Peopling While Popular

Spring is here and it is springing!! Last week, I got back from NYC with Pumpkin. Going in, I was sure that I was signing up for the trip from hell, but I ended up seeing my first Broadway play, for just $45 and I found myself sitting front row at the play "Joe Turner's Come and Gone" which starred Taraji P. Henson and Cedric the Entertainer. I'd always told myself that I wanted to see a Broadway show one day. I even met one of the stars, Joshua Boone, after the show. That's certainly a hell of a way to scratch an item off of your bucket list.

While in NYC, I spent time with a homegirl who knew all of the cool spots and I'm grateful that my connection to her led me to my Broadway hookup and standing in line to get my ticket, I happened to meet another woman with heavy ties to Atlanta, and she and I shared several mutual acquaintances. The new friend and I then agreed that we would attend the Atlanta Jazz Festival together, to see one of my favorite singers. I've said it before and I'll say it again, my life is amazing. But it wasn't always so.

While I was grieving what I did not understand was an emotionally abusive relationship, the mentally unstable chick he ended up with (I thank God every day that I avoided that mess) made a comment about how POPULAR she was. And I took that, and it fueled me. She may have gotten the man. Yep, she got him. But I know that if I had nothing else, I had the people. I decided that I'd show her what popularity really looked like. She won the battle, but I damned sure won the war.

I made a conscious effort to show her how amazing my life really was. I'd take pics of my social life and demonstrate who was really popular. I remember one particular picture that was taken, and seconds after, I'd burst into tears and ran into the bathroom. I was intentional about posting pictures of me all over the city, living it all up, because I wanted her to see what popular really looked like. What was wild that while it was initially all a display to show her that she's not nearly as hype as she thought she was, I started to really love it. I started to meet so many people and actually enjoy myself. The people I met were so fascinating that I just wanted more. It went from being a big show for her, to becoming a life that I'd started to really lean into and love. I'm pretty sure that the crazy bitch has moved on to stalking other people now (hopefully, but nothing surprises me), but I know there's another male from my past who now follows me. So even though I'm no longer trying to show off my amazing life, I'm pretty sure he's following me and reading my words and looking at my pics, essentially sitting outside of the club, looking in.

During that previous period of turn ups, I got pregnant. Obviously, I had to scale back my partying ways. But as my baby got older and the shackles of parenthood started to loosen, I slowly started to get back out there. Now, as I count down, I'm definitely back in the streets. Believe it or not, it's not about shallow partying or drinking. It's about my genuine love of people. I truly love seeing people have a good time. This weekend, I went to another event, and I brought a couple of women from Kansas and Alabama and I loved showing them my favorite hangouts and introducing them to my people. They were amazed at the Black excellence, and the music and the fashion. 

And it often isn't until I'm with people who are homebodies and/or from other places that I'm reminded of how exciting and fun my life really is. And what an absolute blessing it is to not just be around exciting people, but to personally know and love on these folks. And being loved by them is its own blessing. On Saturday night, I looked over at a handsome guy standing next to me and said "you're kinda cute!" and he told me that we follow one another online. Come to find out that I'd actually been looking at his Instagram page just 2 days before, due to us sharing mutual friends.

As I sit in my favorite coffeehouse, unpacking it all, gratitude seems like such an understatement. Things I'd previously prayed for are so far away, as I lean into being grateful to what I was given instead. It's true, if you want to make God laugh, show her your plans.

Empty Nesting: You Can't Go Home Again

The Boy is out of town for a robotics competition. I love my lil Pumpkin, but lordy, there is something about having an empty house! I often marvel at the fact that kids his age don't go anywhere. When I was 18, if you gave me $20, I was immediately in the streets. Kids these days? Give them $20 and they buy a computer game and continue gaming from the comfort of their bedroom. I now fully understand that my mother was beyond glad when me and my sisters were in the streets, doing God-knows-what. As she saw it as long as we weren't dead or pregnant, she was good. And yeah, same. There's just something about an empty house, after having kids around for so long. 

I got off work in the evening and immediately tried to figure out where to go. I decided to pop out for some nachos and margaritas. My homegirl was supposed to join me, but she was late, so I told her that we'd link another time. As I sat there eating, I decided that I wanted more action. I wanted someone to hang with. Let's drive aimlessly around the city! Let's go back to my house and watch movies! Let's do something! In that moment, my ex happened to call me. I immediately suggested to him that he meet me out. He hit me with a plain "I'm in my pajamas," which I know is middle-aged speak for "I'm not going any-damned-where."

I sat there and stewed. I wanted action. I wanted to call Fred. I wanted to unblock FAMM and call him. I wanted to call up another guy I'd previously had to move on from. I wanted it ALL back! I wanted all of that toxic shit that I had to work out of my system! I wanted to drool over some fine ass man, I wanted to be all over the city in bars and clubs, where everybody knows my name! 

I called my network of homegirls to talk some sense into me, because I knew that I'd lost my damned mind. But at 10:30? Most of them were tucked away, already asleep. I knew, because I'd reached out. I guess the blessing is that I knew that I was losing my shit. I called my guy bestie, "Mr. Atlanta" and encouraged him to meet me. He said that he'd be at a spot at 12 for karaoke. It was 10:30 at that point, and the margarita was starting to speak to me and I knew I wasn't going to make it twiddling my thumbs for another hour and a half, waiting for some action to kick off. I decided to head home.

I got home and unblocked FAMM and texted him "Up?' and then I took to my couch.  I knew this behavior wasn't healthy. I stewed in it. Then it hit me. I'd wanted so bad to be an empty nester, so I could get back the life I had. The parties, the hanging out, the friends at all hours. God, how I'd missed that action. I couldn't even get a friend to roll through on a random Thursday at 10pm! And again, it hit me- in your 40s, most of your friends are supposed to have their own cribs and responsibilities, and jobs and whatnot. If I was in my 40s and all of my people can just roll through on a random Thursday, that doesn't say very good things about the company I keep.

I really wished my therapist was available. I wanted so badly to process all of this. How I'd worked so hard to undo my demons, and the first moment that I'm alone, I wanted to undo all of my progress, just to feel alive again. I sat in my home, with just me and my cats. I always thought this would be the move, but dammit man. In this moment, I'd finally gotten what I asked for, and I had nothing to show for it.

This morning, I woke up, glad to not have to jump up to take Pumpkin to school. I lay in my bed and thought about the dream I had. I dreamt that I ran into my former fling, a younger man, who attended Clark Atlanta University with me, who was in his early 20's, while I was in my mid 30s. In the dream, he'd taken off his underwear and I found them later, and noticed they were much too small, almost small enough to be for a child. When I woke and pondered on the dream. In the dream, he was child. In that dream, I was chasing my own young adulthood.

I got up and started cleaning, putting things away, opening windows and doors, airing out my home, listening to birds chirp, while I played Michael Jackson records in the background. I went chasing my 20s, only to find that the party ended. Or at least, the party has changed, and now it's up to me to redefine what this part of my life is supposed to mean. It slapped me in the face that being an empty nester does not mean that I will magically be 25. I also knew that I don't wanna be one of those middle-aged women hanging out at clubs with people half my age, embarrassing myself, trying to look younger than I really am. Seriously, put a bullet in my head if I ever try to become that woman.

The saying is true, you can't go home again. And I gotta learn to be okay with that.

Springtime Action

Last week, Stepmommy called me and asked if the loveseat that has been plaguing my living room was still up for grabs. I'd offered it to my baby sister, who is at UGA some months ago. Her roommate, who'd owned all of their household furniture, had moved out, leaving baby sis and her roomies nothing to sit on. She'd taken my white leather couch previously. I was glad to get rid of that couch. It was leftover from the previous owners of my house, and anyone who knows me knows damned well that a white leather couch is not remotely something I'd want or need. Coincidentally, just earlier that day, I was thinking of having the loveseat taken to the dump, so I'm glad that it went to a good home, before I made that call. No one wants a seat covered in pollen, that's been waiting out in the elements, ya dig?

Having emptied of the extra furniture, my house now feels like mine. For the first time since I've moved in, the house doesn't feel too crowded or cluttered. I feel like an ungrateful asshole, but I'd kinda struggled with the size of the house, initially. 1100 square feet is nothing to sneeze at, but the homes I was raised in where both at least 2x bigger than that. But the fact is that they were bigger houses, because there was more people to house. A 3 bed, 1.5 bath square foot house is plenty big enough for just lil' old me and my lil 6'6 nugget, especially since he'll be going away to college soon. And moving that additional behemoth just really opened up the room. Plus, I'd read earlier that many people struggle with feeling that their house was a mistake early on, but after a year or so, they grow to love it. And yeah, that's definitely my case.

While working from home, I told myself that I'd work from the office, but I lied, the living room has become my work space. With the giant window, tv, screen door, which allows for fresh air moving into the springtime, my house actually feels like home how.

What's even more exciting is that Pumpkin is getting ready to graduate. Like, oh my God, I made it! Freedom is on the horizon! Since moving in, I've heard from several people that I should have a shindig or two, but I just couldn't bring myself to do it. The place felt too cluttered and unsettled. But now that the living room is opened up and things are now put away or thrown away, I finally see the vision. I texted my bestie last night and told her that we're totally having a kickback when she visits again.

And it's not just the couch or the living room, I can finally breathe again. Coincidentally, the apartment that I lived in when I conceived my son is a lot like my current house. I didn't think much about it at the time, but I'm really grateful that I got to my house before some flipper got to it and made everything "millennial grey." I have the original floors and all of those lil quirks that make houses home, ya know?

Last night, I stopped at Kroger to grab food for the Kid. It was about 10 when we stepped in. It was reminiscent of those nights in my 20s, when we'd aimlessly go get food at odd hours, to come back to my house and kick it all night. I'm looking forward to picking up on those nights.

But I picked up on something I hadn't expected to touch on. I think I miss male energy. Not sex and dating, but there's something a tad intimate about driving around late at night, laughing and going to grab food. Those memories, ya dig? I think I'd like to approach dating again, but I don't want to go into the mess that comes with it. I'm not sure how I'll navigate that. I've got some homeboys I've been meaning to catch up with, and perhaps that'll scratch that itch? Not sexually, of course. I mean, obviously there are men circling who are waiting to get that call that I want action, but none of them meet what I require to be allowed access. I'm about 15 months out of sex and I couldn't miss it any less.

Still spring, brings a certain "something." The energy, the color, the lights, the endless possibilities. And I'm here for all of it. 

It's In the Eyes

I've got a homeboy who I haven't spoken to in a while. I have tons of love for him. We still speak on occasion, but life does what it does. Back when we talked more frequently, my homeboy often spoke harshly of his ex-wife, to the point of blaming her for his health challenges. I love my homeboy, but I've known him for years, and there's a strong chance that his ex isn't the the problem that he'd made her out to be. I never knew who she was, but occasionally, I'd wish I'd been a fly on the wall in their relationship,  just to see how accurate his account of things was.

I got curious the other day. I did some digging and I found her. She doesn't seem like the crazy, manipulative bitch that he made her out to be, but social media has a way of softening images.  But then when I looked closely at her page, I see a woman who seems like she's trying to find herself. Honestly, I know that look when I see it. I can look in a woman's eyes and tell when she's exhausted. I know the eyes of a woman who did everything she could to keep a relationship together and finally chose herself. Those eyes are hollow, but searching, yearning. Exhausted. I really wanted to reach out. To hug her. To tell her that it'll be okay and she'll get through this. 

My poor homeboy went through something catastrophic a while back and I looked at her page for the day after it occurred. They'd been divorced a few years by that point. She smiled. But I saw her eyes. I saw eyes that had given their all and tried to make sense of things. In my 40-something years on this planet, I'm finally learning not to insert myself. I deeply wanted to follow her. To reach out and offer support. I knew my homeboy would shit bricks if I did. I chose peace and opted to instead, wish her the best from afar and maintain my distance.

I know that look so well, because I saw it for months, if not years. Looking in the mirror and seeing misery and self-loathing as you try to pick up your life and get back to business.

It's weird to know how much my peace and happiness infuriates other people, especially men. I'm at 15 months without sex now and I have so much more peace in life. I look at my social media and I see laughter, friends, and good times. My eyes finally show joy. And I'll be damned if they ever again show anything else.

Seasons

This time of year is kinda difficult for me. Like a lot of people, I thoroughly enjoy the changing of the weather. We went from winter's cold, dark, long days, to brighter, happier, and lighter. I've been outside more and as I slide on into Pumpkin graduating high school, I've taken to these streets like nobodies business. It feels amazing to have the sun on my back again and being able able to dress to match the weather. Almost time for the tank tops and sandals. I'm weighing out a weekend beach trip soon. It feels like we're being rewarded for making it through another dreary winter.

And while I'm always welcoming the warm, sunny days of spring, it also brings a reminder of something else- March 4th was the 5th anniversary of Andrea's death, in addition to Pete's death. I remember in 2021 how that was the first time that the anniversary of Pete's death was happening and I wasn't starting to spiral. And then I look up and get the text message that Andrea was gone. It just occurred to me that Pete left 9 years ago and I have a hard time wrapping my mind around the fact that it's been so long. It's been so long for both deaths, but it feels like it was just yesterday.

So I'm currently juggling being grateful to be out and happy and still juggle the complex feelings regarding their loss. On top of that, tonight is Art, Beats, and Lyrics, which was previously hosted by Dres. I never went before. He'd always tell me to get on the reservation list, but I always assumed that I'd have time to get on the list, but I never did, so I always missed them. This will be my first time visiting it, and it will mean a lot, because not just is this the first without Dres, but Jody was always big on ABL as well. And Jody leaned on Dres for support, as they navigated their sicknesses. So essentially, while I'm celebrating the work of my friends, I can't help but to remember what I lost as well. I didn't lose people I partied with. I lost family.

Last night, while on a bit of a club crawl, I ended the night at MJQ. At least the old location. They're still working to get the clientele back up, but Majestik was there, who was Dres' dj on Fantastic Fridays.  I have a hard time walking in lately. I always want to go into the main room, where Dres is dancing on the stage and rocking the crowd. He'll hug me, give me a kiss on the cheek, and then go do his thing. Sometimes, we'd go to the Majestic Diner afterwards. And I'll never get that again.

While hanging last night, I ran into a mutual friend of me and Andreas. We both marveled at the fact that she's been gone for 5 years now. The mutual told me a few other sad details about the end of Andrea's life.  I knew that she had some things going on, but I never knew it was like that. Coincidentally, I was wearing a sweater that said "happy" but I can't say that by the end of the night, that I was matching that mood. I ducked out early.

Deep down, I know that I'm fortunate and blessed to consider these people a part of my journey. A friend of mine recently remarked that I lost so many people, because I know so many people. And it's true. I love this beautiful weather. But I love my friends, and I miss them too.

Countdown and Time Away

Roughly 4 years ago, I started asking myself how many days I had until Pumpkin was out of high school. I wanted to move to L.A. desperately, and I knew even then that being on my own would allow me the freedom. At the time, I had roughly 1700 days to go. Almost daily, I'd google how many days until my release date. Obviously, I did make the leap to L.A. at some point, but I hadn't factored in the inability to find housing, based on that stupid eviction moratorium. I don't regret the move. It set me on a path of some new stuff that I didn't anticipate that I would need. It was a bit of a reset and by the time I came back, I didn't realize how much I'd be in hustle mode. I ended up making more money and buying a house, two things that I did not anticipate, and that move cross country allowed it all to happen.

And now, here I am, with less than 100 days to go. Strangely enough, I feel guilty for counting down so heavily. I'd never be on of those parents who kicked my kid out at 18. I tell everyone how a large part of me buying a house was that he'd always have a place to return to, no matter what. I saw how the older generations treated the young adults back then, essentially telling them "figure it out" when stuff got hard and they just needed a hand. I was fortunate enough to create a soft landing for my baby, as these houses were getting expensive. Truthfully, sometimes, I wish I'd gotten a bigger house, but I intentionally got a ranch-style home, with then intention to age in place. But the fact is, this house is plenty big for just me and one other person. I didn't want a huge palace (not that I could afford one), that would eventually require a lot of stairs, in the event that my hip or knees got bad.

I still want a larger house, and sometimes, I consider adding on a room, or at least knocking down a wall, but for now, there are other expenses to consider. Plus I do actually enjoy that cleaning my house would only take roughly an hour, if I had to get stuff together. All and all, I'm grateful.

Last year, I took a road trip to NYC and got a hotel in Times Square and decided that I wanted my Pumpkin to have a similar experience, and for his spring break, that's what we'll be doing. This weather lifting is genuinely doing something for me. Spring tends to do that for me though. Spring in Atlanta is a lot like summer in L.A. Kinda breezy, but pleasant, warm and inviting. It just makes you want more. This time of year is a little weird for me and it tends to make long for L.A. living. I'm grateful that I bought a house before I was priced out, but it leaves a difficulty of how to go there, while maintaining this. I have a few ideas, but I've decided that I'm going to either wait until Pumpkin graduates, or a least is in his junior year of college, before I head back out west.

I'm desperately trying to work as much as I can and get up extra coins to cover all of my upcoming expenses. I'd considered hopping a plane for a weekend in L.A. but I'd have to cover a plane ride, a rental car, hotel and food, and right now, I just can't justify that added expense. I'm in desperate need of a vacation though. Coincidentally, I was talking to my therapist the other day, and I'd shared with her that I know for a fact that if I'd flown in and told Fred that I needed a ride around town, he'd gladly grab me. But I don't need those issues, so that's a no-go. Actually, a girlfriend of mine is supposed to be having a movie premier soon in L.A., so I'd be willing to go for that, and pay all of the expenses, but I'm waiting to get word. And of course, Fred is in the film too, so I'd see him if it happens, but I'll cross that burned bridge when I get to it.

Even though me and the kid have a plane to NYC to hop next month, I've been itching for some sun and the beach. I'm leaning heavily towards a weekend in Destin or Biloxi. Likely gonna do Biloxi though. I'd mentioned to The Kid that I was considering a long weekend in Biloxi and I'm grateful that he said "I'll just stay home" even though I hadn't invited him. Obviously, I'd welcome him on the trip, if he wanted, but a solo trip to the beach would be amazing. I don't think I've had a solo beach trip since I was pregnant with him. 

My new favorite person is a DJ, who has reminded me of many of my favorite old tunes. My playlist improves by leaps and bounds every time I go hear him spin. Today, while I drove home from dinner with Pumpkin, I'd allowed some of the playlist to wash over me, as I felt the warm wind blowing through the windows of my car. I envisioned myself driving through cute little shops in Biloxi, or possibly some other beach town. I decided that a beach trip needs to happen and it needs to happen soon. I'm so ready to be free and just live my life untethered to a high schooler. Bring it.

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.