Saturday, April 22, 2017


I met with my therapist the other day. God I love her. I’m so lucky to be able to attend sessions with her while I’m in school. I started last year and I didn’t manage to pick back up until this year, after Pete died. She does an incredible job of helping me peel back layers to uncover what’s going on with me. It started out as pretty routine stuff. I started by talking about my meditation and told her how glad I am that I’m starting to make some headway in my grieving.
It started out pretty good actually. Had no real gripes when I arrived. I told my therapist about my decision not to date, not only letting myself heal, but also the other stuff on my mind. I told her also that part of my issue lies in the mundane selection of men that have approached me lately. Much like my Magic post, I told my therapist about my need for someone to fulfill the magic that Pete brought to my life. I need someone that loves flowers and stars. I need someone that appreciates nature and makes me laugh uncontrollably.  I need a free spirit. As screwed as Pete’s past was, it shaped him. I feel like he gave me an escape from the boredom of my existence.

My therapist (God bless her patience) then took a moment to remind me that I appeared to be holding Pete to some kind of godly standard and she was right. She said that despite it all, there certainly was not enough time spent for me to determine if he’d be the knight in shining armor that I’d built him up to be. She reminded me that his ex-wife found fault, hence their divorce. I also told her that I also don’t know that he wouldn’t have relapsed in the future, if he hadn’t already. Plus he was never meant to be a permanent fixture for me. I’d planned on him being a fun tryst. Not a future husband or best friend. The therapist then challenged me to determine what it was about Pete that held me in this space.

As we conversed more, it slowly started to sink in. It wasn’t just about Pete, the person. It was about my incredible urge to be free. He represented the freedom from oppression that I need. I told her how much being a Black woman can be so heavy. How I’ve taken part in, observed, and walked by conversations about race to the point that I’ve lost count. It’s exhausting, trying to change the world. I’ve been about peace, rainbow, unicorns and shit like that since the early days. Please note that my blog’s url is This shit is real.
I talked even more about my desire to live in a small town, with my pet chickens (an odd, constant theme), country living, by a lake. My therapist stated that normally people that have a desire to make a lifestyle change like this typically have been for a long time about it. Then I confessed to her that I’ve always had a love of small towns and have often dreamed of having a home in a small town, plus something cozy in the city. So there it is. It’s not just Pete, its how much he represents my need to be free.

Truth be told, I’ve always been a bit of wild child. Even though I know how to dress up and adult like normal people, there is still a major part of me that wants to run through grass barefoot (and I actually do go nearly everywhere with shoes that I can easily slide off). I want to create art. I want to lay by a lake and hear the wind blow. I want to run through sprinklers. Say whatever the hell you want, I’m finally making a breakthrough.

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