Old Habits

I told Fred a few months back that he's not allowed to disappear on me. I'm just not built for being okay with that. Due to some b.s. I encountered in my past, you just can't do that to me. Because when someone I talk to routinely disappears, it does something to me. I internalize it. Did I do something wrong? Are you mad at me? Did I hurt you? Am I the jerk? Are you the jerk? I'm not ego driven at all, so I'm not at all above apologizing for a slight and talking through it. But please God, whatever you do, just don't disappear.

Fred has, quite a few times over the last few years, simply fucking disappeared. And he pops back up as if all is good. And every fucking time he does it, I have an internal meltdown. Fred and I are, and have a thing. It has no name. We're not "friends with benefits" because that cheapens the way we feel about one another. But nor is he my boyfriend. And for years, this arrangement worked. I'd always been a bit afraid of relationships, and while he'd never admit it, he is too. So we've been able to exist in this bubble of extreme closeness and familiarity, while granting one another the freedom to do whatever outside of one another. But as I've remarked throughout the second half of 2020 and on, I'm shifting.

Anyway, I told Fred late in 2020 that he can't just disappear on me. That it legit fucks me up. I said "look, if you're going through some shit, just check in so I know it isn't me. You don't have to tell me when or why you're disappearing. You don't have to give me a return date. Just let me know so I'm not worried and personalizing your disappearance." Fred, being the nonchalant son of a bitch that he is, blew off such a "wild" request. And I was okay, as long as he was around. I even snuck off to L.A. to see him for a few days before I started my new job. It was nice.

Things were good. We talked fairly regularly, 2-3 times a week. Calls scaled back as he'd started a new job. And then, like clockwork 

I was PISSED. I couldn't believe he did it again. 'He thinks I'm a fucking joke' is all I could focus on. I lay somewhere between angry and heartbroken. I did everything I could to move past it. As 2020 came to a close, I'd decided that I was done with dating. I just no longer had it in me to do this. To give so much, and to constantly be treated as though my heart and feelings don't matter. But through it all, occasionally, my mind would shift to him. While in L.A. with Fred, while driving around, he kept an 80's pop radio station dialed in on his car radio. So we rode around Santa Monica, listening to Journey in the background. I didn't realize how much I enjoyed the music, but I went home and made a playlist of many of the tunes from that trip. That playlist both reminded me of Fred everyday on my way to work, and broke my heart all over again as it played. 

As I enjoyed the freedom of not dating, I also found that my creative juices were now in full effect and I finally started working on the book I've been wanting to do for years! Got a cute book title and everything! On top of that, I decided that I want to create a lifestyle brand. I was no longer being stifled creatively by whatever jerk I was dealing with. The freedom from the bullshit had me ready to fly and live my best life. But the truth is, while I was living my best life, Fred continued to haunt my mind, as much as I tried to fight it off.

I wanted nothing more than to separate myself from him and from this. I was over it. Done. Fourteen years with this man. I'd text my best friend about how much I wanted to call him. I knew I wasn't going to. Those days are gone. But it didn't stop me from thinking about him, from looking at his social media on occasion. I missed him terribly. But I knew that it needed to end.

So lo and behold, he called me. I was- well, shocked. I wasn't angry, although I should have been. I was just genuinely shocked. I was in a space of grieving him and grieving our friendship. I didn't think I'd ever see him or hear from him again. I told myself day after day that this would eventually get easier. And now he's back. He immediately apologized and explained that he didn't mean to disappear the way he did, he'd simply gotten caught up with his new job. What?!

I had an impromptu meeting with my best friend last night and we talked about this new thing with people where they just disappear and reappear as if all is well. I'm all for mental health and taking needed breaks, but when did people not worrying their loved ones and giving no notice became a thing that people do?! People have become so self-aware, that they now believe that they operate in some kind of vacuum, with little to no regard for how their actions impact the people that love them the most.

I'll be honest though. I'm torn. I love this man. I know him better than he knows himself. I recently realized that as many people I know, only 5 of them know me deeply at my core. And he is one of them. I occasionally think about how he happened to be in town immediately after Pete died, and he offered me comfort. How I had zero appetite, and he took me out and he made me eat. How he escorted me to the balloon release in Pete's honor and when I was too distraught to write anything out and declined, Fred took my card and said "I'll write something for her." It really is the little things that let me know that he loves me. And I love him.

But yo, this is getting old. I've dated men over the years, some more serious than others, and I've maintained that if a man was serious, Fred would no longer be in the picture. He's my kryptonite, so I already know that he can't be around if there is a man that I'm seriously dating. But I'm now in a space of really just doing me, and writing and being creative in a way that I have not explored in years. I like this side of Malika. I like being business minded. I like being excited about the future. So that leaves me with wondering if, or where Fred fits?

Last year I started to feel that if I was to enter a serious relationship, it would interfere with my relationship with Fred. Like how could I tell a serious suitor that I want to continue to have a "friendship" with this dude over here? I wanted to keep my potential relationships open, just because I never wanted to sneak around to maintain things with Fred. I guess it was just pure, dumb luck that none of the men I dated ever progressed like that, so it never became a serious issue.

But now that I'm in this space of moving forward, I wonder how he fits? It isn't even about sex. I love this man. But I've done so well without the distraction. It's not that I want to get married and have the house, car, dog, and picket fence. It's more so that if I'm not going to be moving toward a healthy relationship, a half of a relationship is no longer fulfilling to me. For the first time in my life, I want all or nothing.

The strange thing is that I don't want to marry Fred. I envisioned how I would act if he proposed to me and I literally froze in my vision. There was no tears of joy in my vision. It was confusion. Like dude, why the hell are you proposing? Get up, this ain't that kind of party. 

I guess right now, I'm just trying to figure out if and how he fits. I don't want to end the friendship. But the fact is that after a decade and a half of spending time with someone in a sexual and intimate manner, they become a large part of you. I'm trying so hard to make sure that he does not begin to distract from my current trajectory. I love him. But I'm no longer that Malika. I just want more. But I guess not from him?

Not My Monkey, Not My Circus

 A few years back, I heard a saying that changed my life. 

"Not my monkey, not my circus."

For a very long time, I felt enmeshed in the lives and drama of others. I became overwhelmed with the pains of the rest of the world. But this saying grounded me like never before and helped me realize that I gotta stop carrying other people's shit.

I've been Buddhist over 10 years now, but I'm starting to hold firmer to the faith and even meditated for the first time in forever yesterday. But the joy of Buddhism is that it frees me from expectations and problems. I deal with things as they come, but I now know not to get overwhelmed, especially with problems that are not even mine.

A large part of that also came from Pete's passing. After his death, I went into a bit of cocoon, no sex, no dating, minimal friend interaction, just me and mine. Work, home, school, motherhood, grief, I just didn't have the emotional bandwith to be the social butterfly that many have come to know and love. But once I started to emerge from my depression, after isolating for so long, it occurred to me that I was no longer wearing the issues of so many others and my ish was pretty good. My bills were paid, and I wasn't dealing with a lot of the bullshit that comes with dating. I didn't care if a guy didn't call me back or if he was lying through his teeth. Dare I say, I felt good  just to be in my own space. It was then that I realized just how much of my problems stem from sources outside of myself. On my own, I kept it 100.

So I while I did falter at times, for the most part, I was able to remain within my own bubble and create far less drama for myself by just being in my cocoon. And I learned that when I see bullshit coming, I have every right to get out of the way, or simply decline to engage.

I've stated many times before, how the Universe will test us on our path. Oh boy. So my son's father and I are no longer trying to kill one another, but I sure as hell wouldn't call him my friend. Relinquishing him from my mind and spirit was the best gift that I could give to myself. I'm no longer angry about the hurt. But I will never forget who he is and that he brought me to my lowest point. But he no longer has access to the same Malika that everyone else does.

So anyway, baby daddy recently informed me that he was diagnosed with COVID-19 and told me that he will be unable to take Caleb for his weekly visit. I was surprised that I actually cared! I small part of me was concerned, and I genuinely thought that I would not be worried if he'd ever gotten hurt. My first instinct was to call and ask him if he wanted me to bring him soup or something. But I held off. He no longer has that Malika. She's dead to him. I texted him back and said a simple "I hope you get better."

While I was tempted to rush in and save him, I remembered that for every time he disrespected me, lied to me, called me out of my name, insulted me, etc., he showed me how he felt. And now that he is alone and suffering, he is no longer my problem. There were always many women lining up to be with and do for him, one of those women is welcome to do the honors. 

Because he is not my monkey, and that is no longer my circus.

Unpacking

 My first time being immersed in the idea of minimalism, I was visiting a friend's home. I was immediately drawn to his actual lack of stuff. His was a neat home. A low bed, a low couch. But it felt cozy. It felt livable. I loved the idea of having such a home. And it wasn't that he was poor either. Nope, he was a singer who'd traveled the world, and had great taste in design. He just didn't have a bunch of extra stuff in his apartment. I did all kinds of mental gymnastics to figure how I could one day have a home with the same decor, but I gave up on the idea, although not completely. The fact is that I simply had too much stuff to pull off such a look. But I wanted it.

I've always had a lot of stuff. Quite honestly, the first time in my life I ever moved was from College Park to Decatur and I still have some old magazines and boxes packed up from that. On occasion, I'll pull it out and look through and reminisce about my teenage years. But not enough to justify the space taken, if I'm honest with myself.

The next time I started to look closely at my stuff was after Pete died. The whole time I attended Clark, I looked forward to being able to purchase nice things for myself. I'd developed a love of Coach bags and I prided myself on splurging on a new bag whenever I came into a few extra bucks. I saw my bags as a sign that I'd finally made it and was able to buy nice things for myself. I loved the compliments I got on each one of my bags, as they all signified my being stylish and a woman of means. BWAHAHAHA!!!

I recall sitting on my therapist's couch and explaining that since he died, I no longer wanted nice purses, I wanted instead to be free of such nice things, because they no longer held value. But as time went on, and my grief waned, so too did my desire to free myself of my Coach bag collection, and I'm currently up to 5, with a side of a Kate Spade.

It only really hit home how much shit I own back in July. I'd just returned from my cross-country trip, and with everything going on, I decided that it was time to move. I looked around at my apartment and immediately got overwhelmed with the idea of moving. I had so much stuff. I had full bookshelves, magazines dating back 10 years, dozens of dvds, years of old blankets, a bunch of pots and pans in my kitchen. My decision to move made me look even differently at the toiletries in my bathroom. For the first time ever, it occurred to me that I had literally dozens of perfumes. I took stock in my hygiene items and realized that I had about 5 bars of deodorant, 5 different hair moisturizers, 6 or 7 lotions, a few body scrubs, 3 tubes of toothpaste... just so much stuff!

After I decided to move, I looked at my apartment differently. My ultimate goal was to move into my new crib with just a few boxes and a few of my favorite pieces of furniture. But my small little cozy collection of stuff became an overwhelming pile that I needed to unload. It was no longer my stuff, it was just stuff. While I previously looked forward to adopting a new Coach bag this spring, with part of my tax return, I've since lost interest in it. I'll stack that money and put it toward a nice vacation instead.

Circumstances weren't good for a move because of the pandemic and not wanting to move my son from his school, so I stayed put, but the seed to scale down had been planted. I made a conscious effort to start unloading things. My best friend said that he likes candles, so I made it a point to slide him a few candles that had been sitting at my home. I made it a point to actually use the perfumes I had. By the time I move, I'd like to be down to 5 or 6 scents. Rather than using a small splash of random scents, I made a conscious effort to use one bottle at a time. And not only did I start using what I owned, I also realized that part of my issue was to stop buying shit too!

I'm a sucker for Target's sales in the toiletries section. It took a few days, but it finally started to hit home that I have to avoid Target's toiletries area, because truth is that I have about 6 months to a year of most supplies already. There is nothing there that I need. I also implemented a rule where I'd periodically look at the toiletries that I did own, and I'd toss not only  the things that were expired, but also the things that didn't work (or at least worked <50% in the way that I needed them to). For those items that didn't work, but I'd still held onto, I finally decided to just throw them away.

As the Universe tends to do, symbols and signs started to lead the way. Someone posted this on Facebook recently and I was inspired even further to embrace minimalism once and for all. Coincidentally, at the start of the year, I pledged myself no more Starbucks for the full month of January. In that space, I started to realize that I actually just enjoy spending money, which coincides with accumulating stuff. So all this time, I didn't even realize that. All of this stuff that I've been collecting, was in part because I'd enjoyed just the actual act of buying stuff. It just occurred to me that this is an actual issue I have!

I got to a point where I actually enjoyed throwing things away. I get a bit of glee looking at newly empty spaces. As I started to get rid of things, I happened to start my new job, working with women in a residential treatment center. Many women there entered with just the clothes on their backs, so donations came through the door constantly. I'd also started to take a look at my closet. My precious, precious clothes. There are clothing items that I've owned since my mid 20's and even my teens in my closet. I'm 40. As I've had women report to me that they needed clothes, either as they'd gotten larger (because of pregnancy), or they were just eating a lot to pass time in rehab. Some women also needed clothes because they were starting to go on job interviews and needed outfits. I finally found the chance to unload all of these clothes. Unloading things means that much more when you know that someone else will get better usage out of it.

I decided that when I move, I'm trashing all of my plates, as they don't match anyway. I didn't really care about plates and glasses though, mostly because my child is much like his mother, clumsy af, and I opted not to buy a matching set of dishes until he is out of high school and I'm living solo. I plan to unload many of these pots and pans too. All I need is a couple of baking sheets and about 3 pots and 2 pans. I might even just toss it all and rebuy nicer things once I move. I've been collecting so many more  things over the years, as people would often unload their things onto me. And even though I didn't need them, I took them on anyway, to stash them away to never be seen again.

I'd always felt that I'd feel some kind of way if I got rid of some of my things. But the fact is that I don't miss stuff at all. I feel lighter. My apartment is less cluttered and easier to clean. Those extra cups I tossed make my kitchen less junky and more spacious. My bedroom is cleaner without so much stuff and my closets are neater and better organized.

So while I'm not quite the minimalist yet, I'm sure I will one day be. I'm loving, learning, and correcting these maladaptive behaviors that I've had for so long, and unloading this stuff, I'm learning to unburden myself of a lot of pressure I'd previously held. Sometimes, my memories are enough. I don't have to spend money to have a good time. While I felt more secure surrounded by random baubles previously, I'm really enjoying not needing the protection of what I can buy and have bought, I'm leaning on my independence. I'm noticing that I'm starting to save money too. I frequently scan my apartment for things I don't need. It's almost like a game I play with myself- what thing have I owned for years that I don't need, that I can now throw away and no longer miss?

 I still plan to move one day, just not as soon I originally planned. But I maintain my original goal of only needing a few small boxes for most of my belongings, followed by the furniture that I plan to bring (I'm planning to toss some of the furniture as well).

It's all starting to click. I'm getting there. I'm more inspired than ever to write, and more focused to expand my career in order to help people. Unloading myself of needless casual dating, in addition to unloading unnecessary items, while learning to avoid buying new ones is what real freedom looks like. I'm thankful for the little things and grateful to be on my way to becoming a better version of myself. I don't need stuff. 

Because I am enough on my own.

Solitude

Makes sense that this would be my first post of the year. I honestly can't believe that I've been chronicling my life for over a decade on here. It's like my own little corner of the world, and I'm thankful for that. I've felt huge amounts of guilt over the fact that 2020 was pretty good to me. I like to think that is the Universe's way of making up for the total shit show that I suffered throughout 2017. 

I turned 40 over the summer, and despite not being able to go to Jamaica for my birthday, as I'd planned, I'd say that my epic 10-city road trip certainly made up for it. Before I'd even got back to Atlanta, my former friends seemed to be dropping like flies. It was all stuff that needed to happen though. I don't really miss any of those friends. Well- I'm lying. I miss parts of their friendship. But overall, as I look forward, I'm thankful to the transition and I'm no longer feel obligated to hold onto people, especially if their actions tell me that they don't want or need to be held onto.

As December wound down and I began to reflect on 2020, another thing I'd thought about was how many men I'd given my heart to, only to be seriously let down. But I wasn't angry, I wasn't even sad. I was just tired. Since early childhood, I've always been a giver. A sufferer of emotional and physical abuse, I always felt that rather than perpetrating the abuse I'd suffered, I'd be the opposite and love the people around me. It's amazing that at the age of 40, I'm just now finding my voice and understanding that enough is enough. Recently, during a staff meeting, a coworker began to confess that she was beginning to suffer a bit of "compassion fatigue" while working with our clients. I felt her on that. While I don't feel that in my work place, I certainly am starting to feel it in my personal life. I feel like I've always given so much. Whether it be a ride, money, a couch to crash on, food, babysitting services, or just a comforting ear, I made it my mission in life to be available. But I'm tired.

During my self-talk about the upcoming year, I decided that I essentially would not be dating. Again, not mad, not angry, not sad or heart broken. Simply tired. I committed to making 2021 about building my career skills and goals, and more traveling. The only way I'll date any man is if he's absolutely serious about a relationship/marriage. No more going to men's apartment "just for drinks" and I'm honestly not even thinking about sex at the moment. The best thing about going into this is that my motivation is different. Rather than using this as some way to manipulate a relationship out of thin air, I'm simply going to allow myself to decompress from a lot of bullshit. I uninstalled Tinder and other dating apps I was on. All simply because I was no longer looking.

I tend to believe that the Universe tests our commitment in various ways. My test came fairly quickly. A guy who'd inboxed me several times over the last few years popped up. I'd always played him to the left, simply because he only reached out whenever I'd taken swaggy pics with celebs, and dressed to the nines. That particular guy had dozens of pics himself, dressed equally as sharp. I dismissed him because I saw what he posted online and noticed when he reached out. If he wanted a woman who would wear a beat face and a ballgown for a Target run, I obviously was not the woman for him.  His mother died because of COVID, and I did reach out to offer support. But other than that, our communication was minimal.

That guy reached out to me around the 4th or so. He inboxed, asking how I was. He said that I was simply on his mind. I let him know that going into 2021, my goals are career and travel and that the only men I'll give even the smallest amount of time to, are men who I'll see a serious future with. The guy expressed interest in joining me for my travel and dating. We talked briefly via video chat. He told me that he's well off, due to some investments he made, which I'll admit, was a definite bonus.

I reached my destination and agreed to contact him again that evening. I called, as I said I would. No answer. I wasn't pressed. A few hours later, I texted him to say that I wanted to talk to him to pick his brain on something. He texted me back to tell me that he was out, and that he'd call me on his way home. He did not. I wasn't pressed at that point either, but I definitely took notice.

The following day, he texted me a simple "hey." No mention of not calling me back the previous evening, just "hey." Oddly, I've grown to detest "hey" as a text message. As a giver, I've grown acutely aware of how often a man will text me "hey" and I'll reply with a smiley face and ask about how his day is. As I'm now in the space of reciprocating energy, I waited 15 minutes and replied with "hey." He did not respond. Just like I'd figured, he wanted me to show some kind of excitement about him reaching out to me. WRONG, playbwoi!!! A few hours later, I grew bored and called him. He didn't answer. A while later I got on the phone with a cousin of mine who was in the hospital after a recent heart attack. He called during that conversation, but obviously, I was not going to get off the phone with a hospitalized relative. I shot him a quick text message, letting him know that I'd call him back momentarily. Roughly 10 minutes later, I called him back. No answer. *sigh* Here we go with this shit... I knew already what it was. He wanted me to chase him. He wanted to be the rabbit, and me the hunter.

But what his punk ass forgot is that during our conversation yesterday, I told his ass that I wasn't with the shits. I told him that the only man energy I'm entertaining is about a real future, a partnership, not these frat boy games. On top of all else, after he did not respond to my phone call, I saw that he'd posted some kind of dumb ass statement on Facebook. He wanted me to know that he was dodging me. Know what I did?  *BLOCKED*

Fact is that I don't know that clown outside of Facebook and he didn't bring near enough to the table to start off on some b.s. I gotta admit, I'm proud of myself. Historically, it would have taken me several more months to look at this situation and recognize that he was on some mess. But as my career and travel is my focus now, anything that seeks to distract/hurt/irritate/annoy/disappoint me is going to get stopped at the door.

I've been catching up on the show "Insecure" lately. I looked at it on Friday night, and longed for the warm beaches of southern Cali. The fact is that I'm absolutely suffocating in Georgia, but I cannot move until my son is out of high school. My mother moved me in the middle of my sophomore year of high school, which really just set off a lot of depression. I've decided that I can't do that my own child, so I just gotta suck it up for now.

I awoke on Saturday and decided that I'd take a bit of a road trip to Chattanooga. I called a homegirl and she and another friend ended up meeting me there at a swanky hotel. We had an absolute ball, and during our first excursion, I was inspired to finally start writing. I sat in the middle of a restaurant, and later on, a bar. I was painfully aware of the people and the smoke around me, but it didn't matter, I needed to write, so I did.

The following day, after we parted, I opted to check out a used book store that I'd read about. I went first to the psychology section, which has become my favorite part of any book store that I visit. I found numerous books that I knew I could draw from with my clients. I later on went to the Buddhism section, which I found would offer further support in my practice, so I loaded up, looking forward to being able to use each and every one of them. 

So here I am, happy and ready to move forward. I'm alone, but for the first time, it's self-imposed, as opposed to not having a choice in the matter, something I'd previously had to just suck up and work through. I'm excited about the books I'm going to work on. I'm planning to obtain a professional license soon. 2020 set me up to set the world on fire in 2021. And I am thankful for that too.

Malika ≠ Martyr

So I've talked a little about my current job. How much I love it, and how much I feel like I'm really make a difference in lives. Don't get me wrong, my last job taught me a lot, but the fact is that I was really burned out. I remember how I'd had a couple of bad dreams about the job at one point and how at another point, on Saturday nights, I'd feel angry and anxious about my weekend being over and having only one more day before I had to return. To be fair, things were pretty bad for me at my first site, largely because I felt like I spent my days babysitting, more than my designated job of teaching life skills. 

I thoroughly enjoyed my second site at that organization, to be honest. My goal was to create a food pantry, particularly one that could be used by clients all over the organization. I also wanted to hold a voter registration drive, both of which were held up by first the pandemic, then my getting laid off. I mean, it was cool at first, I took a nice 3 week trip to Cali, paid down my credit cards, and was able to pay down my car as well.

My plan was initially to move from Atlanta, but things didn't pan out, so here, I stayed. I didn't expect to land at my current job when I applied, more so because I thought they'd feel that my experience wasn't up to snuff lol. I guess I was wrong about that.

So anyway, my job entails working with women who are drug addicted mothers, with the goal being reunification with their children. It feels so good to be involved in a position where I'm actively helping people to work on themselves. 

As I move along on this journey called life, I recognize how much of my existence has been about helping others. The beautiful thing is that I now understand how much I've tried to help others. Quite often, I succeeded. Other times, not as much. The good thing about my last job is that I saw firsthand how various mental illnesses present. I'm genuinely fascinated by bipolar disorder, borderline personality disorder, trauma, and so many other things that impact the lives of others.

The interesting thing is that I now see the large impact of mental illness and trauma in the people in my personal life. Over the summer, a friend from high school came back around. I'll call this friend, "Sheila."  (here's a reminder) This particular friend told me that she'd wanted to become a graphic artist. I'm all about linking people with others that will aid them with achieving their goals. I introduced my friend to my cousin, a highly skilled graphic artist. Slowly, things happened, and I'd joined them, and we started working toward putting together a website run by the 3 of us. I was really excited to be part of this project.

However, while things started to move forward, something happened with her. She was fearful. She'd introduced me to a relative of hers who allowed me to get my first eye exam and 2 pairs of prescription glasses pretty cheap. My eyes aren't too bad, but occasionally, I have trouble focusing my eyes, so this deal worked well for me. Sheila clearly has eye sight far worse than mine (evidenced by her massive squinting whenever reading). Homegirl straight up refused to get her eyes checked. I couldn't make sense of it. Girl, get your damned eyes checked! If you can't see, get some damned glasses! She refused.

Another issue Sheila had was her attachment to a rapper she'd fooled with about 20 years ago. Dude has since moved on an publicly announced his wife/gf/fiancé. We aren't exactly sure about her particular role, all we know is that he has continued to publicly announce his love and devotion to this woman.  So anyway, baby girl is STILL all over dude. She's refusing to date, calling him her "twin flame," "soul mate," or whatever titles they call people we don't wanna let go of. 

I'd started to really observe that her issues were deeper than I'd previously seen. I also noticed that every time she came to my home, she went straight for the huge tequila bottle that someone had given me for my birthday. She needed like actual therapy, which I'd let her know. She gave me some  about pathetic excuse of not having insurance, but I told her that my previous job actually takes clients without insurance. She gave me more crap excuses. I'd forgotten that she'd proven to be a flake in our early 20's, but I figured that by our early 40's, she have moved past all of that. She hadn't.

First she started missing our weekly meetings. And then, as my cousin and Sheila and I started to move closer to our live date for the site, she started with the bullshit. She started to stall and suggest pushing back the live date. I talked privately to my cousin and told him that I wasn't with the shits and I knew she was about to flake. After about 2 weeks of radio silence from her, she basically told us that she wanted out (which my cuz and I had already suspected was about to happen). 

I'll be honest, old Malika would have tried to talk to her, to convince her to get help. I'm pretty sure that she had an anxiety disorder, which is easily treated with CBT, and possibly some meds. She refused. Old Malika would have tried to save her. To perhaps hold an intervention. But Malika now just doesn't have it in me. I got a job. I got a child. I have real life work and professional experience. It's literally my job to help people with their struggles. I almost wish I'd been able to be more sympathetic. But I've seen her patterns for 20+ years of friendship. I don't have the additional energy for a friend who doesn't want to put forth the additional work to fix her own issues. I just can't support that. I wish her well. But when she sent me a text message, telling me that she's working through her "healing process" I just looked at it. I wish I'd had it in me to respond positively and being supportive. But I couldn't. It was more bullshit. She'd done literally the same bullshit for 20 years. I looked at the text message and chose to say nothing. Because if I'd said anything, I possibly would have done more damage than anything. So I silently wished her the best and put my phone back down.

Whew, I'm exhausted just writing all of that. So anyway, next up. I'll call her Alice. I'd worked with Alice some years ago. She had a horrible boyfriend, who was abusive to her. She'd sometimes come to work with bruises on her. To make her issues worse, her 12-year-old son had died of cancer. Unsurprisingly, she'd had a lot of issues, as anyone would after the loss of a child. But I'd later learned that she'd had other issues prior to his death.

She was the product of rape, as her mother often threw into her face. She told me how growing up, as he darkest person in her family, she was often referred to as a "black bitch." While we worked together, I was often the only person to plainly tell her that her loser boyfriend wasn't good enough for her and to lose him. She held firm. 

I eventually left that job and we'd lost contact. One day, she and I started chatting again, and she admitted to me that he was still in the picture. I tearfully told her that if she stayed with him, he'd kill her one day. I even had her in my home as she called various family members to leave Atlanta to escape him. I encouraged her to pretty much leave with the clothes on her back. She gave me reasons that she couldn't. I should be honest and call them excuses. She did not leave Atlanta. At least, not at the time. Another issue she'd had was her roommate, whom I'd felt was way too close to her ex (not in a sexual way though). Basically, the roommate had allowed him to continue to stay there, despite his history of attacking Alice. But Alice remained firm that her roommate was a "good friend."

A few years later, I started chatting with Alice again. At this point, she'd finally left Atlanta (YAY!) and the abusive slimeball (DOUBLE YAY!!!) She was a semi-truck driver. She and I would often talk for hours as she drove up and down the West Coast. At some point, she'd planned to fly out a guy from Atlanta (not the slimy ex), but he had a family emergency and was unable to attend. I was hoping to come out instead, but the airline would not allow her to change her reservation. So although her guy friend wasn't able to make it out, her roommate that kept her shitty ex around came instead. 

Alice told me afterward how her former roommate essentially showed her ass the whole time, ruining the trip. Honestly, after what she'd said, I truly feel that the roommate may have a mental health diagnosis. Unsurprisingly, she'd told me that at some point, the roommate's family had actually had her hospitalized for mental health (as they should). I warned Alice to separate herself from the roommate. She assured me after that trip, she would.

A couple of weeks later, Alice lost her job abruptly. I figured, what the hell, I'd let her crash with me for a few days until she landed on her feet. She slept a lot the first few days, which was fine, I figured she was decompressing and needed to rest for a few. A couple of days later, she went to stay with the roommate. Naturally, I was suspect on it, but I'll be honest, I was glad to have my living room back. Anyway, she essentially stayed with the former roommate and only came to pick up her stuff from my house a few days later. I'd had several conversations with her about the roommate and how she was clearly  shit show, but I figured that she knew what she was doing, and I decided simply "not my monkey, not my circus."

A day or so later, after she'd picked up her belongings, I got a phone call from Alice at 3am. The roommate had gotten angry with her over something and put her out in the middle of the night. The good was that she'd been let out in my neighborhood so that she could safely come to my home. The bad was that I'd reached my breaking point. The fact is that I don't have people in my life who put me out of the car, on the other side of town from where I'm staying, in the middle of the night. I shouldn't have to wake up at 3a.m. to pick someone up, all because of whomever she opted to hang out with. And I knew that mess was just the tip of the iceberg when dealing with the roomie. When Alice returned to my home, I told her point blank that she absolutely cannot stay at my home if she continues to be friends with the former roommate. The toxicity of this woman would eventually become my problem and I simply was not going to allow that. She agreed that she needed to remove herself from the situation and stated that being booted from the car at 3am was the final straw.

By this point, our communication had fallen drastically. It was difficult to communicate with her at times. Perhaps it was knowing about her past the way that I did and my therapeutic nature, but we talked about her deceased son sometimes, and other times, the abusive ex came up. Sometimes she talked about her mother, who had been diagnosed with a mental illness. She talked about the lack of affection she felt from her father, and she also talked about her recently deceased sister. She drank a lot. I got it. I felt bad for her. She carried a lot of pain. And I wanted so badly to fix her. 

A few days later, Alice asked for a ride to the train station. I obliged. She was a bit secretive when sharing where she was going. She eventually relented and told me she was planning to hang out with a guy, which was odd that she was hesitant to share, because our dating stories about men had be beyond vulgar. She didn't return that night. I was worried, but she eventually called. She'd stayed away more nights. Again, I was glad to have my couch back, but I hoped she was well. She never returned to stay in my home. She moved her stuff out while I wasn't home one day.

A month or so later, I saw a picture on Facebook of her in a nightclub with the toxic roommate. I unfollowed her. I couldn't bear to watch her bad decisions anymore.

I could easily take my laptop and put together a treatment plan and outline goals for her. But she isn't a client. She's a personal friend. And more than anything, it isn't my job to fix a woman that doesn't really want my help. With my training, I can now identify that Alice has issues with substance abuse and codependency, which often unfortunately go hand in hand. She was clinging to these toxic people and behavior, because that was all she knew and she didn't want to be alone. And all I can do is pray for her well being from afar.

So as I get ready to go into the new year, I'm armed with new knowledge of trauma, substance abuse, mental illness, and poor coping skills. And old Malika wanted more than anything to save the world. I really adore talking to people and them having that "come-to-Jesus" moment where they accept their own role in their issues and start to make better decisions. I get to talk to women 5 days a week and help them be their best versions of themselves. I'd do this for free, I love it so much.

But I gotta be honest y'all. I'm tired. I've spent my life saving siblings, friends, romantic partners, even total strangers, and I'm fucking exhausted. I wish Alice and Sheila well. And if either of them call me at this exact moment and tell me that they're really ready to really tackle their issues, and not just drink them away, I'd be there with bells on, to guide them to a professional, who is paid to help these women. Because I know now that it is not my responsibility to save everyone around me. And I'm learning to be okay with that.

Apologies and PTSD

Big shock, I'm single. Still. I'm okay with that. Sometimes. But I can say that my love life is and pretty much mostly has been top notch, and the men who keep me company all hold a special space in my life.

Needless to say, COVID-19 has created quite a few moments of reflection for most of us. Other than a man I dated briefly 5 or 6 years ago (really sweet guy, such a loss), I don't know anyone personally that has succumbed to it, although I do have quite a few peers who have lost parents to it. My father and stepmommy are doing well to avoid the public, so I remain faithful that my parents are safe.

In my reflections looking back, I didn't really see any regrets. Perhaps my fairly recent deep dissent into grief after Pete died helped me to work through my shit before we got to this point, but I didn't see much need. Naturally, I had some thoughts to sort through, much like the rest of the world, but truthfully, I just went through life pretty normally, considering the cluster fuck that is this country.

It appears that others around me have been in reflection mode as well. Back in June, I caught up with an ex from my early 20's, who I occasionally chat with. During our chat, my ex surprised me by stating that he sincerely apologized if he'd hurt me during our time together. He admitted that he foolishly thought in his youth that he'd find a better woman to his liking. Dude is almost 50 and finally acknowledged how wrong he was.

I was floored. Wow! Damn homie. I felt like a huge weight was lifted off of me. I was young and foolish, in allowing him to leave and come back far too many times. He's actually come through for me after we broke up, on a few occasions, and I appreciate that. 

Next up came Steve. One day, out of nowhere, Steve hit me up and said that if he'd ever hurt me, he apologized and said that I'll always have a special place in his heart. Even going as far as to say that I made him believe in love again. Damn homie. That's deep and really appreciated. Thank you.

The third apology is really what turned the tide. I'll just start by saying that Atlanta is small. Damned small. I manage to know a lot of people. And it just so happens that the woman my ex ended up with after me was a former homegirl of mine. I wasn't even angry when they got together (I'd already suspected it), but I more so took issue with the fact that as soon as the cat was out of the bag, she became a complete BITCH to me. Damn, sis? Alla that? And in further small Atlanta news, I happened to be homies with her daughter's father (this is some Flowers in the Attic shit, right?!). Baby girl could have easily just come to me and we talked woman to woman, and I wouldn't have had any beef. But my ex thrived on creating beef and drama in my life, so she and I ain't been cool since. 

Anyway, I knew that she was a gold digger from some things she'd said in passing when we were cool with one another, so I knew that she was only clinging to my ex because he'd be dumb enough to pay her bills. And I'd always suspected that she'd leave him first windfall she got. And long story short, I was right.

I'll be honest and say that I had a few giggles to myself when their relationship ended in spectacular fashion (again, I know her bd, I saw the ending of their relationship before my bd even did). But after a minute, I genuinely felt bad for my ex, so I wrote him a nice text or two, encouraging him to keep his head up. My ex then surprised me by sending me an invite to the party he was throwing my son for his birthday. I don't typically do parties for my son, pretty much because the kid is an anti-social unicorn. The lil joker didn't even tell classmates when it was actually his birthday this year.

My ex suggested that we try therapy, just so that we could get along better. I'd literally begged him for us to go to therapy for years, so I said yes, just- well, just because. Going to the party, my stomach was in knots. I didn't know what to expect. I didn't know who would be there. I saw him and I tensed up. I wasn't bubbly, happy Malika. I wanted to go home. Every time he talked to me, I honestly wanted to punch him. He tried to make small ice breaker jokes, and all I could muster was a painful, terse smile. He tried to talk to me in private while there, explaining that counseling would help us, and even thanked me in his toast, saying what a fine job I'm doing of raising our son. But I hated him. I've never been so glad to go home.

I told my inner circle that he wanted counseling for us. All of them had the same question. "Why?!" They knew. They were there. They knew about the lies, the drama, the games, the headaches, the tears, the fights. I guess my loved ones knew that going back into the circle with him wasn't good for me. My agreement to attend counseling stuck, but it didn't sit right for me. I didn't want to do it. I mean, my friends and family were right. "Why?!" What did I hope to gain? How will this benefit me? The truth is, it won't. My son is 13 years old. He's independent and has his own phone. If I need to speak to my ex, I text him. If he needs to speak to me, he can text me. We don't need to start spending holidays together. I mean, I tried so damned hard to make our relationship good, even as co-parents after we separated. He fought me tooth and nail on that. And now, just because he had his heart stepped on, doesn't obligate me to be the one to patch him up. I don't really want him to suffer. I don't really care if he does or not. I mean, be good, namaste, all of that. But I don't owe him yet another opportunity. I'm good on that.

I texted my ex to tell him that I'm not going to counseling with him after all. He said that he feels that counseling would be good for us. I told him that I'm actually good, I don't need it. He said that we can always go later on if I change my mind. My response? 

"I won't."

I guess I could say that it felt empowering to have these three men (and my son's father of ALL people) to apologize to me. And yes, it felt validating. I wasn't crazy. I wasn't the one at fault. That I actually was the good one in my past relationships. Yay! But wait-

I spent so many years, asking The Universe, "What's wrong with me?! Why doesn't he love me back?!" I've quizzed my guy friends so much. I've emotionally wrestled with so many men that sought to keep me in their bubble of sex kitten. Yeah, sex is cool. But what's wrong with me that that's all they can see? I've literally cried myself to sleep over this million dollar question.

So after these apologies validated that these guys were the ones who fucked up (one even posited the question to me "have you ever thought about marriage?" Bruh, I'm good on that). But once the validation waned, the anger set it.

I mean, hol' up here! You meant to tell me that I was actually doing every damned thing right, and now that you're in a better space, you wanna make amends? WHET?! I mean, are these assholes aware of exactly how much psychological damage was done to me with all of this gaslighting and game playing?  Another thing that's wild is that these men are all from different parts of my life. And they all treated me like shit and later came to recognize it. They all admitted that if they'd known differently then, they would have behaved differently.

That's well and good and all. But it doesn't uncry a single tear. It doesn't really rebuild my shattered self-esteem (I had to do that on my own with A LOT of work). It in no way goes back up to that woman that was hurt over and over again and makes things right. I mean, sure, it's better now, because I'm better. But I'm not better because of them. I'm better on my own.

Truthfully, these apologies just make me angry now. I know that wasn't necessarily the intended goal. I'm just pissed off, remembering all of the times that I shouldered the emotional blame for shit that men are only just now recognizing wasn't my fault. And that's not fair and it's not okay.

So anyway, a day or so ago, on Facebook, somehow a post was shown, and I don't remember the context, but I recognized from it that I have actual relationship PTSD. 

That came about because there's a guy I like. I call him Neighbor Bae. He's handsome, funny, financially secure, charming, we have tons in common, smart, well-traveled, honest. And I like him a lot. I started to wonder if I should try to enter into a relationship of sorts with him. But then I froze. I started to ask myself if I really wanted a relationship with him. And I couldn't say yes. Like if dude came to me and said "Malika, let's do this," I couldn't guarantee that I'd be down. What the hell is wrong with me? Ergo, relationship PTSD.

On top of this, I decided to cut the strings with my dad. I just can't take his gaslighting and shit either. I really held him down on some bullshit he dealt with recently, and he treats me like his cracked out daughter, not the educated woman that I am. Oddly, he and my mother both get their jollies bragging to their friends about how accomplished Malika has been as a single mother, while they both seemed to actively make my life harder. I just can't carry this load anymore.

So all of this brought me to the decision that I need to deal with my parental issues (and probably relationship issues) in therapy. I don't want to, but I don't really have a choice. I'm great in so many aspects of my life. I'm a great mother and have a great relationship with my child, I just landed my dream job, my bills are paid, my friends/support network couldn't be anymore top notch. It's about time for me to free myself of the bonds of toxic relationships. I hope to have a successful relationship at some point, but my paralyzing fear of the idea needs some real work.

Funny enough, I was in therapy a bit before Pete died and then after. I'd initially gone to this therapist while I was in grad school, as I needed to work out this fucked up relationship with my mother. And then later I went back after Pete's passing. I wanted desperately to continue working with my therapist after school, but she warned me that if we continued to work, we'd have to start delving into my mommy issues. Woo child, I most certainly was not ready for that. Nope, that's years and YEARS of shit to wade through.

But now, things are less hectic. My son doesn't need me as much. Work is less stressful. I'm not in school. I'm not even trying to balance a romantic relationship at the moment. This seems like the perfect time. So I can stop picking men that will need to apologize in the future.

I'm 40 and an Empath

I turned 40 this year. The plan was originally to get my passport (finally) and spend my 40th birthday on a beach in Jamaica. For the last two years, I've told everyone that would listen that I have every intention to be toes down in the beach in that beautiful island nation. But then COVID-19 was like NOPE!

Given the massive changes that accompanied this horrible virus, I'd say that I've been pretty lucky. Being able to stay home for so long has done a lot for me. Definitely an unexpected blessing. I debated on the best way to spend my big day. Clearly leaving the country was out of the question. But traveling wasn't. Or was it? I decided that the best thing to do was to cross another item off of my bucket list and with all of my free time and unemployment money. It took a few weeks of research (not like I had much else to in the meantime anyway) but I decided on the perfect route. I was going to drive to the other side of the country. Los Angeles and San Francisco, two of my favorite cities, and whatever cities I come across in the meantime.

Deciding on the best days to travel became an issue too. In early June, unless you were living under a rock, you know about the curfews and lock downs as the result of a lot of racial strife in this country. I've been nursing a knee injury that I feared would be worsened by marching or running in the case of a protest that went awry, so despite my years of protesting in my 20s and 30s, I opted to sit the protests out. While watching from home, I lay somewhere between "oh my God, please be safe and go home" and a feeling of "BURN ALLA THIS SHIT DOWN!!"

But it hurt. It hurt to watch, it hurt to know that it was going on. I understood the necessity, but it physically hurt to watch. I was confused and sad. People hurting, being killed. Social media became my primary news source. All I wanted was answers. 

In the meantime, I slowly approached my birthday. A few of my Facebook friends had the misfortune of celebrating their birthdays on lockdown. I had the utmost faith that by the time my birthday rolled around, I'd be free to safely travel about the country. I'm lying. I was terrified. Some of the cities I planned to drive through had some pretty gnarly riots from what the news was reporting. Thankfully, as the time drew nearer, things simmered a bit. I was truly nervous about being a lone Black woman driving through a bunch of new cities, during a time of the most racial tension in this country for the last 50 years. But I'm still Malika.

As the birthday drew nearer, I experienced the loss of a previously good friend. The friend didn't die, thankfully, but they started dating someone else and their friendship essentially vanished. I could have held on. But after that friend doing something similar in the past, I knew that our friendship was over. I even decided not to invite them to my 40 celebration. I knew that it would be awkward for them to see it online, but I wasn't going to change up my plans, just to make them feel better.

 I decided to do it up Malika style. I started the actual celebration at an open, outdoor ice cream shop, for the friends that preferred to socially distance. Followed up by 6 friends having the time of our lives at my apartment. I won't get into the tawdry details, but there was more than a little alcohol consumed. It was definitely good times.

Now I'd been previously warned that turning 40 creates a new level of not giving a shit. But I can say that going into 40, I was pretty at ease. Feeling amazing even. And roughly a week later, I was on the road. I'll keep it brief, but the cities I went to were

Baton Rouge

New Orleans

Austin

Amarillo

Denver

Salt Lake City

Reno

San Francisco

Los Angeles

The Grand Canyon

Albuquerque

Santa Fe

Oklahoma City

Little Rock 

Memphis

It was- well, amazing. It's no longer the therapeutic trip that I needed when I originally started traveling. I mean, there was still some therapy and healing, but not the same level. But at some point, one of my friends wrote a despicable thing on Facebook. I called him out and posted a screenshot on my page. He texted me, outraged. I let him know that what he wrote was wrong. Long story short, our friendship is over. That's 2 people.

By the time I hit Oklahoma, I was ready to get home. I missed my bed, my cat, and my child. My final stop in Memphis was a bit emotional, as I went to the Lorraine Hotel, the site of Dr. King's assassination. From there, I drove straight home overnight.

I got home and crashed immediately. I was exhausted. It truly took a few days of decompression to get back to myself again. During my period of re-acclimation, I watched the news and social media to learn that the governor of Georgia intended to sue the mayor of Atlanta over mask mandates. 

I felt physically ill. My life seemed like it was no longer mine. I was tired, angry, confused. I knew that I no longer wanted to call the South home. I made the decision that the moment my son graduates high school in 6 years, I plan to move to California.

While home from work, I continued to utilize social media to entertain an inform me. To make a long story shorter, a good guy friend, who I'd always thought of as an ally of women, downplayed the shooting of Megan Thee Stallion. He and I fell out, I went off on him, and he called me a bitch. I spent days crying. I took to my bed. My heart and every part of my body physically hurt. That's 3 people. I took to a private chat to vent to my frustrations. A friend in the chat took that particular time to come down on me, stating that I'd sworn off dealing with the guy for the last few years. I began to swear at him. I'll admit, my nerves were heightened at the moment. I was raw, I was hurt, I was angry. I kicked him from the chat and blocked him. That's 4 people.

I opted to go offline at that point. Truthfully, I wanted to go offline previously, but I kept it up, primarily to record my birthday celebrations and trip. But I knew that I needed to scale back. I needed t be away from people. Too much people-ing. I needed to be near less persons. A few loved ones checked in after noticing my absence, but I assured them all that I was fine, I simply needed a moment. They understood.

I was anxious about plans that I was making for the future. Some friends and I started working on a project that I was excited to be part of. It kept me occupied, during a time where the world seemed to be on fire. There was a friend who has a long history of disappearing and reappearing. I stated to my friend that in the future, I'd appreciate him telling me if he needs to disappear. I assured him that he doesn't have to tell me exactly what he's going through, nor do I need an expected date of return. I simply need to know that his disappearance is not tied to something I've done, so that my anxiety is not chewing at me from the inside out.

He accused me of trying to keep tabs on him. He continued to play dumb. He asked me to explain myself several times, despite me speaking plain, clear English what I needed. I eventually hurried off of the phone with him. I was deflated. I hurt. My stomach physically hurt. I relayed the conversation to friends of mine, asking if my request was outlandish. My friends assured me that asking someone for a basic heads up was not outlandish or selfish. I'd been friends with him for years. Over a decade. But my thought was simply that I've already lost 4 friends, what's one more? That's 5 people.

I wish I could say that I'd been brave and casual about the loss of 5 people I loved enormously. To be fair, I didn't completely ex out my last encounter, but I definitely opted to scale back my contact with him. But still, I consider him the 5th. I went into a low-grade depression. I found my body again physically hurting. My stomach literally was in knots. I wished I could sleep all day. I was glued to my television, watching Mad Men, just wishing it would all go away. Why was I losing friends? What's wrong with me? The more I looked back at the issues that just occurred, the more I knew that I was right. I realized that I'd let people get so okay with being shitty to me, that my tolerance of it was no longer. And the shock came because they'd essentially done what the'd always done, I just no longer wanted to be victimized and disrespected, so I exploded. 

I just wanted it to be better. I wanted answers. Why did this hurt? How can some people have major beef with others and 10 minutes later be okay, while a falling out with loved ones leaves me feeling like a part of my soul is missing? That's when it hit me. I'm an empath. I feel. I feel deep. I suck up the energy of others, whether it be good or bad. And some people enjoy unloading all of their negativity onto others, knowing that their victim will eventually implode from the pressure. They get off on it. They think it's funny or entertaining to leave me depleted, hurt, and confused. And I've let them. For all those years, I allowed people to leave me drained. And worse yet, when things were healed, and I was better, I allowed them to come back and do it all again. I gotta own it, I can't blame anyone but myself at this point.

Oddly enough, learning that I was/am and empath was freeing. It all made sense. Why I was so sensitive. Why I avoid arguments. I'm an empath. Wow. 

The other morning, I awoke and something suddenly hit me. I needed to be grateful. I needed to stop questioning why the universe was taking these people out of my life, rather than being thankful that many people that I'd known were toxic were leaving my space. Now that I'm learning to show gratitude, rather than hesitation, I can allow my life to flow more peacefully, rather than dragging my feet and blocking my progress.

Since then, I'm learning more so to protect my space. I thought I would have gone back on social media by now, but I still can't bring myself to go on my Facebook page. My time has been taken up by Reddit instead, which is far less personal. Plus it allows me to follow the pages I support, which allows me to avoid seeing things that jar me. I'm far more aware of who I spend my time with, and I give myself permission to leave moments and places that make me uncomfortable.

I'm not sure how much longer I will be in this space of reservation from others, but I feel whole for the first time in a long time, I feel in control. I made a conscious decision not to text back someone who broke my heart when he responded to me yesterday, and I feel proud of that. Now that I know what's at stake, I'm a lot more aware and I'm able to make decisions that serve me and move me forward. I'm 40 and I'm an empath.