Men are finally getting called out for being sexual abusers…woooooooow.
When the allegations started coming out about Harvey Weinstein and the Me Too dialogue began, I tried to back away from all conversations about sexual assault. It was both draining and infuriating at the same time. I was angry and sad. Uma Thurman’s reaction during her interview was all me. It was like a wound being reopened and having lemon juice squeezed into it.
Yeah, I have a #MeToo story too. Continue reading
Thirty years. That’s how long it took to me to admit that sometimes I’m wrong. I feel like I gave that up pretty early.
I’m not always right. Most of the time I am but there are rare moments when a playa slips up. Predictably, I would fight someone tooth and nail before I admit that I was wrong and probably being dramatic. But lately I’ve been self evaluating and with that comes admittance, ownership and change/growth.
Sometimes I’m loud and wrong. Continue reading
He dug his hands into my hair. Past my kinky curls, straight to my roots and rubbed my scalp. And I let him. I regret nothing.
During one of our usual ‘binge watch a new show on Hulu’ nights, I got a dose of a simple but overwhelmingly loving moment of intimacy. I was laying on his stomach when he, while laughing at some ridiculous show, slipped his hand into my hair and started rubbing my scalp. Before I could protest about the audacity of him putting his hands in a fresh twist out, I was comforted with a moment of bliss. Yes, bliss is the proper way to describe how I both my spirit and overwhelmed mind gradually calmed down. Continue reading
“I can’t do this anymore, it’s over”.
“What?” I heard him properly the first time but was still shock from hearing it. My ears burned because of my growing anger and the emotionless phase sent through them. I mean, I was everything he asked for. Every day, I tried to be the perfect girlfriend, the perfect potiental wife but that proved to not be enough. Or maybe it was too much. He rambled on about life and the current state of our relationship but it all went over my head. He was leaving me? For who? What is better? Who is better? What is he thinking? Those and a million other questions were bouncing around in my head while I watched my now ex get his things and leave.
“I’ll mess up a good thing if you let me”.
I sat back like a nosy but confused friend as I watched decent men leave exceptional women (aka my friends). Why didn’t they love themselves? Why were they sending amazing women back in the world? Again, why didn’t they love themselves? Why were they going out of their way to sabotage something that was good? Why did they have everything they desired/asked for yet they let it go? Fear of love, being “young”, not being ready and numerous of other reasons were eventually heard by the women they left with no real reason given. It all boiled down to the fact that they were okay with letting the best women in their lives go.
And that was just fine.
I realized that in order for the best men to enter our lives, those guys had to go Eric Bénet. They had to let go of the best women in their lives because they couldn’t be the best man for her. They needed to move along and out of the way so that the right guy could see her. Be with her. Love her down.
For the guys that went Eric Bénet, thank you playa.
Your girl has been thirty for almost a month now.
I was seriously waiting for thirty at the door with the patience of a toddler. I’ve been ready to hit thirty ever since I turned twenty-seven. There is something defining about turning thirty. It means that you no longer entertain or deal with the childish drama from your twenties but you also have to GROW THE HELL UP (if you haven’t already). You get way fewer excuses/passes thrown your way. Nobody wants to justify your ridiculous behavior, they expect you to know better. You will hear people talk about a lightbulb that clicks on when you turn thirty and I’m here to tell that lightbulb clicks on loudly and it is dramatically bright.
My light bulb clicked on for me when I realized how much I truly don’t care about the same things that use to drive me crazy. I can’t even begin to conjure up the energy it takes to deal with annoying men, drama-loving women or situations that don’t benefit me and mine. I rather just say “I’m old and I don’t feel like it” and keep it moving. The light bulb was basically an ‘aha’ moment as I realized that I should have NEVER cared about those type of people or those type of situations. It’s like my mind realized that I don’t actually have to spend my days dealing with people/situations that annoy my soul. It’s my life! Why spend it getting wrinkles and gray hair early because I want to entertain things that have nothing to do with my purpose or passion(s)?
I will always cherish the lessons I learned during my twenties and also the good and bad experiences I lived through. But it’s over for my twenties so I’m looking forward to whatever my thirties have in store for me. Hopefully, that involves a bestseller and a family but hey who knows!
When I first started running through the streets of NYC as a beginning “distance runner”, I was intimidated. I mean INTIMIDATED. Here I was, attempting to run alongside people who made running look effortless. Soooo unlike myself, whose face consistently showed my desperation to stop and never run again. They were decked out in either Nike’s latest running gear or their infamous run club’s attire while discussing crushing PRs (personal records). When I ran by myself through my neighborhood, I was in my zone. My music was turned up, I breezed past the blocks like I was chasing the ice cream man and I felt like a “real runner”. But when I joined the group runs, I was back to feeling like I didn’t belong. Continue reading