I'm Ready?

Friday night was another one of those Atlanta bangers that I've come to know and enjoy. My homie performed at the High Museum and I decided to make a solo date of it. I'd tried to get a few homegirls to join me, but they were all busy. The performer and I had enough mutual friends that I knew that I'd run into some buddies anyway, but I was ready to weather the night alone, either way. 

I got there and ran into a classmate from grad school. We hugged and caught up, and saw the man with her. I thought they were together and questioned her about her new boo. She answered that they weren't together and asked if I was interested. I told her that I was not, and still very much dedicated to celibacy. As the night went on and we started checking out the exhibits, he and I had a chance to talk a bit more, and I enjoyed his company. I went back later and asked her if he's single. She said that he is and asked again if I was interested. I surprised myself by telling her that I was. We ended up parting before I could talk to him more, but she offered to give him my phone number, and I agreed.

After the show, I went to the performer and said my hellos, after running into those inevitable mutuals. Plenty of hugs and laughter. One of the mutuals I'd seen around a few times, but we'd never really chatted much. For some reason, we chopped it up a bit more. We laughed a lot. While the performer packed up, the mutual and I got to know one another. It was nice. All these years, I wasn't sure if we'd ever had a full on conversation, but here we were, chatting like besties. It felt warm and familiar. When we parted, he said he'd hit me later and I agreed.

As I drove away, I got that little tingle I hadn't gotten in ages. I wasn't too focused on either guy, but I'd started to wonder if I was in a healthy head space to actually embrace the dating scene again. My boundaries are stronger than ever, and I genuinely enjoy being alone, for the first time, more than I enjoy having someone in my space, breathing up my air. Maybe I'm finally in a good frame of mind to take this on again?

Next up, I drove to a venue to see someone who is quickly becoming one of my favorite people. *Le sigh* A couple of homegirls met me there and we danced until the lights came up. Later on, favorite person, a girlfriend, and myself descended on R. Thomas and more conversation happened. It felt so familiar to get home at 4am. I haven't had a night like that in forever. 

On Saturday, I'd pondered so much on the night before. The fun. Creating great memories. Spending time with so many of my favorite people and making plans for more nights like it. Unfortunately, I had to drop a grip to fix a plumbing problem at my home, but I consider myself blessed to be able to handle the repair. It was from an old, rusted pipe, that I was told a year ago would be an issue. I was hoping to be able to get another year or two from it, but time just wasn't on my side.

Know what? I was about to write about some encounters I'd had with a few exes on Saturday, but somehow I realized that it wasn't important. My refusal to deal with weak ass attempts really isn't as interesting as it used to be. I'm concerned and focused on my growth. My ideas. My spirit. My healing, and my journey.

And right now, I'm exited that my journey is taking me in a new direction. I'd met with my cousin on Saturday, and he's helping me to put together the planner that I want, and we looked at how much it will cost to print, while he puts the finishing touches on it. That's what I need and that's what I want to do. I want to accomplish something. I want to touch my own product in my hands and work to put it out there to help others. This is good for me. 

I also finally found a place that's willing to host my women's support groups, for no charge, they're only asking that we by coffee or food, and we're allowed to use the space. Once I finish writing this blog, I have to put together the information for the people who own the space. That's two projects down, and a million more to go. I'm starting out this year with a bang. 

It's about damned time.

New Year, Same Journey

My inner horndog thought that by the time the clock struck 12, I'd be wrapped in some sheets with some stunning man and getting my back blown out. But after the last dude started trying to pull the mind games at the end of November, I knew that I'd be going into the New Year by and for my damned self, and I was beyond okay with it.

My work schedule has changed up, allowing me to engage in more Atlanta nightlife, and I really missed this scene. I'm sure at some point, I'll scale back. But for now, I'm enjoying getting to run into the friends I hadn't seen in forever, exploring new venues, and reminiscing in old ones. Wild to think that I was with these people, in these same streets, 2 full decades ago.

During my last visit with my therapist, she pointed out to me that I have so many major goals to focus on, yet I'm not really focused on any one. Ugh. I hate it when she's right. I stumbled upon an ADHD planner, which I decided to purchase. I dig it, and it comes in handy. I'm also trying way harder to be more intentional about using it every day, and it has some perks. But there are certain things I wish it contained, to satiate my lil old ADHD brain. So I'm considering putting one together. I've also had a few ideas for some stories that I'd like to work on.

So going into this year and walking away from the concept of dating and sex, I'm fully able to focus on my creative endeavors. I have a few trips that I'm planning for 2026, and I'm really excited about that as well. I started out doing well eating in a healthy manner, but I ran into an old homegirl last night, at a coffeehouse, and she managed to drag me to a bar. Whatever yo, the sushi was banging, but I'm back on the wagon today.

Honestly, I'm not quite sure what I expected from this post. No major developments. Just a newfound enjoyment of my life and my solitude. And a strengthened desire to focus on my creativity and to finally learn how to sit my ass down and make money from it. 

 

Emotionally Safe

I got a text from an ex last night. Whoever it was isn't important. But this person has an extensive history of pretty much completely ignoring me and coming back whenever whoever or whatever they were chasing no longer pans out. I always had deep love for him, so I was always glad when he came back around. But with all of the changes going on in my life recently, I've had way more opportunity to reflect on that behavior and how it's made me feel in the past.

Being vulnerable here, I have abandonment issues. I can't quite flesh out which childhood trauma the issue comes from, but one of the worst things a person can do to me is to get close to me and then disappear. It rips away a part of my soul and crushes me like nothing else. I require, at the very least, closure, a phone call, a messenger pigeon, something! Because otherwise, I sit around a stew and wonder if the person is mad at me, or if there's something I could have done better. It eats at me, because if I value the person, I want to make sure that I'm not doing something bad to push them away, unintentionally. My inner child comes rushing to the surface, and needing comfort, whenever this behavior happens again.

This particular ex has a long history of disappearing on me, and each time, it hurts just as much. One day, I thought I'd explain to him why it hurts me and to make a small request- if he knows that he's unavailable, to just let me know. To maintain his privacy, he didn't even have to reveal what he was going through at the time, simply let me know that he was doing something and that he'd pop back up when he was ready. Was his response "sure, I'm sorry Malika, I'll try to be more conscious in the future of letting you know that I need to disappear for a few, and that it's not personal"? Nope! He said something along the lines of "why do I have to check in with you?" "you're just trying to keep tabs on me!" and "I'll see" about letting me know. Dismissive. I'd even venture to call his attitude towards me, indignant. He felt that telling me that he sees my messages and that he just needs a minute to himself, as asking too much. If you're wondering if he ever attempted to let me know when he was going to disappear into the future again, he absolutely did not. It remained a pattern that I foolishly remained in for far too long.

Yesterday, as I went about my day, for some reason, he was on my mind, strong. I thought back on that conversation where I explained to him how much it really messed with me when he disappeared, and how defiant he was. How he seemed bothered and defensive about sending me a simple goddamned text message to tell me that he was alive. He was flippant about the idea, and acted as though communicating that with me was somehow a violation of his personal freedoms. And I stewed heavy in those thoughts.

Then, last night, as I settled into bed, I got the text message from him. It seemed to be a casual check in, nothing pressing. He said that he'd had some time between activities and wanted to say hello. I responded briefly, but I was floored that I'd been thinking about him particularly strongly that day, and then he popped up. It was pretty late, but still, the old me would have made a moment to at least call him to hear his voice for a second. But I didn't. I was flat. Boring, even. As I read those words dancing on my phone, all I could go back to was "I'll see."

I've had quite a few men who popped into my life lately, but what I've started to hone in on is "does this person make me feel emotionally safe?" I've always made men feel emotionally safe. They drop their secrets and their emotional baggage onto me like a ton of bricks, and like a champ, I always hold them up and make them feel seen and heard. I never bring drama and bullshit to them. They can call me, any time, day or night, and I always hold space for them. They always know that they can come running home, whenever they need to feel safe and loved. But where does that exist for me?

For way too long, I let this particular ex come in and out of my life. I provided him with assurances, attention, and affection, even though I now see that he didn't deserve it. And for the one thing that I asked him not to do, the one thing that would save me mental anguish, he did it with his whole damned chest, repeatedly. And I can't even be too mad at him, I sat back while the blueprint was being created. Time to undo that.

Last night, after I responded with one or two words, he texted something again. I saw it. I didn't respond. It was late. I went to sleep and didn't bother to tell him that. Why for? I woke up and saw that he'd texted, asking if I was at work. I was in bed, knocked out. 

Am I going to check with him, like I once did? Do I anticipate going to him, and dropping all of my activities whenever I come across his name on my phone in the future? I'll see.

(No.)

Humiliation Ritual

I try to be really careful about curating what I follow on social media. So much division between men and women has been pretty bad for my mental health and I've been intentional about unfollowing groups that seem to thrive on nothing but rage bait and red pill mansophere bullshit. And truthfully, some of those pro-women groups can be pretty catty and mean as well.

But to be fair, some of those pro-women groups have been very cathartic and educational for me. One particular person I follow often shows examples of women bending over backwards in relationships while men seem to secretly get off on embarrassing the woman, as she tries her damnedest to win his approval. I've come to see these kinds of stunts as "humiliation rituals." Things that men do, where they set up situations for the woman to basically lower herself to win over the man, as he beats his chest like the manly man that he is (eye roll).

I just realized that it had been a while since I last checked in here. During that time, I decided that when the new year hit, I'd be ready to drop the shackles of my celibacy and knock some boots. I'd reconnected with a past lover recently. He and I have had to work through a few hiccups from our past, but I was confident that we'd finally made it to a safe space where we could be in one another's lives in a healthy manner. I'd shared with him that I was interested in basically giving him my second shot at virginity. Big damned shock, he was more than interested.

We'd talked about what that looked like and what my expectations were. Because of the time that we were first seeing one another, we had a lot going on, which didn't leave a lot of time for dating. Plenty of time for "other stuff," but no actual dates. I'd mentioned to him that I'd like for us to go out on a date. He followed up by asking me what I meant by a date and then telling me that we'd gone on a date before. Now look, I'm not the brightest crayon in the box. And my memory can be shit sometimes. But I know damned well that this man and I have never gone out, and I'm okay with that. But I'm not okay with this fucker attempting to rewrite history and telling me that some grand gesture exists where it does not.

I felt myself literally wilt. He tried it. He fucking tried it. And it wouldn't suck so much if this were not the 3rd time that I've had this fool gaslight me about something that I'm completely sure of. But this time is different. While I'd swallowed my pride to keep the peace before, I just couldn't do it this time. This means too much to me. I will not give my body to a man who seems hell-bent on gaslighting me and playing in my face, while he and I both know that he's not showing up how I need him to.

I'd gone silent on him. I just refused to do it anymore. I know him well, and he knows me. Actually, this guy and I are so connected, that over the years, there have been dozens of times that he'll seriously text me while I'm in the middle of thinking about him. He and I are obviously connected on a deeper level and he admitted that he's got intuitive gifts on his father's side, just like me. Still, I was surprised when he broke and texted me out of nowhere. I could tell that he was attempting to test the waters, to see if our rendezvous is still on the table in the new year. It ain't, but I haven't mentioned that to him yet. But I will soon. I'm not playing with this dude.

I hung with a girlfriend today and I'd mentioned it to her. I told her how I have no intentions of laying down with this man and how hurt I am. But I also told her that the old version of myself is still in there, trying to make sense and look at him in a loving light. The new me knows better and the new me will not allow him to lower us. Old me is torn though.

On my way home from dropping her off, it occurred to me what was going on. A humiliation ritual. He can't see us eye to eye. He needs me to lower myself. He needs the ego boost of accepting crumbs from him, while he takes something valuable. But I can't. And I won't. I'm supposed to getting coffee with him soon, and I plan to basically give him a "I'm not ready, it's not you, it's me" speech when I tell him that nookie is off the table. He's already shown me that whenever I attempt to address my needs between the two of us, all he does is shut down and shift the blame. I'm honestly low-key wondering if he's a covert narcissist. Because I'm noticing a pattern here. It doesn't matter though, because I refuse to walk this tightrope of bullshit, just to maintain his fragile ego.

On top of that, Fred called me today and apologized. Again. We chatted for about 15 minutes. It was nice to see that he was thinking about me. But I didn't forget. I didn't forget at all. I'm not mad. I'm not depressed. I'm not confused. I'm just over it. In the words of a great philosopher,

I mean, at some point, apologies just stop meaning so much, if you keep doing the same stuff, ya dig? And I'm not mad. I'm at peace. I just want a peaceful life. I want to get back what I give to others. 

Is that too much to ask?

The Bad Days

I can honestly say that I'm pretty blessed. Got a job that I like and I'm good at. My health is good, in addition to the health of my son. I've got plans. I've got options. Things are amazing. But some days... some days, those thoughts creep back in. I'm not really "over" my loss of Dres. It still hurts. I miss my friend. Even though we didn't talk everyday, he was my friend, my brother, my backbone. I miss my homie. And some days, I can chalk it all up, smile through my pain, and move on. But other days, I feel like I do right now.

It isn't always just the loss of Dres. It's the loss of so many people in my life. I lost Pete. I lost Ali. I lost Jody. I lost Uncle Tippy. I lost Rod. I lost Celeste. I lost Andrea. I lost Jarronn. I lost Conchata. I lost Tracey. I lost my mind.

Most days, I move forward, knowing that it is what it is. My Buddhist leanings long ago taught me that sometimes, shit just happens. Which goes along swimmingly with my agnostic beliefs, because who really knows if there's a guy up there running the world? I lean into that, because I've seen so much stuff, good and bad, that it's really difficult for me to pinpoint if I believe in a higher power.

A few years back, when I worked at the hospice that I credit with saving me after Ali died, there was a chaplain, named Jim. I appreciate Jim being patient with me, and always willing to answer questions for me. I even worked at the hospice when Ali's dad, my Uncle Tippy died, and I'm so grateful for the compassion they showed me during that time. I recall one day, asking Jim why God makes bad things happen. Jim responded that he does not believe that God makes bad things happen, he believes that bad things happen and that God's role is to guide us through them. Strangely enough, that made me feel a lot better.

Anyway, today is one of my rough days. I hope "God" is up there guiding me. I started out thinking about Dres, but then the weight of all those losses just hit me at once. Why me? Why them? Why now?

I Choose Me.

I've been open about my intentions this year to do an overall reset, and a big part of that has been choosing not to have sex. While I didn't start off with that being my intentional plan, it simply became clear to me that my emotional and mental safety depended on me taking a step back. It was genuinely a sense of self-preservation. And it wasn't always easy. Although I knew that I needed to be alone, I'd kept it in my mind that I'd at some point start dating again, with a much clearer idea of the kind of man I sought out.

At the beginning of this year, I had no idea the kinds of shifts I'd be seeing and going through. I just knew that I needed to navigate my journey to the best of my ability. I'm so eternally grateful to the support that my therapist has given me during this time. I've encountered slight accusations that my therapist may be attempting to lead my steps, but she isn't. She's just really good at helping me to unpack my own decisions and feelings regarding my life up to this point. She's been way more right, than she's been wrong.

To make things even more interesting, a man who I'd literally wanted since childhood recently became available to me. Over the years, I'd literally hoped and prayed for this man, being of the impression that having him in my life would make everything better. And we tried. I mean, kinda.

But it started to occur to me that he wanted me to be present. He wanted phone calls and text messages. He wanted me to be available to talk about my day and while I'd hoped and dreamed that I'd have him wanting this part of me in the past, it started to feel laborious. I let him know early on that I have my occasional times where I might just disappear into my own head, and he won't hear from me for some days, but when those moments happened, he struggled to understand it.

He wanted us to come together and share lives. And there were days that I wrestled back and forth about what this would look like and how it would feel. I was even transparent with him about my lack of sex, and he seemed relieved. I mean, it sucked that I wasn't having sex with him, but at least he knew that it wasn't because I was out loving on other men.

It started to feel like the more he wanted from me, the less I wanted to give. We bickered on occasion, and all I could think to myself is how when I'm by myself, there is zero bickering. While I understood that disagreements were a part of getting to know and understand one another, I suddenly didn't have the genuine desire to reach a middle ground. Like, I just didn't care whether or not we stuck with one another. I began to recognize that I'd honestly rather just be alone. I don't want to plan a future with him, or any other man, quite frankly.

I know that he's holding out for me. He's playing the long game. I see it. I need to scale back my contact from him, and that's my plan. I don't want to play games or lead him on. But I no longer want him, and I recognize that I no longer need a man to make my life complete. My baby is about to graduate high school and I'm looking forward to traveling and living an amazing life. Work is good, my energy is aligned, my spirt it clear. I wake up every day, grateful and excited for whatever I'm about to run into. I'm no longer choosing other people.

I choose me.

Nostalgia

Word came out online the other day that an old Atlanta staple, Eats Restaurant on Ponce de Leon Ave, will be closing soon. I hadn't eaten at Eats in some years, but I immediately thought back on one of my earlier memories there. I'd gone to eat with my ex, my son's father. Early in my pregnancy, I was glad not to experience much vomiting as my morning sickness, but my little parasite made sure that I remained extremely nauseous anyway. One day, he and I were at Eats, when I was clearly nauseous. We were sitting inside, but my stomach was in knots. My ex took one look at me and said "we gotta get you home." I was by the car, and I'd leaned over, hoping to finally blow chunks, and be relieved, at least temporarily, of wanting to vomit. But it never came, much like the other times. Only this time, I'd looked up and realized that my son's father was rubbing my back. It was a small gesture, but it was so kind and loving. I felt so seen in that moment.

The kid and I go visit a new restaurant every other Thursday, when I get paid. We decided that we'd make this Thursday a trip to Eats, before they say goodbye. While we were in line, I told my son about my memory of visiting with his father, and even shared with him that I started eating sweet potatoes, after his father put me on to them there. It was seriously one of the very few moments over the 13 years since I left him that I felt some sort of warm nostalgia for my ex. While standing in line, I told my son that I was tempted to call his dad and reminisce about how we ate there when I was pregnant. I even felt a slight smile across my lips. My child, the peace keeper that he is, begged me not to call his father, for fear that another world war would start, with him again, in the middle. In spite of my warm, fuzzy feelings, I assured my child that I would not call his father.

While eating inside, I vaguely remembered where his dad and I had sat together, on that beautiful day. Later on, as we started to drive home, I went even deeper into those feelings. I pointed out to my son the laundromat that I'd been at, when my friend first suspected that I might be pregnant. I told my son that early on, I really wanted him to attend Inman Park Middle School, and later Grady High, which were also nearby. I had every intention of my child calling the Poncey-Highland area his home, which he actually kind of does. I asked him if he wanted to see the gelato spot that his dad and I went to on our first date, and he didn't care either way, but I made a beeline for it, wondering if it still existed. And to my surprise, it does. Then I thought back on how on our first date, his dad had left his wallet, and I ended up buying our gelato. Afterwards, I shot over to my apartment in the area, where I was living when I got pregnant with Pumpkin. I pointed it out, feeling the wistful moments that seemed like a lifetime ago. My child stated that the apartments looked like where some young adult who parties all of the time would live. I mean, guilty, I guess?

I feel like I'm truly looking at the end of an era. Today was the last Thursday that we'll enjoy our meals, we'll soon be doing weekends instead, as I'll now be working every Thursday evening, but I'm graciously going to getting every weekend off, moving forward, which I have not had for the last 3 years. Thank God, working every other weekend, with occasional single days off is not the move. Nevertheless, I'll miss our Thursdays together. That simple act of meeting on an off day, like a Thursday, became a firm tradition for us, and falling on weekends now, it just won't hit the same, even though my little foodie will undoubtedly continue to drag me to different eateries.

Anyway, when I drive my son to school in the morning, we often listen to the Bert Show. And my son pointed out that Moe Mitch had not been on air, and how irritating it is to have a white woman talk about her undying love for Taylor Swift every day. And then a month or so back, it was confirmed that Moe was no longer on the show. And now a few weeks later, Bert announced that he's retiring from radio and that the show will be ending. Which stings, because my son and I have listened to that show faithfully, on our morning commutes. Actually, I recall listening to Bert way early in my 20s, way before I was even pregnant.

I often gleefully share how many days I have until my son is out of high school. Currently at just over 200 days. I look forward to being able to fly around the country and live a life of freedom and fun. I have a few trips coming up before he even graduates, actually. But as so much of the city changes, I'm reminded how much time is really passing by. I'm no longer the 20-something party girl. I'm now the 40-something mother of an incredible child. I'm also a proud, educated 40-something social worker, who has lived a hell of a life and now has many more adventures to look forward to.

But it was nice, for the first time in forever, to have some sentimental memories and feelings at this of point in my life. I guess time has a funny way of doing that.

The Paradox of Peace

I've talked quite a bit about my quest to unpack my centering men, in part by being sex-free. It hasn't always been easy (but far easier than many would expect), but I've held firm for almost a year. My skin is clear, my spirt is doing well. I'm happy, I'm at peace. I'm drinking my water, minding my business. I love it here! And I'm exceptionally hesitant to do anything to come down from this space.

I've had to recognize how much men, sex, and dating have been toxic for me, leading me to make horrible mistake after horrible mistake, seeking that elusive "peace" that I'd been led to believe would come from finding my unicorn of a man. So yeah, I'm single, sexless, and exhilarated by it.

But I've noticed a bit of a strange conundrum that comes with this peace. Honestly, I feel like when I was having sex, and "of the world," I begged for attention from the men around me. Hell, I lavished in it. I'd do practically anything to see some handsome young devil look at me and give me a knowing, sly wink. But at some point, I started to understand that those glances didn't do much for me. As a matter of fact, they even started to take something from my spirit. The more I dated and sought out love, the more I was drained and depleted. My smile started to fade and I grew far more cynical.

As I started to process it all, I grew to kinda resent that old version of myself as well. She wasted so much energy looking for validation from men who were never worth her time or on her level to begin with. But the funny thing is that I've started to notice a shift. The more I turned my energy internal, and started to focus on my own peace and healing, the more I seem to draw in men. They seem to be so attracted to this happier more grounded version of me. They love that they can lean into me and this wiser, more sage version of me can soothe them, and hold them up and provide support and kind words. 

And the irony is that now I'm the best version of myself ever, I no longer want them. The fact is that I'm so in love with this new and improved Malika, that I'm terrified of undoing her work. And for the first time ever, men are seeing my value in a whole new way. And I don't want them at all!

It really seems like the more I look at my life and love what I'm doing, the less I want to have to deal with a man in my space. And it seems that the more that I heal and love myself, the more men are drawn to me. And better quality men. But the irony is that while these more loving and attentive men want me, the more terrified I am of leaning into any of them and disrupting what I have accomplished so far. 

So yes, I'm in the best mental shape of my life. I'd be an amazing wife, thoughtful and loving and kind. And I damned near can't leave the house without a man saying that he wants me. But I'm not sure if I'd get this kind of quality attention if I was still on my bullshit. I feel suffocated by the idea of brining another man into the fold. I don't have it in me to navigate another heartbreak. I just can't do it again. The vulnerability that would be required for me to trust another man would be suffocating. I don't think I have it in me. The more I love myself and want to be alone, the more they want me. 

Home

I only got to spend a couple of months in L.A, before I had to move back. Sometimes, I still mourn the life I feel like I wish I'd had, if housing hadn't been an issue. But the fact is that the 2 months I'd lived there taught me a lot, and helped me realize a lot about myself and the city that I currently call home. Living in Atlanta, I'd taken it for granted that we often meet one another so easily, and quickly build friendships. Only once I'd moved to a different city did I realize that welcoming the welcoming nature of Atlantans is not a universal trait. In L.A., you can meet someone, have a great conversation, and they have no desire to build a further friendship, they'll just shake your hand and walk away. It's truly maddening.

I was meeting with a buddy recently, where I'd started to notice that we'd occasionally throw names around, of people that we'd mutually been acquainted with. I actually became a bit fascinated by the fact that even though we didn't know those individuals "together," we both had known them and managed to share great memories with them. I'm always kinda blown at how much many Atlantans on the music/party scene seem to know one another, even in passing. The same can be said of our shared hang out spots. We all have our shared memories of Apache Cafe, Masquerade, the Old MJQ, and many old Atlanta staples and restaurants.

It almost reminds me of high school. I've said to many individuals how living in Atlanta, when you start mentioning certain people and our various memories of one another, it feels like we all grew up together, and in some ways, we did. I mean, sure we were legally young adults when we all came into the fold, but many of us came into actual adulthood together. Some people moved to Atlanta to attend college, while others of us were born here, and/or got here way before college age. I've said before how many times I've watched new people come to Atlanta and immediately want to be introduced to the heavy hitters, and I will explain to them that it doesn't work like that around here.

I mean, sure, I can introduce you to my people. But my connection to them ain't gonna be like your connection to them. You see, me and those people have broken bread together. We've had genuine laughs. We've slept on one another's couches and watched one another's kids. We've given one another our last $20. So you may be the dopest m.c., but trying to get into the fold, based on your skills alone, ain't gonna cut it. You get into the fold by spending time and showing your character. No shortcuts to stardom. And strangely enough, we like it that way. 

When I hung with my buddy recently, I'd marveled that I'd known him over 20 years. I can't believe that we'd seen one another through various seasons of life. How many of us were just young knuckleheads, new to life and figuring it all out. And now, many of us are ADULT adults. Like we've got good credit and own houses, and our cars are no longer held together with duct tape. We value our peace. And even though we're grown now, there is always an underlying love and understanding of who we are, because we've walked through the trenches and grown into it on our own. And together. 

Cuz this is home. You just had to be there.

Guilt of Gratitude

I've talked a bit about the strange twists and turns my life has made lately. I kinda wish I could provide more details about exactly what I've encountered, but I've started to lean in to keeping some things more private for a few reasons. One, there are still people who are way too obsessed with what I got going on and two, I realized that life is a bit easier when folks don't know all of your business. People can't judge and comment on what they don't know, ya know? Plus there's some legality to some things, and I don't want or need the wrong people connecting the dots on what's going on. So anyway, as I've gotten a bit older, I've come to readily accept that my spirit guides have been dragging my ass from fires since forever. Only now that I'm older and have a greater grip on my life do I finally realize how protected I've really been.

I've watched some things unfold in my life that I'm genuinely kinda struggling with. By all accounts, I should probably have been dead like half a dozen times. I should have like 12 kids, with 14 different shitty men. I should still be working only retail, making $25k a year, living in some shitty apartment in the middle of the ghetto. But somehow, by the grace of something far bigger than myself, none of those things have happened.

When I was younger, I'll admit that I was way more naive. I gave far too many people grace and never could have wrapped my mind around how harsh life can really be. I guess that was bit of a blessing, if you will. Being so willfully ignorant to the evils that exist in life. Only looking back now, with age and wisdom, do I see how much I've really been blessed. 

For example, true story here. A few years ago, while attending Clark Atlanta University, the guy I was seeing at the time, Ted, used to drive me home (Ted worked next door at Morehouse). That particular day, Ted wasn't available. I told him no biggie, I'd just take the train. It was kind of a drizzly day, but nothing I couldn't handle. As I walked towards the train station, I got a brief vision that a man had stopped his car, to offer me a ride. I accepted and got in, as the man started to say strange things. In the vision, I reached for the door to unlock it, ready to tuck and roll. But suddenly, the man pulled a gun and told me not to move. It was a strange vision, but naturally, it shook me. Less than 2 minutes later, while still walking, a car driven by a man stopped and offered me a ride.

I immediately declined. I recall that it was a gold SUV, of some sort. He asked a few times if I was sure, but I had never been more sure of anything in my life! He eventually moved on, but as I walked towards the train station, I saw a few times that he'd been circling the block, possibly watching me. I don't make it a habit to jump in the car with strangers anyway, and I was only a few blocks from the train station, but to have that vision and immediately encounter the same scenario is anything but a coincidence. My angels were once again telling me to be on guard. 

So here I am, older and far wiser. Armed with the gifts to fully recognize the dangers that exist everywhere. And I'm seeing now that a situation that I'd literally prayed for was a situation that would have completely derailed my life. Something that I'd wanted so badly, a person and scenario that I'd always prayed for, feeling that it would make everything better, was honestly a piping hot, raging mess. What I learned recently was pretty jarring, and to make it worse was that I was in the middle of a work shift when I'd learned about it. I mean, I was genuinely shook to my core, the more layers of the onion that I was peeling back.

The same boss who'd told me that I had some amazing spiritual guides, was my ears as I poured out into her what I was learning and how I was reacting. I was horrified. I was also mad at myself for missing it for all those years. My merciful boss shared that I wasn't in the space to learn then what I'm learning now, and that as I unpack a lot of previous trauma, my brain is now strong enough to process what I'm coming to see.

And I'm grateful. I'm so eternally grateful. But somehow, I feel guilt. I know that my life could have been way worse, a million times over. Yes, I've had to take a lump or two, in my life. Vital lessons that served as a "sitcho ass down!" moment. But as rough as those lessons were, none of them were too horrific. None of those moments were bad enough to derail my progress. Health issues? Two friends died after stress exacerbated their decline, while I'm over here, cool as a cucumber, rarely getting upset. Past arrest? I can still get a job in my field, any day of the week. Fired from past jobs? All of that work experience in different fields gave me a resume to be jealous of. Finances? My bills are paid, with occasional opportunities to enjoy lattes all over the city and turn up in L.A. once a year. I'll kill a Cinnabon, but I have yet to come close to getting a foot amputated. Only one kid, but his daddy has remained gainfully employed and my child support makes it to me faithfully. I've never gotten married to any of the men I wanted, which has prevented any long, painful, expensive divorces. I mean seriously, I made it out of some jams!!

So why can't I celebrate this? I should be able to look at the narrow misses that have happened in my life and be grateful. But I feel like I look at so much suffering around me and wonder what made lil' old me so deserving of the protection I've gotten? I remember talking to a friend recently, complaining about my pay, and my friend nearly bit my head off, saying that he'd gladly switch pay grades with me. Maybe that's it? Perhaps I feel guilty that other people deserve it more.

Other people pray more. They tithe more. They go to church more. They had less sex. They floss and brush their teeth after every meal. They followed all of those lil boring, nuanced rules and played it safe, while I often trounced over those rule and mocked their absurdity. But somehow, something up there looked at lil' old flawed me and determined that I'm deserving of these countless blessings. As a Buddhist, thinking about who "deserves" what goes against what I believe. Buddhism helped me to realize that sometimes, shit just happens, and we all respond the best way we know how.

So yeah, shit happens. And there is no good or bad, it all just is what it is. Yet I'd be a bit greedy, if I didn't express gratitude for the protection. And I'm struggling with that.

Lost Safety Nets

I really think I may need to reach out to my therapist to process some recent developments, but I'm also trying to focus on saving money, because I have something coming up. But I feel like I'm living in the twilight zone. I talked a while back about my childhood friend, who is now incarcerated, for a truly heinous act. And now I'm living part 2 of that.

I have another friend, who was accused of something pretty gnarly also. But my friend swore to me he'd never done it, and I believed him. The accusing party had a pretty rocky history of lying and being corrupt, so I held firm to the knowledge that my friend could never do what was implied. It's been years since then, and my friend is slowly starting to claw his way back out of that situation. I love a good redemption arc. And I was fully there, 100%, ready to support my friend getting back on his feet.

This particular friend and I had always had a bit of a flirty relationship, having danced the "should we/shouldn't we" dance. As my friend started to progress and go well, I started to see that he didn't have much of a personality, outside of his attachment to me. He didn't seem to have his own plans, or hopes and dreams. It all seemed contingent on what I wanted. I wasn't okay with that. Any man I intend to be with needs to have his own identity. I refuse to be with a codependent man.

I decided that the kind thing was to inform my friend of what I'd observed in him, and suggested that he spend some time alone, determining what he wants in life. I provided examples of people who'd gotten married early on, and grieved never getting to know themselves, outside of a relationship. I also reminded him of my commitment to myself, with no plans to date anyone. I apologized for my previous back and forth, acknowledging the role I'd previously played. He seemed short. I knew he wasn't happy, but I trusted that he'd learn to be okay with it, and that our friendship would continue.

And then, 2 hours later, I saw it. Two hours after I'd told him that I needed some space, he texted me a picture of his genitals. I was disgusted. Floored. Angry. How dare you violate me like that?! I texted him back that sending me dick pics are not okay. He gave me some weak reason of why he thought that sending it was okay, since I'd ended things anyway. Huh?! I tell you that I don't want you, and you feel that the very first thing you should do is send me a picture of your junk?!

I told him that I needed space. He texted me back several messages, but I'd silenced them. I no longer wanted that discussion. I called my girlfriends, explaining what he'd just done. How disgusted I was and how violated I felt. But the real kick in the teeth? Knowing that based on his behavior and how he tried to justify it, he clearly did what that person said he did. That's what stung the most. This person I'd defended to the death was the monster others had told me he was.

I'm struggling. He called me yesterday, and I quickly told him that I don't want to talk and I hung up on him. I'm starting to hope that I'm safe. Considering some things I can do, to make me feel better, until this is over. I'm glad I have the therapy though. Had this happened 5 years ago, I'd be finding ways to justify this and say it's not that bad. But the new me? Nah nigga, I don't care who you are or how long we've known one another, your behavior is problematic, so you gotta leave, NOW.

But I'm grieving something else now. I'm grieving feeling safe and feeling like the men in my life who I could depend on, are no longer that. The men I loved are either dying, or revealing themselves to be utter monsters. Who can I turn to? Where is my support? I'm losing my safety nets.

Jody

I need this to hurt less. Way less.

I met Jody Harris in passing, what seems like a million lifetimes ago. I was seriously exploring leaving Atlanta, and I was even thinking about relocating to Tennessee. We were Facebook friends, and somehow or another, we'd started talking on the phone about Chattanooga. My fear was that it wouldn't be Black enough. But Jody was able to provide several examples of Black businesses and events in Chattanooga, that I would find interesting. I enjoyed our little chats, as we'd began to get to know one another. One day, he up and disappeared. I heard nothing.

But suddenly, I looked up on Facebook and learned that he was in a relationship, and later got married. I wasn't too attached to him at the time, so I let it ride. A few years later, he'd began commenting on my posts again. Eventually, we'd started talking on the phone again, and he'd told me that his marriage had gone down in flames.

We'd started an attempt at rekindling, but he did something I was not okay with, so I decided to friendzone him. One day, he began to share how lonely he was. I admitted to him what he'd done that led me to realize that we could no longer get to know one another romantically. He immediately apologized. He'd had no idea how he'd been perceived, and he admitted that he'd gotten a large part of his idea of manhood from barbershop talk. He had no clue that he'd come across as uncaring, he thought that's what masculinity was.

I was genuinely impressed with how he took what I told him and used it to make himself a better person. His self-reflection in that moment was everything.

As time went on, his health started to decline. He was in and out of hospitals, fighting infection after infection. He eventually had some toes amputated and they were discussing taking his foot. He talked to me about his fear of death and how he wasn't ready to go. He'd told me how he'd talked to Dres, as they'd shared similar health challenges, and Dres had been his rock and his sign of strength. And then Dres died. It shook him. Jody was scared. Jody didn't want to go. Another friend of his, Michal Knight, had died from health complications also.

Jody texted me last month, to tell me about the upcoming fundraiser he was going to have soon. I assured him I'd be there. Saturday night, I was in my car, when I got an alarm on my phone. That evening was Jody's fundraiser, but I'd missed it. My alarm went off at 10pm, but the fundraiser was to go from 6pm to 9pm. I immediately called him to apologize. I got a weird message and the phone disconnected. Did he block me?! Was he angry at me, thinking I'd blown off his fundraiser? I got home and called him from my work phone, and got the same strange message. At least I knew I wasn't blocked.

I tried his phone again, the next early evening. Same strange message. Then I Googled him. And I found his obituary. Not again. Please God, not again. I looked on his Facebook page, and realized that he'd made his page so that no one could post on it, and he could not be tagged. No one in the Atlanta underground arts/music scene seemed to know. I knew that I had to do a post to let his loved ones in this city know that he was gone. He deserved that. I assume that his bio family was far removed from his extended family in Atlanta, but those of us in the loop know that the extended family is just as real as the bio family.

So I posted. And I cried. And I grieve. I'd always assumed that the more people you know who die, the easier it becomes to deal with. I was wrong. Rest in heaven, Jody. Hug Dres for me, and I'll carry you with me, always.

Healing Via Living Room

I signed my mortgage exactly one year ago. It was a proud moment for me. I worked tirelessly to bring things together. I was so proud of the loud, bright, varied pieces that I brought into the whole house, especially my living room. I envisioned it being a warm, cozy spot, full of colors. As time moved on, and I started to settle into the room, it started to feel so crowded. So small. I couldn't quite place my finger on it. I'd started to consider that I might move eventually, but I didn't want to move. I just wanted... something. I couldn't figure it out though.

But as the days passed, the room started to feel- young. I've taken a deep dive into AI, and I thoroughly enjoy it. I'd tried hard. I finally realized what the theme of the room would be called. Cottage core. It gave a woodsy feel. It had the energy of gnomes setting up in the corner. I asked AI (actually, I named my AI, Carlton) what were markers of cottage core. It perfectly described the wood and wicker theme that I had. It even described some of the colors I had, such as mustard yellow and the floral art. 

Ugh. I started to get annoyed with the room. What was wrong and how could I undo it? I even asked Carlton to help me create a room that felt more like me. He produced a picture that showed what he described as an "Afro-bohemian mood." And I loved it! I immediately looked at the room and started to recognize that certain pieces had to go. Working at the retail spot certainly helped, that lil' old discount certainly began to come in handy.

I took down the threaded landscape picture, and replaced it with a giant analog clock. The cute little glass table was replaced by a wooden table. The floral lamp was replaced with a marble and gold lamp, with a sleek white shade.

This isn't the actual lamp, but pretty close. Anyway, I started to have similar feelings about my bathroom. I'd painted it a bright seafoam green, to match my colorful shower curtain. But as time went on, I started to want to change it as well. It left me all wondering what was behind the changes? Why did I suddenly want a more grown up look, over the bold looks I'd always preferred?

Then it occurred to me- I'm finally growing up. I'd long suspected that my inner child gravitated the loud, bright colors. I was allowing my unhealed inner self to surround herself with the colors that made her feel comfortable and held. But as I started to grow from that child, I no longer felt like she needed the coddling via colors. Grown-up Malika wanted a sleek look that represented growth. She wanted the modern couches and adult end tables, topped by fancy lamps.

I'm starting to heal and my taste in household decor is a strong reflection of that. Grown ass Malika. I like the sound of that.

Mock up, compliments of Carlton.

A change is gonna come?

This therapy stuff has been deep. I knew when I went in on Thursday that I was going to have a lot to unpack. I'd been in my feels about some changes in my life. I didn't expect to mention Pete, but the second I said his name, I fell into tears. Dr. D pointed out that every time I mention his name, I start crying again. It's been 8 years since he died. It was only 5 months together, but still, that short amount of time has meant so much to me.

We then went on to talk about other aspects of my life. I discussed the wins and the losses. I'm here at 8 months sans dique and I'm just as happy about it now as I've been about it in the past. I'm grateful for the peace this 8 months has brought to me. The clarity. It's Labor Day weekend, and no partying for me. I gotta work, but even if I didn't, I'd likely be chilling at home, taking it all in.

And in spite of my dedication to singlehood and the ultimate freedom, like life often does, it threw me a massive curveball. There is a man from my past. I mean deep into my past. Very few of my close friends knew of him, until he came back around recently. He likes me. He's always liked me, from the very beginning. And I liked him too. He's always lamented that we should have gotten married and had a house full of babies. 

Looking back, had I gotten married in my early 20s, I'd have made a horrible wife and mother. I didn't understand or value partnership the way I know to understand it now. I would have been bogged down with babies and never got to travel or go to school. I would have hated my life and there's no doubt that we would have grown to resent one another. Most importantly, I would have missed the journey that made me the woman I am today. Before I started working with Dr. D, I'd confessed to my friend that I felt that I was in need of therapy, for fear that if we'd ended up together, I'd end up cheating, and I never wanted to hurt him. He seemed confused and wanted answers that I didn't have. I didn't even have a man in mind that I'd possibly cheat with, I just knew that I wasn't in a space to give my all to someone. But things are different now. I'm different. I'm a far more healed version of myself. This is the best version of me. And I truly feel that I grow better with each passing day.

He was willing to jump into things when we reconnected recently, but I've been moving far slower. Deeply slower. But I love talking to him. I just need to thoroughly vet and make sure that this is the person I'm willing to emotionally invest in. I refuse to come up out of my peaceful bubble for any man or situation that does not serve me or contribute to my happiness. 

I had a difficult moment with a person close me recently, and I immediately called him to dissect things and he assured me that I was doing okay. I like that he likes me. That's so cliched, but after feeling that many of the men I loved in the past didn't really like me, they liked what I brought to the table, in terms of sex and attention, this is a person who genuinely likes talking to me and appreciating me. I'm taking my time and creating a healthy distance, while getting to know honest versions of one another.

I'm moving slowly. Sloth slow. Still not coming up off of the snatch anytime soon. But for the first time in what seems like forever, I'm starting to feel safe with another person. And I value that. I don't care about sex (or lack thereof). I care about feeling heard and secure. No rush at all. But I value that I'm finally starting to realize what real affection, attention, and dedication looks like. I'm grateful.

Their Eyes Were Watching God

In high school, I was in what I guess you'd call and accelerated English class. Not at all a surprise, given my propensity for writing since I practically first put pen to paper. In this class, we read and dissected Zora Neale Hurston's book, "Their Eyes Were Watching God." My best friends and I thoroughly enjoyed reading the book in school, and even as adults, we often looked back on it. One of those friends, Celeste, died of breast cancer a few years back. I miss her greatly, but I love that such an amazing book ultimately helped to connect us and will always be a living reminder of our friendship. I even managed to score a copy of the book at a used book store on my last official day of living in Los Angeles. That was a rough time for me. It's like even from the grave, the author speaks to me and my purpose.

I had a bit of a blast from the past, recently. Well, actually, several blasts from the past. I encountered something that made me think back on my previous relationships. The ones that meant the most. The ones where I gave my all. There are roughly 3 men who I consider among my deeper loves. Yeah, there have been several other men who were in my stratosphere, even men I deeply cared about. But those core 3 held my heart in their hands.

I go back and forth between my thoughts on those men and those experiences. Some days, I'm grateful, I recognize how much I grew from it, and bask in my greatness. Other days? Other days, I have to talk to myself to remind me that my anger, although understood, is not going to change or help anything. Thankfully, my good days far outweigh the bad. But I'd be lying to myself if those bad days and bad thoughts didn't creep in.

I was having an "in my feels" day recently, and I struggled to shake it. I called my rider, Shantria, and she reminded me not to look backwards, and not to compare myself to others. At this point, Shantria and I pretty much gotta stay friends, we know where each other's bodies are buried, so we gotta stay in line. But seriously, she'll never know how much I appreciate her! 

As I leaned towards relinquishing those negative thoughts, for some odd reason, I thought back on Janie, from the book. How she was basically given to her first husband, as a child, and he beat her mercilessly. Next up was the husband of status. And he treated her badly too. Then she got her Teacake. He was her heart (although, he was truthfully a bit of a mess too). And she literally had to sacrifice him to save herself. Strangely, typing it out and reading it, I realize how much of it mirrors my own experiences, in that very order. I don't know why, but it all made me feel better. Like, those feelings are valid, but I'm in my Janie era. By the end of the book, she'd seen and done it all, and she was happy just doing her own thing solo. 

Even with all of the whispers and speculation, she held her head high and knew better than to give a damn what the townspeople had to say about her choices. Janie is a fictional character, but she's a reminder that our value isn't based on who we date, or what we tolerated, or how they treated us. Our value is based on how we feel about ourselves. Those bad days are gonna exist, because that's life. But our bad doesn't have to be a center point, sometimes, it's just a stepping stone to our greater purpose. Thank you, Miss Zora.