You know what is spookier than Halloween? Sitting in your apartment on a Sunday evening, minding your business, knowing damn well you paid your electric bill, and suddenly everything goes black. I am talking not a flicker. Not a warning. Just complete darkness.
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Dating in your 30s is already a trip. Add divorce, motherhood, responsibilities, personal goals, and the peace you fought hard to rebuild. So, the last damn thing you need is a man creating confusion where he once created consistency. I am not writing this, because I am heartbroken or begging for closure. I am writing because this is what happened. This is how I experienced it, and this is my truth.
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There is a special kind of fear in waking up and realizing your life does not fit you anymore. Your mind has moved on. Your standards have gotten higher. The thing you used to tolerate now gets on your last damn nerve. You want better, however wanting better and being able to pay for better are two different things. That gap right there? Spookier than any ghost or goblin I have ever seen.
A lot of people do not like to talk about how expensive it is to become the woman you have always wanted to be. I am not just talking about money. I am talking about the relationships that slowly disappear. The relationships that stop making sense.
The 13th 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.
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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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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Honey, let me tell you, April wasn’t here to play with me, not a damn bit. It hit me with the kind of pressure and force that will make you move differently whether you are ready or not. Look, I did not pop up on my blog much last month.
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I recently experienced a moment in my life that felt bigger than the title that came with it. Being named TA of the Year was one of those moments for me. Not because of the award itself, but because of everything it represents.
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You might miss her at first glance. A dependable woman is not flashy. She is unforgettable. She is the quiet force in the background. She is never shouting for attention or applause, although her actions speak volumes. She does not need to broadcast her every move in life.
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Shaking this heaviness of the season away has not been easy. I am not looking to come off in a dramatic way. Plus, I am not carrying this statement in a “everything is falling apart” kind of way. I am serving this in that quiet yet constant way. The way in which you are carrying a lot, thinking about a lot, and still expected to show up like everything is fine. The truth is, I have been overwhelmed.
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I asked him for help. I genuinely asked with good intentions. Not for everything. Not for anything crazy at all; just something. Life be lifing. I am raising two elementary school aged kids, working, showing up, handling everything like most mothers do. So I asked… and he said no.
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When a woman knows who she is, that is when she becomes powerful. She is no longer walking into rooms hoping to be accepted, validated or liked. That woman is walking into rooms to build something for her future.
Listen, let me talk to you straight. I’m talkin’ real southern, sugar cane stalk and all, because there is no shame in my timeline. I am not sugarcoating a thing.
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Let me lay it out, just as handwashed clothes with Ivory soap were placed on a clothesline to dry on a warm summer’s day. For years, I carried this quiet pressured weight wondering if tying the knot at 20 meant I was falling behind. Never spoke about it out loud. I let the thought settle deep. Often it showed up every time I caught myself measuring my life against somebody else’s highlight reel.
