Like many people my age, I vividly remember the movie Love Jones. Well, I don't remember the movie in particular, funny enough, I'm not really even a fan of spoken word poetry. But what I remember about the movie was how the players interacted with one another. They were a group of young, beautiful, creative, successful Black people. And while I was only a teenager when I saw that movie with my high school classmate, I remember vividly looking at that screen and longing for the day that would be me.
On the same weekend that I hopped out for the Stevie Wonder concert, a friend suggested that we go to the Kaytranada show. Coincidentally, our (other) classmate, who she's good friends with, was able to score us free tickets. I wasn't to familiar with the music, in spite of having some of it in my collection, but I can't front, I was blown away. Anyway, afterwards, I got to my HOUSE (teehee) and I decided that I wasn't quite ready to go home. It was only midnight, and the night was still young, so I made a beeline to The Venue (I'm not telling the world where my spots are, so they can't identify the players, plus I don't want randos showing up at my hangout spots).
Anyway, I knew that Dex would be performing, and I slid in at the door, and grabbed a seat as he warmed up. I also called another friend of mine, who'd been meaning to get in some live music, and encouraged her to join me. As Dex and the band began performing, I took it all in. Here I was, in this little hole-in-the wall of a venue, listening to some of Atlanta's most talented performers. I knew the person leading the band and I even happened to know the DJ, my former boss.
It was in that moment that I realized that many people don't have that life and they'd love to have it. There I was, in a venue, surrounded by creatives, listening to music. And that wasn't some one-off. This really can be like some random ass Tuesday for me. That shit is my life! I never have to complain about being bored and friendless, I literally manifested the life I wanted and I continue to live it and be grateful for it.
***
This morning, at 6:43, as I slumbered, gracefully, I got a call. I saw the name and I pondered if I should answer it. I hadn't talked to him in a while. No bad blood or anything, but we'd just been in different spaces, and he doesn't even live in my city anymore. Rather than send it to voicemail, I opted to answer, in case it was an emergency. "I want to see you," he said. It was The Lobbyist.
He told me that he is town for the day and wanted to hang. Naturally, today is the day that I work both jobs, which is probably a blessing in disguise. It would be nice to see him. I'm sick of hearing about political shit though. I wonder why he's in town. "I'm not hooking up with you," I shoot back. "That's too bad," he replied.
The Lobbyist wanted me some years ago, but as an insecure grad student, I had no clue what he'd seen in me. But now as a secure, grown ass woman, I don't blame him lol. But the fact is that I'm not in a space to entertain casual hookups, even with the guy who has spent more time in the White House than fucking 45 himself. I can't front though, I'm always enthralled when he starts sharing his political stories. I've always been a sucker for a man with power, and the Lobbyist definitely falls under that umbrella.
Nevertheless, that window has closed and we've both moved into other spaces, not to mention, other cities. Still, I agreed to move some things around, so that I can briefly see him between jobs.
Once again, I'm living out my super fabulous life with a wonderful cast of zany and introspective characters, who manage to bring something magical to the plotline. I don't know exactly when this became my life, but I'm grateful. Lord help me be good when I see this man today, and please God, don't let him be wearing a cologne that I love.
I can't believe it's been 2 months since I posted here. A lot has happened in my life, but I've learned over the years to play my blessings close to the chest, because there are people bored and evil enough to attempt to destroy (or at least interrupt) the good things in my life. So onward, march!
To start with, the last few months have been a beautiful chaotic mess. It was kinda cool that to celebrate my birthday in June, I got to spend the night in Yosemite, under the stars. It was a bit of a bucket list item for me. My solo travels always give me extra insight and allow me to figure out my wants and needs, in a world where I'm constantly pulled in different directions. Around that time, it occurred to me that it was time to let go of the locs.
I told myself that I'd start taking down my locs a few months before the big 4-5 birthday, but I just couldn't help it. I work from home and I'm often fidgety anyway. So I started. I mean, it wasn't part of the plan, but it just felt right. Sometimes I'd inform people of my intentions to get rid of the locs, and if they were nothing else, they'd be incredulous. What do you mean, you're taking out your locs?! They're gorgeous! They were. They were cute, they were fun, they got me loads of attention. But they no longer made me happy. I'm completely comfortable moving into another phase in life.
Not sure what happened in the air, but starting this summer, I really just kinda slunk away. There was no particular reasoning for it. I just didn't feel connected. I just needed to be quiet. Perhaps it was the death of my uncle, my mother's brother. That loss left her as one of the last 2 remaining relatives on her side of the family, outside of her kids. I was noticeably away from social media. People were checking in to see if I was okay. And I was. I just needed to... away?
But as the summer wore on, even though I'd shied away from most socialization on a grander scale, I just seemed to condense my energy instead. When I got to my new apartment last year, literally knew that I hated it. It was just so small. Plus it only had literally just 3 small windows in the whole place. And the closet space was non-existent. I woke up 2-3 weeks after my move-in date and said to myself "I fucking hate this place. It's time to buy a condo."
I supposed I lucked out, because my "friend" was a real estate agent, and another "friend" is a mortgage broker. I'm not going to bore anyone with the shady ass details, but I had to scrap that team. I'd decided that I could just make peace with where I was in the meantime. And then one day, I met a woman, while working at the discount retailer. She was buying work clothes, and I bantered for a while and she explained that she was buying work clothes for her new job as a real estate agent. I told her how I'd recently been in the market for a house and how it fell apart. Her ears perked up. "What? Did you have a letter from your mortgage person?" I explained that yes, I did. I have 2 jobs and this one was more so just to get me out of the house. She asked for my phone number and promised to contact me when she finished her real estate exam. I didn't really care by then. I'd made peace with my tiny ass apartment, and working in the discount retailer at least gave me access to all kinds of lil gadgets and organizers.
She contacted me roughly a month later, via text. I saw it and wanted to respond, but I honestly just think I forgot. Anyway, a few weeks later, she followed up and I apologized and told her that while I was extremely disenchanted after my last encounter at house shopping, I'd be willing to check things out with her. And to her credit, I can admit that I didn't always make things easier, she stuck with it and saw the vision. She helped me to make concessions where I needed to. She also helped me to find a mortgage lender who helped things along. I also really respect her emotional intelligence, because she always knew when and how to push me along, and even leaned into my pushing back on her.
Late one evening in April or so, I looked online and found the perfect house. I loved loved the location, it was in my price range and a bus stop was literally in the front yard, so my son could get around easily. It was close to a few businesses as well. I gotta admit tho, the area was a lil, well... sketch. I had my reservations, but still, I knew this house was MINE. The road block that I did not expect was student loans. My mortgage guy should have run my paperwork earlier, and he would have seen that. But he didn't. I did so much to try to make it happen. I mean I tried. But I ended up not getting the house.
I was heartbroken. I was angry. So pissed at the finance guy, because he swore to me that he could make it happen. But clearly he never even ran the numbers until the last minute. I'd continued to wonder what happened to the house, but I refused to even look, because I knew that if I looked online and saw someone living in my house, I'd likely catch charges. I happened to check in with my real estate agent, who informed me that not only was the house still on the market, it was not only still on the market, it was also discounted by $10k. I immediately acted to get all of the student loan stuff resolved.
Even though I was practically willing to sign on the dotted line immediately, they wanted me to walk through the property again first. My real estate agent and I walked through the house, inspecting it, but then we settled on a small hole in what would have been my son's room. A lil bit of digging around, and we discovered that it was a bullet. A bullet had punctured the room that would have been my son's bedroom. Had I gotten that house. My house. Had I purchased the house that I leaned so hard into, I would have had to live with a bullet coming through the walls of my son's room.
I'll be honest and admit that I took about a week or so to process that. I typically adhere to an "everything happens for a reason" way of living, and I stepped away from that idea, only to discover that it applied harder than it ever had before. It's true, God was protecting me. Or more importantly, She was protecting my son.
Long story short, we found a house that worked. It fit my budget. It is also not located near one of Atlanta's most dangerous apartment complexes. Bus stop isn't right in front, but it's only about a 5 minute walk. So yeah. We did it. I'm a homeowner. I'm grateful. I keep getting high-fived and congratulated for this feat. I know it's big. It's major. I'm officially a homeowner. I'm now a Black woman, homeowner, graduate degree holder, and I'm a mother.
This season is just so strange to me. I'm moving quieter. I'm still a goofball, but I'm far more intentional. Life is just lifing, I guess. People are dying. Some are getting sick. I've scaled back things with FAMM, after learning that things with him are (big surprise) not what I need them to be. Well, actually, I ended it. I knew that things with him were a crapshoot, after seeing how he moved early on. But I was wistful and hopeful. I let my physical attraction to him, coupled with our childhood together, blind me to the roaring red flags he waved.
Going into cuffing season I was surprised when my musician friend, Dex, turned up and continued to stay around. We'd occasionally call one another previously, and I even got his help bringing my armoire into my new crib. Knowing my history with Dex and knowing how he is, I know better than to attempt to get to close to him. I credit him with always knowing how to maintain boundaries. But the good and the bad is that sexually, he and I are absolutely electric. When we first met some years ago, we were far more sexual (and still are lol), but this time around, as we've aged a bit, I love that we are growing more as friends. Being a well-traveled musician, Dex knows many people in the industry, and confessed to me that he personally knows a whopping 40 people who have died this year. One of whom, is Kasey Benjamin, a musician for Robert Glasper. I didn't know much about Kasey, but I remember him playing for RG at the Atlanta Jazz Fest and he really stood out to me. His energy was enthralling. It was honestly the best damned concert of my life, which is wild, considering that Robert Glasper was drunk as shit. Still Dex knew him. And we bonded over how strange it is to get older and all of the people you know and love start dying off.
Speaking of musicians, I saw Stevie Wonder in concert last night. I'm so glad I made it. Stevie is undeniably one of my favorites of all time and it was on my bucket list to see him. I understand that he did his more popular songs for his arena show, but my favorite albums from him are Talking Book and Fullfillingness First Finale and I wish he'd done some of the less popular songs. Because, as a music lover, his less popular music is his best.
I didn't expect it to, but concert helped me deep dive into my old favorites from Stevie. I'd completely forgotten how much I loved Innervisions too. It made me think about how my old flame, Him, ultimately helped me to move past my abusive fuccboi of a baby daddy. I remember being in my ex's car, and giving Him a ride home. Stevie's "All In Love is Fair" came on, and he seemed to ponder the lyrics. He and I were walking a bit of a tightrope, being that I was living with El Cluster Fucko, and he didn't want to cross that line. Truthfully, up until that point, I thought to myself that if I didn't stay with my son's father, I'd just forever be a lonely hermit. Him changed that. He made me feel loved and special, the way fuccboi never could. He made me feel beautiful and desirable. And even though he and I never ultimately danced that dance, he helped me to realize that even if my baby daddy couldn't see the gem that I am, another man definitely could. And he was right.
Anyway, I'm glad that I got to see Stevie.
I think a lot about the what ifs and if onlys. And I continue to be thankful that my life worked out the way that it did. I have a job that I'm finally really good at. My boss loves me, to the point where she flew down from Kansas to join some coworkers for a gathering I planned and we're looking at doing more. I kept getting fired and quitting from different jobs, and I finally landed where I felt supported and I feel like my talents are actually utilized. Money could be way better, but hey, I'm apparently doing pretty well, I guess. Had I stayed with either of my abusers, I'd be lonely, uneducated, and a mess. Instead, well, shit, bitch is doing good!
Anyway, I am so glad to have the new home, because I'll be using the extra bedroom as my office/exercise room. I don't have to run away to get some writing done, I'll finally have another office, specifically designed to inspire and support writing. And it's all mine.
I'm unsure of why a higher power decided that this is my time. I'm shedding a lot. I'm shedding my insecurity. I'm shedding the self-doubt. I'm shedding the idea that I need a man to feel supported and capable. I'm shedding wasteful behavior. The years of tears and disappointment have led me to this space of feeling capable and deserving of good things.
Another thing that I can't help but to think about is how moving to California (very briefly) and ultimately having to move back, set my trajectory in a way that helped me so much more. Had I stayed in Cali, I never could have afforded a house. I moved back, into extreme discomfort, and ultimately arose as victorious over whatever bullshit people tried to throw on me. It's almost like the worse people tried to make it, the better it made my life.
So here I am, just awe-struck. I'm taking my locs down, while I slowly move into my new home. I'm budgeting. I'm working on my career. I'm loving the friendships with new people I'm encountering. I moved from one space, into another. The ultimate shedding. And I am grateful.
So I'd mentioned FAMM (Fine Ass Maintenance Man) and how he was a childhood classmate (unbeknownst to me at the time) and how we'd started talking. As much as I'd liked him, I knew that I had to maintain a distance. I saw somethings in him that let me know that having high expectations wouldn't be good for me or us. So as much as I liked him, I always knew to keep it light. I've owned the mistakes that I've made by my expecting too much from men in the past, so I finally learned how to keep my expectations low, while having a good time.
I went from practically planning a wedding in my head with the then-unnamed maintenance man, to getting to know him and realizing that while he's great, I definitely would not be planning any major celebrations with this guy. And I kinda liked him. But I always knew to maintain a slight distance, and even casually dated around.
But recently, something happened. I started to notice that he'd call me and share things with me. Things he needed and ways he preferred I communicate with him. And it kinda baffled me. I mean, I didn't get it. He'd also call me during his down times at work, just to chat and check in. He's fine as fuck, highly intelligent, funny as all get out, extremely talented. He could have any woman he wanted. I've literally watched women eye hump him. Yet he's calling lil' old me to talk about communication styles and calling out things I said that he took slight offense to. And then it hit me.
You dumb bitch, this man *likes* you!! He's communicating his needs with you and he's hoping you'll hear him so that you can better understand one another!!
And I'll be honest and share that I had to mull that one over. Like was this one of those things that I overthought about and then created a scenario in my head that is the opposite of anything real? I was honestly trying to figure this out. I mean, I've made peace with being single. I don't particularly want or need a man at this point of my life. The ironic part is that I'm pretty sure if I was bugging him for a relationship, I couldn't get him on the phone if my life depended on it. But since I'm genuinely not phased either way, here we are!
I've long-since figured that a big part of what drew he and I together was that we knew one another in childhood. We saw one another when we were just really starting to figure ourselves out. While another woman may meet him now and swoon all over him, between us going to school together, and my mental health background, I get him. I can connect the dots and understand what makes him tick. I realized some time ago that knowing or seeing someone in childhood is almost equal to seeing them naked. You're seeing them before life did what it does. It almost reminds me of a woman I went to middle school with.
As an adult, she was working as a prostitute and shot a man in his big rig truck. And when I heard her unique name on the news, all I could think back on was how she was so sweet and kind when we were kids. And although I'd long-since lost touch with the woman, and I'm sure she'd barely remember me, in spite of her crime, I knew and I saw the real her. Just like I know and see the real FAMM.
He called me this evening and again mentioned something I'd said that struck a nerve. And strangely, since I don't feel particularly connected to him, I felt like I should just ask during our conversation. "So what direction do you see us going in?" and "So do you want to do the monogamous thing?" He answered that he'll have to think on it and let me know.
I dunno, I feel like old me would want some kind of answer immediately. I mean, we've been seeing one another casually for a year and a half now. But the other part of me kinda doesn't care. Is that weird? I like him, and I enjoy him. And I feel safe with him. For instance, I'd mentioned feeling like a neighbor came into my home, and he immediately said to me "babygirl, we gotta get you a gun!" And I'm not big on guns. But I'm big on a man that values my safety.
I was even surprised to learn tonight that he felt some kind of way about me mentioning a sexual encounter with another guy about a year ago. I confessed to him that in all of my dating encounters, I learned that if someone does not confirm monogamy, then it's best not to assume it exist. And I'm down for it, if that's what he wants. But I'm not pining for it either. It seems like the more I don't feel vested in any kind of future with him, the more he leans into communicating with me and making plans for the future. All of this, all because I saw him "naked" in middle school.
I'm still in my lil' cocoon lately, and I'm frustrated because so many people around me have needed support that I can't really just hide the way I'd ultimately like to. I should likely develop stronger boundaries, and there are definitely some people and times where I strongly hold a stop sign and tell them that I'll get to them when I get to them. But I just wanna hide quietly, is that too much to ask? But I feel like I'll always extend myself in ways that I wish I sometimes wouldn't, all because I know what it's like to need a strong ear. And I was blessed to have many of them in my life. A lot of people aren't so lucky tho.
I look back and cringe at many decisions I made in life. I don't want to blame anyone or anything, but thinking about it now, pretty sure that my childhood had a lot to do with it. I never felt secure and I sought it out where ever I could, as I got older. If someone felt safe and familiar, I clung to them for dear life. What I have going for me and my former neediness is that at least I was always willing to give what I asked. But looking back I can still own that I was probably a lot to handle.
It's ironic what ultimately became my wakeup call. When I left my old job during the pandemic, and it was time to get it cracking again, I applied for a job at a rehab for women. I'd considered that position my dream job. I was able to work with women who were addicted to drugs and alcohol, with the ultimate goal being to reunite many of those women with their children, who were mostly taken by DFCS. What could be better than that, right?
Well, long story short, that job became one of the most toxic environments that I have ever existed in. But I gotta acknowledge, working in substance abuse ended up being one of the best things to ever happen to me. Because while we forced our clients to own their shit, I caught some of the blowback and was forced to own my shit as well. I realized that while I never had a big issue with drugs or alcohol, I realized that I had far deeper codependency than I'd realized. I also learned that I had a bit of an unhealthy attachment to men. And I still kinda do.
Another thing that kind of helped around the time was that I'd really started to work on my books, which made me look deep into myself on my own spirituality. I'd started an Instagram page that focused on mindfulness and as I posted things more often, plus using mindfulness to help women in the program, it made me that much more cautious of being an effective practitioner. And how can I be a practitioner, if I don't understand and live what it was that I was promoting? It started to really hit me. I had some stuff to work on, and nobody could fix this mess but me.
What made me think about this was that I was reading something online today where a woman complained that her friends convinced her to leave her alcoholic fiancé, but she now felt let down that they weren't still supporting her as she navigates singlehood. I read this and all I could think was how exhausting she sounds as a friend. Like these women literally saved you by helping you leave a toxic relationship, and now you're big mad because they aren't holding your hand as you learn to be single too?! Damn bitch, why don't you just have your friends live your whole life for you at this point?!
I'm genuinely horrified to know that I was at some point that friend. Sitting on the phone for hours on end as I mulled over what this person said versus what they meant. The conversations over the years about the bullshit David and my son's father doled out, plus other idiots. I'm so embarrassed of the woman I used to be, while being so proud of the woman that I currently am. I wish like hell that I could go back and explain to my old self that people have their own problems and don't wanna always be an ear for your bad decisions. I've already apologized to some friends and thanked others for being there for me when I was so difficult to love and I'll likely spend the rest of my life atoning and cringing for actions during that time.
Why did I have to be nearly 40-years-old before I finally saw that other people had their own shit to deal with and that I needed to be an adult and pull up my big girl panties and figure it out on my own? I dunno. But as much as I detest my former boss, I'm grateful for what I was able to take from that experience. You absolutely could not pay me enough to go back to that job. My peace of mind comes first (you know it's time to go when you're crying in your car on the way home).
I'm grateful though. I'm grateful, because I know how far I've come to be the woman who I am. Warts and all. These battle scars are real, but they show what a warrior I am. Because I had to defeat the biggest monster of them all.
I'm really unsure of what's happened for the last month or so, but I've really just been quietly in my little bubble. And while I'm quietly enjoying life over here, I'm significantly enjoying watching Kendrick Lamar absolutely destroy Drake. I've been a Kendrick fan since To Pimp a Butterfly dropped and I immediately went back and copped Good Kid MADD City. Since then, I've grabbed and absolutely adore everything he breathes on. It also doesn't hurt that Ali was a massive representative for California and the Bay area, so watching Kendrick blow up like this, while repping Cali just makes me know that my beautiful cousin is up there smiling down on us.
I've watched the Not Like Us video a crazy amount of times. I love that the people in the video are real. That's what sets Kendrick apart. He's a real human being. Not airbrushed. I mean, at some point in life, you have to accept yourself, warts and all. It's really refreshing that Kendrick shows that real adults can adult, and still have a lot to offer and bring to the table. I mean, as I lean into my mid-40s, it feels kinda nice to be a part of the hip hop discussion.
I'm trying so hard to include more on my book that I thought I'd finished. I started reading about word counts for books, and mine was at 30k, but I decided that it needed and deserved more. I can't wait for it to get a little cooler, nothing feels better than camping in a coffeehouse on a cool day, as the leaves blow in the background. I was aiming for 40k, but at the rate things are going, if I get a solid 36k-37k, I'll consider it a win. A friend asked me for a copy of my book and I'm kinda nervous about providing it to him, more so because it isn't perfect and has not been edited. But I'd love to get his opinion, so I might just give it to him after all. Hopefully he'll like it.
I suppose I should also include a small secret that I've kept from this blog for the last year. I swore that I'd be going sex-free for a while. A little over a year ago, I saw a man who was quite possibly one of the most stunning creatures I'd ever laid eyes on. It was the first official crush I'd had in eons. He worked at my apartment complex and I'd be reduced to an awkward school girl whenever I'd wave at him like an idiot in passing. Long story short, he ended up being a guy I went to middle and high school with.
And unknown to me at the time, many women in my complex also had eyes for him. I know that my affiliation to him dating back to childhood was a large part of what connected he and I. He has some shit to work on. I'll just keep it at that. It's wild to me that this man has no idea how much he oozes sex appeal. At one point, he and I were at a bar, and he walked up to the bartender to grab refills. He came back to his seat and immediately told me how the female bartender had hit on him.
I didn't say anything. I mean what could I say? He wasn't my mine. But if I'm with this man, at a bar, at 2am, there's a slight chance that he and I are connected in some way, ya know? Still though, I can't even be mad. If I was the throwing panties type of woman, he'd certainly bring out that kind of attention. And while we kept things on the low as we were seeing one another while I lived at his job, he'd report to me how some women in the complex were spreading rumors about who he was supposedly smashing. It's ironic, because he's genuinely a low-key person, and he doesn't like mess or drama and he's truly oblivious to attention from women. So all of the women lusting after him and spreading rumors are doing the exact opposite of what it would take to get next to him. I'm just glad that my name never came up on the gossip report. Cuz me and dude were being downright DISRESPECKFUL at times lol.
Now like I said, dude (whom I nicknamed Fine Ass Maintenance Man or FAMM) has some shit to work through. I've had to step away for a few reasons, no other women or anything like that. I told myself no more half-assed situationships, but here we are, yet again. Whenever I think about men I'd like to marry, FAMM ain't at the top of the list. Although I did ask myself a few months back if I had a choice to marry FAMM or Fred, I'd marry FAMM, hands down. Because while he certainly has some mental stuff to work through, he's never been as intentionally malicious as Fred.
Still though, although he ain't "the marrying kind" he's a nice substitute for a woman who's really not ready to deeply delve into the dating scene and kiss a bunch of frogs. As familiar with my dating life, I can't help but to feel that it's our shared trauma that keeps us in one another's spaces. I won't really talk much about his, but I didn't get the guy much when I was a kid. I was considered weird and fat. So I'm almost ashamed to say that I still get butterflies when the guy who I'd been liking all along, likes me back, especially when it's someone as easy on the eyes as FAMM. I also love that he's extremely funny and handy. If I can ever afford a house far into the future, I know that I can call on him for support. Something about a man that knows how to "swing a hammer," ya dig?
(I started this blog before my actual birthday, but never got to post it. So here's both of them.)
My birthday is in 2 days. I'm excited. I'm ready. The big 44. This time last year, I was in California, heading to Alaska, to enjoy my day. This year, I'm resting at home, getting ready for my uncle's funeral. It is what it is. He was unhappy and grieving his wife for a long time.
I'm glad that I have a therapy appointment on my birthday, it seems very fitting. I tend to get contemplative around that day, so discussing things with a professional only seems right. Things are still pretty good. I visited Alaska, not once but TWICE this year. I'm growing comfortably in my job, and hoping that at some point I'll be paid more than someone flipping burgers. I've been thinking about making a few changes in my life, however.
First is that I'm unsure about my plans to move to Los Angeles long-term, the way I first intended. I'd still like to stay there for a while, but not as long as I'd anticipated. One of the things that I'd forgotten is how antisocial L.A. Okay, it's not really antisocial, it's just that the social interactions are all surface. You can meet someone and have an amazing conversation, and they'll go on about their business and not even attempt to stay in touch. So you'll meet someone you gel with, and they'll have little-to-no interest in maintaining a friendship afterwards. For me, a true social butterfly, I thrive on genuine connections. I'm not sure how I'd do long-term in a place that doesn't value that the same way that I do. But there are other parts of Cali and other places that I'm exploring.
Another thing is that I'm going to scale back on dating for a while. I continue to go back to how when left to my own devices, my life is amazing. But every time I allow anything with a penis to get near me, my goals get sidetracked and I get wrapped up in their shit. EVERY. FUCKING. TIME.
My plan is pretty much to hang out with my "date" for my birthday, and then go cold turkey on sex. The fact is, whether I said it out loud or not, the whole roster has been scrapped. I'm just so sick of it. I honestly feel like men treat me like some sort of NPC (non-player character). I'm tired of being treated like a background character in other people's stories. I'm the support, the cheerleader, the sex chick, the friend, the confidant and therapist. But the second they get bored or whatevs, I'm treated like I never mattered. And it isn't always just about sex.
I'm starting to acknowledge that I've held onto some very unhealthy habits, along with some unhealthy people. I just wanna do-over. And my birthday seems like the perfect time and place for it. Get back into the gym, start focusing on my health again. Get back to writing and reading. Just start focusing on my goals again. My son graduates high school in 2 years, and I'm currently focusing on preparing him for the next leg of life. With that leg will possibly come my move, cross country.
This time last year, around this time, although I did not anticipate it, I'd started roughly a 5 month sexless stint. And that stint was pretty good for me. And I'd like to get back to that again. Time to start getting on my budgeting and long and short-term plans. Men are a distraction and I'm sick of holding them up, while all they do is hold me back. Two years to hunker down and stay focused on what I want and need.
Let's get it!
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My birthday was pretty tame. I took an earlier trip to Cali, to catch a meteor shower, that ended up being pretty underwhelming. It wasn't long, only a couple of days, and it happened before my birthday. I visited Yosemite again, spent some time with some homies, saw a play and flew on back.
By the time my big day hit, I'd already scheduled to be with my therapist that day at 2pm. I basically shared with her some things I'd been processing. I told her that I was ready to move forward and let it go, but she'd told me that the things that I was processing would take a bit more to work out. Ugh, I hate it when she's right. I'll probably never go to a therapist on my birthday again. As much as I adore Dr. T, I hated going to so deep on my birthday. There were definitely some things that I needed to report to her and process, but I try to keep my birthday light and unpacking things on that day just kinda set the tone for me must kinda going internal.
I didn't even have sex on my birthday. Once again, I was disappointed. But then, I wasn't. It was like a sign that I'm starting this chapter of my life only doing for me. That an my brightly pedicured toes, coupled with breakfast with one friend and dinner with my son were an amazing way to spend some time. I was blessed and honored that so many people wanted to spend my special day with me.
I was surprised when some people from my past attempted to pop back up, on some "can't we all just get along?" mess. Nah, I'm good. You stay way the fuck over there, and let me be great and bask in my own amazingness over here.
I ended up spending the weekend in Virginia, with my family, to say goodbye to my Uncle Jack. Jack was my mom's last living relative, outside of us kids. And she's got one cousin left, and he's in pretty bad shape. That's it. I asked her how that feels. she said "it sucks" and I can only imagine.
It's put in me in my head about some things. I mean, my uncle was just the latest in so many losses I've experienced since young adulthood. Most people only know the loss of one or two people. I guess I'm "fortunate" enough to have lost way more. And it does, in some ways, get a bit easier. And in other ways, it still hurts, and it's still unfair, and all you can do is try to make sense of it. At least both of my parents are still around. I can say though, working in hospice gives you a different view of death and dying, so at least I have that to have shielded and protect me.
I'm kinda enjoying that I'm currently going incognito lately. I like it. I am freeing myself from social obligations and just spending my time focusing and writing. I wish it was colder though. It's so much easier to go internal when the weather is cold. You can just kinda cocoon with a nice mug of coffee and hide from the world.
Overall, 44 seems to be pretty nice. I look and feel amazing. I was at the doctor yesterday, and they casually remarked how good my blood pressure is. Now I have to get back into having the diet of an adult and get this blood sugar lower. Thankful that it isn't off the charts either though. I have a few things in the pipeline and I'm mentally, physically, emotionally, and financially planning and readying myself for life as an empty nester. I'm so excited for this chapter. I have my peace.
I'm really excited about a few things I have planned. It's like all of those years of struggling are finally coming together to make sense. If you take a look at my life, divine timing is definitely real. When I speak to people at work and in my personal life, I have no issue holding up myself as an example of what can happen when you hold your head and work through those challenges.
My modus operandi is to always have several backup plans and always expect the unexpected. Those two things have helped me land on my feet time and time again, because I'm not often caught off guard. I've had people accuse that mindset of me being "negative" but the fact is (knock on wood) my bills are paid on time, even when circumstances are shaky.
I talked a while back about my therapist labeling me a track star and how I had to sit in that for a while, trying to figure out my life. I did more processing than a little around the label of being a runner. I wanted to asses it inside and out. Is it really me? And if so, what can I do about it?
I even checked in with some of my good friends, to get their opinions on it. At one point, I reached out to my homeboy Tony. Tony is kind of cute and we've always had a flirtatious relationship. I called him the other night, again wracking my brain with news of my new label. Tony plainly said to me "if you don't think you're a runner, what's the issue?"
I explained to him that therapy is about me learning myself. I mean, ignoring my flaws doesn't make them go way. Tony said that if I don't agree with the term, then it simply doesn't apply. I said to him that even though I may not like what someone says, that doesn't make it untrue. And that we become better versions of ourselves by being honest with ourselves and assessing honest criticism.
I could almost feel Tony checking out. That's when I told him that we should at least hear what people with good intentions have to say about us. I mean, naturally I don't listen to every critical word that some idiot says about me. But if someone who cares, or better yet, the psychologist that I pay out of pocket, gives an honest assessment of my character, it bears being examined.
But something about the way he just kinda, I dunno, checked out at the thought of examining honest criticism. I wasn't just turned off, I was honestly a bit disgusted. Like how can you, as a grown ass man in your 40s, be so opposed to acknowledging anything wrong with yourself? To the point where you check out when someone is processing their own criticism?
When I recognized that Tony's response was just to bury his head, I was so... UGH. I mean, I was legitimately a repulsed. And I used to think that Tony was so cute. But when that happened, I looked at my life and I looked at Tony's life. I met him when I was in undergrad at Kennesaw in my 20s. Since then I've finished undergrad, did some living, and went to grad school. Meanwhile, I've worked in mental health for 15 years. I have a career. I've had several relationships, some obviously better than others. My resume gets me pretty much any job I have my eyes on. I have a job with a well-respected organization. I have a pension. I have a short-term plan and a long-term plan. And Tony has evolved by... well, by not much.
All because of his refusal to accept and access honest feedback and become a better version of himself. I don't understand how someone's ego can be so fragile that they'd rather stay complacent in life than to grow and build.
I guess that's why I'm flourishing, and he's, well, not.
I had a bit of an epiphany about Fred the other day. After nearly 2 decades of back and forth with him, I'd feel some kind of way if I met a man I was interested in and he had a similar relationship with another woman. I mean, how does someone new to the fold compare to that? It made me look kinda hard at my own dating situations, ya know?
This afternoon, I met with my therapist. Dr. T is amazing. Early in our meeting, somehow we began talking about my father and I began listing off the many reasons I've chosen to cut him out of my life. I saw Dr. T literally double take as I told story after story about the many things he has done to betray my trust. Doc even went far enough to call him a sadist, which I can definitely agree with.
During our meeting, I told Dr. T that I wanted to change course slightly and talk about something else. She gladly accepted. I then told her about my revelation- that my history with Fred would be difficult for an outsider. My dear doctor listened intently as I'd shared how I felt that our literal cross-country love affair is deeper than I may have realized. I mean, I can be honest and share that there are men who I've prioritized over Fred and if the right man came into my life, I'd have no problem doing so again.
When Dr. T asked why we've never been a couple, I admitted that our differences are pretty big and some of the things I think he'd want, I don't fit into. I mean, I'm open to it, I guess. But I'm not running into that fire either. I also shared that if I met that man for the first time tomorrrow, even though I'd be physically attracted to him, I highly doubt we'd get much past a hello. We're just so different now, I don't think we'd gel as new friends.
But maybe there's really more to us than I've accepted. Dr. T wondered why I'd been so deep in my feelings over this. That's when I shared the world's worst-kept secret with her- I'm terrified of commitment. I've done it before. Most of my boyfriends, I never cheated on, not even with Fred. Except for one, my son's father and I deserved every orgasm that Fred gave me during that time. Even though some of the others definitely deserved to be cheated on, and I had many opportunities to do so. Still, the thought of being in a relationship scares the bejeezus of me.
Dr. T wondered why Fred and I never got together. I confessed to her that I'm not sure that we'd even make a good couple. I openly asked her why we can't be like an Oprah and Stedman, ya know? Why define things? Dr. T then reminded me that Oprah and Stedman at least live together. Oof.
That's when she hit me with it. Dr. T looked up and proclaimed to me "you're a runner."
Me? Huh?! A runner?! That's when I was reminded of my past coworker. I shared with her my absolute terror of the idea of entering a previous relationship. My coworker looked at me and said "Malika, you are a runner." What?! Me?! How?! Who?! My coworker then said "bitch, you are a track star!" One of my favorite things about working in mental health is that you're surrounded by therapists who are happy to give you insight on things you previously overlooked.
So Dr. T is literally the 3rd person to have called me a runner. I have no clue why this is hitting so hard. I sat tensely in her office, fidgeting and trying to sit in these feelings. I admitted that the idea of calling myself a runner kinda stung. Dr. T then asked me what I'm running from. I fidgeted even harder. I'm traditionally pretty okay with my shit. All of my emotions. But sitting in her office, in that chair, ironically made me want to bolt out of there.
It was the end of our session, so we had no chance to go down the rabbit hole of why. I normally hate when our sessions end, but I was definitely okay with it today. Perhaps I am a runner. I dunno. Me though? The woman who embraces emotions and wants to talk and hug everything out? Am I really running from something? I don't know.
Today was a perfect coffeehouse day. I'm thankful that my little genius of a son helped me to find a new laptop. With the rain drizzling outside and recent goings on, this is the perfect moment to sit down and sort out my thoughts, on top of updating my monthly budget.
Anyway, a while back, I saw a meme where a person thanked the people in their life who'd been kind enough to listen to them incessantly talk about whatever mess they were involved in, until they were through it. It immediately took me back to two of my good friends. Both, Hashim and Alto, have been an absolute godsend over the years, supporting me while dealing with all of the shit my ex heaped onto me. I made it a point to verbally let both of them know how much I appreciated it, because I know they were both beyond sick of me talking about it.
Which brings me to where I am now. I have a friend I'll call Angela. She and I go way back. She's also been a support while I was dealing with many issues, including legal stuff resulting from my ex and my family. Angela happens to work for local law enforcement. Ya know that friend that can find nearly anything or anyone online? That friend is typically me. But Angela is able to give me a run for my money, even without having her police connections. She's an absolute beast at pulling up info.
About a year ago, Angela started confessing that things weren't going very well with her husband. And working in mental health, it's kinda natural that I'd become her therapist/support through all of this. And I'll admit that it was exhausting to listen to. I'll own that a large part of what helped me to grant her patience was my recognition of what an absolute mess I've been in my past relationships and knowing that when I needed an ear, so many friends were there for me.
When Angela would call or text me, outraged at whatever new shit her husband had recently done, I'd remind her that he's literally doing what he's always done and you can't be surprised when you don't have expectations. She'd finally had enough and decided that once they reached a particular milestone in their relationship, she'd pull the plug. She'd confessed to me that it was pretty difficult to play nice, but she knew it was in her best interest to do so.
A few months back, Angela also presented with evidence that her husband was cheating on her. Yikes. And on top of that information, the side chick had also started following her online. Now, I'm one to be honest with my shit. I've done my dirt. But these new side chicks are a whole different level of bold. Following the wife online?! My last dalliance, with a man who was recently separated, I literally blocked that woman, in case my name ever came up (thankfully, it never did) and I have since sworn off married men, but that's for a different post. The less she knew about me, the better. I've even mentioned to other men how with that particular guy, I knew my place. I had no intentions to meet or argue with his wife. I didn't want to replace her or meet their kids. I understood that my friendship with him was what it was, and I had no desire for anything extra. Not surprisingly, many of those men proposed to me that I take on the role of side chick to them, and I declined. It ain't worth the headache. But my point is that I knew my place, and that particular guy appreciated it. He and I stayed good friends for years, he ended up being a bit of a mentor for me, and he helped me a ton in my career. And even though we ended things, I know I could call him tomorrow if I needed to. Since then, I've opted to stop talking about that part of my life with my married guy friends, because I have no desire to play that role again.
Once Angela realized that she had a new fan, she made it a point to dedicate her online presence to pictures of her and her philandering husband, much to the chagrin of his side bae. Meanwhile, I'd been tasked with listening to and supporting my dear friend. It made me that much more grateful of my current peace and my intentional decisions to only entertain men who had some damned sense. All I could think to myself is that I'm in my 40s, I can't imagine still dealing some man who is hell bent on pain and destruction. That's also another reason that I don't want more children. I don't ever want to be in that frame of mind over a man ever again in my life.
A few days back, Angela contacted me and stated that she had information that her husband had been spending money on the side chick. She was fuming. I tried my best to remind her that a fuccboi is going to do fuccboi stuff, and to stay focused on her fast-approaching date to file for divorce. But obviously, one to press her luck, the side chick then decided to follow Angela on another site. Angela, feeling froggy, decided to inbox the woman to ask if she had any information to share with her.
Woo chile, if this didn't take me back to my 20s. I can now attest that nothing good can come from this. I urged Angela to block her. She knows what it is, she's planning to divorce dude anyway. Angela, practically a detective, knew exactly what was going on. She had all of the evidence in the world.
I got a call from Angela last night, while I was at work. I sent it to voicemail, unable to speak. She called me back a few minutes later, and I texted her that I'd call her on break, which ended up going an hour later than I'd anticipated. When I had a moment, I finally reached back out. "I needed you," she said. "What's up?" I offered. "I needed you" she said again. That's when she dropped the bomb.
"I went to her house, and he was there." Oh shit. She explained that she pulled up and saw his car. She called him and demanded he come out. She then called the woman and told her to send her husband out. He opted to stay where he was, which was likely the safest for everyone involved.
As much as I'd danced around it before, I told Angela point blank that she's going to mess around and lose her job, or possibly more- her freedom, if she kept this up. I have no issue with holding myself up as an example of what not to do. I reminded Angela of my jail stint and I reminded her that her job in law enforcement could be threatened if she was found out to be in the streets like this. On top of it all, Angela recently got promoted to the much-needed job that will allow her to pay bills comfortably once she and her husband split. She mentally and financially cannot afford to lose this job that she just worked so hard for.
And here she is, in the streets, about to lose it all for a man who clearly is not worth it. Angela stated that she'd just needed confirmation and a confession. "Why?" I asked her. Again, she's a beast with the info. She knows. She knew. She had pictures, conversations, phone calls, addresses, dates, and text messages. And she pressed her luck. But I can't judge her. I get it. Lord knows, I get it. I been there. It ain't a good place to be in. It got the best of her. Love and rage will do it.
I remember vividly what made me decide that hospice was the job I wanted to do next. I was next to my beloved cousin Ali, who was just days from dying. A hospice CNA came in and sponge bathed him. I sat there, mere feet from him, in a chair, big heavy tears running down my face. The CNA kept a straight face and never even looked up to acknowledge me. And strangely enough, I was grateful to her for that moment. Because I had no idea how to function at the time when our close loved one is dying. In a moment like that, no matter what kind of education or experience you have, your brain seems to just seep out of your ears. But she was professional. She had a job to do, clean and check on him. While the family was all so emotionally spent, she came in and did what needed to be done. That was literally the moment I learned how important hospice really is.
I took two months after Ali died to finish writing a book (at least I thought I was done), before I went back to work. I'd been so distracted from the last few years that I knew that after being fired and losing my cousin, I needed a break. I'd tried so long to finish the book previously, that this was the first time that I felt like I could really work on it with no distractions, and once it was done, I would get another job. When I was ready, I started applying.
After the job I'd gotten fired from, I wasn't really looking forward to going back into social work. I'd been bullied, lied to, lied on, gaslit and underpaid from many of my last few jobs. I was over it. But I decided to look at hospice jobs in the area. Coincidentally, my classmate from Clark was working as a hospice social worker and I remember vividly telling her that there was no way I could ever do something like that. She assured me it wasn't that bad. I had a hard time believing at the time that a job dealing with death and dying wouldn't emotionally drain me. But by the time I applied, I had a newfound appreciation for the position. And I landed at a place I'll call Chances Hospice.
Chances sat in the middle of nowhere in a small town, about 30 minutes from my old apartment. When first I interviewed, I told them that I'd just lost my cousin and I saw the importance of hospice up close and personal and I wanted to share that blessing with others going through a hard time. I was hired on the spot. Chances had an interesting cast of characters. It had the typical, small Southern town feel. The office wasn't too far from the local downtown area, which was only a few small shops and restaurants.
I was told that my list of clients would be south of I-20. I loved so much how I drove through all kinds of farmland to visit my families. Miles and miles of grass, as far as the eye could see. The job definitely put some miles on my car, but I was more than happy to collect them. They were so grateful for me, unlike working in crisis, where people drop all kinds of shit in your lap and it's then your job to put out their fires. Hospice was a much slower pace, less drama, less paperwork and I loved that it was overall based much more in compassion. When my uncle, Ali's father, died a month after I was hired, my coworkers were so kind and gracious. Not "so when are you going to get over this?" like the job I was fired from after Ali died. No, they were genuinely loving and allowed me all the time I needed and didn't give me mess when I had to fly to Denver for his funeral. When I met with a client's family right after my uncle died, I had to excuse myself to go cry, and my coworker was more than understanding.
I was heartbroken to have to leave Chances. I had every intention of staying there until my son graduates high school in a few years. But at the same time I was applying for Chances, I also applied for my current job. And when that major organization reached out to me much later, I knew what I had to do. Chances was great, but the other position that I'd been offered was too much to pass up. When this organization calls you, you pull up.
I offered to stay on part-time, but my coworkers at the time asked me not to do that, for fear it would cut their pay if the higher ups realized that my job could possibly be a part-time position. I respect it. I told them that I'd gladly stay on as a volunteer, and even emailed the volunteer coordinator twice, telling her that I was interested, but I never heard back. I assumed that management was miffed at my early departure, which is why I was never called. But even with that, I never lost love for Chances.
I stopped in to see my therapist today. Dr. R happens to be located in my old neighborhood, and the inviting weather told me that it was time to stop by Chances again, after my visit with her. I didn't expect to talk about Fred with her, but she's great at pulling things out of me that I'm trying to avoid. Nevertheless, when I emerged from her office, I called my old coworker, Sophie and asked if she would be okay with me stopping in for a visit.
When I got off the exit, I was transferred back to the time when I started, just two short years ago. I remembered how peaceful I felt, driving through the small town to my office. I was also on the opposite side of town from all the traffic and I never had to encounter the hustle and bustle of rush hour, which I was also grateful for. I remembered those treatment team meetings, and how my coworker, Jennifer, and I would exchange funny memes as we updated one another on our clients.
Mostly, the old gang is still there. I was happy to learn that some of my old clients are still on the services and even still ask about me. I confessed to Sophie that driving through that small town into the office today helped me to recognize just how much Chances really saved me when I came in, 2 years ago, and I was far more broken than I'd realized at the time. Sophie encouraged me to reach out to the volunteer coordinator, but I told her how I'd done so previously, but never heard back. That's when she told me that the that the previous person in that position wasn't too good and that's why I never got a response. She told me that Chances desperately needed volunteers and encouraged me to drop my info. I anxiously filled out the application and emailed the woman before I left.
I came into Chances, grieving from the recent loss of my cousin. I was just a hair from leaving social work. I'd just broken up with my extremely shitty boyfriend, and I was still really processing my feelings regarding moving back from Los Angeles. And although I didn't realize it at the time, your girl was going through it! And driving out, in the middle of nowhere, and getting to support families, and being welcomed in, 5 days a week, from 8-5 was all I needed. I saw cows and horses. Heard all kinds of wild stories. Working there was like being transformed to a time when everything was simpler. I wasn't catching crap about dress codes and office politics. I wasn't bullied. When my uncle died, I was given nothing but genuine support. Chances gave me the work family that I so desperately needed.
Coincidentally, when I left Chances today, I called my friend Lisa, who I'd met through my work there. I was her mother's social worker, and Lisa and I just took to one another. Lisa had been caring for her mother with dementia for the last 4 years. Lisa's mother died recently, which I'd learned when I Googled her one day. I immediately called Lisa to offer my condolences, but she was with family. I told her that I'd drop by later. While I was out at Chances and in Lisa's neighborhood, I stopped on in.
She told me about watching her mother slowly decline. I knew she was still processing a lot and I allowed her to talk as much as she needed to about her mother, knowing the loss was only a month ago. Lisa's house happens to be on a lake, and we sat outside, talking, enjoying the 80 degree day. I told Lisa how I'm hoping to buy a home, but I'd been thinking about getting something in the city, so that ultimately, I could pass it on to my son, if needed.
But being out there today, in the small town where Chances is located, made me rethink things. Maybe I really will buy a home in that tiny, country town, where I can be invisible and loved on at the same time. Chances did more for me than they will ever know. I am eternally grateful.
I haven't had vivid dreams in a while. Things are pretty tame in my life, so my dreams tend to match. But I had a pretty lively one last night. In it, my son's father and I were getting along quite well. So well, it genuinely surprised me. In the dream, I recall saying that I'd have to work out in therapy how to actually like my ex as a person, because I'd started detesting him so much, and he was so nice now, that I would miss my actual hatred for him. But then, the dream, he said the one thing that would set me off (which is par for the course with him) and I wailed on his ass right there. I woke up shortly after.
Like any typical Thursday for the last few months, I woke up this morning and dreaded going to see my trainer. Even though I've seen the benefits and observed my clothes fitting loser, yeah, I still hate it. On a good note, I've gotten to be pretty close with my trainer, and he loves to hear the stories about my debaucherous life. Actually, my life is pretty boring these days, compared to what it once was, but he's married, so any news of my ignorance, he's always happy to hear about.
As I stepped in, he said to me "this is going to be a tough workout, you're going to hate me." I low key feel like he takes joy in hearing me whine about not wanting to do whatever he tells me to do. He told me that today would be a cardio workout that focused on balance. He had one of those workout tools I'd seen, that's half ball, the other half is flat, known as a BOSU ball. I'd seen those things frequently, but never stopped to figure out what they were.
He explained to me that I'd be standing on the flat side, balancing, while doing squats, and holding onto a pole. I surprised us both by getting through the set pretty easy. Next up I did the squats on the BOSU ball, without holding on. Then I lifted weights, while balancing on the BOSU ball. Then he had me standing on one leg, all while I did squats.
Once again, they were all pretty easy, and dare I say it, pretty fun. My trainer remarked on how wild it was that whenever he had me do lunges, I'd practically face plant, but here I was, doing one-legged squats on a balance ball, like a pro. He marveled at how uncoordinated I often am, and while he gave me tasks today, he said that I'm literally only one of 2 people he's ever worked with that had this level of balance. It's probably attributed to the at-home workout routine that I've done on and off for years. I'd never really thought much about it, but at the age of 43, I'm glad to see that I'm doing so well. My trainer joking referred to my combo of terrible coordination with immaculate balance, as me being a "conundrum."
Not sure what made me ask my trainer, but out of no where I asked him what men would typically think about my hair, which is in nearly waist-length, multi-color locs, that I currently have curled up. My trainer said that most men would likely see my brightly colored hair and think I was a free spirit or easy. I wasn't surprised. The fact is, while I love my hair, I get sick of talking about it with and getting complimented on it, by men. I did it because I like bright colors, not because I wanted the attention. I told him that I wasn't shocked, because men comment on my hair the most. My trainer suggested that I darken my hair and appear on the Kendra G show, and internet show where people put themselves out there and look for love. I told him that I pass.
I have no desire to do such a thing anyway, but why the hell should I change my hair to be taken seriously by a man? I'm a grown ass woman, with job I enjoy, higher education, I'm intelligent and well-rounded, my bills are paid. My hair and my tattoos have nothing to do with who I am as a person, and I refuse to dim my light to attract someone who isn't intimidated by the awesomeness that is me.
After gym time, I rushed off to my therapist. God, I love that woman! She's older, and a little old-fashioned, but she's thoughtful. It took her a few weeks to really learn me, but she has, and I thoroughly enjoy meeting with her. She's managed to identify that my biggest stressors are my dating life and my family.
As I walked in today, I immediately unloaded about the strange dream that I had. It was weird, mostly because I haven't talked to that knuckle-dragging idiot in forever, and he's thankfully another woman's problem now (or based on his extensive history, several women's problem). There's no reason for him to suddenly appear in my dreams. In fact, I've been meeting with my therapist for nearly a year now, and only one of our bi-weekly sessions talked deeply about the abuse I suffered at his hands. He's not at the forefront of my mind. So why am I having dreams about him now?
My therapist explained that the dream could have been based on something like a tv in the background, but I know that's not it, because I sleep with the tv on almost nightly. She said it could have been something like a recent interaction with him, but again, that ain't it, I don't talk to him and I don't really even want to. Then she said that it could have been reflection of something else going on in my life. I could almost feel the lightbulb go off in my head.
I immediately thought about a new guy I'd been casually seeing. The funny thing is that the guy is such a minor character in my life, that I hadn't even brought him up to my therapist. Like he's a non-factor at this stage in the game. I enjoy his friendship, and I love talking to him, but I'm not really putting my eggs in any baskets. I'm focused on my plans for when my little walks across the stage to get his diploma in 2 years. If this dude is still there, great! He's already shared his willingness to move with me, if things progress to that point. But if not, whatevs.
My therapist immediately asked me about him. I told her the good, and I shared with her my pink flags, which are leaning towards red. I told her that I pretty much addressed my concerns with him. He grew a smidge defensive initially, but in the end, he got it, and said he'll work on things. But again, I'm not pressed. I have my plans. Alone or booed up, I'm making moves regardless. I told him that if he works on the things I pointed out, whether he's alone or with someone, he'll be a happier version of himself, which he agreed on.
What sucks about working in mental health is that you often find yourself acting as a therapist in your personal life, even if you don't intend to. I recall some years ago that I tried to gently tell a dude that I appreciated the energy he put into trying to get to know me, but he needed some serious therapy to work through some trauma. Like I could see dude's trauma long before he uttered a word about it to me. And that clown then attempted to accuse me of weaponizing my job to judge him. Bitch, I can't help what my job is, but I'm trying to put you on game. Fix yo' shit! So yeah, we don't talk no mo'. Anyway...
I told Dr. C that with the new minor character, I hipped him to what his pink/red flags were, and that he agreed to work on them. I assured her that I'm not pressed regardless, to the point that I hadn't even mentioned him until this thing with the dream came up. He works in a different field, and he makes less than me, while still making a livable wage.
I mentioned to Dr. C that when I met him, I initially told him that my job title was that of a boring paper-pusher, and I only told him later on what I actually do. I explained to her that people assume too many things when I tell them off the rip what I do, and while I'm so fascinated by my field, I don't want to spend all of my down time assessing people and doing therapy.
My dear doc then suggested that I'm dumbing myself down when I'm not always up front about what my job title or profession is. She suggest that I essentially say "I'm a professional woman who is solid in her career" as a way to meet new people and deflect when asked about my career. But I can only imagine how suspect and off putting that would be to many people. It just makes it feel like you have something to hide.
Like when I told dude that I'm a paper pusher, he asked no questions. But when I tell people what I do, they immediately hit me with "I could never do that" (I agree, it's not for the weak) and then they assume that I'll be a mother figure/nurse/therapist to them.
I went on to say how because of having bright hair, tats, colorful nails, and a nose ring, men tend to assume the worst about me. Like my trainer said, they assume that I'm a good-time girl. I really can't count how many times I've met a guy and he had assumptions about me, based on his preconceived notions, and suddenly he acts like I've wronged him by not being whatever he expects me to be. Like dude, I never lied to you. You just saw bright hair and assumed that I was uneducated and unmotivated, and now you're tripping to learn that I have standards because I have a higher degree than you, and I make just as much, or possibly more money than you.
I became a bit incensed during the visit today. I shared how free-spirited men tend to be flakes, addicts, or all out mentally ill. And polished men can't seem to take me seriously. Like there's this fine line that I'm expected to walk in life. Be bright and friendly and outgoing, but don't be too confident and sure of yourself. People don't like it when you don't hate yourself. But then go into your profession, and you should only wear these boring, muted colors, and don't appear too friendly and sociable, lest you make your colleagues feel uncomfortable and you appear unprofessional and unqualified, in spite of having over a decade of experience, in addition to a professional license.
I ended up buying a BOSU ball this evening. I look forward to using it. Seeing how much I impressed my trainer made me want to stick with the workouts we did today. I already have weights that I enjoy lifting between calls at home. At this rate, it feels only right to further work on my physical wellness, while I'm on the clock. Been balancing this long, might as well keep the party going, right?
