On Being Needed

I'd always thought he was cute. Almost too cute, even. We were social media friends, who'd seen one another around the way in the Atlanta music scene. Years later, I saw him on a dating app. I'll call him Eric. I was feeling quite froggy, unsure that he'd match with me. Moments later, I saw that he'd swiped on me too. I froze. I don't recall who then messaged who first, but he told me that I looked familiar, and I shared with him how we knew one another. And the conversations continued from there.

I grew to enjoy going to Eric's home. He lived in a bit of a collectivist environment, but I didn't care. He lived off his art, and he didn't make a lot, but again, I didn't care. I loved that we could talk for hours about music. I loved that we shared dozens of mutual friends and we enjoyed telling stories about our time with those friends over the years. A girlfriend of mine knew him and she suggested that I smash and pass, but that's never really been me. Even in my casual encounters, I tend to develop deeper connections, that's just how my brain is wired.

I knew that my therapist would oppose me getting with an artist who makes significantly less than I do, so I conveniently left his existence out of our sessions (lord knows there was plenty of other things for Dr. T and I to talk about anyway). The fact is that my dear doc has been married for probably 30 years now and isn't born and raised in America. Dating is a whole different animal out here. Plus, if you really like someone and you're both committed to working through things like differences in finances, they don't have to be a death sentence on a relationship. Right?

I closed on my house in September, with plans to be in by the first of October and spend the full month moving things in. As I got closer to October, I gathered good friends and family to help with the larger items, while I moved the small things myself. My male best friend, Sky helped. Dex came through. My cousin helped take the large furniture in his truck. It only felt right that I ask Eric to help me. He'd ridden shotgun as I stopped by my new house one day to drop off a few items. I asked one evening if he'd help move something. He agreed, but as the time drew closer, he bowed out. No bigs, right? Another time, I'd again asked for his help. He again agreed. But he then disappeared when it was time to show up. Thankfully, another friend was available. The final time, I was supposed to come to his crib to hang, but my calls went unanswered.  I knew then that things would never be the same with us. I was well aware of what this meant.

I'd told my homegirl previously that Eric had seriously been in the running for boyfriend. I loved his friendship that much and even though he and I had never even kissed, I felt warm and comfortable with him, and the sexual attraction was definitely there. I once admitted to him that I wanted to kiss him and he let me know that he'd have no issue with me doing so. I'd even said to myself that I'd be okay with him being a house husband, as long as we were on the same team. And then this shit occurred.

I licked my wounds, and went on about my business. He'd occasionally inbox me, but I kept it short. I'm just over men playing me to the left and then reaching out for my emotional support and high fives, after the fact. I've decided that I'm no longer going to make it a point to stay friends with men who dodge me. I'd wondered how he was, but I still kept my distance. 

One day, I was hanging out with my cousin, and since Eric lived nearby, I decided to bring him over. My cousin essentially has a small nightclub in his basement and Eric came alive when we walked in. He admitted to me how inspired he felt in that environment and asked if we could return for more parties. My cousin took to him as well. I assured him that we would come back in the future. We sat back and drank with the host, relaxing together for the first time in ages.

Eric ended up drinking more than he was ready for, so I dropped him at his crib. He was in pretty bad shape and I was afraid he was going to hurl in the car, but thankfully, he didn't. He stumbled on into the crib and passed out immediately. 

I dropped him a line the next day, to ensure that he was okay. He told me that he was embarrassed for not being able to handle his tequila better. I joked that he should have held up like a champ. I'm surprised I was able to drink so much and still be okay. I guess my tolerance is growing. I'm still far from being a heavy drinker though. Anyway, while we were on the line, I asked if he'd want to stop in to paint something on my bedroom wall. I'm starting to settle in well, and I finally decided on a theme that I'm thrilled about. The time that we were talking happened to be close to midnight, and he said that it was too late to start the project, and I agreed with him. Then he made a sly comment that the time was pretty much booty call hours and he wondered if that had been my intentions. I joked that while I'd truthfully had it in the back of my mind that it could possibly happen, it wasn't why I'd made the invite, I really did want a painting. I reminded him that we're both moderately attractive heterosexual adults and that thinking about sex with the other party at midnight would be a natural response. Ugh, my inner shrink always had a way of making an appearance, doesn't she?

Regardless, he accepted my statement and we agreed to another day. I guess I was in my feels, so I took the time to tell him how he'd actually been in the running for boyfriend before and that I was disappointed that he just fell off when I was moving. Truthfully, I'd thought he was on some flaky shit. Then Eric dropped something on me that I didn't see coming at all. He felt bad about not being more of a provider. Damn. I thought he was just mindlessly blowing me off, when it turned out that he was feeling insecure and inadequate about our financial discrepancy. 

I told him that I was clearly aware of our differences in finances, and I'd thought it over early on, and it never mattered to me. I told him that normally, when a woman makes more, if she's dating a man with less, she doesn't care if his money isn't good. Her personal needs may be met financially, but she still has other needs, like emotionally and mentally.

That happened to coincide with a conversation I'd had with a guy friend just earlier in that day. I said to him how it's weird that so many men need to feel "needed" and they resent women that don't need them. I said to my friend that essentially, that's how my baby daddy got left by his last bitch and why I left him too. People who only stay when they need you, are using you. When that person no longer needs you, or when something or someone better comes along, they'll be on the first thing smoking. But when a person wants you for the real you, the relationship is better. It's mutual and the person is much more likely to stay and work things out with you, even when you're at your worst. The issue is that many men never learned how to value to being likeable, so all they know how to value is bringing money to the table. And when they can no longer buy women, because women don't need their money anymore, they fall apart. My guy friend even said to me that he was in a group of men recently who agreed that they'd rather be needed than wanted. Which is quite possibly the most asinine shit I'd heard in a while.

I called my bestie the next day to chop it up with her about the new development. I told her how ridiculous it was that he was so insecure. That I'd never done or said anything to make him feel bad about his situation. I also pondered to her why he'd never done anything to make his financial situation better, if it was so stressful for him. It made me think back on on my own career successes.

Basically, I went to grad school because I was sick of being the broke friend. I wanted to be able to do for my friends what they'd been able to do for me. I wanted to buy them dinner and drinks. I wanted to be able to pay my bills for those months when my shitty ex tried to withhold child support. I wanted to be able to pay my rent with a single paycheck. I didn't want to have to squirrel way money from each check to pay my rent. Lord knows that buying a house wasn't even remotely something I'd thought about early on. I'd set my sights on  $50k a year. That was all I needed to be able to pay my bills. Grad school was one of the most stressful periods of my life, but it allowed me to feel like an adult. Granted, $50k ain't a lot. But that's all I wanted at the time. So I worked towards it. I didn't resent the people who had it (and a lot more), I worked my butt off for my seat at the table. And then here comes the resentment.

To be fair, I don't believe Eric ever resented me. He just felt inadequate. But there were definitely other men who resented me. I remember that my ex would say to me "you're just saying that because you don't need me!" as some kind of insult, when the words and thoughts had never even come from me. I didn't get it at the time. I got it after we broke up. He wanted to be my world. He wanted to be my alpha and omega. He wanted to be "my person." But the issue with him and so many other men that need to feel needed, he never stepped up to make himself needed. You wanna be needed? Shit, bring dinner home! You wanna be needed? Rub my damned back! You wanna be needed? Tell me how much you value me and love what I bring to your life! That's how you become needed. You make my life so easy, that when I look up, I realized that you've handled all of the tough stuff before I even knew it existed. Even my son knows that on Tuesdays, you take the trash out and that you bring it up afterwards. I never have to remind him. That's how you become needed. Not by sulking because it doesn't happen on it's own.

Another thing I've had to notice is that the resentment isn't just financially motivated many times either (again, not talking about Eric here). But I feel that it can also stem from overall confidence. Being a Black woman is a bitter double-edged sword. Because we cheer one another one. We are definitely a crew of cheerleaders. And it can be hard to hate yourself when you surround yourself with other women who love you and pour into you unconditionally. And I realize that due to patriarchy, slavery, etc., Black men haven't been afforded the same conditions and environments that encouraged them to love themselves. So often, this large communal divide has been created largely because we don't hate ourselves as many of our Black male counterparts do. 

Not sure what's gonna happen with Eric. I got some other shit cooking that I'm still figuring out. I might just take my friend's advice to smash and pass. I might spend more time and slowly build with him, to see how we can fully support one another. I might just stay homies and never cross that line. I'm unsure.

But what I do know is that I don't want to be resented for pulling up my big girl panties and doing what I had to do to live my best life. Is that so much to ask?