Hello my loves, how have you all been? I’ve been good. Im alive, I guess that counts for something. Let’s talk sex today.
It’s always such a taboo topic. People always act like they don’t have it. Just saying the full term is awkward to some of you so lets say it together:
Sex sex sex sex sex sex. Now that we’ve gotten a bit more comfortable with the term lets get into it, shall we?
First of all, let me start by saying that this is a safe space. Ain’t nothing too awkward to talk about. Sex is natural. Just practice safe sex.
Now here are some of my controversial/unpopular opinions about sex with little to no explanations.
Sex itself is very overrated.
Doggystyle is definitely NOT the best position. It aint bad but the best?? C’mon now. what are you enjoying? His balls clapping your ass? And why do men always try put their whole weight on you?
Toys definitely belong in the bedroom. Trust me that vibrator gon make you finish quicker than that man’s tongue or fingers. Plus why not just explore yourselves? It’s a good thing.
Missionary is underrated.
Dry humping is actually underrated.
Sex in the shower? Really, that ish is dangerous. Don’t believe what the porn website told you
Excessive talking is a turn off! All that dirty talk is fine in MODERATION, don’t talk too much baby, youre ruining the moment. Just moan in my ear, that’ll do the job even better
I would normally tell to read your bible but I don’t think this is the post for it, so see you next time loves.
Hi lovelies, it’s been a hot minute. Hope you all are doing just fine.
You know how sometimes you aren’t happy but you’re also not unhappy, you’re just existing in between and just taking it as it comes…. Yeah, that has been me….
Lmao, who am I kidding, I’ve been stressed with a lot of necessary and unnecessary things and therefore I keep pouring from an almost empty cup. I recently found out that my dad has been trying to get a hold of me…don’t really know how to feel about that…
I should be sleeping. Its 2:48a.m, I haven’t gotten much sleep the whole week. However instead of sleeping, I let someone’s words and actions make me feel as though I was difficult to love…I’ve been in this position a few times in my life. But we love love around here so here are a few reminders, for you and me, of what love may look like.
love is a verb, hence it always requires action.
Sometimes love is as simple as just paying attention to the one in front of you
It’s in the genuine “text me when you get home”.
It’s in the “naah I can’t do the other person like this”.
It’s in the “I got you”.
It’s in the “Hey I’m just a little busy/occupied right now, I’ll text back as soon as I can”.
It’s in the “I know you’ve been feeling a little down lately, let me run you a bath”.
It’s in the “good morning beautiful, good morning handsome” text message.
It’s in the random “Hey I’m just thinking about you, what are you up”.
It’s in the “I remember you liked these, so I got them for you”.
It’s in the “Hey I booked us a table and a ticket to go watch something”.
It’s in the “I thought I’d cook us some food and we watch Netflix”.
It’s in the “Tell me everything about your day”.
It’s in the “What can I do to make you feel better”.
It’s in the random meme, picture, voice not and song that was sent.
It’s in the hug that lasted a little bit longer.
It’s in the comfortable silence.
It’s in the nonverbal thoughtful gesture.
It’s in the long train/bus/car/plane ride just to see you.
It’s in the updates while hanging out with friends individually.
It’s in the laughter.
It’s in the sadness.
It’s in the tears.
It’s in the compliments.
It’s in the dates at a fancy restaurant.
It’s in the dates at a diner.
It’s in the cuddles.
It’s in the trust.
It’s in the safety.
It’s in the genuine apology.
It’s in the forgiveness.
It’s in the healthy misunderstandings.
It’s in the respected boundaries.
It’s in the priorities.
It’s in the appreciation.
It’s in the vulnerability.
It’s in the reciprocity.
It’s in the friendship.
It’s in the honesty.
It’s in the prayers.
It’s in the transparency.
It’s in the accountability.
It’s in the mutual respect.
It’s in the “I may not understand what you’re going through, but you will not go through it alone”.
Its in every gesture that’s deemed little or/and insignificant because those are the ones that matter most.
I don’t know what love is, but I want to believe that some of these points make up a big part of it. It may be expressed differently depending on the person and the situation but the core value remains the same.
I had a good cry last night. I don’t mean a tear was rolling down my cheeks, nah I mean bawling my eyes out. My son turned 4. A whole 48 months in this world. What can I say….my heart is heavy with memories and emotions.
Emotions I wish I could let out occasionally, but instead they stay built up because maybe there’s nobody to talk to, maybe there’s nobody who ’il understand, maybe everyone is busy, maybe I’m also just too emotional, a lot of maybes…the point is, these emotions build up over time until something happens, whether good or bad, that makes me reach this breaking point.
Single motherhood, I’m saying motherhood because I’m not a dad, I don’t know what single fathers feel,
However single motherhood can get lonely sometimes. Whether you chose it, or it chose you, at some point, especially if you’re like me and don’t have real support from family,
You will reach that breaking point more times than you may want to admit.
Some days are better and all it takes is me hiding in the toilet for a few minutes and some days are like this, where I question my entire motherhood journey and wonder if I’m even doing enough…
I mean I know its all in my head and I know I can’t do more than my best, which I believe I am, but there’s still that part of me that wants to do offer him so much more. I am also very aware that most of the things I stress about are material things, but I can’t help but stress about them
I wish I could have been able to give him a lavish birthday, now does he need it, probably not
These complexities have more to do with me than him. I wonder if people see me as a mediocre mother because I’m not financially stable and I don’t want that
I don’t want him growing up lacking anything at all….
My insecurities, complexities and struggle have a lot to do with me navigating between being a good mother, a good student, wanting to not just offer my kid a better life but also myself, (a girl’s got expensive taste ok!).
I don’t know what someone else may be struggling with but at the end we all must believe that in the end everything will work out for our good. Is it a business, is It money, are you battling with your mental health…whatever it is, I urge you not to give up. As long as you’re doing your best, everything else will eventually fall into place.
One may wonder why I do these obvious reminders…that is because no matter what someone may feel, you’re never alone
Someone else is feeling the same way or even worse and I speak from experience when I say, that sometimes hearing these reassurances said out loud by someone else goes a long way
So here you go… these reminders are for all of us.
You are doing great
You are not alone
You should be proud of yourself for surviving all your bad days
Is it too late to go through some reminders for the year?? Meh I’ll tell you still…
This is what we’re doing this year:
Be kind. Does this need elaboration? The answer is NO. Just be kind to people. You don’t have to know what they’re going through, hell they don’t have to be going through shit. You just be kind.
Rest. Take a breather. Pretty self-explanatory as well. As a woman, a BLACK woman, we’ve long been deceived that we’re strong. You hear things like “strong black woman”. And for a long time, I thought I had to be. Baby listen, now, I am not strong. In fact, I am weak. I want to be weak. I want to be taken care of. I am delicate. I am an egg, because if you drop me, I break, so be careful with me. What am I even saying, I am a flower, don’t pluck me, just water me. Water me with love, with affection, with MONEY and all the good things in life.
Welcome and embrace your growth. Being in a space of growth can be an uncomfortable place to be. For growth to take place, you have to be comfortable with being uncomfortable. Some people may not understand your journey and that’s ok. Growth does not mean that you won’t fall back into your old ways once in a while, but I hope we are all able to recognize it early enough, so we don’t fall into the same pattern.
Stand your ground. When you believe you’re genuinely doing the right thing and not being an asshole to other people, stand your ground and do whatever it takes to keep your peace because, let me tell you, thou shall be tested. Take whatever precautions, whatever measures you think is right for you and maintain it. Don’t be shaken by people’s opinions of you, don’t be moved when people take a different stance than you, because everybody is entitled to their opinions. Besides opinions are like assholes, we all have one.
Leave. Another self-explanatory point I believe.
Shine. Just like Rihanna shine bright like a diamond. Don’t dim your light for other people. Work on getting rid of that imposter syndrome that you’re having. Accept the great opportunities coming your way. You’re not meant to struggle. Let that little light of yours shine and don’t worry about other people shinning at the same time because the same way the stars all shine together in the sky, is the same way we all can shine at the same time. The world is big enough to accommodate all of us. Just find your purpose and shine.
Now you guys know the drill, chin up and read Isaiah 41:10.
There’s a pattern I’ve noticed, one we don’t talk about enough – We hold our girlfriends to higher standards then we hold our boyfriends. we demand emotional intelligence from our sisters and make excuses for the emotions immaturity of men.
A homegirl forgets to call back and she’s “inconsistent”. she sets a boundary and now she’s “acting funny”. She misses your birthday dinner once and it’s “See, this why I don’t fuck with too many females.” She doesn’t support a decision you take, suddenly she’s “a hater”
But that man? He can cancel, lie, disappear, come back with half an apology and a joke – we entertain it. We let him stay. We hope he gets better. Because “He’s just a guy”. Because “men aren’t wired like us”. Because “men aren’t emotional like us”. Because “men weren’t taught to express their emotions”. Because, well “at least he tried”.
We cradle men like fragile little boys, as if they were born without moral compasses. As if accountability is too heavy for their hands. We love them through their worst, and yet expect perfection from our girlfriends.
its no wonder female friendships are often more complicated. We expect more from ourselves. More honesty. More communication. More maturity. More transparency. More grace – grace we rarely give in return.
And maybe it’s because our friendships do mean more. they feel deeper, more raw, more reflective of ourselves. so when they disappoint us, it cuts sharper. But still – why is our patience for men bottomless, while our patience for our girlfriends paper thin?
Why do we give these men one hundred chances to grow but cancel a friend for a misstep? Perhaps, it’s time to ask ourselves the hard questions: Do we see women as whole humans – flawed, evolving, and worthy of grace? Or do we only extend compassion to the ones we want to save? Because here’s the truth:
Your friend shouldn’t have to show up flawlessly to be loved. She shouldn’t have to explain her every feeling to be understood. She shouldn’t be disposable just because she made a mistake. (And yes, there’s levels to what we categorize as mistakes).
Let’s stop romanticizing male incompetence and demonizing female imperfection. Let’s hold space for the women who have held space for us. Let’s give ourselves the kind of grace we keep giving everyone else. By everyone else, I am referring to that dusty baby father of yours that has cheated on you multiple times, hasn’t supported any of your ideas, hasn’t considered you since 1984, most likely hasn’t married you and just gives you anxiety. By everyone else, I am referring to that man who keeps going and coming just to see if he still has access and lo and behold. By everyone else, I am referring to that man who may even be a nice man but barely ticks off the bare minimum….baby girl the same way that man is just a man. Your friend equally is just a woman. Equally living and learning. Let’s start giving each other the grace we give these men.
We give them grace because we love them. Do you not love your female friends? Is your friend not worth forgiving? Is your friendship not worth saving? Every relationship dynamic needs work. Yes, that includes friendships between women. Let’s do better and be gracious to ourselves. Because your girlfriends? They deserve your softness too.
It didn’t happen in church. It didn’t come through a sermon. It was not the big life changing prayer or the dramatic breakthrough moment. Although I equally find God in these big moments, but most times I find him in the smaller things.
I find him in the way the sunlight hits the mirror as I stand looking at myself, hands in warm water, washing my face before bed. Because there was a time I couldn’t imagine having all that I have today.
I feel him in the silence after a long day when the world finally gets quiet. I feel him in the tiny hand reaching for my face every morning. I find him in the unexpected laughter, in the deep exhale after making it through another Monday.
I used to think Faith was this big, powerful, all consuming fire that would show up and light my life in command. But recently, I’ve learned that God doesn’t always roar. Sometimes, He whispers. And those whispers show up in small, sacred moments we rush past. We just have to listen.
Like folding laundry with a heart of gratitude instead of resentment. Or finally sitting down with my journal and being honest with myself. Or talking to him out loud while I drive – just rambling. No structure, no filter, just some real conversation. That too is faith.
It’s not just in the bible studies or the perfect devotional. It’s in the way I choose peace over panic. The way I believe something bigger and better is coming even when everything in me wants to spiral. You know, just like it says in Jeremiah 29:11.
God isn’t just in holy places. He’s in that hallway. In the kitchen. In the mess. In the routine. He’s in our laughter. In our tears. In our quiet life that doesn’t always look instagram-worthy but is still deeply, intentionally, divinely held. He is everywhere we want him to be. That’s why he’s omnipresent.
Faith, for me, isn’t just about the mountain. It’s equally about the walks. the little steps. The ordinary grace.
And if I slow down enough to notice, I see him everywhere. Even here. Even now.
There was a time when I thought love was about holding on and holding down. Clutching tightly, even when my fingers were sore. Even when the rope burned and it unraveled me.
He was not all bad. In fact he was – he is a good man. He made me laugh. He knew how I liked my food. He knew I liked quiet mornings…. He knew me well enough– Atleast I’d like to think so.
But I guess, love isn’t enough. Not when it’s uneven. Not when you forget your own name while trying to fit into somebody else’s story. This is not a bitter blog post. This is not about dragging a man’s name through the mud – I would never do that. It is not about blame, shame or receipts. Its about choosing myself, finally, and not feeling guilty about it.
There were moments I thought leaving would break me. That i’d drown in quiet evenings and empty beds. And honestly, it did break me and I sometimes still drown in quiet evenings and empty beds.
However, what really broke me was staying too long in rooms that didn’t know how to hold me. Where I shrank myself into something smaller, quieter, easier to love.
And still, I do not hate him. He was a chapter. A very multi faceted chapter. Not the whole book. He was a lesson, not a life sentence.
I am learning to love the version of me that love(d) him while still loving the version of me that had to walk away. That Woman – I admire her. She is brave. She is rising and she has stood on business ever since.
And yet, I don’t wish him pain. I hope he grows. I pray he gets everything that his heart desires. I hope he finds joy and love. Because Me? I’m over here finding myself again. Learning to dance in my own skin. Learning to be comfortable in this uncomfortable silence. Learning to choose myself even when it means disappointing others. Learning to validate my feelings. Learning accountability because I too was not perfect. Learning to be comfortable in this discomfort and just take it one day at a time.
I don’t hate the man that I spent years with. But I love me more. And that’s the whole truth. That’s the freedom. That’s the poem. The goal is to be my own muse and I believe the rest will follow.
Does this mean I have given up on love? – I could never. But I guess the fairy tale has not been in the cards for me yet. I hope I find it someday. But until then, I’ll be here, loving myself through any and every uncomfortable phase life throws at me.
There was a time when I thought love was about holding on and holding down. Clutching tightly even my fingers were sore. But now I know , real love doesn’t ask you to lose yourself to keep it. Real love considers. Real love sees. Real love hears. Just like the saying goes – To be loved is to be known. Real love is service.
This week has been so long. A week full of trials and tribulations. You ever have someone look at you with admiration and say “Wow, you’re so strong! How do you do it?” And in your head, you’re thinking, I don’t know, Karen, I’m literally hanging on by a thread and some caffeine, but thanks for noticing!
Being a single mother is basically being in survival mode 24/7. It’s like being drafted into a war you didn’t sign up for, but somehow, you’re expected to be both the general and the foot soldier. And while everyone is marveling at your “strength”, you’re just trying to make it through the day without spontaneously combusting.
“You are made out of a different wood…” is what my friend said to me this week. Oh you mean this masculine energy? This survival Mode?
I hear women talk about “being in their feminine energy”– you know soft, relaxed, nurtured and cared for. I wouldn’t know what that feels like. I’ve been in my masculine energy for so long I’m about two overdue bills away from growing a beard and fixing a transmission.
Need something done?– I do it.
Bills to pay? Handled.
Broken sink? Youtube tutorial, here we go.
Need emotional support? Nope, feelings are a luxury I can’t afford.
At this point in my life “you’re so strong” has seized to be compliment. It is an attack. Every time someone tells me how strong I am, I have to resist the urge to shove them into a conveniently placed hole. Because lets be real for a second…
I am not strong. In fact, I don’t even want to be. I just don’t have a choice. I don’t want to be this independent but life said “Figure it out or perish”. If one more person calls me “warrior”, when I’m already thinking of how to fix my heavy couch that I most certainly won’t be able to lift by myself, I might actually start throwing things.
The truth is, if someone actually sat me down, gave me a real hug, and asked, “No, really, how are you?”… I would wail. Not a cute tear down the cheek – no, full on ugly crying, gasping for air, questioning all my life choices.
Which is why when people ask how I’m doing, my standard answers are:
“I’m good” (Lie.)
“Just there”. (Also a lie, but somehow feels more accurate.)
“You know, surviving”. (The truth, but with a forced smile on my face.)
I’ve ranted a lot and I don’t even have a nice closing line today. So see you.
Until then, I’ll be here. Just surviving. In my masculine energy. Probably fixing a broken chair with one hand while googling “why boys have an erection in the morning” with the other because – well, these are things I need to know to be able to answer some peculiar questions. Supermom or just stuck in survival mode? Who knows. Either way, I’ll get it done. Because apparently, I always do.
Ah, the dual life of a single mother – by day, a full time employee, bill payer, grocery shopper, chef, chauffeur, teacher, therapist and bedtime storyteller. By night? Well, still all those things, just with a little extra exhaustion and a cold cup of coffee I forgot to drink seven hours ago.
Meanwhile, somewhere out in the wilds of social media, my son’s father, who shall henceforth be known as “Super Daddy”, is thriving….in the comment section. Oh yes, ladies and gentlemen, he may not have the time and energy to, you know, actually parent, but boy does he have time to post about it. Or rather, his fiance has the time.
Welcome to Super Daddy: The Social Media Phenomenon.
Super Daddy is the type of dad who calls once a week (give or take) and expects a round of applause. After all, that’s all parenting is about. Ok ok, when he’s around his (future) in-laws, he calls a bit more because well, we have got to keep up with the appearances. He’s more of a seasonal character than a consistent role model. Oh but on Instagram and TikTok, Baby he is on Full dad mode. Is it the birthday on the yacht? The Christmas family Photo shoot? oh yes, I saw them all. My friends did and so did twenty thousand strangers on the internet. Did I forget to mention that I am completely against posting kids on social media? But hey who needs to consider and respect my boundaries.
And hey, he stopped working in January – news that, funnily enough, he just now decided to share. I’m not saying he planned it like a dramatic season finale reveal, but the timing is chef’s kiss. Oh and by the way “no child support will be coming from my side until I am back to working etc.” Sir this isn’t the first time and you weren’t really paying a significant amount before either, so what’s new?
Now in the spirit of accountability, I can’t say I didn’t see the signs. That’s the tragic part. I used to wear glasses and somehow I still missed those damn signs. I guess I am in the Deadbeat Dad Olympics: Gold Medalist Edition.
And Now, you may ask? I suppose, he’s retired from working (early pension perhaps?) and officially retired from contributing to our Child’s well-being. I didn’t realize fatherhood came with PTO and unlimited vacation time. Must be nice. I wanna be a dad when I grow up.
Meanwhile in the real world, while Super Daddy is busy collecting imaginary best dad awards, I’m over here:
paying 99,99999% of everything (the 0,1% is me being generous for the insufficient child support and the electric truck he bought 3 years ago)
juggling work, school drop-offs, bills and bedtime stories with the grace of a very tired circus performer
trying not to laugh (or cry) at his audacity while scrolling through his fiance’s praises and posts about how amazing her man is. “what being rich really means” is the caption. No ma’am, if he was rich he would pay his child support, be a present parent and contribute to his son’s upcoming birthday. clearly he broke. Ok ok, now I’m being petty. they are rich in Jesus name.
Unfortunately there’s no customer service line for co-parents like this. No refund policy, no trade-in programs. I can’t just walk into a store and say “Hey this one is defective. Can I get a responsible one instead?”
The Silver Lining? Well, at the end of the day, I may be exhausted, I may be frustrated and I may have started talking to my coffee mug like it’s my therapist but I’m still here. Haven’t ran mad yet. I’m still showing up and my son? He has a consistent parent, love and security. In real life, not on social media.
So, to all the other single moms out there dealing with their own version of super Daddy: I see you. I am you. And if nothing else, We can at least laugh at the ridiculousness of it all. Because honestly? If I don’t laugh, I might just cry.
Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a job to do, a child to raise and lastly go laugh at myself for my poor choices in men. While wearing prescription glasses. Four eye, a supposed good intuition and still chose wrong. I’m changing to contact lenses now. They may just help me see better cause them glasses were a waste of money. The saddest part tho, despite our different flaws, he was not a terrible partner.
There’s a strange kind of strength that comes with always being on the edge of collapse. It’s the duality of human functionality – the ability to perform, to meet expectations, to be everything for everyone, knowing that you could fall apart at any moment.
For many, especially single mothers like myself, who work full time – this is life. A constant, exhausting, balancing act where burnout is not an option. Crashing out would almost be a luxury – one I don’t have the privilege to afford.
It’s like Functioning at full capacity on an empty tank !
At work, I am professional, I meet deadlines, engage in meetings, problem solve and push forward with a resilience that seems effortless to those watching. Nobody sees the exhaustion layered beneath my well practiced smile. Nobody sees the weight of responsibility that keeps me up at night, wondering how to stretch my paycheck.
At home, I am a mother. The caregiver. The nurturer. The one who makes everything magically appear. The one who makes everything okay – even when I am not okay myself. I cook, I clean, I check homework, I make sure love is felt even when I feel depleted. There is no pause button, no switch off.
I call it The unseen weight of the “strong one”.
when people admire the strength you possess. “I don’t know how you do it” they always say with a tone of amazement. But they don’t realize that this kind of strength is not a choice. It’s a necessity, a superpower born out of hardship, out of having no backup plan – it’s survival.
Truth is, being the strong one is lonely. I don’t get to fall apart In front of others. I don’t get to stop functioning, even on days when exhaustion feels like a second skin. When every task is heavier than the last. When your mind is screaming for rest.
Rest almost feels like a fantasy.
That’s the cruelest irony of constant functionality. Rest is elusive. it feels undeserved because there’s always something more to do. There’s always another responsibility waiting. And when you find moments of stillness, guilt creeps in. I am in a constant cycle of “I should be doing something” because me taking a break is just me ignoring a task that desperately needs to be done.
The concept of constant functionality is experienced by many – even if you’re not in my situation. There is something everyone is going through, right? The pressure keeps getting worser, as the generation says.
Truth is, you deserve rest just as everyone else. You deserve care, grace and space to exhale. Functioning at the verge of burnout is not sustainable, even if you’ve mastered the art of pushing through. So if crashing out isn’t an option, then the very least, there must be sacred moments where you reclaim something for yourself.
Rest is not a reward, it’s a requirement. It’s not something you earn after reaching exhaustion. Rest is what you need to prevent exhaustion.
The duality of human functionality is both a marvel and a curse. The ability to keep going when everything inside of you is begging to stop is a testament of resilience but resilience should never come at the cost of your well-being. I promise you that you are allowed to rest. You are allowed to break sometimes.
But not me cause if I do, nobody else will be there to pick up the pieces. But that is not the point of this post.
It has been a hot minute since I’ve ranted and this will be one of them. so here are random things that have been present in my mind in the last few weeks:
Why do I have to work twice as hard to be half as good? Every space I step into feels like a battlefield. I’ve perfected the art of code switching. I tone myself down so I’m not seen as too loud, too much, or too aggressive. Being a single parent has not helped because how dare me think I am good enough when I had a baby out of wedlock? So I kinda feel like I am always fighting some misconception and prejudices.
I don’t know what softness looks like for me. what the word “soft” even mean. oftentimes, it goes hand in hand with “femininity”. Baby I don’t even know what that means. Everyone talks about rest, self-care, a woman being in her feminine energy, and black cat. They mention all that, but what does softness even look like when you’ve been hardened by survival? I have never even had the chance to be soft in a romantic relationship neither. The most amount of vulnerability that I have shown to a person without being chastised for it, is my friend. I seem to have been too much in my past relationships…maybe I am the problem? I think about the soft version of myself. I should probably start showing up as her.
Am I running out of time? Sometimes it seems like I am. There’s this imaginary panic that comes with being single in your 30s. something about biological clock ticking and geriatric pregnancy. I don’t even know if I want more kids. I am not opposed to the idea I suppose. Society’s constant reminder that time is slipping away, that your worth is tied to who chooses you. but I refuse to rush. but I still think about it.
Being the strong one is exhausting. Baby I told a friend that I was heartbroken and she said to me darling it’s not that deep. I still laugh about it because it’s funny.
Can someone teach me how to make my first million. Why is it feminine energy? Why is it masculine energy? Provider, black cat, golden retriever, how to get engaged in 3 months, how to get him to chase you. Is he a dog? I am a lover girl at heart but please someone teach me how to invest. Teach me how to make money in my sleep. Teach me about ETFs and the stock market.
I wish I could say I loved you well, that I stood tall, steady and whole. But the truth is, I loved you from wounds. Wounds that you instilled. I loved you from fears that whispered louder than trust.
I lashed out when I should have listened, held on when I should have let go. I let my worth be measured in your hands, by your actions, as if your love could define my own.
I stayed, not because you deserved me but because I didn’t think I deserved more – until you spelled it out for me. Do you remember your words? “you deserve better” you said… I mistook your presence for devotion, attention for something more.
And when you showed me repeatedly that I was an alternative, not a choice, I swallowed the truth like a bitter pill, because leaving felt like losing myself. Leaving felt like the funeral of what could have been. Leaving felt like mourning your loss even when you were… are still very much alive. This was going to be a burial. A burial I was not ready to attend. A funeral I never thought would happen.
But maybe the real loss was staying, becoming a stranger in my own skin. Not recognizing the reflection of self. Not liking the reactions I was giving. Not liking the mean words I was uttering. Not liking the way I was showing up.
I wish I could say that I loved you well. I wish I stood tall, steady, and whole. But the truth is, each time I wasn’t considered, I saw it as a chance. I took that as an opportunity to prove my worth to you.
They say self-love is soft, kind, a gentle whisper, a peaceful mind.
But no one speaks of how it burns, how love for self means love that turns –
Turns from hands we once held tightly, turns from voices that once felt warm at night, turns from the easy lies- the ones that beg me to compromise –
Turns from half love, offered like a gift, turns from hands that take but never give.
Self love pulls me from familiar pain, from doors I swore I’d never have to turn my back on. It pulls me from love that bends me at my feet, from words that cut but sound so sweet.
Self love makes me leave the quiet pain, the weight of staying for their sake. From the smiles that mask what’s left unsaid. From nights I cried myself to sleep.
Self love is indeed not just soft, kind, a gentle reminder, a peaceful mind. It is not just light and grace. For I acknowledge that I hold so much hurt in my heart because many times I did not love myself enough to walk away.
Self love is standing firm, it is making space. It is knowing when to turn your back, when to close the door, when to walk alone, when to leave, when to heal and when to build that home by yourself.
Although difficult at times, many times in fact, it is something we all need to master to be able to give love to others, without it consuming us.
We sat, not as father and child but as strangers with history.
There were no flood of tears, just open wounds and silence thick as the afternoon.
I spoke about my experience in his house, with his wife, with him.
He heard the words that were coming out of my mouth but he was not listening. He spoke in circles, turned the past into something gentle, something half. Like it didn’t happen.
He twisted truths with practised ease, like a man who needed to convince himself that it wasn’t as bad as I was saying.
And I let him. I let it slide. For the first time, I noticed the weight he’s been trying to hide. Noticed the regrets that had been weighing heavily on his heart. He carries it all with so much pride.
He had missed his children. He had missed my presence. He had missed milestones in our lives. He had lost the privilege of being a father to us. A Guide. A shield. An emotional support. He had lost the privilege of being a father to his children.
There was no anger left in me, no need to fight. Just pity curling in the light.
For all we were, all we lost,
The love he gambled, the years it cost all of us
There was not going to be closure from that conversation. That’s what I hoped for. And yet I let it slide because what I did not realise,
Not only had he not been a father to us but he also was not able to be a grandfather to his first and only grandchild. The years without us, were his punishment. And punished, he had been enough.
It was so much space between us, so we tried to bridge it by sitting across the table, not as strangers with history,
One day at a time 