Living in the hood while trying to build a better life for yourself and your children can feel as if you are carrying hope and pressure at the same time. Moving forward is not as simple as deciding to leave. There is nothing wrong with coming from a low-income neighborhood.

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What's scarier than Halloween? A man spinning the block just to have sex with a woman he used to deal with! BABY, THAT'S SPOOKY ASF! It is always a good time to look at the concerning rates of sexually transmitted diseases (STDs) and sexually transmitted infections (STIs) right here in Louisiana and in our neighboring cities. Some of these men are not coming back because they miss you, love you, or suddenly realized your worth. They are coming back because they want access to what they used to have without offering anything different! 

These last few months of being 33 feel like the soft launch of a whole new version of me. This is not because I woke up one morning and decided to become somebody else. It is because I finally stopped playing small with the woman, I have worked my ass off to become. This rebrand is personal. It is intentional. It is me looking at every part of myself and saying, “Yeah, keep that, elevate this, and throw the rest of that tired ass shit away.”

The 13^th gates have nothing on this. If you really want to see fear in a grown person’s eyes who lives alone, let them open the banking app after paying rent or mortgage. Hold up. What if it they did that after buying groceries, filling up the car, and handling one little “unexpected” bill that somehow costs exactly what was left in the account. Nothing jumps out from behind a door. However, that available balance will still make you scream.

Listen, Halloween can keep ghosts, goblins, and creepy crawlers in night. At this big grown age, I know the real scares come with a due date. Maybe a warning light, a school message sent at 9:47 p.m., or a grocery receipt long enough to qualify as a novella. 

September was one of those months that felt like it had sixty days instead of thirty. I don’t know if it was the season changing, responsibilities piling up sky-high, or just life out here doing what life does. It was something about this month that tested that last damn nerve I have. There were days when I felt productive. Days I felt pulled together, and completely on top of my game. However, then there were days when just surviving what absolutely had to get done was a full victory.

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As I get closer to four years post-divorce, people keep asking why I am still single. Baby, because I am good on the disappointment. I am not lonely enough to entertain confusion, lower my standards, or make room for somebody who brings nothing but disruption. I fought too damn hard for my peace to slide it across the table just because folks think a woman is supposed to have a man by now. I am not auditioning for companionship, and I am sure as hell not settling just to say I have somebody.

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September is here, and baby, I am walking into this month with my head lifted. My heart is still soft. My feet are planted firm. August tried me in ways I did not even have words for. Between being a Black woman, a mama of two, keeping up with work, school, bills, responsibilities, and still trying to look myself in the mirror and say, 

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August did not ease in gently. It came in heavy. It got comfortable and sat on my chest, and made me feel every single responsibility I have been carrying. Some months teach you through joy, drive, and new beginnings. This one taught me mainly through exhaustion. There was so much pressure. I whispered prayers. 

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I am going to be honest with you like I am talking to one of my close friends. This is the kind of stuff that looks simple from the outside but feels heavy as hell when you are the one living it. When school started, I really tried to find somebody reliable to help me with my kids after school. 

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So, I got paid. Praise God, right? The direct deposit hit then for about thirty-seven seconds, I felt rich. I looked at my balance like, okay girl, we might make it. Then reality strutted in wearing a pair of fuzzy house slippers, sat on my sofa, and said, “Don’t get comfortable, phat.”

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Since this month started, I had to remind myself of something very real. I am not broke. I am in an expensive season of my life. However, let me not sugarcoat this shit like it is some cute little financial lesson wrapped in a bow. I am mentally and emotionally drained. 

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If you found this blog post because you searched for something like new teacher advice, 3rd grade ELA teacher, teacher life balance, or how to survive the school year without crashing out, you are welcome here. Come over and get comfortable. 

Have you ever looked at your phone, seen his name or number because he is no longer a saved contact, and felt yourself get butterflies? You tell yourself that you are not entertaining his bullshit. You remind yourself of the tears. 

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For a long time, driving felt impossible because I had already learned how to build my whole life around not doing it. All I knew was keeping enough money to give somebody gas, catching the RTA bus, ordering an Uber, or walking if the distance looked manageable.

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My younger sister called me out of the blue and said she was at Target in Baton Rouge buying school supplies and wanted to stop by with our mama. The whole thing felt strange as hell. They do not live that far away. So, part of me kept wondering why it took a trip to Target for them to finally come out here. 

The day started with one simple responsibility. I needed to take Alina to get her blood work done. That was the plan. Get in the car. Handle the appointment. Then come back home. For years, that alone would have required checking rideshare prices first. 

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One of the hardest lessons I learned from being a stay-at-home wife and mother of two was how quietly dependence can turn into codependency. Staying home to raise my children was real work. There was somewhere along the way I stopped feeling like an equal partner. 

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For years, I thought a productive day meant checking every box, answering every message, keeping everybody happy, and somehow making it home with enough energy to prepare for tomorrow. You know what I am talking about the kind of schedule that makes your plans place on your calendar look like money and one of your eyes start twitching by 2:00 p.m.

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I knew I was done when asking for a second date started feeling like I was begging for basic effort.

Not groceries. Not money. Not a grand romantic gesture. I am talking about a day, time, a plan, and enough intention to show me I was not the only one trying to keep the connection alive.

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