Reclaiming my spaces

Since baby daddy and I broke up, I have been on a mission to prove to myself that am fine and I don’t have any hang-ups about him. This was easier than I thought it would be especially because I knew he had not moved on. I guess a part of me felt that I was not sure of the choices I made regarding him and I needed to reassure myself that I was. I did what I always do, set my eyes on someone and let the flow take control of the situation. Little did I know that the person I had set my sights on would try to be controlling , possessive, jealous and a very complicated fling. Well, that didn’t last very long (for obvious reasons) and on the day I chose to call that quits a part of me was trying to convince itself that it was because I was comparing him to baby daddy. Maybe I was, maybe I wasn’t, the important thing is that he was not the perfect fit for me. I NEED more, I CRAVE more and I DESERVE better.

Since then, I recently learned that baby daddy is seeing someone else. I made a point of chilling with her, she is an amazing woman with so much going for her. I was almost sucked into a void of jealousy til I remembered why I left him in the first place and suddenly I found myself drawn into a whirlpool of questions about their relationship. Questions that I have asked myself of every exes new relationship. Only this time, I was more worried about its effect on my child and not on the self. I found myself wondering how it would feel to have my daughter spending time with another woman in her dad’s life. How I would handle the situation when she is older and she can ask questions. Am I ready for all that? I could say I will cross that bridge when I get to it but I fear I will get to it faster than I can blink and if am not prepared I will have to drown before I can float. I do not make a pretty drowning victim so here I am jumping the gun before then because I suddenly realize I will get there. It is the consequence of my choices

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All the above has led to a new step in my process of self-awareness. It is no longer just about me, it is about everyone and everything around me. I have always gone through a phase of brooding between July and October, a planning and strategic phase from October to December and a phoenix rising from the ashes stage in January just to land at the self destructive phase in May. It was a cycle that I had never really tried to break thinking it was my internal process but now I feel the need, desire and challenge to step away from that path. It all started in January and I had seen me making progress but am now afflicted with a severe case of leave things as they are, let the universe sort it out. Let those who judge do so and start from that point of nothingness again. 

This journey of getting to know, understand, appreciate and care for the self sometimes left me feeling low, burdened and unable to make productive choices. But now that it is about being a mother, a sister, a daughter, a niece, a lover, a future aunt, step-mother and mother in law, I seem to not have a choice but to make choices. I can no longer be the Catty whose world was rocked by insecurities, demolished by passive aggressive behavior and controlled by passing emotions that would fade and leave behind a bittersweet taste in my mouth. I am a new, better and much improved version of myself.

In the spirit of being new and improved am having to look back to my vindictive, self righteous and pretentious self (yes, I know I was all those things and more) to try and decipher all that I was and how I came to be all that. I could always blame my absentee father or the mother I never thought loved me enough or the friends I felt I had to buy to keep but in all those situations, I am the common factor. My perceptions, fears, choices and above all the self I nurtured, cultured and grew turned me into the girl I was and I woman I became. I have been many things to myself but the word kind does not come to mind. I have been good to myself for all the wrong reasons and neglected all the right reasons. Breeding a sophisticated and intricate web of lies for myself that have many a time left me wondering if I was fooling those around me or just myself.

It is a painful process to know myself because I have had to contend with so many make believes sometimes am not sure which is the honest to God truth. Am not saying I now have the answers, am just acknowledging that I have fallen short. I have a duty to become better, make myself believe in something bigger, make that something bigger and better come true but how does one go about doing all the above when one can scarcely accept what they have become?

Mandingo was the pet name of my short-lived lover. It suited him. He was a stud in bed (when I could let myself get off) and I was sure no emotions were going to arise in him out of our fling. It was fun when I would let it be and complicated when I needed it to be. He would hate me for saying it but, it was convenience that brought us together and a lack of that tore us apart. He like so many other lovers before him were serving a purpose. You could cal it providing a service but that would be far-fetched considering my needs were not met half the time. I had a moment of disillusion while I was with him, I thought if I slept with someone else, I would feel empowered again to let it go on so I paid someone to give me a good f****** but even that didn’t make it any better. It’s exhilarating to think of my life as a film, it would entertain so many but in the same breath is trepidation as to how little anyone would understand me based on the choices I have made and paths I have taken. It’s one thing to be an onlooker and another to have been a participant. I have been a character straight out of a book unable to write my own book. It is amazing how much power words have. Mine have had far greater reaching effects than I would care to admit yet now in hindsight am faced by the glaring truth.

I have had more than enough people ask me why I stopped writing. I tell them I stopped writing for the world. But the truth is, I stopped writing because I could not absorb what I was writing. It became a way of me evading the facts of my life instead of it being a way of expressing myself. I would be floating on clouds one minute while writing then be trapped somewhere in the bowels of the earth trying to embrace what I had put down. I needed a redeeming quality and I thought I would find it in motherhood but I unearthed that I was not digging my way north but further south. Do not get me wrong, it is a heady feeling embracing her in my arms, feeling all the love that I have to offer finding someone worth it to bestow. Nevertheless, having a child takes a lot out of you.

Am claiming back my power to write. To express my resentment, frustrations, love, passion, antagonism, appreciation and all the other emotions that course through me. Because writing made me, a better person and am in dire need of that better me. Am reclaiming my space within myself the best way I know how. No facade, no presumptions and no more cowering. It is not just about me anymore, it is about Everyone and Everything around me.