Vulnerability Isn't A Liability

"Do you think about me?"

The tweet passed my timeline but I just kept coming back to it. I'd always been the person who, while in infatuation, in romantical tangles, in whatever we chose to call those things that make us want to be in love, but aren't love...I'm always the person that seems to want it more. I'm always the person asking that question, because, so often, the answer isn't clear, or worse, isn't what I wanted to hear.

I had a hard day today. I woke up feeling terribly insecure and didn't know where or how to place that feeling. I've been confident in myself and in my world for awhile now so for the feeling to hit me so hard was jolting. What was missing? What was wrong?

And then my someone wonderful comes into the picture. And boy, did I unload all my insecurities on him today. I'm wary of this thing he and I are in because it leaves me feeling like I'm asking too much, or am too jealous, or too nagging or any of the other myriads of things I think that get me down. I'm wary of these feelings, these unprovoked (or mildly, depending on your perception) jealousies and worries; feelings, and people, change constantly, and I, for all intents and purposes, am a rock. I may shift, I may chip, I may be polished, but ultimately I am the same. Today though, I was not a rock. And for that reason, I kinda lost my sh*t.

You see, the way I'm used to it happening is this: I fall, they don't. They lead me on, and I stupidly follow. They drop me, and I bruise. I move on, and they miss me. They ask me do I still think about them, do I miss them? So many of my ex-somethings seem to still have my number. Seem to want to follow me on Twitter. Keep friending me on Facebook. My answer is in the response that they get: none.

I am weary of always being someone's "What if" or someone's "second place." I am weary of putting everything I've got into this love thing and never getting much back. And I'm tired of dudes from friendtationships past hitting me up on some Ne-Yo "Do You?" type sh*t because no, I don't. For a week or two after? Definitely. But someone's got me now who I don't worry about dropping me, as even if he does, I've know doubt he'd help me back up. Someone's got me now who tries to assuage my fears rather than feed them. Someone's got me now who cares about me where all others have failed. And if you didn't bring that to the table to begin with so long ago, I'd be a fool to miss you, much less think about you, now.

As for the me in the present? I won't lie and say I'm a secure girlfriend. At this distance? Insecurity chews me up inside some days. I try to stay cool, calm and collected, not letting it all get to me, and most days, I succeed. But days like today? Everything has me hypercritical, nit-picking, not at him or our situation but at me, and the myriad of things I could be doing better. I could be stronger, and more secure. I could be thinner and wear my hair differently. All these internalized things, because I simply don't know how to ask him "Do you think about me?" without feeling clingy, needy or naggy.

I forget sometimes that my vulnerability isn't a liability but rather the thing that makes me human. Vulnerability makes me nervous. It makes me feel weak and dumb and like I'm making a fool of myself constantly. If I'm vulnerable with you, please, be patient with me. I'll ramble like an idiot. I might cry a little. But if you handle me right, I come back stronger, better and ultimately more comfortable and confident, if not in myself, than in where I stand with you. In such case, you won't have to answer the question, because at that point, I'll no longer be asking it.

StoryTime: I Wasn't Ready...But I'm Still Me

I love my hair. I love it when it's wet and fluffy, retaining water enough to soak two towels. I love it when I'm detangling it in the shower. I love it when it's twisted and kinky, or in a slightly lop-sided afro, and I love it when it's straight; I love it because it makes me proud, because it's mine. What I do not love is the responsibility, the burden, the unwanted and unwarranted advice that comes with being a natural haired girl who will occasionally straighten her hair.

Last weekend I finally went into a salon to get my ends trimmed. I've been natural almost a year now and had done most of my hacking trimming on my own; whenever I got out the shower from shampooing and I saw straight, annoying ends, I cut them and kept it moving. I hadn't done more than pick my hair the three days leading up to it and so I walked in with a cloud of curled, kinky hair six inches tall.

When explaining to the receptionist what I needed her blue eyes widened and went from my face to my hair. The stylist I ended up with knew exactly what I was talking about and lead me right over to the basin. Before washing she delved her hands deep in my mass of waves, an admiring smile on her face. She asked me what I did to it and I told her. Soon a few other stylists came over and touched, petted, fawned, and asked general questions. I felt more proud of my hair than I ever had before; these were professionals and they said I'd done a good job so far with the transition (could they have been lying? Sure, but we all know that look stylists give one another that say "Chile, please." None of that occurred.)

Leaving the salon with bouncing, blowing hair, I felt hot. Like literally, my hair rarely laid flat on my neck when in it's normal texture and now it was surrounding my neck and shoulders; this is Texas, it gets hot. It was longer than I ever remember it being; for a year of growth I'd surpassed my relaxed length by nearly two inches. I was proud. I felt beautiful, just as I had when I walked in. It wasn't a big deal; it was still my hair and I was still me.

It didn't become a big deal until I went into work that next day. I'm not too fond of a lot of attention, but with straight hair, I was suddenly a star, bombarded with "Ooohs" and "Aaahs." Everyone wanted to touch it, sifting it through their fingers like silky gold, eyes wide and admiring. Others wanted me to flip it over my shoulder or shake it out. And suddenly it wasn't just the attention I was weary of.

Comments starting flying in. "Why don't you wear your hair like that all the time?" "Your hair is so beautiful like that!" "I'm glad you finally did something with your hair." One woman even told me that I was much more attractive than when I had my hair in that "Afrocentric mess" I usually kept it in. And I kept silent; everyone has opinions, but damn did these hurt.

You see, I don't get complimented on my natural texture much, if at all. Other natural women will smile when they see me, or ask what I use, and brothas love to tell me "Right on, sista," but otherwise? All's quiet on the western front. But these people who saw me everyday were suddenly lauding and in awe of my beauty as if they'd never seen it before, as if with my hair the way I love it, the way God intended it, I was so much less than beautiful. And it hurt deep in the part of me that craves acceptance and understanding. I was the same girl last week, was I not beautiful then?

I wasn't ready. I love the way my hair is, in any form, don't get me wrong, but I wasn't ready for the backlash. I didn't know it would be such a big deal to so many people what I did with what God gave me. And that's when it clicked; these people don't know me and don't give three damns about me, they're just spouting opinions. If they did know me or care, they'd know how sensitive I am about physical critiques. They'd know I wasn't as hung up on my hair as they were and keep it moving with a simple compliments, not ones that made me feel as if I'd been petted and slapped simultaneously.

I won't be ready next week either, when I wash away the silky straight strands and replace them with coiling, twisting tendrils. I already know the questions are going to come. The looks are going to follow. And no one will be wanting to pet my hair, or run their fingers through it as, indeed, they may lose jewelry in it. Instead they'll shake their heads, "tsk" and go on critiquing someone else.

And you know what? I'll still be me. And that is more beautiful than any head adornment one could ever wear.

Tes and Gratitude

Sometimes my emotions sneak up on me. I go through my days pretty much thinking and doing, and in the spare moments feeling. For awhile I haven't been really getting in my feelings, just scraping the surface.


So this morning I wake up singing Brian McKnight's "Never Felt This Way." Just woke up humming, then all out singing. And I stopped and sat for a second and really felt what it was my soul was telling me with it's song choice. My heart suddenly felt so full and big, as if was waiting on me to notice it's swelling before growing even bigger. Sitting in silence I felt entirely and with all my soul grateful.


I didn't realize my heart wasn't broken anymore. Isn't that strange? For so long I'd been walking in this life like a broken woman, like anything good coming to me had to have a catch or an underlying method to hurt me. For so long I'd been masking the brokenness behind superficial friendships and meaningless chases with dudes I really wasn't into, trying to bide my time until I could tap my little heart and not feel that throbbing pain of a bruise. I didn't take the time, I suppose, since starting this journey through and to myself to check on the heart of me to find that those stitches have since dissolved; I spent so much time on my mind and it's labyrinth on the way to understanding that the heart of me just got an occasional tap to be sure it was still there, still beating. My heart's healthy and happy, and so full of love for life...it's a strange feeling


And in feeling that I felt gripped with joy and gratitude to a higher power. Because I couldn't have done all this by myself. I'm not religious, but I woke up thanking God. Not only for what I've acquired by myself through what he's given me, but for the people he's put in my life, for the opportunities he's given me and for, above all, the ability to see the gift that each one of those things are. My parents, my friends, Tarzan, and this moment in my life where I feel like I can finally look my happiness in the face and not look behind my shoulder to see if something bad is sneaking up on me are all really big gifts. 


Gratitude is a big thing, and a thing I don't think a lot of us actually feel. I think we feel thankful for a couple things but get so bogged down in the bad things, in the things we wish we could change but can't, the things that still hurt that we forget to be humbled by the really awesome things we do and have. I know I'm guilty of it, and so when gratitude snuck up on me in addition to all these other happy emotions no lie, I cried (Remember when I had said that too many emotions, good or bad and I bawl? Oooh chile, I ain't lie).  


But unlike so many of the tears I've shed in the past couple years, these didn't hurt. These didn't sting and weren't bitter. I felt happy and humbled and just...joyous. I smiled through each and every tear and just felt grateful for every thing that I've got, even for the things I don't have. Family, friends, falling in love...God really snuck up on me with it all today. And even for that I'm grateful. Feel a little like a punk for admitting I cried, but definitely grateful for the feelings that brought it about. 


Be grateful you guys. Every thing you have that enriches you is a gift. Every thing you don't have that weighs others down, is a gift. Everything you are and everything you are not is a gift. 

Different Perspective

I don't think I'm extraordinary. I think every word I have ever and will ever write have already been written, and most likely by more skilled authors, poets and lyricists. I think I'm average and un-intimidating, but a conversation with my mother has shifted that train.

For as long as I remember, Mommy has always gotten me Valentines Day gifts. In my early teen years I always neglected them, wishing they came from some know no good boy, but now that I'm older I really appreciate the effort (and the jammies). This year I got her a teddy bear, some of our favorite candy, and Adele's "21" album (because seriously, Adele has to be one of the coolest artists out) and she got me a really good dinner at Red Lobster, which is a treat for me because I eat fast food and "freezer to microwave" meals more than anything.

We talked about how life was going, and I sort of lamented the fact that I don't feel much noticed in the world and my lack of conviction about being different. And my Mommy looked me dead in the eye and said, verbatim, you are somebody, and somebody really dope. She says my hair, my demeanor, the calmness that lies below my surface can intimidate people, especially guys my age, and make me seem unapproachable. My wit and intelligence are easily observed and that, she said, can be scary; how do you approach someone who knows the game and it's pitfalls?

I'd never considered my outward appearance to be daunting. I'm five fee tall. Natural hair. Kinda large in the chest, spreading in the hips, with a bit of a tummy. I don't necessarily think I stand out because I look at myself every morning, but I'd be blind to not notice the sea of weaves and perms, made-up faces and starved stomachs that surround me. I'm not afraid to wear my glasses. Not afraid to buy bigger sizes and accessorize in an understated way. I don't speak too loudly in public, most times I have earbuds in low enough to hear my surroundings and keep focused (I take them out when people are talking) and pretty much keep to myself and keep it moving.

Flipping the script, if I were someone different, and I saw me, I'd think I was really cool looking. My hair isn't the stereotypical natural of afros and braids, rather it's two strand twisted out, kinks and curls, varying in size and standing at odd angles. I walk and read, headphones on, which amazes people as I've learned, because I manage to avoid bumping into anyone and actually turn pages. I would guess, if I were to see myself outside of myself, I wouldn't look twice, but that first look would leave enough of an impression to make me look over my shoulder.

I don't surprise easily. I notice a lot of folks when they meet me try to gauge if I'm prudish or wild, steady or reactionary; they never really figure me out. I like that about myself. I like to help people, open doors for elders and say thank you when someone does something courteous for me. I'm always carrying something in my hands to occupy myself, i.e coloring books, actual books, tarot cards, diaries. Yeah, I'd say I'm a unique person.

I've been told for the last few years of my life that I am the exception and not the rule. Most girls do this, but Tes doesn't - she's the exception and not the rule. That being the case, as much as people say they are Billy Badasses, the rules are rules for reasons, and none too many question them. So more often than not, I'll be the odd woman out. And I'm learning to be completely okay with that; someday, somebody's going to be looking for a short, natural haired, brainy exception, and I'll be in there like swimwear.

I guess I forget that perception is so much of who we are. Because I live in myself I don't see what others see in me. When, through my eyes, it seems as if people don't bother, in their eyes they may just not know where to start. In my eyes, where I see flaws and things that make me less than, someone else's eyes are admiring those imperfections as the perfect make up of me. Perceptions change over time, and of that I'm glad. Maybe it's time I start perceiving myself a little outside of myself, not enough to get a big head mind you, but enough to maybe edge out my own shyness and muster up the courage/strength/chutzpah to continue to be unique, despite a sea of sameness.

So I guess that's the thing to take away from this one today ya'll: Dare to be different. Be that one red-head in a sea of blondes. Be that one natural girl in the sea of weaves. Be the reader in the room of tweeters. Be whoever you are, and realize that doing that makes you more amazing than you realize.

Sweet Sixteen...

I once read that life was like a cycle; as you grow older, you start reverting to the way you were as a baby. Martin Lawrence did a comedy special that featured the idea awhile ago, but I forget how true it is until it's in my face, how true it is.

Early 2000 I bought Destiny's Child's "The Writings on The Wall" album and played it out, and a song I kept playing was "Sweet Sixteen." At ten, I was pretty much as I am now, except a lot less complicated, and I wondered was that what sixteen was really like. Was sixteen the year I'd suddenly feel like I knew everything (even though honestly at ten I already felt that way)? Was there such a notion as moving too fast? I decided at ten, I wasn't going to go through all that crap voiced in the song, it wasn't going to be that hard for me.

I was sixteen five years ago and I don't remember much of it; I felt at the time that I was just existing, I wasn't an actual person. I felt that way pretty much between the ages of 13 and 18, that I wasn't a person, but more like an uncompleted blueprint. But at sixteen I thought I was in love with this guy, Andrew we'll call him, because he was nice to me. That was really all it took back then. And now that I look back on it, it happened just like the song said it would.

I was searching for some love where I felt there was none, searching for someone to see me as more than my potential, as more than my blueprint, and him being nice to me was enough. I wanted to be with him and wanted to be loved and was rushing so much that most of, if not all of, my high school experience was wrapped up in him. I was rushing, but back then? Couldn't tell me a damn thing about me or Andrew. But boy, did I learn.

Five years later, I would tell my sixteen year old self 'Baby, he ain't the one, YOU are.' Back then I thought I needed to be in love to feel valid. I'm working my way out of that feeling to this day. I compared it back then like Noah's Arc; I'm that one hybrid animal with no partner, and Noah's sounded the trumpet. Panicked, anxious, ready for the big picture that was the end of all those Disney movies and romantic comedies I grew up on; we'd roll off into the sunset, kissing, never to be seen again, but everyone assumes we're happy.

Five years. It seems like yesterday, and so far ago at the same time. I've gotten a little jaded since then, but that same sweet hopefulness lies under my fear and anxiety. It makes me tear up, thinking about the time I wasted, the time I am wasting, worried about things I can't control. I remember how helpless I felt back then, just waiting for any bit of attention to be thrown my way so I could come up with excuses to be more to people than I actually was. Now, I shirk away from close relationships, fearing the heartbreak, the 'what if' of it all. Back then? Couldn't tell me nothing.

If I could take anything from back then and instill it in me now, it would be that fearlessness, that carelessness with which I lived and loved. Back then there were no eggshells on which I could live my life; I was all out. Admittedly, I threw myself at the wrong types of dudes in search of that "one," not realizing that most of the girls I saw in high school weren't going to end up with the dude they were dating or were miserable with them but were afraid of being alone - just like me.

I'd give my younger self a dose of my jadedness - not enough to hinder my outlook, but enough to make me realize not everyone was as genuine as I. I'd start coaching myself on how to be comfortable alone, how to find friends with like minds and hearts to depend on, to not search for love. I'd tell myself I was beautiful, because back then I had so much trouble believing it, so much so that to this day I can't look myself in the eyes and say it. I would tell myself that I was loved, if by nobody else than by myself and God.

Five years...has it been that long? Where has the time gone? What have I learned since then? When the song came up on my iPod, it still struck such a cord - I've learned so much, so many vital things, but I realize that if I was told back then, I wouldn't have listened anyway - I was hard-headed. Luckily, it didn't make for a soft behind or a hard heart as I've seen it turn out for others. Sixteen...if I had to do it over again, God knows, I'd never do it; the mistakes I'd made, I'd make them again, wishing for a different outlook.

I'm glad that sweet sixteen was a little bitter for me. I'm glad because it lead me to the now where it seems I'm a little ahead of the curve, finding myself and being kind to myself before I open up to others. I'm finally listening to my own intuition, to my own wants and not so much the pressures of the outside. I finally stopped looking for my damn keys. I'm finally blooming into the sweetness that eluded me back then; here's hoping five years from now I remember 21 just as I remember 16 - with fondness, and a whole lot of wisdom in my back pocket. But here's also hoping there are no regrets, there are no missed opportunities, and that whatever bitterness I face, I turn them to sweets now instead of in the future.

A hiatus...for Friends?

First and foremost :) happy new year. Thanks for sticking with me throughout this first year of putting myself out in the world, in the open for the world to hear; by reading, either silently or by commenting -hell, even just stopping by to check my playlist - you've encouraged me to explore myself further and further so from the bottom of my heart, thank you.

...welp, now that that's outta the way...

I'm going on a friend hiatus.

Me and W had a huge blow out where I felt lied to, cheated and pretty much stepped over. And she felt upset that by feeling lied to I was essentially calling her a liar. And yes, I did. And yep, it got ugly. And now I don't know where we are; we're sort of reconciling but it doesn't feel the same. I feel like I can't trust her as much as I used to, that I have to depend more on myself than I do her, which is great, but puts me in this weird, shifting place with her. From my end it feels like she's completely apathetic to my life and trials, which after a couple years I guess is natural, especially since she has her one life to live (no soap opera) and can't be forced to think about me and my little feelings all the time.

And so I dreamed up a friend hiatus; a time where I stop accepting, reciprocating or feeling any particular way about the people who aren't essential to me, which if I'm being honest, isn't that big a group anyway. Now it's going to be even more limited; a couple of the guys, my mom and dad, and possibly W - haven't really worked that one out yet.

You see the thing is, even though we're "reconciled" or made up, I still feel like I should hold back from her. I don't take too kindly to being hurt, as I'm sure I've told you, and so for her to hurt me, albeit unintentionally, with all she knows about me, just shakes up my little world. She's my person; if she could be so unsteady for me when all I really crave is stable relationships...what else is there to say or do? I love her, but every now and then folks need a break from each other, so I'm stepping back a few steps to access.

The friend hiatus is a mixed bag for me; I'm dealing with the inner pressure to be more, better, faster, so the relief of not having to carry these feelings for other people for awhile while I figure myself out is the blessing. The curse comes from realizing that it could do more harm than good as, as I've said earlier, I crave stable relationships because I feel so insecure on my own and get lonely very easily. Not to say I don't enjoy my own company, because Tes and Tes can come up with some awesome things for Tes to do on her own, but...it's hard to explain. Simply put, I crave what scares the sh*t out of me; I want to have these close relationships with people, but am terrified to put myself out there with many outside of my few close friends.

I have a lot on my mind; I'm considering driving clear across country until a voice (or Amber -my car) says "Drive no more!" and find a home. I'm not considering it actually, I'm going to do it, I just need to get a full savings account before I jump in and drive. I was thinking of moving in with W - still am - but with the shaky way I feel? I don't know. I'm considering diving head first, once I'm settled into my new home, back into school voraciously to pursue my teaching degree, realizing all too well that I'm needed in education field. I'm taking on more responsibility with bills, and life in general. So to not think of others for a change, to think of Tes first, relaxes my shoulders and fills my lungs with new air.

So, what do you think? Friend hiatus a good idea, or considering how I am, a bad one? What are you pursuing for the new year?

Love! <3