I want to inspire women to keep going. To deal with the hurt. To tell my story. To continue to heal.
I went through hell after my breakup and tried putting a smile on my face. I thought I was ok, but I wasn’t even close. I knew I had hit a low point when I hadn’t left my apartment for 2 weeks. One day I was sitting on my couch and something hit me like a ton of rocks that I needed to pack a few things and go home to my mom. I didn’t know how long I’d be gone, but I needed to leave right then. I didn’t even have it in me to call my mom and tell her I was coming. Because if I had, I would have lost it and I needed to focus to make the 3 hour drive. When I arrived, she didn’t say anything to me. She just hugged me and understood that right then wasn’t the moment to ask questions.
Because I felt like I was “strong” I thought I could handle it. I also didn’t want to be a burden on anyone by telling them how I was feeling. What I realize as I look back is that trying to deal with it on my own was one of my biggest mistakes. I told everyone that I was fine because I felt like after a month, no one wants to listen to you talk about your heartache. And I felt like I shouldn’t be feeling the way I was after 2 months. I put a time limit on my grief and healing process, which was also harmful. I tried to rush it. But healing doesn’t have a time limit. And it isn’t “one size fits all.” You have to take your time and do what’s best for you and your mental and physical health.
It will hurt and it will be difficult, but it will get better. Deal with your feelings, don’t push them away. Be active. Don’t push away your friends and family. Treat yourself to a manicure and pedicure. Go on a weekend road trip. Do things that make you smile and feed your soul. Once I started doing those things on a regular, I saw a difference in how I was feeling and I’m grateful for that. I re-learned how to love myself and to put my needs first. Once you start doing that, your smile will be genuine and you can tell people you’re ok and mean it. That’s a feeling I wouldn’t change for the world.
I’m tired of people assuming that because they see me as a “safe” Black woman at work, they can say how and what they feel to me. I don’t want to talk to you about your obsession with Black people. I don’t need you expressing every time you see me that you wish you had Black hair (no, you can’t touch mine). Not every conversation I have with you has to lead back to race and how sorry you are about all of the terrible things that white people are doing to people of color.
What I would like to do is my work.
I don’t want to talk to you first thing in the morning about all of the racist things going on in the world. I see them. I feel them. And I say a little prayer every morning that myself or my friends and family don’t become them. Going to work is my opportunity to be productive and zone out for just a few hours. I am not your friend. And more specifically, I am not that Black friend you refer to when announcing to others that you have one.
I don’t want to hear how you “don’t see color.” I don’t need you telling me that I sound white and don’t count as a regular Black girl (whatever the f*** that means). I don’t need you looking at my skin tone and trying to play detective to figure out exactly where I have white in my family. I don’t need you conveying just how much you love Black people, yet I’m the only Black person you talk to on a regular basis.
This post isn’t to take away from my white co-workers who respect my feelings and simply ask if I’m OK during those times when I’m silent. Thank you for understanding that those moments aren’t about you. Thank you for listening when I need to openly express my thoughts. Just checking to see if I’m OK without inserting your opinion are welcome and very much needed.
Monday thru Friday…
Where are you? What are you doing? What did you do today? How was your day? All of those get the same answer. My couch. It is my place of solitude. It is my place of comfort. It’s where I meditate. It’s where I cry. It’s where I pray. It has a much deeper meaning than I’m sure most would ever think.
For years I didn’t feel peaceful in my own home. Little comments said here and there would eventually turn into a constant feeling of guilt whenever I sat down. Made to feel like I wasn’t being productive enough. Made to feel like I was lazy.
After my last relationship ended and I moved out, my first big girl purchase was my couch. I was proud of myself because I picked it out and paid for it without anyone’s help. And after years of having a hard time making any big, and some small, decisions on my own without worrying if I would upset someone, I did it. I bought my couch.
It has become a piece of my healing process. It is my safe place. And I know that no matter how bad my day is, or how tired I am after work, I can go to my couch and regroup. It is a physical reminder that I’m always going to be ok.
I would encourage everyone to find something that helps bring peace to their lives. Whether it be going to the gym, baking, knitting a sweater or reading Harry Potter, make sure it calms your spirit, even if it’s just for a moment.
Now, excuse me as I eat tacos and binge watch House of Cards… on my couch.
Big girls deserve love too. I can’t wait to see you, love. You look amazing in that dress, love. You make me laugh so hard I cry, love. I am proud to show you off, love. You’re the best thing that’s happened to me, love. Pure, unconditional love.
While I am a firm believer that everyone has a right to love whoever they want, I also know that some awesome women are being overlooked simply because of their size. Not everyone wants to, or even can be, a size 6. And that is perfectly ok.
I’ve been shamed because of my size in more ways than any one person should. It was a constant dagger to my self esteem. I thought I was fat and completely unattractive all because of what someone else thought of me.
Love doesn’t have a weight limit. It doesn’t have stipulations. It doesn’t have ultimatums. It shouldn’t make you feel like less of a person. It shouldn’t make you feel bad.
As I continue to grow I hope that my personality and love for others is always heavier than my weight. And I am confident that someone will love me because of that. All of me.
I used to get butterflies constantly.
I would send a text asking for a favor and sit nervously waiting for the reply. It would either be really short or ignored. Butterflies.
I would hurry home to make dinner only to sit and eat it alone. Butterflies.
There were days when I would put special effort into looking nice, hoping that maybe one of those days I’d finally hear “you look beautiful.” Butterflies.
Most Saturday mornings I tried my best to get up first and start making breakfast. Rarely was that action reciprocated. Butterflies.
I tried to support and attend every work event or award ceremony. Every football game, rain or shine. I never felt appreciated. Butterflies.
It wasn’t until I was out of the situation that I realized the feeling of butterflies was anxiety. I was in a constant state of being anxious. Hoping I wouldn’t say the wrong thing or forget something that was “important.” I walked around on eggshells in my own home. I didn’t have one good night of sleep in 5 years. I would replay in my head what I might have said or done that triggered a rude comment towards me or a lack of affection.
I still get those butterflies. They happen when I ask a favor and feel like I might be the slightest inconvenience to someone. I get them when I feel exceptionally pretty and I think no one will notice. And while my angst is no longer constant, I still get that feeling of uncertainty more often than I should.
Everyday I do my best to make sure that I don’t allow someone to eclipse me. I should not be covered and I should not feel small. I fail at it some days, but I bounce back and make sure that I don’t live in those feelings. The road to healing is long and tedious, but I keep pushing myself and realize that each day gets a little bit easier. And that’s enough for me.
For about 2 years now, I’ve had a few different people tell me that I needed to start a blog. So, here I am.
I’m not sure how often I will post, or what the content will consist of, but I am certain that it will be therapeutic to write out my thoughts, regardless of who reads them.
I hope in the process that I am able to continue to heal and maybe even be inspirational along the way. I am SUPER funny (at least to me I am) and sarcasm oozes out of me.
So, grab some tacos and tequila and let’s see where this takes us.