I know we say that we’re motivated by our “haters.” My life is a personal testament to all those people (family & friends & enemies, of course) that told me I couldn’t/shouldn’t do something and why they wouldn’t, BUT I did it big anyway!
However, I’m at a point in my life where I realize I can’t pay attention to “hate,” negative criticism,“ or “projected insecurities,” because I don’t care how motivated, focused, or determined a person may be…those things have the ability to distract, discourage and eat away at you if you constantly subject yourself to it. Trust me I know from personal experience.
So, when I say I’m not paying attention, that means I’m not friending you (in life, on Facebook or twitter), I’m not hanging with you (birds of a feather flock together), I’m not answering my phone, text messages or bbm’s. I made a decision before 2012 rolled in, that I was not allowing “haters” any room in my life. They are harmful to my emotional and mental well-being and self-destructive.
TRUTH: The power of life and death lies in our mouths. Certain people have the power to push you forward or hold you back or even detour you, if you allow them. Key word here is “allow.” From now on, “haters” will not get any of my energy or attention. However, they will definitely get my prayers! The people that LOVE, APPRECIATE, SUPPORT, SEE THE GOOD in what I do, and use it to better themselves or others will get the same reciprocated and all of my attention!
I’d much rather be propelled into my promising future through positivity (which will take me so much further and higher) than be driven by negativity, trying to prove something to my “haters;” the people that could care less if I falter or fail. I’m so done with that! ~Katrina B. xoxo
Hey ladies (and gentlemen) and all the SiNgLe MoMmY FiLeS newbies! I didn’t realize I had this much to say in this series, so here we are again. I must admit, my lil’ stories seem to be much more interesting typed out then told. Seriously, when I read this stuff, I’m like who’s this girl?
I’m really through all over again with “WrOnG MiStEr” Pt. 2, he was just disrespectful and I hate that, because he had so much potential. Now, “WrOnG MiStEr” Pt. 3 …well we’ll just see about him won’t we? If you’re in need of the backdrop to the story check out: “WrOnG MiStEr” Pt. 1 first, that will bring you up to speed. The rest of you know what to do.
Where did I leave off? Yea, okay, so by the time we paid our checks and said our goodbyes at the Chinese restaurant, I remember apart of me was extremely optimistic about this guy with the exception of a few qualms. I was taking a big risk with this blind hook-up and possibly not being attracted to him, because I had no idea how he looked. She gave me nothing to work with; no cell phone pics, not even a full name to Google, or a Facebook page to peruse, nothing. All I had was my imagination.
Mind you, my friends all know that I’m not superficial when it comes to a man (although, I’ve not had too bad of a track record in the looks department, in my opinion), I wasn’t expecting him to be an Idris Elba from The Wire, or Laz Alonzo from Jumping the Broom, or even a *Ryan Gosling from Crazy, Stupid, Love (yessss Ryan Gosling, don’t judge me until you see the movie). In fact, I’m more of a brain over brawn model type girl anyway, but dude had to at least be decent enough to look at AND stomach.
Then there was the problem with meeting someone with a different personality or not hitting it off at all. He could bore me half to death or be a total jerk with all of his degrees and accomplishments. And last but not least, there was a slim chance that he wouldn’t be interested in me…okay, so I guess that’s more than a few qualms, and believe me they were definitely starting to fuel my apprehension.
May rolled in and out. June made its way around the corner and July came in with a bang, and I still had nothing … no phone call, email, twitpic … not even a date in the blackberry. I hadn’t heard anything from his spokeswoman either. You don’t meet me for lunch, tell me about a potential that had a lot of the qualifications I was looking for then leave me hanging for months. What was this woman trying to do to me? Tease me? Torture me? Drive me insane? Because, that’s exactly what she was doing.
I was already feeling less than 100% about everything, more like 40-60. 40 being don’t give up, this could be it. 60 being girl, it’s too good to be true, let it go, it’ll never happen. I even remember my gut telling me that this guy wasn’t the one because he lived in another state, probably had no intentions of coming back to California, and I needed to be here.
Oooh and that internal ticking time bomb of mine went, let’s just say, into overdrive. I don’t even know how it could do that. My hormones were seriously imbalanced. My emotions were all over the place, up and down, down and up, they even went left on me sometimes. I cried. I got angry at my ex-husband (I would see red when he came around); because he was the reason I was alone in the first place. I would get myself together, then cry some more. I wanted to be in love again, yet love was for fools.
And remember all that stuff I gave you about self-fulfillment in “SiNgLeNeSs” Pt. 1 and “SiNgLeNeSs” Pt. 2, yea, well, I wasn’t there yet. I was an absolute, total wreck by the time August snuck up on me, which was right around the time I started writing my book, FYI.
But luckily, things did change drastically. A couple weeks in, I had pretty much given up on MiStEr. I was so engrossed in getting my story out of me–a purging, therapeutic, healing process–and ultimately in the hands of readers, that I stopped focusing on him. And just so you know ladies, I was self-fulfilling up by then too. I figured that love, and whoever had it to offer, would come for me sooner or later. I was praying for sooner or maybe real soon, one of the two, it definitely wasn’t later.
So tell me why mister himself popped up in LA, the third week in August for a surprise visit…a surprise visit! Crazy right?! The timing of it all…no one knew he was coming, not even spokeswoman. He flew in on a Sunday and just as she had promised, she arranged for us to meet by that Wednesday.
Now, a whole four months had gone by, he and I hadn’t talked prior to, I hadn’t seen pictures of him, those qualms hadn’t gone anywhere, and frankly I didn’t think he was the one, yet, I was super excited to meet him. Spokeswoman had planned for us to come by her house. He would be there of course along with her and her kids. I was bringing TJ. My bestie and her son would come, and we would all just hang out on neutral ground. Whew! I was totally comfortable with that arrangement vs. that straight up blind date thing that was sure to fail in my mind.
Let me tell you, I was totally cute. My hair, make-up, nails, and toes were on point. I was the epitome of class as always (my flowing tangerine summer dress swept the floor) with a hint of sexy (I knew that dress in particular would reveal my shapely figure from time to time, depending on how the wind blew *winks*). I have to be absolutely honest here ladies, I was really feeling myself that day. Yes! When I walked through the door I imaged that a light from heaven beamed down on me and that melodic ahhhhhh music played when he laid eyes on this…so that last qualm I had, had gone out the door.
We all hugged and greeted one another. Thankfully, I was pleasantly surprised with him. He was charming and polite; had a great smile; was just the right height. She definitely didn’t lie about the athletic muscular body. He wasn’t body-builder muscular, but you could tell he worked out. And Lawd, his chest bulged through his shirt and his biceps and triceps and calves were all rock solid. But I played it cool.
We ate and talked and decided that we would head down to the pool, so the kids could swim. The sun was high in the sky. He and I sat with our legs in the jacuzzi overlooking the Pacific Ocean. We talked and laughed and laughed and talked, just the two of us. He was super smart, never condescending, and had a lot of common sense. I listened intently to intriguing stories he would tell me about growing up in another country. He spoke English very well in addition to five of his country’s native languages. And why oh why did he have an accent?! That in and of itself, was super sexy to me…so you already know.
That night, we all decided to go get something to eat. He and I sat across from one another. It was cute. We were really hitting it off, and by the end of dinner, I bagged up all those qualms and threw them out the window. We walked to the parking structure, hugged and said goodnight. I told him it was nice to meet him. He said the same and valet pulled up with our cars.
“Giiiirl you two really hit it off, I’m so happy for you,” said my bestie. She and I giggled and squealed like two high school girls as we headed northbound on the 405, when it dawned on me, we hadn’t exchanged information. My heart sank a little. “Wait a minute girl,” I said, “if we really hit it off, why didn’t he ask for my number?” “I don’t know, but I’m sure he will. Don’t worry, I could tell he liked you,” she said. Yea, I thought. “Wait I just got a text, giiiirl he said he didn’t want to put you on the spot in front of everyone at the restaurant, so he’s asking for your number now to call you. Can I give it to him?” I breathed a sigh of relief, and made her wait a few minutes for my “yes, girl, give it to him.”
Ladies, something interesting happened next, but it’s late and it would probably take another three pages to tell you what. So we’re going to pick up where we left off on Monday! I know, I know another cliff hanger…but this story is far from over. So please come back. Same time, same place. Until then…
>>>>>Fast forward>>>>> It’s now April 2011, Easter Sunday to be exact. Some friends and I met for lunch after church. We enjoyed our Chinese cuisine and each other’s company as much as we could with all of our kids at the other end of the table.
I was in the middle of confessing that I had relapsed on an old guilty pleasure of mine and had shamefully gone back to watching 16 and Pregnant again. I was obviously hooked on a ridiculously scripted reality show that inadvertently promoted teen pregnancy and gave me the same front row seat in the labor and delivery room that Baby Stories (a more appropriate show with adults) once did. But I did notice this time around I wasn’t shedding as many tears, if any. Perhaps, because I was thinking that having another baby wasn’t as good of an idea without a potential mate/husband–which I was far from getting being off the market and all.
Well anyway, out of the blue, one of the ladies mentioned that they knew a good friend of their family that was single. For a second, in the back of mind, I wondered had she heard that annoying clock of mine blaring away on the inside, because I never mentioned that I was looking for anyone. And then I thought, a friend of a friend has a good friend that she wants to introduce me to…this was exactly what I wanted. I sat up straight in my chair and leaned in. She had my full undivided attention.
“I wish I knew what type of men you’re attracted to,” she said (I’m paraphrasing), “he’s a good-looking guy, in my opinion.” Okay, check, I thought. “He’s very athletic and has this soccer player’s body, very muscular, no body fat. He definitely has a six pack.” Hmm, I murmured out loud by accident. “He has his Ph.D.” Check. “He’s really a genius in his field and he has a great job.” Check. “He’s never been married and doesn’t have kids.” Check and check.”
Now, I’ve been told that a lot of times, I wear my expression all over my face. I’ve tried working on that, but I believe, it lit up like a light-bulb, because something definitely sparked on the inside (I would’ve thought then it was the deactivation of my biological alarm from the news of this promising potential, if it wasn’t for the ticking I hear now).
His spokeswoman continued on with more details and I surveyed the table as everyone there; a wife/new mommy and another single mom/my bestie nodded and yes’d in unison. They all knew him personally and vouched for him. Beyonce said Jay-Z had her at Hello. Well…mister (unbeknownst to him) had me at the end of her introduction and their endorsement. I’m one up Bey. Okay, I kid, but I was definitely interested in making his acquaintance. I guess you’re back on the market now, I told myself.
“Well, the only problem is he lives out of town. He used to live here, but he left for a better job opportunity,” she said (still paraphrasing). “I don’t think that’s going to be a problem for me,” I replied. I wasn’t about to let several hundred miles of road between us deter me. It was actually a little relieving to know he wasn’t physically here. In my mind, I figured distance would allow me to take things really, really slow, because I was super busy with my own life–i.e. dual-parenting, dual-schooling, managing, cooking, cleaning, (you get the picture)–that I didn’t have a lot of time to fully invest in a relationship just yet and I couldn’t afford to be totally distracted.
Ladies, by the time she got finished, I could barely contain my excitement. He sounded sooo good on paper and I couldn’t wait to put a face with this resume. Now, one could argue that maybe, just maybe, my anticipation was a tad bit ThIrStY…I got my big girl panties on now, so I’ll admit, when I think back, possibly, considering that I had no idea how this guy looked (What if I wasn’t attracted to him?), what kind of personality he had or if we would hit it off (What if he’s dull or even worse, turned out to be a jerk), or if he would even be interested in moi (What if I wasn’t his type?).
These were all valid questions for someone who had just made herself available again (not even a good 30 minutes) and had never been considered for a blind hook-up/possible date. I didn’t even know how it would turn out. I mean, they never worked out well in any of the movies I saw, never. Plus, I still had a bad taste in my mouth, thanks to WrOnG MiStEr Pt. 2 himself.
Fortunately, I knew me, and the over-thinker, over-analyzer, would pretty much stress herself out with all the possibilities and maybe even talk herself out of meeting the guy before she even got a chance to meet him. I had already begun to do just that at the table after the initial excitement started wearing off and reason started to weigh in.
“When will he be in town?” I asked, figuring if I scheduled something on my blackberry calendar, maybe I would stick to it. “I don’t know. He was here last year, but I’m not sure when he’ll have the time with his new job. I’m going to talk to him about it. When he comes, I’m definitely going to set something up.”
She certainly kept her promise. But, I can’t get into it now, because it’s almost 2 a.m. and I’m already three pages in just telling you how it all began, which is really important. Looks like there will be a part 4 to this interesting story. Bare with me ladies, I doubt that it will disappoint, so please come back Friday, same place, same time, for more. Until then…
Okay, so remember when I mentioned that my plight transitioning into the next phase of my life…to date or not to date…was going to be an interesting ride? Well, the first time I decided to buckle my seatbelt, the ride was just that…interesting.
So one unsuspecting night, I met a man through a mutual friend, not with the purpose of getting to know him or even dating, we both just happened to be in the same place at the same time and hit it off. I remember vividly, having a pretty heated debate about dating, relationships, marriage and everything before, after and in-between.
I had my strong convictions about men and the issues they seemed to bring to the table, like their lack of communication, irresponsibility, selfishness, superficial attraction to women, infidelity, etc. (my source? Experience and countless stories from other women I knew). And he shared a few of his biggest hang-ups with women, which was their thirstiness (see, I told you this came up a lot in conversations with men), gold digging (yes, apparently there is such a woman out there that only goes after men with money), and our baggage handling (and I don’t mean a Samsonite carry-on or rolling suitcase ladies). I’m talking about the emotional baggage that “allegedly” only we women take from our failed relationships and bring onboard our new and improved relationships. And just so you know, I made up the term “baggage handling,” but give it some time, I’m sure it’ll end up on the ‘Ridiculous List of Urban Stereotypes for Women’ soon enough.
So anyway, that night, we presented strong cases, heard each other out, respected each other’s opinion, and in the end pretty much agreed to disagree on most things (mainly the stereotypes), just as I expected. By the time the white flag was thrown into the battle of the sexes, I noticed how great of a smile he had. I admired his winning personality, it was refreshing. I enjoyed his conversation and respected his ability to stand his ground with me as a man…I was actually attracted to someone for the first time in four years.
Of course, I didn’t act on the attraction. But luckily, we ran into each other a few more times. We would flirt with one another through semi-heated debates, which I later believed he started intentionally just to push my buttons and see my feisty side *growls.* I kind of think that disagreements turned him on…I do…I’m just saying.
We developed a friendship that involved us talking and laughing a couple times a day—about any and everything–for hours on end. We had the greatest conversations on the phone. We even kicked it at a few social events. Now mind you, I still was not in any kind of rush to be in a relationship, nor had I become desperate aka thirsty to have a man, but what we were building was genuinely nice and I was open to whatever the future could hold.
What was he like, you ask? He was a good old-fashioned southern church boy, whose morals and ideas about life, friendship, relationship, marriage, parenting, money, etc., were very similar to mine, once we got past those dreaded stereotypes. He was a handsome guy although there was one area in which he came up short, but there was nothing he could do about that. Now ladies get your minds out of the gutter. He and I were not thinking, hinting around to, or even talking about sex—which was a definite plus—we had both made decisions (prior to meeting each other) to wait until we were married.
He was educated, had a couple of jobs, his own money, own place, own car, no kids (I hadn’t decided if that was a pro or con yet), and had never been married. He had had a few serious relationships, one of which was long term, but they had been broken up for a while. Ladies, you would be proud, I did my due diligence and determined very early on in this “getting to know each other” stage, that he wasn’t a…don…don…don…serial killer. I was on to something good right? No! And let me tell you why.
Maybe a couple months down the line; this dude started changing on me. He was falling off, not calling as often, when in the beginning, a day wouldn’t go by without us conversing. So naturally, I got concerned and asked if we were cool, if everything was okay with him…with us. “Yea, we’re good,” he would say, but he continued to show me otherwise.
Now here’s the thing. We WERE NOT in a relationship. There WERE NO titles. We HAD NOT decided to take this friendship any further than friendship. There WAS NO exclusivity. He DID NOT owe me anything. I understood that. However, you would think as friends–that talked everyday and hung out together, pretty much every weekend–that we would at least be honest…completely honest with one another.
We ended up having a very awkward conversation. In fact, it was more like an argument, because I believe he snapped at me for being genuinely concerned about my friend, who was acting extremely weird and distant. To be honest, I may have had an emotion or two invested, so I was definitely trying to make sure that we were still heading in the same direction, if not on the same page. My heart wasn’t up for any games.
To make a long story short (I’m probably a little too late for that, but anyway), our telephone conversations grew more infrequent and we eventually stopped talking to each other altogether. And yes, it did hurt my feelings a little, because I thought we were friends, and I deserved an explanation, if nothing else. I got over it though, deleted his number, swore off men, and decided to take myself off the market.
Funny thing is, a few months later, he reached out to me and I ended up answering the phone. Being the forgiving person I am, we talked that night, like old friends, for hours. You would have thought that nothing ever happened. I never said a word about how bad I felt he treated me as a friend, because I was over it. Now, before you start calling me foolish, let me tell you, as soon as we ended the call, I saved his number again and changed his contact name to: DO NOT ANSWER. Oh yea, if you’re reading this now wrong mister, yes, I most certainly did do that, and now you know why I never picked up any of your phone calls or responded to any of your text messages. *winks*
My theory as to how things went from being so sweet to bitter between us, seemingly over night, is his ex-girlfriend showed up. Remember that long term relationship I mentioned? Well, I knew about her (he was open about that), and I believe they decided to rekindle their on-again, off-again love.
Honestly ladies, if he would have told me she was back in the picture, I would have been a little disappointed, but his decision to be with her would have been totally respected. And believe me, I would have encouraged the re-union, because the last thing I wanted was a man that was still in love with his ex.
In the end, there were really no hard feelings. I just thought that was a very immature and disrespectful way for a grown man to handle a friendship with a woman. Maybe another man (or woman) would totally disagree with me, feel free to let me know if you do, but at that point, I wasn’t sure if I was up to getting to know anyone else. I actually didn’t for a whole year, and ladies, I can’t wait to tell you about that one! But I’ll save it until Wednesday.
One month ago today, the world lost one of its iconic superstars, but Bobbi Kristina lost her only mother and friend…my heart and prayers go out to her.
Although rumors and speculation continue to surround Houston’s untimely death, the impact she had on our lives with her voice and music and the memories she left behind will live on with those of us who loved and admired her. Whitney Elizabeth Houston, we will always love you. (R.I.P. 1963-2012)
Tonight, Oprah Winfrey sits with Whitney Houston’s daughter Bobbi Kristina, sister-in-law & manager Patricia Houston & brother Gary Houston in an intimate interview that will air at 9:00p.m. ET/PT, as a special episode of Oprah’s Next Chapter on OWN (check your local listing for the station).
Someone told me the other day that the “life of a writer is an open book.” I must admit that freaked me out a little…well…maybe a lot. I mean, my intentions from the beginning has always been to be open and honest, but I guess I hadn’t thought about how far open. Apparently, I’ve written some good stuff thus far—I’m not tooting my own horn here—but it’s based on the comments from supporters that have frequented my blog. I appreciate all the dialogue, the “likes” and the shares! Keep it coming ladies! If you haven’t thus far, please go check out my posts. The rest of you come with me please.
Around four years into my post-divorce phase, I’m convinced my biological alarm did more than just tick, it started blaring. I was DVRing and watching episodes of 16 and Pregnant, boo-hooing during every one of the labor and delivery scenes (don’t judge me now; Baby Stories is off the air). I eventually stopped tuning in and torturing myself by way of the television. But all it took was one “goo-goo gaga” of a precious little baby boy or girl in a stroller or the arms of another new mommy to get me going again.
Not to mention, my son was begging for me to have a baby; a sister, according to his specifications, because he figured she wouldn’t bother his things, but a brother would. Our conversations usually went a little something like this…
“Mom, since you’re not going to be with my dad…wait…are you sure you’re not going to be with my dad?”
“I’m sure. You’re dad and I are just friends.”
“Well, that sucks! I’m still a little upset about that. But why don’t you just marry someone else, have a baby, then get a divorce.”
“Why would I get a divorce? I want to be married again.”
“Because I don’t want another daddy, I just want a sister.”
Obviously he and I had several long discussions about daddies, babies, marriage, and divorce. But, truth is, I wanted a baby just as bad as he wanted me to have one. And that meant I had to at least be open to date, in order to get a man, that could eventually be my husband.
How hard could it be? Well…extremely difficult for someone like me, who was terrified of the idea of meeting a stranger, who could potentially be a serial killer; trusting him, when he could potentially be a serial killer, or even allowing him to get to know me or my son for that matter, when he could potentially be…yes…a serial killer. I had problems in the trust area as you can see, but you have to admit the odds are up there. But real talk, even if that was the least of my worries, ulterior motives, infidelity, mental instability, criminal records, numerous baby momma’s, and STDs were definitely some of the major concerns I had with meeting someone.
And as cute as I thought I was at times–my insecurities would come and go—men weren’t actually throwing themselves at me or chasing me down. And I’m such a traditionalist. I figured if they were interested then they would approach me. That’s the way I remembered it working when I was single back in 1997. Boy was I in for a rude awakening…things had changed a lot.
A few of my bff’s gave me some advice. There was a common consensus that I had to be a little more forward if I wanted to start dating—like, “hey I couldn’t help but notice you looking my way. My name is…” or “What’s the name of that coffee, is it good? I was going to try that. By the way, my name is…” forward. I wasn’t comfortable enough with approaching a man and having a conversation with him in Starbucks or Barnes & Noble or anywhere else for that matter. I just wasn’t. However, I could run my mouth all day about life and current affairs with any man, if “getting to know you” wasn’t my objective.
I was told that, although I was beautiful (beauty is in the eye of the beholder), when I walked into a room, I emitted this energy that I was either unavailable or not interested at all. So I had to change that and maybe start giving a little more eye contact, or smiling back, and an occasional wink or two might not hurt. “Are you serious?” I asked. “Yesss,” they all would say. And the ridiculous to-do list just went on and on, in my mind.
I’m still shocked at the role single women have to play in the dating game. We’re expected to throw ourselves out there just enough so men know that we’re interested in them too. But be careful ladies, not too much throwing, because we could easily be labeled as one of those ThIrStY ChIcKsI talked about in another post. From what my girls told me, we have TLC’s “No Scrubs” and Destiny Child’s “Bills, Bills, Bills” (can you pay my bills) and “Independent Women” movement to thank.
In my opinion, men seemS to be intimidated or maybe more insecure about the possibility of rejection–I knew the latter to be definitely true because of conversations I had with my male friends. But, it was just too much. I was dealing with my biological crisis while trying to maintain my SiNgLeNeSs with some dignity.
So I figured the best bet would be to be totally open to getting to know someone and dating but with one major condition; he would have to be highly recommended. Someone I knew or someone that knew someone I knew (friend of a friend) would have to seriously vouch for this guy. I had a few other non-negotiables too. He had to have his own relationship with God, be heterosexual (you have to be specific these days), love me and my son, have an education and his own money, be respectful, responsible, and honest. My list wasn’t as extensive as Chili’s–although I respected her for knowing exactly what she wanted–but it was sure to narrow down the bunch.
So as you can see ladies, my plight transitioning into the next phase of my life…to date or not to date…was going to be an interesting ride to say the least. I have plans to take you along with me, on a WrOnG MiStEr series. Be sure to read Part 2 – 12.
So, I had a pretty interesting weekend. Despite the high temps, clear skies and sun (that people took full advantage of), I laid around disorientated, drinking tea, somewhat comforted, yet slightly disturbed by a heating pad, and too lazy to Google whether or not having it on high could possibly fry my ovaries … sounds crazy right? I know. I get that way sometimes and it’s not my fault—as I have tried to explain to men—I was at the mercy of Mother Nature who showed up this month with a vengeance. She had her foot in my lower back it seemed and she made me miserable and irritated and found new ways to torture me…sort of the same way a mother-in-law does. I know, I know, that’s not nice, but it’s the truth, for many.
Remember early on in the SiNgLeNeSs post when I mentioned that I realized “I had become content with being–a single woman?” I had, but it wasn’t an easy process on any level, as I’m sure some of you can attest or argue. But for me, it was more so having to take care of my son as a single mom–by default, not necessarily choice—and failing at the thing that represented a defining moment in my life. The being alone part hurt deeply at times, considering that I married with the intention of forever.
So trust me, I understand what being alone feels like. I’ve lived it, walked it out, and slept that way for over four years (and still counting). I’m not implying that being single is ideal for everyone. It isn’t for me. Let me tell you, I wanted to be in love, someone’s wife, and an angel’s mother–more than anything in the world–as far back as I can remember (elementary school to be exact). It was then, that I fell in love with the first boy of my dreams…I’ll call him N.B. for short. In my mind, we were destined to be married, have 2.5 children, live in a house with a white picket fence, and a little dog, and live happily ever after.
I didn’t marry my first love aka my middle school and high school boyfriend surprisingly, but a couple of boyfriend’s, break-ups, and heartaches later, I did fall in love with another young man who would become my friend, first husband, the father of my child, enemy, ex, and friend again, all within a six year period.
Granted after divorce I really wasn’t pressed to be in a relationship. Honestly, I wasn’t up for trusting another man with my heart. I was broken, a little bitter, disgusted with men…and tired of the hurt that they all seemed to have caused at some point in my life. Then, above all, I had my son to care for and a lot to think about; I was real grown with someone depending solely on me. And I knew my decisions—good or bad—would ultimately affect his life.
I had no plans of casually dating OR sexing with anyone–which seemed to be most men’s objective (let me just say, I am not man-bashing, so men, if the shoe doesn’t fit, it’s not yours). I refused to deal with another man’s lies, infidelity, immaturity, irresponsibility, or baby mama drama at the expense of my own deserved happiness. And just so you know, I dealt with four out of the five (of the above) with a divorced man I had met after mine was finalized. We weren’t even in a relationship and he was still clowning, so I was good with all of that. I had decided that I would not allow anyone else to hurt me. I was guarding my heart, which I realized was just the first phase of singleness for me. There was obviously a lot of healing that needed to take place, baggage I had to start unloading, and responsibility I had to take for my part in my failed marriage before I would ever be ready for another relationship.
As time went on, singleness would taunt me. I could barely watch love stories (my favorite genre), or watch a couple’s PDA, or enjoy a married couple’s company, without yearning for love. Loneliness was robbing me of my happiness and peace yet again, just as my failing marriage had, and I could not allow myself to experience that all over again.
I refused to put on a front and be miserable married, celebrating anniversary after anniversary, just to say I was married–which is why I chose divorce–and I was certain that I wouldn’t be that way, single either. So I fought for what belonged to me. I prayed. I cried. I prayed some more. Some battles I lost to broken-heartedness, disbelief, and depression. Some battles…I won…because I had to…for my son and my sanity. And needless to say, I would not have made it through without my own personal relationship with God—not a man.
Eventually, my wounds healed, and some scars faded, and my load got a little lighter. When I thought about it, I wasn’t happy in the end being married. Neither was I happy after it was all said and done, being single. And, it wasn’t just a matter of being with the right or wrong person, it was a matter of me; not him or them, but me finding my own happiness and my own peace and pursuing it. It was then, that I realized two things. 1) Happiness was not guaranteed based on my marital status and 2) I was the one in control of it. I’m throwing in number three for free; 3) Either I was going to be happy or not, whether I was single or not. Point. Blank. Period. It was my choice and my decision to embrace self-fulfillment–the ability to make yourself happy and complete through your own efforts.
So I’m saying this again, YES you can live without a man and be happy, really happy, for as long as you choose, but you cannot truly live without self-fulfillment, single or not.
Okay, so I was in the process of writing Part 2 of the SiNgLeNeSs post– which by the, if you haven’t yet, you could read here: SiNgLe MoMmY FiLeS – “SiNgLeNeSs” Pt. 1–when I was distracted by a thought. I’m going to get back to that post don’t worry, but first I wanted to tackle a sensitive subject—or as my girl Wendy Williams would say—a hot topic surrounding a certain type of “socially unacceptable” behavior that men insist a lot of single women exhibit … “thirstiness.” And I’m not talking about feeling a need to drink something, but being too eager to get something (especially play), according to the urban dictionary.
This is a common conversation thread amongst men. Don’t think for a minute that men don’t gossip, because they do. They’re talking about single women aka “thirsty chicks” with each other, behind their backs, at the gym, on the courts, in the clubs, at church, on social networks and blogs … I’ve actually had quite a few disturbing and somewhat heated conversations, on several occasions, with pretty much every one of my male counterparts. It is a common consensus. They are convinced there is a rise of the planet of the “thirsty chicks.”
And, according to men (and some women agree, might I add), thirstiness is a single woman that is so desperate to be in a relationship or married that they’ll do anything, put up with anything, or settle for anyone just to have a man. They feel that thirsty chicks come on too strong and push themselves on men. Granted traditional roles (boy sees girl, boy likes girl, boy asks girl for her number) for getting to know someone has changed (now girls see boy, girl likes boy, girl asks boy for his number) and there are men that appreciate a woman who sees what she wants and goes after it, but there are many men who still prefer to pursue rather than be pursued.
They say thirsty chicks are aggressive and impatient–“Why does a woman have to rush everything and control the relationship? If I’m spending all my time with her, doing things for her and showing her how much I care about her, why would she have to have a title or label us? Every woman I’ve been with has tried to rush me into something,” ranted one of my close male friends, “they want you to put a ring on it and you’ve not even been with them that long … just thirsty!”–We debated back and forth about yet another stigma that the single female has to deal with, finally agreeing to disagree…
I can go on about conversations I’ve had, but I’ll let a few excerpts I stumbled upon, sum it up for you. Please note, what you are about to read are not my words, but I felt like the author did a good job of describing signs of a “thirsty chick” from a male’s perspective.
She latches on to a very superficial connection: This is the foundation for the thirst because no mutual interest has been expressed. She knows one or a few things about a man, and all of a sudden she’s friends with him. When she sees him in the street, she acts like they have been homies for years, whilst he cringes behind his forced smile as she approaches. And since he’s the only person on the street, avoidance is not an option. Sucks to be him.
She reaches out too much, too often: Maybe they are FB friends. Maybe she follows him on twitter. Maybe the man, with his nice-guy ways, gave her his phone number. Either way, she can reach out whenever she feels so inclined…which is all the time? Bear in mind, he never calls her. He never IMs her. He rarely hits her with a @reply. But she sees no issue with the one-way initiation of communication. She keeps on keeping on.
She is over the top with just about everything…and she thinks it’s cute: The thirsty woman doesn’t know anything about moderation. She’s overly flirtatious. She’s suggestive when it’s uninvited. She takes the sexy jokes a wee bit too far…and everyone knows it except her. As she giggles thinking she’s being cute, she doesn’t even notice that she’s being giggled at.
I’m going to keep my opinion to myself (for now), because I really want to know what, the readers think. Do you agree? Are some single women “thirsty?” Do you know any “thirsty chicks?” Are there any men reading this blog that agree or disagree?
I’m excited about all of you who read my post yesterday and left such wonderful messages on Facebook. Because of you, I’m back and excited about our Journey. A lot has changed since yesterday, like the new look of the blog site. You can even leave comments on the post or ask questions right here.
Now, if you haven’t already, please check out SiNgLe MoMmY FiLeS – “FiRsT StEpS”, its sort of the method to the madness behind this blog … okay, I’m kidding again–more like an intro that will give you a better understanding of who I am, why I am here, and possibly why you’re going to keep coming back. So go read it please! The rest of you come with me.
Well, I tucked my pride and joy into bed last night. Around 12:30ish, I crawled into bed just as I have every night (for the last four+ years), with intentions of getting a good night’s rest, especially knowing what 16 hours of Wednesday would consist of, granted I didn’t get a same-day call from TJ’s agent about an audition on the other side of town. That could throw my whole schedule off.
While looking at the computer screen of the laptop resting on my thighs–not sleeping at all–I realized that the past couple of months, my nights had been slightly different than all of the others before. I typed in my blog site address as that thought gave birth to this post. Pecking away at the keys, I discovered that wrapping up my day, getting ready for bed, while reflecting; in some way, some how, at some point, I had become content with being–a single woman.
Not single as in “dating,” or “in a relationship, but not married yet,” or in one of those “it’s complicated” situations, but single-single, as in “alone” or “without a potential, not even a prospect” single. I didn’t have a hubby anymore to tuck me in, or listen to me rant about my day (so glad I have you ;-)), or whisper sweet words of affirmation (my #1 love language) in my ear, or rub my back and feet (men if you’re reading, please take note), or cuddle with or nestle under, or even be irritated with because of his snoring AND something he did or didn’t do earlier that day (probably both) … just single. When I proofread this, it made me sad for the woman I was, just seven months ago, that longed for all of the above because I lacked what I wrote about next.
The difference this time around, was my comfortability with being by myself for reasons of self-fulfillment. Ladies stay focused, I’m not talking about physical self-fulfillment–You’re grown you do you, I am not, I repeat, I am not judging anyone. Uh uh, you won’t get that from me, I just want you to really focus on what I’m saying. Self-fulfillment–the ability to make yourself happy and complete through your own efforts–is the one thing that has kept me emotionally sane and helped me to ignore the pestering tick and the annoying tock of my biological clock, for most of my post-divorce period (4 years, 4 months and 81 days, but who’s counting?).
Now don’t you think for one minute that I got divorced and mastered the art of making oneself happy and harboring peace. You better believe that whenever I found myself low in self-esteem or depleted of self-fulfillment (such a natural, God-given commodity), singleness would torture me without fail.
I feel a need to say this now, YES you can live without a man for as long as you choose, and not because I did it. But you cannot truly live without self-fulfillment. Thinking that having a man–a hubby, lover, friend–will solve every one of your problems (maybe he will help with the kids or pay bills) but depending on him solely to make You happy or help You find peace, is not the biz-ness. In fact, most of the time, with this “codependency mentality,“ you often settle, and when its all said and done, you find yourself needing more than just the happiness and peace you were searching for outside of yourself–somebody please loosen this straight-jacket.
Just so we’re clear, I am so pro-love & marriage (get me the bumper sticker & tell me where to vote). I still believe in love at first sight & happily ever after, but I am definitely anti-codependent relationships.
That old saying we’ve all used or convinced ourselves was true (cue violin here), “we complete each other,” yes, that one, lose it, forget about it. In math 50 plus 50 is unequivocally equal to 100, but two people half-full or half-empty (however you want to look at it), together equal a couple with a lot of room for serious issues to fill up.
How did you stay single for so long? How did you find contentment being alone? You ask … well, you’ll have to come back and visit the blog. Apparently there will be a PaRt 2 of this “SiNgLeNeSs” post, because its 3:00a.m. and I have to get some sleep.
Hey there! Well here I am writing my very own blog for the first time about what it’s like to walk in my shoes. If you’re here you probably already read the little bio thingy, so you know that I’m a divorcee (call me naive, but I can honestly say I didn’t see that coming) AND I’m a single mom, which I take full pride in. As you may have suspected the little one kissing my cheek down there is my baby boy TJ (he would never approve of the following), but gosh, he’s one of the most phenomenally gifted, creative, compassionate, adorable little boys on the planet. I’m probably stretching it there with “on the planet,” but it’s my blog … my world … my lens … my prerogative … And I ’am kidding about the planet part.
Anyway, I’m so glad you’re here! I really want to be as open and honest as I possibly can. I hope to build something relatable and to write things that will resonate. I want to make you laugh or cry or say “hmmm.” I would hope to challenge, inspire, encourage, and maybe even help you see things from a different perspective … and give you whatever else it is you need.
This is just as much about me as it is about you. So, I’m going to need you to talk back to me. Tweet snglemommyfiles or Facebook SiNgLe MoMmY FiLeS suggestive topics, ask questions, or give constructive criticism on content, not grammar—we’re going to relax and have fun here. Be sure to follow me on both, for updates. And please no negativity. I ignore it.