Mindful Detachment

Ugh. So I'm proud of myself, but sometimes I miss my petty side. As I worked on my journal today at work, I had an epiphany of sorts. I need to detach. Earlier in the day, I met with a woman who asked me to mentor her. She's new to town and trying to land a job and meet up with a few people I'm connected with. I told her that I don't play about my mentorship and I'm all about accountability. She said she needed that. I got her resume updated under my care. Then it was time for me to head to work.

My first caller of the night contacted me and he was angry, and I was annoyed. By the end of the call, the man told me that I should be a therapist and that I helped him so much. I've heard it several times at work from people I speak with and I struggle to accept that. While I work, I picked up my journal and picked up from where I was last.

Today's entry was about mindfulness. Right up my alley. It called for me to meditate on my mindfulness intention. Again, right up my alley. But I wasn't being completely honest with myself. I was troubled. I needed to detach. I started to feel that what was mine was no longer mine and it held me in a negative loop. It became clear to me that I need to detach. The beautiful thing is that detachment isn't the hurt  to me that it once was. I genuinely find beauty in it now. Leaving things as they are, to be weightless just makes sense when you're being held down by negativity.

In short, I decided that I need to step away from my blog space for a while. I love my blog. It is home. It is my safe space. Or at least it was. I will always write. I will always grow and bloom. But I need to eradicate myself from toxic spaces and forces and be light. Not sure when I'll pop up again. Could be weeks or months. Or I may just rename this and find a new safe space, where I can keep all of my entries collected safely together. Or maybe just start another blog entirely? Sounds like a good idea. I dunno tho. I don't really care. But I know that I owe it to myself to move forward, without the weight of shadows. The crazy thing is that I'm not sad or mad. I'm apathetic, but in the most beautiful way. I'm apathetic because I accept that the extra weight that I'm carrying is not good for my soul and I owe it to myself to pursue what makes me happy. True joy is being able to find happiness internally, no matter what you face externally. And there I was.

I'll admit, this was a bit of a last minute decision. But the more I think about it, the more I like it. I've outgrown this space. It's still mine. These are my words, and they carried me and sheltered me through a very chaotic period in my life. But I'm ready to move into another space. I deserve that. I don't consider myself "crazy" and I certainly don't consider my life "hard." Those were only things I encountered when I struggled with myself. I no longer do.

Coincidentally, I've been heavily watching Angela White's transition from Blac Chyna and I have been cheering her on so much. I am so beyond proud of her. I love to see people win anyway, but I light up from inside out when I watch a Black woman win. Some have accused her of exploiting her growth for coins. Obviously, I'll never know what is in the heart of another human being. But one of my favorite videos was when she got her facial fillers removed.

I love how innocent she was during that whole thing. She was almost childlike, her eyes so big. It was all so new and refreshing for her. Her voice high and light. She was clearly stepping into a new space and I was so happy for her.
***

So here it is, the following day, since I never got to submit my post from yesterday. I woke up and pondered on my day. With my child away, I decided to focus on some cleaning and decluttering. I already felt lighter. I knew that I needed to finish off this blog the right way. I debated going to my favorite local coffeehouse, but I chose not to. I needed to take advantage of my energy boost and clean up and just focus and go internal for a while.

My new therapist has talked about me taking meds. I explained to her that my weird tolerance makes it so that my ADHD medication only works for a day or two. Four max. And then it does nothing. It's so frustrating. I've just had to learn new coping mechanisms, but the meds make me so much more functional. I once asked a pharmacist about this, and he said "I don't know, maybe you have a super liver or something." Trust me, that's not nearly as cool as it sounds.

While I was calling around, I decided to check in with my best friend about my new favorite thing, the Afro Unicorn.

While there, we checked in on other things. I told her that I'd been chatting with a local artist who is well-known. He invited me to attend an Art Walk in Asheville in a few weeks. I told her that I'm considering it, but I'm really trying to focus on putting all of my money into my upcoming birthday trip. Plus I'm not sure he's ready to move past his last relationship. Truthfully, I don't care. I'd be okay if we're just friends for a while. I'm not in any kind of rush to get serious with anyone. 

I told bestie that I offered a few hundred bucks to a mutual friend of Fred and mine, so I can crash at her spot for a few when I land in LA. She agreed. She's a creative and well-connected. I really like her. Bestie asked if I plan to see Fred while I'm there. I answered plainly, "nope." 

Fact is that I don't have anything against Fred in this space. I don't hate him. I don't resent him. I don't regret our time together. I appreciate the good. And there were a lot of good times. But I'm ready to move into something else. And that's why I think this is a good place to leave this particular blog. 

Far before I began to follow Buddhism, one of my favorite parts in the movie "What's Love Got to Do With It?" was (not the limo scene) when in court, how Tina Turner wanted nothing but her name when leaving Ike. She didn't want the fancy cars or furs or jewelry. She wanted her name. And I didn't get it at the time, but I certainly do now. She detached herself. She did that to be free. Because I finally realized that only when you detach yourself of worldly things can you really be free to live your life without restrictions, worry, and doubt. I get it now. And I can recognize how my attachment here only fueled another person's unhealthy attachment to me, and in order to try to get my peace back, I gotta peace out.

I'm really starting to see the amazing impact that Buddhism and mindfulness has had on me. I feel freer than I have in my whole life. No excuses. No hostility. No turmoil. I don't feel the need to compare myself to anyone or answer to anyone. I feel perfectly perfect in my own skin. I am eternally grateful for this journey, which was ironically created when I was at my lowest and in the midst of chaos. Yet again, someone causing me pain ultimately saved me from myself. And I'm honestly genuinely grateful. But that doesn't mean that I have to or even should stay here.

I took the Facebook app off of my phone. I still occasionally check in, obviously. But I really want to free myself of attachments. I want to be more present for myself and the people I love. I'm excited to be working to bring so many of my family together this summer. I'm going to travel away from the continental States for the first time in my life. I'm really geeked to be getting into a healthy regimen and considering taking up Zumba. My laptop is clearly on its last leg, and the timing could definitely be better, as I have a big trip, followed by a move to a new apartment in a few months. But I have so much to look forward to. New laptop, new places to visit, new exercise regimen, new home. A whole new world and a new me to explore.

And I can explore and express that anywhere. Or maybe not? And if I do, does it have to be here? I don't think so either.

Replacements

When I was a teenager, I had the strange talent of being able to locate 4-leaf clovers. I remember sitting on the ground during soccer practice, pulling up a half a dozen lucky clovers at a time. While they were rare to everyone else, I'd casually give them away to the people around me, quite sure that I could always find another one, if needed. It was often thought that I must be a pretty lucky child, due to my ability to find so many of them. 

Even just a few weeks ago, I was out with a girlfriend, when she'd just bought some cute stud earrings. As we walked back toward the car, she suddenly realized that the stud she'd tried to put in was missing. On the gravel, the earring was practically a lost cause. Even bringing in a 3rd set of eyes to look for it, we started to accept that she may just be down an earring. But I kept looking. At some point, I looked down and saw it! I picked up the small earring, triumphantly. I guess through it all, my luck (and good eyes) continued to work in my favor.

I made no secret that Ali was my entire world. Even just an hour ago, I continue to find so many pics from times we were hanging out together. He wasn't just my cousin or my friend. He was like my big brother. Before he died, I'd met my second cousin Doc, who lives about 30 minutes away. As I grieve my beautiful cousin, Ali, and discuss him at length, Doc has emerged as an important family figure in my life. I've often told Doc that I wish he'd met Ali. They had so much in common. They are even the same height and complexion. I could see them being drinking partners and taking turns on the grill on hot summer days. *sigh*

While I know there will never be a replacement in my life for Ali, I feel that somehow the Universe saw that I continued to need protection and guidance in the form of a cousin/friend/brother. And I feel like the Universe placed Doc in my life around the same time that Ali transitioned, so that I could still be protected and loved on in his absence. Doc and I have grown together a lot in the last few months and I hope he knows how much I love our relationship.

I've heard it said that when God closes one window, She opens another. I completely think that adage has applied to other parts of my life as well. I have continued to be stalked, bullied, and harassed by my son's father. I'll be honest and say that I'm exhausted from his shit. I honestly thought that in having another child, he'd grow up and move on to be someone else's problem. But that doesn't appear to be the case. I can't begin to get into the mind of a man who I haven't graced with this fantastic coochie in over 10 years. Yet here we are.

But the amazing thing is that literally every time he pulls some bullshit, in the end, it ends up working out in my favor. My child and I have an amazing relationship, because he's gotten to see me under fire. Leaving Atlanta and moving back was an unintended blessing because I came back to great career opportunities, and one day I'll finally be able to make the decent living that I want.

So essentially, every time he does something stupid, like dragging me to court, or even trying to turn my child against me, it never works. It's almost like the worse he does, the more the Universe sets up to replace it with an extra blessing. I know that he's about to drag me back to court. I don't care. I've got my blessings. My son is healthy and blossoming. My health is good. My spirit is amazing. My friends and family are all doing well. So I'm ready and completely expecting whatever bullshit my ex comes with next. It's all good.

                                        

There are dozens of plucked 4-leaf clovers to remind me that I got this and I look forward to whatever blessing is on the other side.

Sandwiches

I was talking to a friend of mine about his experience at Chickfila today. My friend complained that Chickfila was out of lemonade and he wasn't happy. I was kind of perplexed about them being out, mainly because I know their lemonade is made by hand. And all it requires is fresh lemons, water, and sugar, things easily obtained at any grocery store. I only know this because I had a friend who worked at Chickfila when we were in high school and he told me how he was responsible for squeezing the lemons for the lemonade, even though on one particular day, he suffered from some papercuts, resulting in an excruciating shift. The ew factor is only now kicking in, since I am aware now of how that could lead to tainted lemonade and lead to sickness, but that's a different story entirely.

Thinking back on his time a Chickfila took me back to our many hours-long conversations in high school. Looking back, he was always the man in his household, despite now knowing that he was just a baby. I recall how he'd always had jobs and contributed, the oldest boy in home where his father was absent and his mother struggled to care for him and his younger siblings. As I thought about that today, I realized that Pumpkin is now the same age that my friend was then. It's crazy to imagine that my baby is now at an age where he really could be the man of the house, if needed. He's genuinely that thoughtful and kind that if I were not able to care for us, I know that he'd take on the role, and wouldn't complain once.

Today was the first day of spring break, thank God. I'm exhausted from getting my child to and from school. I worked over the weekend. I woke up this morning and watched the last two episodes of Swarm. I'd heard so much about the show, but only once Pumpkin started watching it did I really become curious. He finished the last episode today, perhaps an hour before I did. As the final credits rolled for me, Pumpkin and I dissected the ending. He sat on the floor of my bedroom, while we looked online to find out what the hell we'd just looked at. Pumpkin read aloud what he'd just learned, and we bonded over our fan theories of the show. He talked about his appreciation for Donald Glover, which is what drew him to watch the show to begin with. In those moments, I really realized how much my child is becoming his own person. How thoughtful he is and funny. 

I left out for an appointment early in the afternoon and returned home to rest. My alarm went off and I was exhausted. I just wanted to sleep. I spend so many days being tired, in constant need of an impromptu nap. My alarm went off, alerting me that the time for my shift was near. I stirred, groggy. I didn't want to get up. I was tired. Mentally drained. Just once, I thought, I'd like for my time to be my own.

Pumpkin was nearby, in his bedroom. He heard me stirring. He heard me vent about how I'm so damned tired and how I just want one day to do absolutely nothing. I'm doing so many things right now, I feel like my brain is always on, and I just want a day where I don't have to clean up, I don't have to tend to the family reunion, I don't have to work. I just want to be! Pumpkin reminded me that we have a beach vacation coming up soon. I told him that just means that I have some driving to do soon. I'm tired. He again chimed in, hoping to make me feel better. I finally said to him "I know you mean well sweetie, and I appreciate it, but I really just need some rest right now." He walked away. 

I know that he feels guilty, as a large part of my tiredness stems from my putting his education first. But I appreciate his efforts to cheer me up. I was reminded again of what a kind young man I'm raising and I'm pleased.

The ultimate sign of the young man I'm raising happened to come from a family member on Saturday. I was hanging out with Ali's wife when our other cousin, who works at a school, called in. The cousin was on speaker phone and told us a story about a 14-year-old girl who engaged in oral sex with a boy her age at school and later on said that she felt raped by the incident afterwards. The cousin said that she wanted to let us mothers of teenage boys know what could happen if they aren't careful with the young ladies that are on the prowl.

On the way home, I told Pumpkin that we had something we needed to discuss. I shared with him the story that was shared with me and told him how the boy may now be looking at actual rape charges, even though their contact was consensual. As I struggled to explain to him a good analogy, I finally said to him "have you ever eaten something like a sandwich, and it was good at the time, but then later your stomach starts to hurt, and then you later on regret eating that sandwich?" I asked him. "I feel like that all the time," my young prince responded. "Well, sex can be kinda like that," I started.

I informed my son that being good-looking, tall, and likely to make a decent living at some point in the future means that the young ladies will be drawn to him. I explained to my son that explicit pictures of young ladies his age constitute child porn and that if anyone sends him a lewd pic, he is to delete it immediately, with instructions not to look at any dirty pics of young classmates that people may have on their own phones. 

And then I explained that at his age, people aren't always aware of what they want or if they'll change their minds. And how sometimes, people can later regret their decisions, leading to problems for the other party. I even explained to my son how that's how Kobe Bryant got caught up, and even once he was dead, people vilified him for a mutually consensual encounter, in which the woman changed her mind and later brought charges.

I went down a list of statements a woman could make that indicate that she may not want to have sex. I said "I'm not sure, I don't know, I'm thinking abut it, Maybe, I'm scared..." among the many things which don't quiet constitute a "YES" in a sexual encounter. I told Pumpkin that anything other than yes is no. And just to be sure that he heard me, I asked him to repeat back to me what I'd said. "Anything other than yes means no," he repeated back to me. It's interesting, because his voice has gotten deeper, but somehow I still heard it in his younger voice.

The last few days have really hit home for me the young man that I am raising. He's kind, considerate, thoughtful, and full of grace and gratitude. He thanks me for my sacrifices. He's able to look at morally bankrupt behavior of others and call it out (at least to me, he's still quite shy about approaching others). We laugh at shared inside jokes and discuss movies, tv, and music like we're chatting with old friends. I stopped in to get coffee recently, and he decided to get ice cream nearby as we chatted and hung out.  I am raising an absolute rock star, and I couldn't be more proud. He's learning. 

Divine Timing

It isn't a secret that working in mental health can be a challenge. For every client that tells you that you changed their lives, there are clients and coworkers that are bent on making your life hell. Particularly while working with male clients, it isn't unheard of for them to try us. It really just comes with the territory. 

I'm really fortunate that my supervisor has been good about empowering me to defend myself and redirect clients who get out of line. I've even taken to quoting one of my favorite shows whenever my coworkers are dealing with crap at work:

But one day, I had a client that challenged me. I couldn't to it. I was off the next day, and I was good about putting it out of mind. I was. But when I returned to work, I couldn't do it. I had to reach out to a crisis line to talk about what I was experiencing. I hated to do it. I felt so weak and defeated. That's not like me. That's not who I am today. I put it out of my mind largely, just because the thought of it all made me so uncomfortable.

Meanwhile, life has moved alone, as its wont to do. Working on my books, planning family reunion, raising my amazing child, planning my vacation this summer- I'd say I'm doing pretty well. Of course there's always things I'm balancing lightly. Issues with my parents. My dating life that is nothing short of non-existent, because I just can't deal. It's always there. I just tuck it neatly in a nice little bow, in the back of my mind.

On most days, I drop my child off at school and plan to stay there in the area, before I drive him home. This morning was pretty rough, so I opted to drop him off and return home to grab a nap. One hour into a planned 2/3 hour nap, I got a call. The counselor that I'd met with from my work issue wanted to know if I wanted to come in today or tomorrow to further talk about my work issues. I was initially going to select tomorrow, but after hanging up, I realized that I already have an appointment at that time. So I guess, today it is.

I walked in, unsure of what to find. She was a Black woman, a complete godsend. Plus she has a PhD in psychotherapy. I got teared up as I discussed what my issue was. She asked me if I'd been sexually assaulted before. I assured her I had not. Then she asked me about my father: **sigh** I admitted that he's a narcissistic pain in the ass, much like my son's father and most men I've encountered. I admitted that while I understand that not all men are complete trash, enough of them are for me to recognize that they are largely predatory and only concerned about getting their needs met.

I admitted that I dislike most men and don't trust them as far as I can throw them as I've immersed myself deeply into feminist thought. The therapist listened intently as I talked about work and several experiences I've had for the last few years. Then she asked me about my siblings. More tears. 

I expected absolutely none of this. I created my todo list for the day, and not a single thing on the list required me to talk about the deepest parts of my life. I let the therapist know that much of what I told her were things that I've buried deep and wrapped up neatly in a bow. She reminded me that holding on deeply to everything would only eventually lead to it slipping out anyway. And naturally, she was right.

Coincidentally, I'd been looking for a therapist for some time now. If it wasn't the finances, it was some other blockage that kept it from happening. It was in my mind, but never happened. On the radio, "Always on Time" by Ja Rule had been playing so much. And that reminds me of how this therapist landed in my lap. She wasn't there when I called- but damned if she wasn't on time.

And to add icing to the cake, as I walked into a gas station today, a guy held the door open for me. He complimented me on my hair. I complimented him on his smile. He said he liked mine as well. As I gassed up and expected him to just walk away, he stopped his car and walked up and asked me for my phone number. He wasn't creepy or weird. He didn't leer at me.

Lord knows I'm not marrying this guy in my head. Not sure I'll ever even see him again. But it feels nice to be reminded that there are safe spaces, in my head, and in the world. It was all on time. All of it.

Full Circle

Can't front, this morning was a doozy. I was in my head about so many things. And on the average day, I can process my bubble and blow it away, while I focus on making the present great. But today was far more of a challenge. I try not to always bring Craig into the mix to process my stuff. Fact is that Craig has his own stuff going on (as we all do) and I'm working on being more conscious of when others don't have emotional bandwidth for me. Coincidentally, I realized that I have talked about Craig bits and pieces here over the years, but yeah, I guess he's an official fixture here (for now).

Nevertheless, like clockwork, Craig called me to check in. I told him about a few things I struggled with today. Right before he had to go into a session, he reminded me of how far I've come, and he reminded me that if I hadn't experienced my challenges in the past, I wouldn't have grown into who I am. Craig also reminded me that I'm human and I need to cut myself some slack. He was right. 

By the time I got home, I was beat. There was a journal I'd seen at a coffeehouse a few weeks ago, and it was kinda pricey, at $50. Right now, all of my spare cash is caught up in savings, so by the time I went back to get it, it was gone. I was devastated, but I didn't remember enough detail about the journal to order it. The heavens must have heard by call, because 2 days ago, I was on Facebook, when I saw an ad for the journal. I immediately ordered it. My copy came today, along with my copy of my homegirl's book that was released today. 

I was pretty emotionally beat, but her book release was today and I really wanted to be present for it, so I took a 20 minute nap, and decided to go show some love. I saw her for the first time since we saw one another in Oakland some years ago and we hugged. She looked amazing. The energy in the room was electric and I loved seeing so much love being bestowed onto a Black woman. 

As she talked about her journey with the book, I started to cry tears of joy for her. I've heard bits and pieces of her story over the years, so to watch her on this stage and literally getting her flowers via a major publication was amazing. I managed to meet two other people who were familiar with her work and I told them about my finished book and even told them about the premise of the one I'm currently working on and they both loved it. I wanted so bad to go home and tear into her book, but honestly, I just got in and I'm beat. I have to wake up and take my son to school tomorrow. I may even hold off on the book, because I'm trying to encourage my coworkers to read it with me. But I'm definitely going to tear into this journal.

Saying all of that to say that what I took from this evening was that Craig was right. I was unhappy for so long. I was unappreciated and I was clinging to trauma and unhealthy people. What I took from today was "sometimes God takes you from where you were, to place you where you're supposed to be." I'm not supposed to be in the midst of chaos and trauma. I'm supposed to be celebrating book signings and be inspired to publish my own books. I'm supposed to be finishing writing book two. I'm supposed to be happy and overjoyed and uplifted and in the room with goddesses and gods. I'm supposed to be working on these journals so I can learn so much more about myself.

I'm supposed to be exactly where I am. And I am grateful.

Learning to Be Okay with Being Okay

So there's a guy. I'll call him Craig. Craig and I have known one another for about 5 years now. We're great friends. He works in mental health too. Craig has been instrumental in supporting me throughout my career, he's a bit of a mentor as well. Craig is a therapist who also specializes in sex, among other things. Craig and I have talked about the many things we have in common and having him as a mentor and friend has been invaluable for me.

Craig also happens to be hot. Craig is sexy as shit. At some point, Craig and I started doing "the dance." It hasn't always been easy. Craig is a great friend of mine and things got rocky in our relationship when we were working together. At some point, I started to recognize that I had issues with codependency, and saw that I'd leaned on Craig way too heavily. I called him to apologize. He apologized for how he handled some things as well. Our friendship then grew drastically after that. We've been great since then.

I didn't cheat on Theo with him. But I'll be honest and say that I made a beeline to make up lost time with Craig 2 days after I told Theo we were done. And Craig reminded me of why I keep coming back to him.

My issue now is that I'm struggling with how well things are going with Craig. Craig has an amazing body (he works out a lot and is currently heavily into boxing) and he's incredibly handsome. One of my least favorite client's caregiver happened to have a crush on him and I got a sick joy knowing that I was doing things to him that she could only dream of. He's also a great friend. One of my favorite things about having friends that work in mental health is that we can have thorough discussions about nearly anything, with no judgment or hang-ups, especially since he specializes in sex. No topics are off the table and I find his openness refreshing after nearly pulling teeth to get men to open up about what's going on in their lives.

Craig is extremely busy. He is building his business, in addition to being a full-time parent. We don't get to spend a lot of time together, but when we do, we make it count. When I tell him that I have a problem with something he does or says, he addresses it and we talk like adults. He knows how to talk to me to encourage me and to get me to take a good look at my own actions.

One day, I asked myself if I wanted to be in a relationship with Craig, and I surprised myself by saying "no." I pondered all sorts of circumstances changing, and I still surprised myself by saying "nah." I happened to be talking to some girlfriends at work and I mentioned Craig and how much I thoroughly enjoy our friendship. My friends encouraged me to try to take things there with him. And again, I surprised myself by saying "nah." I explained to my homegirls that I've made the mistake with my guy friends before by trying to make some men into something they were not ready to be. And I learned to be happy with what is.

So that's me and Craig, I guess. Occasionally, I text Craig in the middle of the night and tell him how much I love our friendship and how weirded out at the fact that I'm not trying to marry him. I'm not even trying to make him my boyfriend, although he's the only person I'm romantically connected with at the time, but that's more of a choice. I want no commitment of any sort from him, outside of our friendship. I'm just over dating. I told myself that I'd do paid dating apps in the future, but truthfully, I don't want to do that anymore. I really don't even want to date. I don't want a boyfriend. I don't want a "get to know you/honeymoon phase." I'm too old for that shit. I'm just over the games and deception that comes with dating these days.

But I'm still struggling with just learning to be okay with having a Craig. Craig isn't a Fred. He's consistent and he's thoughtful. He's kind. He's warm. He's emotionally available. He's sexy af. He's mature. He texts me back! And not even a small part of me wants to be in a relationship with him in any way, and that confuses me. He's gorgeous! He's perfect! He knows that he's too busy for a relationship, and he's certainly not trying to force the issue either. Even if he asked me to do the relationship thing with him, I'd freeze up.

I am really struggling with being okay with being okay with our friendship. In the past, I would have been trying to marry Craig. To make him drop everything and meet me at the courthouse. Truthfully, I don't even know if I ever want to get married. I guess the cognitive dissonance is getting to me. Because, I feel like I'm supposed to be forcing this. I'm supposed to be trying to put a round peg in a square hole, but I'm not. I enjoy our intimate moments and I love his friendship. I don't know what Craig does when I'm not around, and I don't really care. I trust him. I love him. He loves me. And I'm so okay with this.

I just can't figure out why I'm so okay with it. I checked in with him. He admits that he too sometimes struggles with accepting when things are good in his life. I think what makes this easier for me to accept is that mindfulness has been instrumental in helping me to learn to be present with what is. I can't control the future and I can't change the past. All I can do is just live in the moment and learn to be grateful for when things are going well. I'm learning to live a consciously mindful life and I'm so used to being a wound up spaz, that I'm struggling to just be okay with things going well and there being no underlying attempts on my part to move the meter one way or another.

Craig and I fit perfectly into the space that we're in right now. We provide emotional attachment, connection, and support. We know one another on a deeper level. I often poke at him for the amount of time that he'll text or call me when I'm in the process of thinking about him. Neither of us is moving toward more, or wanting, or needing any more. No false promises about getting married at X date under Y circumstances. Not even a bit of consideration about moving in together. And I'm strangely okay with this. Plus I find that dating and relationships really just distract me from my goals of finishing writing and publishing my second book. I don't really want to deal with any distractions and this is more of a support than anything, which is why it works perfectly for me. 

But I feel like I shouldn't be okay with this. I'm supposed to be falling in love with him. But I don't want that for us. I'm really just okay with us being okay. And that's weird to me. It shouldn't be weird tho, right?

On Grieving

I spent last weekend at Tene's home (she is the widow of Ali). Tene needed some time away and asked if I'd stay the night to keep an eye on the kids in her absence. Quite truthfully, I was exhausted from work and driving my son back and forth, and not excited about doing it. But she's my family and anything I can do to help her on her journey of healing, I'll do. That, along with the fact that I'm currently in the process of planning a family reunion with my dad's side of the family and it's making me more conscious of building with my family and building bonds, while exposing my son to his family (my side).

As always, I asked Tene how she's doing. She talked about her journey. One thing that I continue to take from my journey of grief is being able to normalize the many steps and layers of grief. When Pete died, I expected a few days of sadness, and then back to normal. I had no idea that his death would send me on a journey of learning so much about myself and ultimately becoming a better version of myself.

I explained to Tene how my cross-country travels quickly became a large part of my therapeutic process. Most people didn't get that. But that's okay, it wasn't for them to get. I told Tene how when I'd talk to people about my driving between major cities in the desert, I'd often be met with "I could never do that." And what I quickly took from that is that so many people struggle to be alone with and for themselves. That many people would rather work, drink, smoke, and fuck away their problems, rather than look in the mirror.

Coincidentally, I was listening to Michael Jackson's Bad album recently, and the song "Man in the Mirror" came on. I'd heard this song countless times in the past throughout my childhood and further. I like how the song mobilized us. The world. But one day, while in car, the song came on. And I heard it. I mean, I really listened to it. Mike wasn't just talking about us all getting our shit together. Michael Joseph Jackson wanted ME to get my shit together. He wanted me to look in the mirror. He wanted each and every one of us to look at the woman/man in the mirror and asked them to change their ways.

Only now, as a mental health professional, can I recognize how impactful that can be. I happened to stumble upon an article yesterday that addressed how antidepressants are not enough to battle depression alone. It is literally impossible to count how many depressed people I've encountered over the years, both professionally and personally, who struggle with depression and get frustrated with the lack of a magic pill that just makes everyone and everything better. Like big shock, you gotta do the work yourself. Even with a pill, if you don't actively practicing loving and loving on yourself, you'll never work through your depression.

I talk every now and again about when I broke up with my troll of an ex David, how I decided that since his skank of a cum dumpster was going to stalk me, I've give the silly slut something to look at. I bought dresses and outfits and I hit the streets. And I pretended to have a good time, but I surprised myself. Because at some point, I was no longer pretending, I was actually having a good time. I mean, granted, it was still a process, and there was still work on myself to be done. But I was working on getting there.

Getting off track here, but my point is that the grief that I experienced after Pete died held a major mirror up to me. I had a lot of shit to take ownership for my life. And it was terrifying. But it was freeing. That experience humbled me. Grief really is the great equalizer. And the best way to tackle it is to be honest with yourself and others.

During the height of my grief, I felt raw. I felt figuratively naked. I had nothing to give. Every bit of energy I had went into bare surviving. All I had the emotional energy to give at the moment was school and later work. But the life and ability to thrive that I enjoy now did not exist. I only got to this point because I made it a priority to work through my grief. And working through it looked different on different days. Some days, I took road trips, and drove and cried until my sight was blurry. Other times I visited museums and felt Pete's spirit with me as I felt him hugging me as I took in the wholeness of what I was experiencing.

Grieving Ali was different though. I remembered how I felt. I literally hurt on a cellular level. I remember feeling like literally every cell in my body hurt. Every hair follicle on my body hurt. But it wasn't a physical pain. But it hurt. It hurt so bad. I recall how I pulled up a chair to the windows in his home and stared out. The whole afternoon, I looked outside and tried to make sense of what was happening. My cousin was gone. My working through Pete's loss prepared me somewhat for Ali's death. I was aware to give myself grace. I refused to hide my emotions to make others feel warm and fuzzy. If I was sad, I cried. And when I needed to drive cross country, dammit, that's what I did. Some people tried to make me feel guilty for grieving on my own terms. And I didn't give a shit.

I'll have to tell Tene one day how proud I am of her. She's not just giving herself busy work. She's not smoking or fucking through her grief. She's processing and taking it day by day. She's not afraid to talk about her husband/my cousin. She owns her feelings and her emotions. She's not afraid to be vulnerable.

And that's how you work through grief. Ask me how I know.

Nurse or a Purse

Seasons in life are pretty interesting to me. It's so cool to enter new phases and be able to marinate on what you've learned and how it impacts where you are now, where you intend to go, and how you plan to get there. This new year has been particularly interesting to me, and I know that my struggles last year worked hard to prepare me for the space I'm in now. One of my favorite parts of this season has been connecting that much harder with my family.

Through the wonders of social media, I have connected with my 2nd cousin, Tiffany. Tip happens to look a lot like me and over the last few years that I've gotten to know her, we've gotten really close and I'm thankful for that. Last weekend, Tiffany, our other cousin, Doc, and I all got together and hung out in North Carolina where my father's family is from. We also went to my mother's birthday dinner.

I'm enjoying this space of building with my family and rebuilding my relationship with my mother. While visiting Tip, we stayed in her beautiful home. I love that Tip and I have so many similarities. Tip is also single so we get to discuss a lot about how our dating lives are going. I've been in quite a contemplative space regarding dating lately (as if I don't think about it often). I continue to focus on marinating on my own greatness and remembering that I'd rather be alone than to be miserable and/or used and exploited in a relationship.

I believe that part of my reasoning for focusing so hard on what I do want this time around, is because I spent so much time settling for bad relationships, with the hopes a man would change, that I'm vigilant this time around about not settling. I refuse to be in a relationship, just for the sake of being in one. I am determined to be loved on my own terms, by the right man. Or be loved on my own terms by me. There is no middle ground this time around.

I recall saying in an online forum recently how dating in my 40s, I continue to come across men that refuse to plan for the future, and I can practically smell their desperation in 10+ years when they get old and alone, and suddenly find the value in settling down. Or they are shocked to find that the 20-somethings that they hope to settle down with are (big shocker) going after men their own age, instead of dusty guys in their 50s. I was surprised when a woman wrote "A nurse or a purse, that's why I'm still single." I thought to myself how interesting that is.

A few weeks later, I finally caught up to my best friend, after weeks of missing one another's phone calls. I also mentioned to her how I fear that these same guys who can't get their head out of their asses and plan adequately for the future will suddenly be knocking down my door in a few years. My bestie surprised me by saying "a nurse with a purse."

I was pretty shocked at that point. I had no clue that this was actually a "thing." I knew what my dating experiences had been, but I had no clue that this term was actually a coined term regarding men who long to get married in their 50s+, after doing the bachelor thing for decades. I'll also add in that working for a Crisis Line, I talk to desperately lonely men nearly every day. I hear men crying in my ear about missing their deceased wives, or missing their ex-wives who divorced them, and their children who barely take a moment out to visit them, even on holidays. I look at these ridiculous men in my dating pool, and I see their futures. And it ain't pretty.

While chatting with my best friend, I also remembered about the last time I visited with Fred in Cali. I forgot how it came up, but I mentioned in passing to him that I no longer planned to try to marry him. I thought he'd be relieved that I'd finally let the topic go. Instead, he appeared surprised. I explained to him that there was nothing nefarious behind it, I just realized that I make way more money than him and his communication skills are shit, and that frankly, I'd be more of a come up for him in old age, than he'd be for me and that I'd be stupid to cling to him needlessly. He accepted it. But I could see that I'd caught him off guard.

Only later did I catch what was really going on there. He thought he had time. He thought that I'd always be in his back pocket, in case things didn't work out in other areas of his life. He expected me to proudly stand back and be his Plan B in the end. And he was shocked to hear that I decided on my own that I no longer desired to have him as my Plan B. I think he forgot that desirability had to flow both ways, that not only does he have to want me, that I have to want him back. And although I love Fred and I know I always will, the math ain't mathin'. 

I talked to another cousin recently and she asked how I'm holding up financially. I explained to her that I'm check to check because all of my extra money goes into paying down bills, including my car and credit cards. Ultimately, in the next year, I want my bills to be paid off and the only thing I'm focusing on is still paying down my car, in addition to building my credit. And once I move back to California, I plan to continue to stack my coins, with my sole focus being retirement. Pretty good plan, if I do say so myself. This year will be the last year of epic birthday trips. I'll still travel, but not such expansive travels, which require so much money. After this summer, the penny pinching starts, as I get ready to stack my money and focus on retiring comfortably.

Being the curious soul that I am, I even went so far as to Google "nurse or a purse." I was stunned to see several articles, warning retirement-aged women not to get entangled with older men who are now looking for a woman to care for them or help them to pay bills. So many women are heading into retirement, or are recently widowed and seeing what the dating game is like. One thing I happen to hear among older women who are newly single (via widowhood or divorce) is how after being the backbone of their past years-long relationships, they have no desire to get married and carry yet another human being's life. And on the opposite side of the same coin, so many older men are desperate for a woman to care for them after divorces or widowhood.

One of my favorite things about being solo is that I can make all of my own decisions. I can travel when and how I want to. I can save my money as much as I want, and not have to worry about a man who has his hand out because he mismanaged his own funds. I don't have to worry about a man who is financially floating his whole side of the family secretly, while I struggle to save money for the future. I see the light at the end of the tunnel and I'm proud of myself for doing everything possible to prepare to retire comfortably.

And with all of these plans and sacrifices, why the hell would I take on the problems of a man who couldn't be bothered to get his shit together until he saw the writing on the wall? Why would I suddenly want a man who's junk isn't working and who is sick and hopes that I'll be there to wipe his brow and drive him to the doctor and cook for him and help him to manage all of his medical appointments? Why should I lower my standards and feel sorry for a man who thought he'd just screw around indefinitely, and suddenly get access to the retirement that I have rightfully worked so hard for? 

Another concern of mine is getting married to some dude who doesn't have two nickels to rub together, him running my pockets, ruining the relationship and then later trying to get part of my pension during divorce proceedings.

I am Malika. I am a woman. But I am not a nurse nor a purse. Get somebody else to do it.

Life of No Regret (At Least Not for Me)

Some years back, when my father was still married to my step-mother, my dad called me and commented on the fact that my mother had married her long-time boyfriend and recently moved to Florida. "She's in Florida and retired, huh? Boy, I sure messed that up, that could have been me!" Part of my father's kicking himself also stemmed from the fact that he had 2 younger children with my stepmother and feared going through the child support monster again, while my mother's children were all fully grown and out of the house. I will say, knowing what I now know about money and all parties involved, I understand that had my father stayed with my mother, neither of them would have been retired, even without extra young kids, as my father let money slip through his fingers like water. They would both still be working, well into their 70's, not a single dime having been put away. My father is actually still actively working, while both women, are now divorced from my father, and are also retired.

I'm now at a precarious space of trying to curate a life of peace and happiness, as I glide into my own retirement in some years. I still plan to return to Los Angeles, only this time, I'll be returning on my own terms. My car will be paid off (or far closer to it), and I plan to live in the Long Beach area. The only thing that I see possibly deviating my plans is if the rain in Los Angeles stays this frequent. Yeah, I'm not moving somewhere rainy. But again, those are my terms. I fully intend to live in L.A. when the Olympics hit in the summer of 2028.

The little bit of dating I've been doing has been frustrating as of late, because while I am focused heavily on moving my life in a certain direction, I'm finding that men my age are still waiting tables, and barely putting money to the side (if at all) or they're looking for a mommy/bangmaid, who will care for them like tiny infants. I have zero interest in either.

Anyway, I chatted up with an old friend last night. While I tend to fall on the feminist side of the spectrum, he's far more masculine centered. It creates some pretty interesting debates for the two of us. I still occasionally tip my toe into the dating pool, but I find myself recognizing that as I get older and closer to many of my personal goals, the men just aren't up to snuff. Hearing my friend's thoughts on dating only makes my dating experiences that much more interesting. I confessed to my friend that as I get older and focus more on the relationship that I want for myself, I'm seeing more and more how men just aren't cutting the mustard anymore.

I told my homeboy how I feel like so many of these guys really just aren't where I am, and I fear that many of these guys will look up and realize that I'm securely on the West Coast, living my best life, and all of sudden, the "hey stranger" text messages will begin.

While I'm being careful about all of my life choices moving forward (financial, sexual, friendships, career, etc.), my fear is that the same guys that played me to the left will realize that their options are running low and they will suddenly look up and find me as far more of a viable option than they did when they were just sticking their dicks in any hole they could find. And those same guys will suddenly recognize that as their bodies slow down, and their dicks stop working, and the rent gets more expensive, and as they realize that they're thisclose to dying alone, they will suddenly remember what an amazing woman I am.

My guy friend referred to those guys as "hospice husbands." Men who spent their whole lives running the streets, but suddenly want to get married in their golden years, in order to be taken care of. Being that I worked in hospice roughly 6 months ago, and saw closely how lack of proper planning could land someone in the most horrible position, the term hit home. They may experience blindness, back problems, Alzheimer's, cancer, diabetes complications, all kinds of other fun stuff... and suddenly they want me to step on in and save them from their bad decisions. Or at least significantly soften the blow of dying of sickness. Reminds me of a person I know who's dad had been running the streets and when he finally got sick and ready to take his final dirt nap, he up and married the side piece he'd had for 30 years. Yeah, he was ripping and running for 30 years, babies and all, and only once he got old and about to die, did he decide to marry her. What the fuck kinda consolation prize is that?!

Watching people grow old and sickly is sad. It can be a long, painful process that requires changing diapers, losing sleep, navigating the bureaucratic red tape of insurance companies and benefits. It's long, complicated, and arduous. I know how the process goes, because it's basically been my job for the last decade and a half. And I'll be damned if I'll put forth that sort of effort over someone who couldn't even be bothered to work with me and hold me down, while I planned for our perfect life in our 60s.

It's so cliched, but true. My life is good and it looks like it can only get better. My home is peaceful. I recall a few months back when my cousin came over and she commented how she could tell that I'd been meditating in my bedroom because it was so tranquil. My friends are doing well. It's been a slow stretch, but I'm finally starting to pay down bills and save some money. My skin looks good. Can't front, I look damned good for my 40s, almost 15 years younger. I can run a mile without getting winded and I'm buzzing my way through writing book number 2, so I can start the self-publishing part for both books.

When you feel this amazing, and your life is this breezy, it only makes sense to continue doing what you've been doing to create that space. Buddhism, mindfulness, and meditation certainly ushered in this feeling of peace and happiness and I'm fiercely protective of it all. It someone so much as sneezes too loudly, I politely step away. I no longer feel like I owe anyone an explanation for why I refuse to entertain them. I have finally accepted that it is on me and me alone to protect my peace and move into a space of further growth and light. I'm noticing a lot of difficulty around me. Welp. Not my monkey, not my circus.

2023 and Beyond!

When the weather started to turn cooler, I started looking for my favorite sweatshirt. It's kind of a faded black shirt, and a bit thin, made from a thin cotton blend. I mean, thick enough for a cool, breezy day, but thin enough to not have you be a sweating mess on a warmer day. It was my favorite sweatshirt. On top of it being just cozy enough, it also had the outline of the continent of Africa on it and I got it on clearance for like $6 from Target. So not only was it warm/cool enough, it was also a great price and fashion staple for my Blackity Black Black ass.

As soon as I noticed it missing, I figured he took it. Ugh. To contact Theo about my favorite sweatshirt or not? As I read the words of Lama Surya Das, I was amazed at the timing and decided that it wasn't worth the headache involved to get back my precious shirt. I would let detachment win this round, and decide that sometimes it is simply best to let go and accept that nothing really belongs to any of us anyway.

I was really excited about the New Year. Perhaps it was the viral prison known as COVID, and just all of the shit of the last 3 years, but this year felt like the first time in forever that there appears to be a collective sigh of relief. People seem genuinely happy and excited about the future. People are ready and anxious to move forward and leave the trauma of the recent past behind.

Personally, I can honestly say that after the mess that was 2021, followed by the first half of 2022, I'm seeing so much to be happy about. Things are falling into place. I'm excited about my professional and creative prospects. I'm ready to start planning my next epic birthday trip. Although, I decided that based on some upcoming goals, the 2023 birthday extravaganza will have to be my last one. At least for now. Fact is, I still want to focus on saving some money for my child to go away to college, in addition to saving for me to move back to Cali, in addition to my desire to pay off my second biggest expense, my car note. There will plenty of time to play in the future, but those 3 items are at the top of my immediate savings goals.

My son is 15. My baby is 15. I've been experiencing some extreme cognitive dissonance lately, as I watch "The Boy" turn into "The Man." I really miss that fat baby that I brought home from the hospital. That gorgeous toothless smile and still melts my heart when I view old pictures of him. And now that baby is no more. I knew this day would come, but he's taller than me. Like way taller than me. His voice is noticeably deeper. I looked down the other day and observed hair growing out of his legs. I'm not nearly as weird as I thought I'd be about it. I guess it's because the Universe kind of slowly prepares you for it. But does it really?

My fear was that I'd become one of those moms who is unable to let her baby go, especially since he's my only one. But I've always been baffled by those people whose whole identity is tied up in their relationship to someone else. Sure, I love feeling needed and wanted by my child. But I have so much respect for the young man my son is growing into. He's kind, thoughtful, intelligent, funny. Every now and again, he and I will share a moment, where he tells me that I'm more like a friend to him. That warms me. I don't have to force him to tell me anything. He feels comfortable in that space. He and I support one another, although I am obviously mindful to keep proper boundaries. I love watching him grow into the man that he is becoming.

My other fear was that if he didn't shape up, I'd be dragging my middle aged son along with me for the rest of my life. Not that I wouldn't gladly support him in any way that I can. But I think that ultimately, as parents, we hope and pray that our children are independent enough to make intelligent decisions, so when the day comes that they are no longer under our wing, we can trust them to be able to care for themselves. And that's what's beautiful to me. That at the rate things are going, one day, we'll be on opposite sides of the country, or even the world, and I will know and trust in my spirit that my child is okay and able to navigate life on his own.

Anyway, all of this looking forward stuff has been awesome. New Year's Eve was a decent day. Busy as hell at work. I opted not to work that night, nor did I go out. Ever since my car accident around Christmas time last year, and the subsequent brain injuries that came from it, I'm terrified of being out around reckless drivers. I got an invite from a cousin of mine to attend his major NYE party, but I opted out. My last two car accidents may have seemed minor on the surface. But they left me with brain injuries that resulted in loss of proper mobility, plus a pronounced stutter. After both accidents, I remained terrified that I'd be stuck permanently with the brain injuries. I try not to focus on it too hard, but I remain terrified that one day, yet another careless asshole will slam into my car. But rather than stuttering for just 2 weeks, it'll be "the big one" and I will be unable to easily bounce back from another brain injury. At 42, you unfortunately don't bounce back like you once did. So I stayed home.

As the clock struck closer to midnight, I couldn't help but to think a bit about NYE last year. I was here with Theo, observing the fireworks going off in my complex. To their credit, my neighbors do amazing fireworks displays, comparable to that of professionals. I was also thinking about the fact that my ex, Steve, bought me the most adorable smudging set and I needed to use it. Time to clear negative energy from my home.

I peeked out my bedroom window, just after midnight, when I got a call from a number I didn't recognize. "Happy New Year" I hear a voice say. "Happy New Year, who is this?" I responded. 

"It's Theo," he said.

"Oh, hey," I uttered.

I wasn't angry. I wasn't even really excited. I was just shocked. Like what the hell did he want? 

"Well, I'm moving back home," he offered. "Where is home"? I countered. "Detroit," he said. 

"Oh, okay" was the only response I could give. I mean, just all around confusion at this point.

"Well, that was all I wanted, just telling you happy New Year," he said. "Thanks, you too" was the only thing I could think to offer. 

I got off the phone far more confused than when I answered it. Why the hell did he call? What did it mean? It certainly wasn't the kind of conversation I thought we'd have if we ever spoke again. And I didn't really think we'd speak again.

The thing that sucks about having news at midnight on NYE is that people are either out or knocked out, cuz #old. No one picked up. I had to sit with what just happened. 

Then it occurred to me. He called me because he'd been thinking about me! You sure as shit don't just happen to call someone at midnight on NYE unless there is some kind of planned something there. And just like that, I went into 2023 that much better. I felt lighter. I truly felt weightless. I mean, I wasn't planning on going into the new year thinking about him. He was genuinely in no way part of anything good or bad that I was feeling going into the new year. 

But the way he left when shit got bad was just wrong. And I felt so cheated, because at the end of the day, I was always there for him, and he knew it. He single-handedly fucked up our relationship, and he knows it. And what always stung me the most was how he walked away, as if I never mattered.

But then he called me. On New Years Eve. At midnight. I don't particularly care what it was for. He contacted me, letting me know that despite all of the bravado, he thought about me. Once I sorted through my thoughts, I realized his intention was to tell me that he was moving back (not that I really cared). The fact is that as soon as he moved out of my home, he moved back to Detroit. I knew that. He couldn't make it here on his own. And I wasn't going to continue to let him be my problem.

Only minutes after we got off the phone, it occurred to me- this would be the perfect time to ask about my shirt. I didn't give a damn about anything else. But seriously, I miss my shirt. I texted him to ask if he'd seen it. No response.

I woke the next day, still slightly confused. And again, concerned about the location of my missing hoodie. Since he didn't respond to my text, I took him off my block list on Facebook and inboxed him to ask if he'd seen it and asked if he'd accidentally taken it, would it be possible to mail it back. He quickly responded that he hadn't seen my shirt.

So there we have it. The end of an era. I can't explain how good it felt to get such a stupid phone call. No matter what his ridiculous reasoning was for calling me, it gave me what I needed. To know that as much as he showed his ass on the way out the door, at the end of the day, he still cares what I think (which is why he lied about moving to begin with). 

I'm able to go into this year with my head held high. My goals are in sight. My loved ones are healthy and nearby. Everyone who is supposed to be in my life is here. I couldn't ask for anything better than that.

But I still don't have my shirt.