love. I told him that I pass.

I have no desire to do such a thing anyway, but why the hell should I change my hair to be taken seriously by a man? I'm a grown ass woman, with job I enjoy, higher education, I'm intelligent and well-rounded, my bills are paid. My hair and my tattoos have nothing to do with who I am as a person, and I refuse to dim my light to attract someone who isn't intimidated by the awesomeness that is me.

After gym time, I rushed off to my therapist. God, I love that woman! She's older, and a little old-fashioned, but she's thoughtful. It took her a few weeks to really learn me, but she has, and I thoroughly enjoy meeting with her. She's managed to identify that my biggest stressors are my dating life and my family.

As I walked in today, I immediately unloaded about the strange dream that I had. It was weird, mostly because I haven't talked to that knuckle-dragging idiot in forever, and he's thankfully another woman's problem now (or based on his extensive history, several women's problem). There's no reason for him to suddenly appear in my dreams. In fact, I've been meeting with my therapist for nearly a year now, and only one of our bi-weekly sessions talked deeply about the abuse I suffered at his hands. He's not at the forefront of my mind. So why am I having dreams about him now?

My therapist explained that the dream could have been based on something like a tv in the background, but I know that's not it, because I sleep with the tv on almost nightly. She said it could have been something like a recent interaction with him, but again, that ain't it, I don't talk to him and I don't really even want to. Then she said that it could have been reflection of something else going on in my life. I could almost feel the lightbulb go off in my head.


I immediately thought about a new guy I'd been casually seeing. The funny thing is that the guy is such a minor character in my life, that I hadn't even brought him up to my therapist. Like he's a non-factor at this stage in the game. I enjoy his friendship, and I love talking to him, but I'm not really putting my eggs in any baskets. I'm focused on my plans for when my little walks across the stage to get his diploma in 2 years. If this dude is still there, great! He's already shared his willingness to move with me, if things progress to that point. But if not, whatevs.

My therapist immediately asked me about him. I told her the good, and I shared with her my pink flags, which are leaning towards red. I told her that I pretty much addressed my concerns with him. He grew a smidge defensive initially, but in the end, he got it, and said he'll work on things. But again, I'm not pressed. I have my plans. Alone or booed up, I'm making moves regardless. I told him that if he works on the things I pointed out, whether he's alone or with someone, he'll be a happier version of himself, which he agreed on.

What sucks about working in mental health is that you often find yourself acting as a therapist in your personal life, even if you don't intend to. I recall some years ago that I tried to gently tell a dude that I appreciated the energy he put into trying to get to know me, but he needed some serious therapy to work through some trauma. Like I could see dude's trauma long before he uttered a word about it to me. And that clown then attempted to accuse me of weaponizing my job to judge him. Bitch, I can't help what my job is, but I'm trying to put you on game. Fix yo' shit! So yeah, we don't talk no mo'. Anyway...


I told Dr. C that with the new minor character, I hipped him to what his pink/red flags were, and that he agreed to work on them. I assured her that I'm not pressed regardless, to the point that I hadn't even mentioned him until this thing with the dream came up. He works in a different field, and he makes less than me, while still making a livable wage.

I mentioned to Dr. C that when I met him, I initially told him that my job title was that of a boring paper-pusher, and I only told him later on what I actually do. I explained to her that people assume too many things when I tell them off the rip what I do, and while I'm so fascinated by my field, I don't want to spend all of my down time assessing people and doing therapy. 

My dear doc then suggested that I'm dumbing myself down when I'm not always up front about what my job title or profession is. She suggest that I essentially say "I'm a professional woman who is solid in her career" as a way to meet new people and deflect when asked about my career. But I can only imagine how suspect and off putting that would be to many people. It just makes it feel like you have something to hide. 


Like when I told dude that I'm a paper pusher, he asked no questions. But when I tell people what I do, they immediately hit me with "I could never do that" (I agree, it's not for the weak) and then they assume that I'll be a mother figure/nurse/therapist to them. 

I went on to say how because of having bright hair, tats, colorful nails, and a nose ring, men tend to assume the worst about me. Like my trainer said, they assume that I'm a good-time girl. I really can't count how many times I've met a guy and he had assumptions about me, based on his preconceived notions, and suddenly he acts like I've wronged him by not being whatever he expects me to be. Like dude, I never lied to you. You just saw bright hair and assumed that I was uneducated and unmotivated, and now you're tripping to learn that I have standards because I have a higher degree than you, and I make just as much, or possibly  more money than you.

I became a bit incensed during the visit today. I shared how free-spirited men tend to be flakes, addicts, or all out mentally ill. And polished men can't seem to take me seriously. Like there's this fine line that I'm expected to walk in life. Be bright and friendly and outgoing, but don't be too confident and sure of yourself. People don't like it when you don't hate yourself. But then go into your profession, and you should only wear these boring, muted colors, and don't appear too friendly and sociable, lest you make your colleagues feel uncomfortable and you appear unprofessional and unqualified, in spite of having over a decade of experience, in addition to a professional license.


I ended up buying a BOSU ball this evening. I look forward to using it. Seeing how much I impressed my trainer made me want to stick with the workouts we did today. I already have weights that I enjoy lifting between calls at home. At this rate, it feels only right to further work on my physical wellness, while I'm on the clock. Been balancing this long, might as well keep the party going, right?

Monday, January 1, 2024

Day by Day

Initially, I anticipated cleaning and saging my home as the ball dropped. In reality, I was knocked out in my bed, from a 6pm "cat nap" that rolled on into midnight, when I was suddenly awakened by celebratory gunfire. Not the best symbolic way to spend New Year's Eve, but hey, I'll take it. I was knocked out because I stayed up late dying my hair last night and I made a trip to the gym where I made the elliptical my bitch. I recently decided to get a personal trainer for a while. I didn't think I'd see much benefit initially, but he's really pushed me. His goal is to knock out this stubborn type-2 diabetes, which is a goal I can get behind. I say quite often how turning 40 is wild because it seems like people just start dropping like flies, and my goal is to not be on that list. At least not dropping dead from something I have moderate control over, so diet and exercise it is.

On of my artist friends hit me up this evening and as we were catching up, he asked me to be his date for an event in February. Anyone who knows me knows that I'm always looking for a reason to get dressed up, so I'm already looking forward to this. I have a cocktail dress planned already, but at the rate I'm getting it in the gym and turning down the sweets, I'll either have to get the dress altered, or buy a new dress, but that's a pretty awesome problem to have.

And in a few weeks, Dexter is going to be performing a jazz concert with some friends at a local museum, so I'm also looking forward to dressing up and meeting up with him there. Things are still casual with Dex, but we still catch up on occasion. 

I'm considering myself solidly single, but I'm really good with that. Things with Love kind of fell flat, but that's okay. Essentially, the reason that we initially broke up is still very much there. It made me glad that I broke up with him originally and I see that I would have been a miserable wreck had I stayed with  him. I continue to say and mean that I'd rather be alone and able to live life on my own terms than to be with someone and have to shrink myself to make them comfortable.

I was hanging out with a new homeboy earlier. He was telling me about his divorce and his new girlfriend. Dude hooked me up with food (which I gladly accepted), and then casually mentioned how he would have to text his new gf to tell her that I stopped in. I was perplexed and didn't understand the necessity to tell her why I was there. Not that I felt that my presence should have been a secret, we had nothing to hide.

But the idea of having to track every encounter with the opposite sex didn't seem right to me. I mean, if we'd been sexual partners in the past, or had there been some sneaking suspicion about something between us, I'd understand. But my response was almost visceral to him feeling that he needed to check in. I ran by him that perhaps he felt the need to check in with his new boo after being married for almost half of his life. I asked if he'd operated like that in his past relationship, and he admitted that he did. I asked if he hoped to continue that precedence in his new relationship, and he shared that he did not.

Whenever I hear things like that, I am reminded of why I have such a fear of commitment. I don't want to track my movements with anyone. I don't want to ask permission to meet with friends. I don't want someone criticizing and critiquing me. I don't want to be a caged bird.

It took so many years of learning to love myself on my own terms, that I don't want to feel like I need someone else to make me feel valid and valuable, especially not a man.

I guess I should look at some New Year's resolutions, but the fact is that I hate them. They're so cliched. But I try to really focus on the things I want and need for myself. I like the idea of actual goals. Occasionally, I mentally go back to the night I sat in my friend's record shop and realized that I'm back and how energized I felt that night.

I spoke with my cousin today, who is Ali's brother. My cousin lost both his only sibling and his father within a few months of one another. I explained to him how I'm just now feeling like I can breathe again. The last few years, I didn't realize how much I was barely holding myself together. Between having to move back from Cali, being fired from jobs, my money being fucked up, my ex trying to kidnap my kid, the shitty boyfriend, and losing my favorite cousin and uncle, back to back, I was emotionally depleted. My dear cousin admitted that he too is finally coming back.

So yeah, I don't really have any resolutions, but I do have goals and things I hope to center more in my life. I want to do better about staying in touch with new and old friends. Before I go to sleep tonight, I want to compile a list of people I hope to hang out with soon. I want to continue to focus on exercising and lowering my sugar/starch intake. I want to focus more on my creativity. I want to continue to increase awareness of mindfulness to others and finish writing both books (an admitted goal from last year that has poured over into this year), and I want to get my savings up. I want to continue to center my inner peace.

I think that in my journey, I want my inner peace to continue to be my center. My goal. My end. And I'm proud at how much I easily walk away from anything that takes away from that. I don't have a million resolutions. I'm not on a manhunt to find a husband, or even a boyfriend. I'm just relearning who I am and really learning to like this person. This woman. She's dope. I'm proud of that.

Monday, December 4, 2023

Competing with the Non-Compitetive

I attribute it to my traumatic upbringing with my sisters, but I have come to see that for some reason, some women just hate my damned guts. And it's not even necessarily anything that I've done or said, for some reason, some women just can't stand me. It doesn't matter that I've been nothing but polite, it doesn't matter if I stay out of their way, their target is often aimed at me. And the fact is that it's ridiculous and exhausting.

I've said recently how I started a retail job. Nothing too heavy, just a few days a week to contribute to savings and to be a bit more social, outside of home. I've been a cashier for so long, that this is really old hat. The only issue seems to be that one of the managers there (coincidentally, the same woman who hired me) has really seemed to have a strong disliking for me. And perhaps if this job were my main source of income, I'd care a bit more. But it isn't and I don't.

It started slowly. I happened to stop by the dressing room to chat with a coworker when I was off the clock and Goofy Chick (hereby referred to as GC) stopped by the dressing room to tell me that I was not to be talking to coworkers off the clock, as they work. Er? I let it slide. A different time, she got snotty with me over a headset between coworkers, over something that could have easily been addressed in person. Another day, I got paid from my main job, and mentee (the woman who got me the job) asked that I buy her a $40 pair of earrings. I'd just gotten paid, so I said sure (with the expectation that she pay me back). Another time, I was talking to a customer about my Coach bag collection, and I laughed about having 5 of them (I miscounted, I actually have 8 lol). That particular conversation was more so about how I called my mother bougie for owning the bags when I was a child, but I ended up purchasing them anyway.

Another moment was when I'd brought my laptop into work 2 days in a row, because I was having IT issues and needed to take it into work. I opted to bring it in and have it locked away, so that I did not have to risk it being stolen from my car and me then being tasked with the painstaking ordeal of replacing a government laptop. At the end of my shift, I went to the GC and asked her to unlock my laptop from the office. She then "jokingly" gave me grief about stashing my laptop under her desk (I had no damned clue that it was her desk, I merely stashed the thing where I was told), and walked in to find that she'd placed it elsewhere in the locked room. Honestly, I feel that as a retail worker, she felt some kind of way about seeing evidence of me having a life outside of our job, in addition to me having evidence of doing well financially outside of the gig.

I've mentioned to my colleagues that I feel that GC has a bit of a problem with me. They've all assured me that she's cool and couldn't possibly feel some type of way about me, as there's no need. And then today happened. I made my schedule so that I put down my free days 3 days a week, to not interfere with my other free time. I walked in today, ready for work, and was met by surprised looks- apparently, I wasn't on the schedule. As a matter of fact, I'm only on the schedule for 1 of my 3 open days. Fine by me, right? Heck, I'll take my ass to the gym, and post up in a coffeehouse somewhere. I pondered out loud why my schedule was what it was, especially during the holidays. I mean, I even was asked to come in during the past weekend (which I did), so clearly, there are a glut of hours to be worked.

But then someone happened to say in passing "I don't know, GC makes the schedule." I immediately knew what happened. I made it known to the managers that I am more than happy to take back my time and go home. I was again encouraged to stay. I even said to the store manager that I saw that I'm schedule off later in the week, and he pretty much told me to bring my ass on in to work my regular shift anyway. So GC tried to cut my coins, only to have her supervisor tell me to work anyway.

I worked my shift, as usual. No changes. But deep down, I was- I dunno, confused? GC was there, and she said nothing about the schedule change. She didn't bring it up, nor did I. I've been told (before today) that I should talk to her. But the fact is that I don't care about her enough to talk. This job is not my bread and butter (that's such an amazing feeling), nor do I really care about her thoughts or feelings about me to go hard for this.

I've had a previous job where a supervisor (also a woman) was just as petty. She'd make it a point to publicly go against me in meetings and say really slick shit out the side of her neck, once again, while in meetings. But during one-on-ones, she was a lamb. That was quite possibly one of the most toxic jobs I've ever had.

What always confused me about that job was once again, I didn't see myself competing with that supervisor. But I could tell from her catty and passive aggressive actions that she constantly found it necessary to keep me in my place. I didn't get it. I still don't. The funny thing is that I have continued to flourish in my career since leaving that dump. I couldn't be paid enough to go back there. I even continued to have nightmares about that job for 2 years after I left.

While with Dr. D last week, I'd found myself talking about how when I used to to church with Love, I noticed that the women there were a bit standoffish as well. Love isn't exactly a serial dater, so having the cute, middle-aged single Black man (and a well-respected member of his church, a minister, no less) suddenly pop up with me on his arm, couldn't have been too desired. Good thing they didn't talk to me, because had they known that his new girlfriend wasn't even a Christian, they probably would have burned him at the stake. But even then, I didn't consider myself in competition with those women. Love and I really enjoyed one another. And our relationship had nothing to do with any of those women who overtly ignored me whenever we bumped into one another in the ladies' room.

I'm just over this. I'm just in here to get outside of the home, be social, and collect my coins towards buying a home. That's it. I feel like the pied piper, just collecting bitter, angry, jealous ass women (and a few dudes), who'd rather hate me, than to take stock and fix the issues in their own lives. 

Look y'all, I'm not your competition. Never have, never was. But I gotta warn you. That by choosing not to compete, I'm already the VIP. Because I'm going to be joyful and love myself no matter what you do or say. I already won the match, and I haven't even warmed up yet.

Friday, December 1, 2023

Welcome Back to Therapy!

I've been meeting with my therapist just shy of a year now. I've really come to love and respect my time with her. I know from experience that finding a therapist who you enjoy and trust is pretty difficult and I feel very fortunate to have her in my life, even though it was my trauma that brought us together in the first place.

Dr. D had been away for the last month finishing up some trainings. In the meantime, I'd really looked forward to her return. There were updates with my family. More stuff that led me to further shut down toward them, while they simultaneously seemed to want more of my presence. UGH.

And then, there was Love.

I hadn't really talked a lot about Love to Dr. D before now. There was really no need. He was in the far reaches of my mind, nothing more than an occasional blip from my past. The men I'd talked to Dr. D about were my toxic ex and my vow to never cross paths with another man like him, and one other guy (another admitted mistake). As Dr. D and I got acquainted, I told her that I'd reconnected with Love and that he was truthfully the man in my life I'd come closest to marrying. My dear doc had a look of sheer shock on her face. "You?! Married?!" she said in her Nigerian accent. It's actually a bit funny to me that seems to be a common response when I speak of Love and my past intentions to say "I do" to him.


I have no one but myself to blame for that, however. I'll admit that I've been far louder in my cries for freedom than I have about my intentions to permanently boo up with any guy. I shared with Dr. D how I first met Love at a print shop as I printed out a paper for one of my first classes while at Clark. I looked at him and thought he was attractive, but with that baby face, I assumed he was a youngster, in his early 20s. As I stepped outside to leave, he chased me down and asked me to lunch. My first response was to ask his age. He surprised me be actually being 2 years older than me.

Quite honestly, at the time, I was a bit of an emotional mess. I'd just gone through some really heavy stuff in my personal life, on top of grieving my relationship with my son's father. I was coincidentally practically fighting men off with a stick. I was even considering cutting my hair, because I hated all of the attention it drew from men, but my best friend convinced me not to do so. I opted instead to wear my hair up in buns to avoid the leers of the male gaze. Anyway, I wasn't really trying to get with anyone in particular. Or at all.

Truthfully, had Love asked me for dinner or drinks, I would have rejected him instantly. But I loved that he asked me for lunch. Drinks or dinner hints at possible sexual opportunities. I took him asking me to lunch to mean that he really wanted to see me out of the bedroom, which was the only male attention I wanted or needed at the moment. He later told me that as he saw the title page of the paper that I was printing off, he was impressed, and felt that I must be pretty intelligent. And the rest, as they say, is history.

I also then shared with Dr. D what it was that made me finally break things off with Love. Essentially, I felt crowded, while simultaneously not feeling supported. All of the flowers, cards, and candy in the world means nothing if you feel like your partner isn't hearing, seeing, and accepting you as you are. I talked about how things fell apart (at least for me) during the wedding planning and some things that were important to me were being completely ignored, I also told her the things where Love said he'd felt things began to fall apart.

I went on to tell her how during our last couple meetings, he and I have cleared the air on a lot and how I'd love nothing more than to try "us" over again, as he and I have both brought more life experience, patience, and understanding into the fold. Strangely enough, while we'd planned a nice wedding before, if I got married these days, I'd opt for maybe 50-75 people, and keep it fun and simple. Nothing too fancy and not really Instagram worthy either. Doc chuckled hearing me discuss the possibility of a wedding/marriage of my own.

I admitted that while Love is clearly decompressing from his last relationship, I just have to be patient. I had a bit of "come to Jesus" moment yesterday while meditating, and I essentially recognized that I need to continue to focus on myself and that if I truly love Love, than I need to back up and allow him to process and grieve on his own accord, much as he did the same for me when we met. And if we get together, great. And if not? That's okay too.

Dr. D seemed rather pleased that there is actually a non-toxic man out there who I'm capable of loving and willing to spend the rest of my life (or at least a significant portion) with. I missed her terribly. As a mental health professional myself, I understand fully how sometimes you have to get those trainings in, lest your license/accreditation be rendered useless. But it felt nice to share this part of my life with her. I'll tackle the family stuff later. But for now? This lil corner in Dr. D's office is for me to talk about Love. Or at least my thoughts of being open to it.

Monday, November 13, 2023

Back Outside

Once again, I have a post that I feel belongs solely in this space- a post about my growth and personal changes. Anyway, I believe that I'd mentioned before that I took on a local retail job to build up some extra money. I never questioned if that was good move for me. I've worked retail for most of my adult life. Even after I first graduated with my master's degree and I had my first jobs in my field, I stayed right there in Petsmart. It was comfortable. It was familiar. It was my back up. I knew retail. 

When I decided that I was ready to step back into retail after a year of working from home at my current full-time job, and a few years only working in my career field, I decided to ask my mentee to hook me up at the place where she worked. I'm too grown and experienced to be running the streets and walking in and out of stores, looking for something barely above minimum wage. Thankfully, her place called me back almost immediately.

Outside of the extra coinage, I was thankful to have something to dress up for once again. Working from home makes you suddenly become a person who lives solely in sweats, because there is no one nearby to look presentable for. It just seems pointless to get dressed to the nines to go sit in a coffeehouse and then go for a Target run. Hell, even showers become optional. But after nearly a month at my new side job, as much as I liked the new people I worked with, I started to face a strange new truth- I have absolutely zero in common with my retail coworkers.

When I'm at my full-time job, I have meaningful conversations with nearly everyone I encounter. We talk about our vacation plans (I was stoked to spend my birthday in Alaska this year- no regrets, it was stunning!), we talk about finances, we mostly have similar educational backgrounds and career experience, many coworkers at my full-time job are even close in age. And while I have very little in common with the retail acquaintances I now share, I struggle to find out where I fit in this new puzzle.

I'm not quite sure how or why it hit me so hard. But all of a sudden, I noticed our disconnect. I live in a rather expensive side of town, nearby the job, and I'm thankful to pay my rent every month, without much hiccup. Most of my coworkers live further out, where the COL is a bit cheaper. I find myself talking to the customers, who mostly live close by, about interest rates and real estate. Or we may talk about our careers, while I discuss my full-time job.

I don't have quite the same rapport with my coworkers at the retail spot, save for the managers who I occasionally chat it up with. I have a therapist, whom I pay out of pocket, and I openly discuss how much I love her. None of my coworkers at the retail spot say much when I mention her. Not that I expect them to. I feel like most of them have no idea what it's like to have a therapist on deck, just for overall emotional support. So how could they comment on something they really can't relate to?

And for some strange reason, this epiphany hit me kind of hard. I'd spent so much of my adult life working low-paying retail jobs, at what point did I no longer feel connected to my fellow retail workers? I should probably feel proud to have moved into another space in my life. But it felt wrong for me to acknowledge that I no longer felt like a retail worker. I felt like I was almost slumming it by working there. On every level in my body, I feel like I am no better than any worker in that store. But we seem to not connect. I just don't feel like I fit in that space anymore and I'm wracked with guilt over it.

A coworker at my full-time job is talking about flying me out to see the Northern Lights with her in the early spring. Another coworker there just got back from Jamaica and she's heading to Cancun for her upcoming birthday. I'm still very much working on having not just one book, but two books under my belt. These are things that I am beyond proud of, as I should be.

I'm not sure how much longer I'll be working retail. The plain fact is that I'm exhausted. I look like I'm in my 20's, but my back and knees are telling a completely different story. I've only been here for a month, and I'm already thinking that I'm too old for this shit and the fact is that I don't need this shit, especially as we go into the holidays and the lines are getting heavier. Maybe I'm getting too old for this and I need to accept that? How can I accept that without feeling elitist? The old me would have rightfully felt quite insulted had someone confessed these feelings to me back then. But much like many other things in life, the experience is quite different once it is something you personally face.

On another note, on Thursday, while my son was getting his hair cut, I'd rushed off, and walked into a nearby department store, in an attempt to get some extra steps on my pedometer. While mindlessly walking around, I ran into a guy who runs a local record shop. We embraced briefly, when he invited me to a podcast that was being recorded at his shop that evening. I gladly accepted.

I walked into the event that night, stressed from the day's chores, but glad to get away. Outside of the friend who invited me, I didn't know anyone. I settled into a couch, next to a man I'd never met. We sat silently, before I finally reached over and gave him my hand. "I'm Malika," I started. He gave his name and I commented on the Temple sweatshirt he was wearing. Within minutes, we were familiar chums. Moments later, another man I'd known, a former writer for Creative Loafing, walked in. I excitedly hugged him, and quickly introduced him and the man I'd just met, secretly hoping they'd make a love connection.

Someone also introduced the photographer of the event. He was a man who's name I'd known, as one of his recent picture books featured a few pics of my best friend. I introduced myself to him and bought one of his books for my friend. I appreciated his dry wit, and I offered him to meet me for coffee one day. He gladly accepted.

Eventually, the show started. I didn't recognize any of their names or faces of the male hosts or the female guests, but I quickly saw that that they would be great assets to the project I'm currently working on. The topic was essentially generational music and passing the torch in the Atlanta scene. Both women talked about attending Tambor parties, and while Tambor isn't quite my scene, I'd consider it adjacent to me, as quite a few of my friends frequent them and the last time I went to one, I saw some of my people there. One woman also happened to be the wife of a well-known tattoo artist I'd once met in passing. For me to be in a room with mostly strangers, I somehow felt like I was among friends and family.

Once recording stopped, I quickly walked up to both women and introduced myself, and announced that I am a social worker. Both women hugged on me and presented me with business cards. Afterwards, the music started. House music. Everyone in the room danced and laughed. The energy was electric. And I had a sudden thought. 

"I'm home."

I don't think I'd realized how stressful the last few years had been on me. I didn't realized that I'd kind of cocooned and went internal for a while. Minimal casual dating/sex. Not really looking to make new friends. Just sticking to what I knew and what was familiar. I focused on my job, my son, my finances, and my sanity. I needed to feel secure again. And I got it. I feel secure in myself. My soul, my spirit, my mind, my body. My energy. 

Still okay with Dexter, even tho I realized things with Love ain't happening. I'm okay just booing up with Dex for cuffing season. I'm enjoying my life on my terms. Just like I'd told Dex before, I have made the mistake of trying to fit people into the mold I want them to be. I'm meeting them where they are. And I like that Dex is where I am. Just living life on life's terms. No expectations and no attempts to move things from where they currently fit naturally.

I'm back outside. And this feels good.



Monday, November 6, 2023

The Circle of Life/Love

I know I'd sworn off my beautiful little corner, but sometimes things happen that just make you miss that version of home. I consider the last 24 hours to be that. I'd started a new blog elsewhere, and although it does still exist, I'll admit that I missed this space and I didn't write there with the same fervor that I did here. 

Anyway, as the seasons change, it has shamefully been a while since I'd felt the touch of a man. I'm so exhausted by the bullshit games that I've really opted just to do my own thing. There was a guy I'd been eyeballing for some months at my old apartment, and we had a brief fling, but I got sick of his inconsistency and he eventually faded away, which I'm actually thankful for. Cuffing season is here, and I have nothing to show for it. I mean, sure, I have a job that I'm proud of, and my bills are paid. But the fact is that my itch hasn't been scratched for a while. 

I'd started a part-time job as part of my desire to save money for some goals that I have. One of the men there happens to be rather nice looking, and he and I happen to be from the same neighborhood, and have some mutual friends. I'd been slowly working on a way to see if dude was interested in just keeping me warm during this holiday months, but when I called him yesterday, he didn't pick up. Ugh. Okay, hint taken, playboy.

I opened up my Instagram page, and the first post on my feed happened to be a musician whom I'd had an interesting spin with a few years ago. I'll call him Dexter. I'd sworn him off when after our last time, I just felt- eh. Funny enough, when I first met him, I was beyond head over heels. I know I wrote about him some years ago, but I don't feel like going back through to find the post. 🙄

We met at a party. He was sitting at a chair nearby. We started talking casually. By the end of the night, I practically wanted to inhale him. I wanted to know more. I learned that he'd had a girlfriend, and was heartbroken, but I scaled back, even though I combed his social media for all I could find. 

The following year, I saw Dexter again. I was determined not to let him get away (he and the girlfriend were no longer a thing). Part of my growth was acknowledging that I put expectations on him back then that were my own, and I was heartbroken when he fell short of who I wanted and expected him to be. I felt that he'd broken my heart, but the fact is that I broke my own heart. Yeah, he did some mess. But so did I. It was nothing but love tho.

Back to today- the guy at work was a work in progress. Plus I was really tired of the song and dance of trying to figure out when and how to approach him about "outside activities." I'd been attempting to play it cool and warm him up to the idea slowly, but I was sick of trying to figure things out. And Dexter's Instagram post was right on time. He's a well-traveled musician. I saw the post that featured some of his music, and I thought back on the night that I sat in his home while he play piano. I decided that since the new potential was playing hide and seek, I might as well hit up the old familiar.

I inboxed him, and asked if he was in Atlanta. I'd seen that many of his last few posts were international. He confirmed that he was, in fact, in Atlanta, and asked what the move was. I wanted to play coy, but the fact is that he and I have warmed one another's backsides enough that I knew that beating around the bush wasn't necessary. I told Dex point blank that it had been a minute, and I needed the touch of a man. I loved his response of "I'm happy to take care of you." Woo chile.


I pulled up late night at the venue where he was. He gave the most amazing hug. He said his goodbyes to his people and we were off. As we walked toward the car, he held his hand out for me to hold. After I royally fucked our previous friendship up by expecting more than he wanted to give, I was wary to take his hand, and I told him so. I said to him "if I hold your hand, I'm going to want you to be my pretend boyfriend," fully expecting him to put his hand in back in his pocket. He shook his hand as an indicator that he wanted full-on hand-holding. I obliged.


While we strolled to the car, I explained to him that I recognize that during our last trip together, I now know that he didn't want a girlfriend- at least he didn't want that from me. And I respect it, and I knew to tamper my expectations this time around. His response? "We'll talk."

While riding, he discussed his time floating around Europe and Africa, and he talked about some musical projects he's been involved in. We both talked about growth. I talked about my love of my job and my financial frustrations. We talked about the past girlfriend he had, and we talked about the mutual acquaintance we met through. We talked about that sticky time in our lives, and how we were both admittedly, a bit of a mess back then. I told him that I recognize that he didn't want me like that back then, and I should have respected it. He looked over at me and said "honestly, I didn't know what I wanted, and I'm still figuring out now what I want." I found his honesty and reflection refreshing.


He confessed that he's made a decision to be more intentional about choices that he makes and that he now realizes that not all of his decisions were wise the last time around. He's scaled back on drinking and smoking, and that he no longer engages in druggie culture that a lot of musicians get into. He'd shaved his head and scaled down his beard. He even looked lighter in the face. He looked more clear and at peace. I was happy for him.


We pulled up to the spot and walked in together. As we stripped down to our night clothes, we didn't get straight into the nitty gritty. He held me. He kissed on me. He caressed me. I again warned him that his behavior was getting him dangerously close to becoming my next pretend boyfriend, but he carried on, not skipping a beat. At some point, I caressed his head and told him that while sex is a dime a dozen, I really missed what he had in that moment-intimacy. The familiarity. Being with someone who sees you and hears you, and recognizes your growth. He looked at me and softly nodded in acknowledgement.

Somewhere during this time, I decided "yeah, he's my pretend boyfriend." And while I recognize how juvenile this was, he humored me, which made me appreciate him that much more. As we parted ways, I then explained that part of being my pretend boyfriend meant that I expected regular dates and meetups. And that I'd occasionally call him to vent when I was having a difficult moment. He giggled and nodded in agreement. And when we parted, he kissed me. Not some half assed hug, he kissed me on the lips. It was everything. It was intimate.

As if that wasn't beautiful enough, I recently noticed that a post that was on my social media had been liked by a moniker of my ex-boyfriend, Love. Coincidentally, I'd been looking for Love a lot online within the last month or so. He's never been the social media type, so I looked for any hint of him that I could find. I immediately inboxed him. 

We chatted briefly. He told me that life has kicked his ass (as it's wont to do), but he's hanging in there. I suggested we meet up for coffee today at noon. He agreed. I walked into the spot, not knowing what to expect. He wasn't in there. I go order my drink, and I look up a few minutes later to see him walking in. I saw that big goofy grin on his face and I instantly melted. We hugged long and hard. We settled in on a nearby couch and began to catch up.

He shared about his mother's declining health and his former fiancé who struggled with some mental health challenges. He basically talked about some genuine trauma he'd experienced. He admitted to some rigidity he experienced from some religious dogma he took part in back then. I talked about Pete. I talked about Ali. I talked about my career. We talked deeply about mental health. We discussed things from our past relationship. I was flattered when he told me the many things that he appreciated about me and how good I always made him feel. We talked about growth, and failure, and challenges. By the end- I wanted so bad to say "yo, I love this version of yourself, let's try this again!" 

Oddly enough, being that I practically just bid goodbye to my new pretend boyfriend made me not want to. I mean, I know it's not real, and I could call Dex and simply say, "I'm going to spin the block on my ex from a decade ago, no love lost" and I know he'd accept it. But I don't want to. I sure as hell didn't expect to love this new version of him as much as I do. He's admittedly a bit more cynical this time around. But I think he needed that. We both did. I'd love to give Love another go. But not now. I want to know him first. At least, I'd like to get to know this new version of him and be friends with that person first.

I drove away from Love feeling- I guess feeling Loved on. So many of my recent encounters with men have been toxic and drawn out. Filled with addiction, resentment and bitterness. Trying so hard to guard my energy from unhealed trauma of the men around me just exhausted me and caused me to retreat. I can deal with breaking up- but I was tired of all of the emotional baggage from the broken men around me.

I don't expect perfection. I just want honesty, respect, and a touch of introspection. And I got it from not just one, but two past significant men in my life, within a 24 hour span. I was heard, and loved on. I was touched and caressed, and heard and validated.

I told Love that I'd like us to do coffee again in the future- he said knowingly that we'll see one another again soon. When I settled back into home, I pulled up Facebook, and wildly enough, the picture from 10 years ago, to the day, was the picture that I'd posted with Love.  Who knew then that we'd meet up one decade into the future and see one another for the first time in 9 years?

So yeah, only that much energy could bring me out of my online shell. I could have posted that on my new blog, but this day belonged here. This moment belonged here. These feelings belong here. I don't know what things will look like with me and Dex or me and Love. Strangely enough, I don't really care. I'm not focused on it. I'm just in this moment. And in this moment, I feel accepted and appreciated. That's all I ever wanted anyway.

Saturday, April 15, 2023

Mindful Detachment

Ugh. So I'm proud of myself, but sometimes I miss my petty side. As I worked on my journal today at work, I had an epiphany of sorts. I need to detach. Earlier in the day, I met with a woman who asked me to mentor her. She's new to town and trying to land a job and meet up with a few people I'm connected with. I told her that I don't play about my mentorship and I'm all about accountability. She said she needed that. I got her resume updated under my care. Then it was time for me to head to work.

My first caller of the night contacted me and he was angry, and I was annoyed. By the end of the call, the man told me that I should be a therapist and that I helped him so much. I've heard it several times at work from people I speak with and I struggle to accept that. While I work, I picked up my journal and picked up from where I was last.

Today's entry was about mindfulness. Right up my alley. It called for me to meditate on my mindfulness intention. Again, right up my alley. But I wasn't being completely honest with myself. I was troubled. I needed to detach. I started to feel that what was mine was no longer mine and it held me in a negative loop. It became clear to me that I need to detach. The beautiful thing is that detachment isn't the hurt  to me that it once was. I genuinely find beauty in it now. Leaving things as they are, to be weightless just makes sense when you're being held down by negativity.

In short, I decided that I need to step away from my blog space for a while. I love my blog. It is home. It is my safe space. Or at least it was. I will always write. I will always grow and bloom. But I need to eradicate myself from toxic spaces and forces and be light. Not sure when I'll pop up again. Could be weeks or months. Or I may just rename this and find a new safe space, where I can keep all of my entries collected safely together. Or maybe just start another blog entirely? Sounds like a good idea. I dunno tho. I don't really care. But I know that I owe it to myself to move forward, without the weight of shadows. The crazy thing is that I'm not sad or mad. I'm apathetic, but in the most beautiful way. I'm apathetic because I accept that the extra weight that I'm carrying is not good for my soul and I owe it to myself to pursue what makes me happy. True joy is being able to find happiness internally, no matter what you face externally. And there I was.

I'll admit, this was a bit of a last minute decision. But the more I think about it, the more I like it. I've outgrown this space. It's still mine. These are my words, and they carried me and sheltered me through a very chaotic period in my life. But I'm ready to move into another space. I deserve that. I don't consider myself "crazy" and I certainly don't consider my life "hard." Those were only things I encountered when I struggled with myself. I no longer do.

Coincidentally, I've been heavily watching Angela White's transition from Blac Chyna and I have been cheering her on so much. I am so beyond proud of her. I love to see people win anyway, but I light up from inside out when I watch a Black woman win. Some have accused her of exploiting her growth for coins. Obviously, I'll never know what is in the heart of another human being. But one of my favorite videos was when she got her facial fillers removed.

I love how innocent she was during that whole thing. She was almost childlike, her eyes so big. It was all so new and refreshing for her. Her voice high and light. She was clearly stepping into a new space and I was so happy for her.
***

So here it is, the following day, since I never got to submit my post from yesterday. I woke up and pondered on my day. With my child away, I decided to focus on some cleaning and decluttering. I already felt lighter. I knew that I needed to finish off this blog the right way. I debated going to my favorite local coffeehouse, but I chose not to. I needed to take advantage of my energy boost and clean up and just focus and go internal for a while.

My new therapist has talked about me taking meds. I explained to her that my weird tolerance makes it so that my ADHD medication only works for a day or two. Four max. And then it does nothing. It's so frustrating. I've just had to learn new coping mechanisms, but the meds make me so much more functional. I once asked a pharmacist about this, and he said "I don't know, maybe you have a super liver or something." Trust me, that's not nearly as cool as it sounds.

While I was calling around, I decided to check in with my best friend about my new favorite thing, the Afro Unicorn.

While there, we checked in on other things. I told her that I'd been chatting with a local artist who is well-known. He invited me to attend an Art Walk in Asheville in a few weeks. I told her that I'm considering it, but I'm really trying to focus on putting all of my money into my upcoming birthday trip. Plus I'm not sure he's ready to move past his last relationship. Truthfully, I don't care. I'd be okay if we're just friends for a while. I'm not in any kind of rush to get serious with anyone. 

I told bestie that I offered a few hundred bucks to a mutual friend of Fred and mine, so I can crash at her spot for a few when I land in LA. She agreed. She's a creative and well-connected. I really like her. Bestie asked if I plan to see Fred while I'm there. I answered plainly, "nope." 

Fact is that I don't have anything against Fred in this space. I don't hate him. I don't resent him. I don't regret our time together. I appreciate the good. And there were a lot of good times. But I'm ready to move into something else. And that's why I think this is a good place to leave this particular blog. 

Far before I began to follow Buddhism, one of my favorite parts in the movie "What's Love Got to Do With It?" was (not the limo scene) when in court, how Tina Turner wanted nothing but her name when leaving Ike. She didn't want the fancy cars or furs or jewelry. She wanted her name. And I didn't get it at the time, but I certainly do now. She detached herself. She did that to be free. Because I finally realized that only when you detach yourself of worldly things can you really be free to live your life without restrictions, worry, and doubt. I get it now. And I can recognize how my attachment here only fueled another person's unhealthy attachment to me, and in order to try to get my peace back, I gotta peace out.

I'm really starting to see the amazing impact that Buddhism and mindfulness has had on me. I feel freer than I have in my whole life. No excuses. No hostility. No turmoil. I don't feel the need to compare myself to anyone or answer to anyone. I feel perfectly perfect in my own skin. I am eternally grateful for this journey, which was ironically created when I was at my lowest and in the midst of chaos. Yet again, someone causing me pain ultimately saved me from myself. And I'm honestly genuinely grateful. But that doesn't mean that I have to or even should stay here.

I took the Facebook app off of my phone. I still occasionally check in, obviously. But I really want to free myself of attachments. I want to be more present for myself and the people I love. I'm excited to be working to bring so many of my family together this summer. I'm going to travel away from the continental States for the first time in my life. I'm really geeked to be getting into a healthy regimen and considering taking up Zumba. My laptop is clearly on its last leg, and the timing could definitely be better, as I have a big trip, followed by a move to a new apartment in a few months. But I have so much to look forward to. New laptop, new places to visit, new exercise regimen, new home. A whole new world and a new me to explore.

And I can explore and express that anywhere. Or maybe not? And if I do, does it have to be here? I don't think so either.