The Internet can be a cruel and unusual abyss of half-cocked opinions and bargain basement analysis, especially when it comes to Black wom...
Not Ideal, But Not to be Feared
I’ve questioned several times over whether my standards are too high. I’ve wondered if my powers of forgiveness are perhaps stuck mid process-forgiveness almost means you can forget it. Like: You might’ve done that shit to me before, and I may have forgiven your trespasses, but you can FORGET doing that shit to me again.
Some things I’m really not going to just complain about it. Happens once, I’m complaining. Depending on what it is, I may even be able to deal with twice, but you’re going to REALLY hear about it. If the first time wasn’t an absolute, and the 2nd time afforded you a 3rd strike, please believe it’s time to enforce those baseball rules and remind you that, as my girlfriend said, the 3rd time wasn’t the charm.
This is not to say that I haven’t withstood my fair share of difficult times within relationships. But it’s those difficult times that has made me such a staunch advocate for what I absolutely can NOT deal with. In the name of love I have tried to look past clear style differences in our approach to the actual expression of love. I’ve dealt with Brillo pad “I love you’s” that managed to rub my skin off (figuratively speaking). In the end, I had to admit to self that love or no love, we were ill suited, just not a match. Not bad people, just not a match. I have tried to love a man to life, help him on the path it seemed he was already walking toward elevation only to discover his baby steps were taking baby steps and it was the equivalent of standing still. When the out came, although deeply hurt and sick about the loss, I took it because “slow motion wit’it” damn near had me moving in reverse in some respects. I have been forced to ask one too many times if a man would get my back, protect me out here where the world seemed to be waiting at the front door, trying to push in and tear us down. I understood protecting him better than he understood protecting me and I was left vulnerable against the elements.
All endings. All helped me to be clear about what I won’t even allow to start at this point. Women often look at me like I’m crazy, out here choosing to be alone instead of dealing with what seems to be prescribed BS. Not interested. I don’t have a dog or a cat because I’m not into picking up shit. So...it means I spend more days [& nights] without partnership. But it also means I’m not out here wrestling with whether the latest episode of disrespect crossed a line and reached into the lane where the Deal Breakers lay in waiting. I’m not complaining about unfair expectations, or having made wild changes that haven’t even encouraged an attempt at matching. I don’t have to worry about whether some He is laying with extraneous She’s [without agreement] and putting We in jeopardy.
I don’t expect this will be my forever. It’s not a bad present. It has its moments, but for the most part they’re better than bearable. I’m hovering somewhere around the starting line, not really ready to get down in the blocks again, ready to run the relationship race again. Once my right knee hits the track, fingers in place on the starting line, I’ll have no choice but to respond to the starting gun. Beginnings are great, but only if you’re prepared to go the distance. In truth, I was a sprinter. I’m waiting for He who encourages (again) a little distance running. Until then, my race will not begin. Don’t wait for me at the finish line. Not standing still, just not running toward Him right this second.
Watch me move.