If you were to ask me when I fell in love with words, I would tell you I don’t know.
I would tell you that I fell in love with language and accents first. I fell in love with storytelling before I ever wrote a story down. I believe it is with that particular proclivity, that made room to love words.
From that, yields the roux for creativity.
Some use color to paint the world. My color has syllables.
I’m 41.
I’ll be 42 in June.
I am learning to love myself radically. Like, radically! From the sprinkling of gray hair, to the soreness in my left foot (#plantarfascitis), and yet, the fact I don’t look my age. I love the fact that I still love to dance in the mirror, still flexible, and I am enjoying my body.
I love that I can be a vixen in great heels, and comfy in my high top Chucks.
I am learning more about me as I age, and understanding what Mother Rashad said about my own self being such a treasure. It took me 4 decades to get to this point: to enjoy my own company, self, and place in the world.
I belong in the world. I add to it. It’s better with me in it.
Audre Lorde said that self-preservation is a radical act.
It took me to getting to age 40, to appreciate that. When I sit still too long, I feel a pain in my left hip. Not the joint, but the tendon. It pulls at me, reminding me of my age…and that I survived COVID-19 as a PCT during the first wave of the pandemic. Then, the snowball happens.
My mind wanders…it reminds me that I am still here.
I’m a rape survivor.
I’m a survivor of domestic violence.
I’m surviving racism.
I’m surviving sexism.
And misogynoir.
I am learning to say ‘No’, and absolutely mean it. I am learning to listen to God, and His gift of intuition. I am appreciating the fact I am a survivor–in control of the story I present to the world, and I tell myself. I am looking at myself in the mirror and smiling back at the woman that is there.
She and I? We gon be alright.
If I had stayed married to my second husband, we would have been married a decade in June.
10 years. Even thinking about that now is emotional.
What that relationship taught me is marriage with the wrong person is a prison sentence. Thanks to some internet sleuthing, my bestie and I found out that he has someone else, and has a new baby.
A boy.
I remember how devastated I felt, and how I had to pull myself together. Then, I remembered what he told me before while trying to hang on to a relationship I was done with:
“I know you want a baby…”
The most valuable thing I got back from that relationship was…me. To fall in love with me again. To protect me again. It was only when he was out of my life that I could breathe again…and heal up. Rather than do better by me, do right by me, he thought he could manipulate me with a baby. It’s incredulous to even think about having a baby with him.
Do I hate him? No.
Do I love him anymore? No.
Does that startle me? No.
Do I want him back? Don’t make me cuss.
Read ROMEO IS NOT COMING on Amazon and Kindle. -JBH
It’s Love Hangover Day.
Where you are basking in the glow of being well loved, or realizing you are the secret. This day is symbolic of either the best hangover or the most devastating hangover you have ever had.
There is time for regret. Reflection. Reconciling and remembering.
My Valentine’s Day? It was quiet. I reflected. I reconciled. And I decided–in my heart–that I might not be as ready as I thought I was to give up on love.
The sexiest thing I have done is choose myself. All of me…
Choosing me has required accepting myself on a level that I wasn’t brave enough before. I think—especially as a Black woman!—you must accept yourself so that you can move in the world unencumbered!
Racism makes Black women shrink, second guess, and hate themselves.
Being Black and woman is a revolutionary act.
Self-love is a revolutionary act.
Romantic love is great. It is a beautiful thing and I am a fan of it. With heartbreak being what it is, I am still open to marrying again.
Mixed in with that intentional dating, I now lead with my head and not my heart.
I pay attention to red flags.
I have no problem saying ‘No’.
I still like kisses.
I won’t smash on first dates.
I expect my partner to communicate, be present, and be faithful.
I’m a wife in an instant, hookup culture.
It’s weird outchea.
The thing that is most important to remember is love is always going to be action—provoking you to the better, the greater and the enduring.
Is it scary? Yes.
Is it maddening? Yes.
Yet, is it worth pursuing? Yes.
I Breathe Fire 