Reflections on Two Years Post Divorce

Today marks the two year anniversary of my divorce. What a wild fucking, incredible ride this has been. Incredible is the most accurate descriptor that I can think of. The extreme highs and lows that I have experienced have been completely unimaginable. And funny enough, 2 years later, 2 years older, 2 years of single parenting, 2 years of seeing my ex-partner as nothing more than my children’s other parent, I realize that it was my imagination, the part of my being that, invigorated by hope and fear, that creates beautiful or horrific film strips in my mind, it was my imagination that has both propelled me and caused me such a great deal of harm. My imagination kept me paralyzed in a decayed marriage. Paralyzed and restrained from healing.  Paralyzed by the overwhelm of what could happen: redemption or destruction. My imagination kept me in a continual state of creating fantasies that were built on unfounded hope, and catastrophizing the unfavorable possibilities until they were were so dark, that any scenario, that was less than the ideal seemed to collapse on top of me, crushing and pulverizing me into a mound of nothing.

I wish I could’ve looked into the future, two years ago, and saw everything that would come to be. I wish I would’ve known that while I was generating the horrific film strips in my mind, my physical reality was already its own kind of hell. My imagination kept me in limbo between what could never be, with hopeful fantasies, and a what could only come to be, if I did not survive what already was. 

I wish I would have known that I would survive it all. 

I remember asking my best friend, months after divorce, in tears “Did you expect that this is the way my life would end up?” She has known me since I was 12.  I’m so grateful that even through the melodrama, she always knows how to be gentle and honest, no matter the cost, and how to meet me where I am.  And after a short pause, she responded, “I knew that you wouldn’t be unhappy forever”.

It took me months to process that statement. My best friend said that to me when I was in the deepest depths of my depression. At that point, my depression, though diagnosed by my therapist, was medicinally untreated. I had called the suicide prevention hotline several times. I was the poster child for unhappy. And yet, my best friend, the only person in this world who truly sees all of me, and loves all of it just the same, could see that this devastation  was the start of something that would lead to my happiness. She saw this as a pathway for me to emerge as something beautiful and powerful, something that I could not yet imagine.

When I really began considering divorce, I would have weeks were I felt cloaked in guilt and shame. I felt selfish and unloving, and I would convince myself that those things were so. My mind would fill itself with images of my children, crying and angry, and becoming juvenile delinquents. I imagined my ex-partner smiling and finding a wife who he found easy to love and was excited to spend time with. I imagined that I would become destitute. I’d see images of myself strung out on drugs. I saw myself as being without professional skills and considered if I had it in me to consider dancing or some other sex work adjacent job to make ends meet. I imagined my children, lacking the basic necessities. I imagined a long, drawn out, painful and contentious divorce. I saw myself being alone and withering away. I feared that I would lose the familiarity that I felt with my ex-partner. In a nightmare once, I dreamt that I was on the side of the road, homeless, and my ex drove by with my children in the car. He looked at me in my eyes, and drove away. I saw myself in an empty home during Christmas and Thanksgiving. I saw myself becoming an alcoholic. I saw myself taking my life. 

The interesting thing, is that many of those fears that I had, have come to be. Not because I manifested it, but because they were inevitable. And I survived. My children have survived 2 years of transition. I have supported them through extra compassion and my undivided attention when they are with me and need me. I spent weeks finding a therapist who utilized play therapy to meet them where they were, and worked odd jobs and gigs to cover my part of the costs, in addition to paying for my own very expensive therapy out of pocket. I survived being alone. In fact, I realized that I prefer it.  I realized that I can be alone, even on holidays. A low-key but big flex for me has been the fact that I can say, without boasting, that I have the option of having sexual partners, dating partners, relationships, sugar daddies, listen, the propositions that I get! And yet, I have such a deeply anchored contentment and admiration for myself, that I’m not letting anyone in right now to fuck that up. I feared being alone, and now I choose it.  How many people are courageous enough to focus all of their spare time and energy solely on themselves? To learn themselves? To learn how to please themselves in every facet; to learn how to see themselves? To take the time to actually heal? I don’t know, but I’m one of them, and I’m damn proud of it, and proud of what I’ve discovered. I’m also incredibly proud to know that when I do feel excited about starting a relationship in the future, that I will be able to say with integrity, that I took the time to heal and to process my 11 year marriage and will be equipped to begin a new chapter with an untainted wholeness.

My ex and I sit in silence at soccer games, with my daughter bouncing between the two of us. We walk past one another at school functions like strangers. I couldn’t  tell you what his face looks like anymore. We look past one another.  The familiarity dissipated quickly, like morning dew on fields of grass. It looked beautiful while it was there, but once it’s gone, it’s gone. This is what I feared, and I am surviving it, perhaps thriving because of it. 

We are the parents that other parents can tell are divorced. The parent of my child’s friend came up to me a few weeks ago, and asked in a whisper “You’re divorced from the dad, right?” I smiled and replied “That is true!” She looked at me in confusion at first, and then relief. She shared with me her journey and asked if we could meet for coffee. In the past 4 months, I’ve had 2 friends finalize divorces, and I’ve had 3 conversations with strangers about their temptations to leave their marriages. 

In all of the conversations that I’ve had, I’ve found one common thread. We are all creating a story, of what could happen. And it’s alway fucking awful.  Like fucking Friday the 13th, Candyman, Jason, Chucky, all mixed up and fucking awful. 

In one conversation, I summarized to my new friend, ‘so, you’re afraid for your kids. You’re afraid of being alone and never finding love. You’re afraid that your family won’t support you. And you’re afraid of the financial uncertainty. “ She nodded. 

And then I asked, “aren’t your kids already being negatively impacted by your staying in your marriage and seeing you unhappy and fighting? Aren’t you already lonely, and though married, you’re afraid that you’ll never feel loved? You said you’ve talked to your family about divorce and that they already don’t support you or your wellness now. And…y’all are already having financial struggles, sooo….”

And we stared at each other for a very uncomfortable 30 seconds. I immediately felt like I’d overstepped my bounds, because I could’ve just projected the shit out this situation. But when I found the courage to look back at her face, I saw the tears welling up.  I reached across to give her hand a squeeze and felt the tears stinging in my own eyes. 

Isn’t what we fear, a hyperbolic version of what we already have?

I’ve learned that my imagination can either be used to create a beautiful fucking life that guides my steps and springs into manifestation, or, a complete mind fuck that destroys any momentum and leaves me paralyzed in fear. As Friar Lawrence states in Romeo and Juliet “within the infant rind of this small flower poison hath residence and medicine power”. Yep.that’s my fucking brain. Yours too. Ready to heal or slaughter. We can imagine the worst things because we already have some experience with them. The nightmares of our lives are the amplified snapshots of our experienced discomforts and traumas. We magnify them so that we can see them a mile away and attempt to avoid them.

But, within that same flower, perhaps needing to be unearthed, is the divine longing that has been knitted into the very fabric of our creation;  the longing  to experience all that we are. To experience love and acceptance, and a place and a people to call home. To experience pleasure and safety and comfort and peace. To experience power. The power to imagine and to speak into being. We see the beautiful things in our imaginations and we hold on to them to create seemingly lofty dreams, because we know, no matter how deep down, we know that those beautiful things can come to be. That innate knowledge is what keeps us going, even when we don’t know how we will survive. It is what made my best friend know, without a doubt, that I would not stay unhappy forever.

The beautiful, lofty dreams that I had they, like some of the fears, have come to be. All of the beauty that I imagined came less in images and more in a desire to feel. To feel supported, seen, safe, passionately loved, cared for and protected. I never could have imagined that I would need to go through a divorce to experience my deepest needs being met. Through devastation, through the loss of my planned life partner, I found wholeness. I found my strength, and and my power, my will to live. I’m fighting the urge to say the cliche’d ‘I found myself’, because it’s not quite that…It’s that…I found the me who can  create and recreate me as many times as need be. I found the divine that can seemingly turn nothing into fucking everything. And it’s all me.

I never could’ve imagined it, but It is absolutely incredible. So cheers to me on this momentous day, of surviving it all. 

May you  create beautiful stories of what could happen, anchored solely  in the truth of your existence.

May we all be the divine creators of our own imaginations.

May we know without a doubt, that we will not stay unhappy forever.

Love, Tereva

When You’re Unfamiliar with Rest

I cried every time my kids went to their dad’s for his time with them. For six months, two times a week, I cried, sobbed actually. I’d mop floors and change their bedding, and clean baseboards, just a snotty mess. It didn’t help that my daughter would call, as she still does, several times in one day to say that she misses me. I would literally cry myself to sleep until there was nothing to do but to surrender to the exhaustion. I would wake up with puffy, red eyes, feeling like, well, shit, for lack of better words. But I would push through. As I always had. 

When I was about 8 months pregnant with my first child, I packed up every item that my ex and I shared to prepare for our move. That is no easy feat for a pregnant woman. I remember being exhausted and in pain. My ankles were completely swollen and throbbing. My baby and fibroids were always competing for space in my womb, and my bones and joints were rubbing against each other lazily, not held in place as tightly as they usually were, to prepare for the upcoming labor. I laid my back on the bare floor to find some relief. And I remember looking up at the ceiling and feeling the tears trickle down to the insides of my ears. I was so fucking tired. And yet, if I didn’t get my pregnant ass off of that floor, I was gonna be tired and hungry. So, I rolled over to my side, then on all fours, then slowly unfolded my spine, scolded myself for taking so long, and hobbled down the four flights of stairs of our apartment building (there was no elevator, y’all) and walked to the grocery store. The manager of the grocery store, Morse Fresh Market, knew that I loved mandarin oranges. They were becoming scarce, and he would keep a crate of them for me every week. I was so thankful for that little treat. Every time that I’d come in, which was at least twice a week, he’d tell me ‘ You getting bigger, mama! He’s gonna come soon! Make sure you rest, ok?!” And I’d hobble around, hoping that I wouldn’t have to pee for the 46th time that day, getting all of the things that were needed, but that I could safely carry in my hands, back home, and up those four damn flights of stairs. 

I did this every week of my pregnancy. After both of my babies were born, though I was sore and stitched, and exhausted from very long, (28 hours with my first and 16 hours with my second) unmedicated labors, I never rested. I breastfed every 2 hours morning and night. I prepared every meal. I did every load of laundry. I did the grocery shopping and prepared the birthday parties, and kept the house clean, and the children alive. I listened to the challenges of my ex’s work and did the extra laundry and ironing for work trips. I was at every preschool event, and once a week, had lunch with my son at school.  I was auditioning and performing  and trying to learn lines. My migraines began coming more frequently, and I would wear my sunglasses indoors, just trying to minimize the pain. And once, after being exhausted to the point that I literally could not do anything but curl into a ball on the couch, I must have just fallen asleep. Fast. My daughter, who was about two at the time, was sitting next to me, watching Bubble Guppies. I woke up terrified during a commercial break to find my daughter, covered in marker. She had drawn all over her face and arms, and was now using baby wipes to try to hide the mess. I laughed and held her, and thanked God that that was the worse that happened during my 7 minute snooze. 

And I have to replay that moment in my head often to ask myself, what is the worst that can happen? If I rest? If I surrender to restoration instead of being drowned and consumed by exhaustion. What is the worst that can happen?

This year has been my year of rest. It has not been easy to lean into. My therapist describes my learning how to rest, my learning how to not catastrophize, my learning how to prioritize myself and establish firm boundaries, as, working out an underdeveloped muscle. Sometimes, I criticize myself for being lazy, when I’m truly just resting because I need to rest. I’m learning to see that need and to meet that need for myself. I’m learning that just because I’m able to do something, a task, a job, re-arranging my schedule to meet someone else’s needs, it doesn’t mean that it is the healthiest thing for me me. Sometimes, I just need to rest, and that has to be a priority. 

So many beautiful things have happened as a result of me resting, this year. For starters, I have more energy. I established a bed time routine that puts me in bed at 10:30 so that I’m awake by 5:15, snoozing my alarm until 5:30. I start my day with ease. I meditate. I breathe deeply. I try to begin my days without haste, so that I am no longer conditioned to believe that being rushed, having constant, never ending demands and expectations, is normal. 

I treat my body well. This body, that has been misused and unseen, that has survived jumping out of mango trees and swinging on clotheslines, and dance injuries, and scrapped knees, and birthing two beautiful, but large little humans, deserves every moment of pleasure that I can give. I plan extra time in my day to take good care of this body that holds me so well.I begin my mornings with deep stretches. I spend 20-30 minutes letting my body inhale and exhale deeply with cardio. I let every part of my body feel exhilarated so I can experience the wide range of life. I take weekly bubble baths. I buy pink roses and lavender to smell while I soak. I treat myself to pedicures, and I make time throughout the day to just lay in the sun. 

I say ‘no’ a lot more. It feels strange, but the consequences have been transformational. 

Again, because I rest, I have more energy. And to do the things that I love, like this blog and podcast. Crazy, right? I recognize that scientifically, that makes sense, but, when you’re unfamiliar with rest, you rely on beliefs that just aren’t sufficient in reasoning or supporting of your health and well being. Some of the beliefs I had were:

-God won’t give me more than I can bear. I can do all of these things!

-I will get used to these demands/schedule. My body will adjust.

-I’m so strong! I can handle this.

-I can’t let everyone down.

-Everything will crumble if I stop.

-I’m being selfish; I can’t stop now. 

Honestly, there is one of those beliefs that I have found to be true.

‘Everything will crumble if I stop.’

This is where shit gets real. Truthfully, when I stopped, my life did crumble. Fucking tsunami style. When I began to crack and see that the system that was my life, was just not operating in a way that was healthy for me, when I decided to stop operating in that system, my life did in fact, blow the fuck up.

The people in your life, who are benefitting from your depletion, will be jolted. They will have to decide how to respond. Sometimes, the things that you feared most, will happen. Sometimes, you will realize that you have been using your inability to rest, your constant doing, your never ending work, as leverage. You have been literally sacrificing your energy, your joy, literally sacrificing your life, for the sake of someone else’s comfort.

And that ‘what the fuck?!” Moment, will be everything that you need to take a fucking nap!

But the beautiful thing, is that the thing that we fear most, after it happens, we see that life goes on. And life can be even more beautiful, more full of wonder and amazement and ease. 

When it’s time for my kids to go to their dad’s it is a point of reset for me now. It is my time to treat myself well. I go to my dance classes and to the gym. I use the time to rest and to become rejuvenated. I go out with friends, treat myself to nice dinners. I order in, I catch up on trashy tv shows, I walk around naked and blast trap music. I sleep in or take naps if I need. And I do it all with joy and gratitude for the space and time to be rested and to enjoy all of the things that make life feel easy to live. 

My kids have adjusted to my rest. They are proud of me for resting. They have seen me being depleted. When they see me yawn, they ask ‘you need a nap, mama?” Just as I respond to them. On weekends, my son, who refuses to wake later than 6:30am, will come in quietly, kiss me on the cheek and say ‘I’ll fix Mimi cereal if you want to sleep in”.. And that's the thing that motivates me. My kids, your kids, if you have them, they are watching you to know how to respond to life. How to respond to demands and who and what to prioritize. It’s always them. I want them to know how to prioritize their health, their wellness, their rest. 

And, I want to clarify, that resting for me, doesn’t mean laying on the couch all day with a pile of junk food around me, although, there is the rare occasion, that I allow myself a treat day. But rest is about restoration. Of body, (taking time to eat and prepare nutrient dense, delicious foods, taking time to rest, sleep, and to give the body physical, sensual and sexual pleasure), mind (clearing out pervasive, negative thoughts, pumping natural endorphins, laughing, learning new interests), and spirit (becoming connected to self and the divine). 

So, here I am,  sitting in my underwear, writing this shit in bed, while my kids are with their dad. Incense is burning, Doja Cat is playing, the salmon is marinating and the wine is chilled. 

What’s the worst that could happen?

You deserve the rest. May you and I create lives that feel good and easy to live. 

Love,

Tereva

Red Flags

No one believed that I could do it. I saw the fake ass smiles feigning  belief and heard the insincerity that was certainly paired with rolling eyes and smirks through the phone. No one believed that I would really devote an entire year to no dating and celibacy. Well, I’m 9 months in, bitches, with no set backs!

This has been a beautiful time for me. A challenging time, as seen in my previous posts, but a really beautiful, fruitful time of growth and expansion. I’ve had time to reflect and accept this safe space in my life that I’ve created to heal. One of the more difficult parts of this past 9 months, is all of the shame that has come up. Heavy heaps of shame seem to push down on my shoulders as I learn more about my worth and value. I suppose that is one of the many complexities of healing. As one issue is resolving, the others, like vicious vines, use thoughts and pain as snares to try to intertwine the traumas so that they stay tangled and compacted. That is, what has been comfortable for so long, after all. 

Shame has come and like an unexpected guest, eats up all of my shit, and without any awareness, stays way past the party’s end. When I hear myself, when I feel myself, my gut, my instincts, my first mind, I am ashamed at how easy it was to silence that truth, that gift. I silenced myself for many years. So much of my life was spent learning how to shut down, to learn how to build a strong case against myself, a strong case to believe that I can not be trusted with myself. So I spent my life trusting that other people’s perception of reality was true. That my feelings were invalid. That it was unsafe to trust my feelings over someone else’s words. And well…we see where that’s left me. On this convoluted journey of healing that is expensive as fuck, but is worth it, nonetheless. 

I’ve thought about all of the red flags that I ignored and the warning signs that I now know to look for in romantic or platonic relationships, and I’ve decided to share them in no specific order. I think it’s incredibly beneficial for us to regularly synthesize our spiritual/emotional findings, lest we become forgetful and obtuse in seeing the lessons that we have and are learning. 

Many of the lessons that I have learned center around enforcing my boundaries and trusting my own experience as my guide, rather than someone else’s perception. For instance, when someone tells you that they’ll never do something again, rather it is as simple as using a word that is offensive to you, or as serious as assaulting you, I’ve learned to hold them to it. When someone breaks that promise, they are breaking my trust, and that offense will most certainly happen again and again if it is allowed after that initial  promise of change. I have learned that an apology without change, is simply, manipulation. I spent so much time being manipulated by people I trusted and loved and gave all of myself to, and believed that they would eventually care more about my feelings and safety than their own comfort. The truth, is that unless you are in partnership with someone who has the capacity to not only understand empathy, but also to think and act empathetically, your boundaries will never  be respected and you will never be seen. Now, when I see the first sign of someone being unwilling with their actions to change a behavior that is harmful to me, I know that person is not a safe space for me, and will without a doubt, cause harm.

A tell tale sign for me that someone is comfortable with causing me harm, is when they use their intentions as a justification for continued wrong or harmful behavior. For instance “I know you said “no” and I intended to stop, but then I thought you wanted it. I wanted to make you happy”  Intentions must be separated from impact. If someone is unable to utilize this skill, to see the impact of their actions and how little their intention changes the harm caused, that person is not allowed in my life. 

Many times, people who cause significant harm do not recognize and/or care that they are causing harm because there are no real consequence to their behaviors. This is particularly true in long term committed relationships. A lesson that I’ve learned in validating my own feelings and experiences and worth, is the understanding that someone can be known as being an empathetic and caring individual, and can simultaneously,  be incredibly  uncaring and negligent to you. Your experience is valid and real, regardless of how unbelievable it seems to outsiders or those with different relationships to the same  person.. AND! When people are uncaring to you, it is not a reflection on you, your worth, your deserving-ness of kindness, compassion and being seen; it is simply, a reflection on their inability to  love. They may even WANT to love you, to be kind to you. To respect you and see you, I don’t know. But…it’s like tryna eat an apple without hands. Chile, it’s just hard. What I’ve learned to do, is simply accept that person as they are, and to know, that they are not compatible with my needs or my worth. 

Walking away from someone who has that type of duality, makes us lock on to the potential. We believe that seeing the potential is enough. That the potential will blossom into action. Friend, I have done the research through a very thorough experiment. Trust me when I tell you, that this type of relationship is not worth your time, sanity, or money, because you will definitely need therapy at it’s end.

“The greatest of these is love”. I grew up religious, so I have heard that and believed it deep in the innermost parts of my being for as long as I can remember. And I’ve gotta say, after years of experience, as we commonly interpret the thought, I believe it’s incomplete. In my opinion, love can only do so much. Circling back to intentions, that realm of feelings, of inner working thoughts and emotions; it is not enough for this Black woman any more. I refuse to be manipulated by the concept of words and feelings without an outward display of proof. It wasn’t until last year, while rewatching a Black classic “Boomerang” that the words of the famous scene between Halle Berry and Eddie Murphy really resonated with my millennial heart.  “Love should’a brought your ass home last night.” FACTS! Love is action. It is planned efforts that conclude in compassionate and considerate actions that acknowledge the whole of a person. The first time my dating partner said that he loved me, it was a red flag. He didn’t know the whole of me. He was feeling things that I knew for a fact, would, without a doubt, fade. He would soon become less fascinated by my playful goofiness. If we ended up in long term partnership, we would be googling new sex toys and positions, the novelty would wear off and what would be left would be, simply me. Without the endorphins of new attachments and lovemaking and discovering each other’s quirks. I knew he didn’t know the whole of me, enough of me to decide how to move forward in action. Part of that was because I intentionally reserved so much of me for myself. And my thinking that his profession of love was and is in no way a self deprecating conclusion. I am just aware that it takes more than infatuation to love me well. 

One of the things that helps, is curiosity. When I have conversations with potential partners, now, I don’t give everything freely. I am (as we can see from this blog) a person without secrets. I don’t have any issue revealing the awful parts of me (like the fact that I will go fucking psycho and have definitely made legitimate threats/promises when I feel like my babies are being disrespected or uncared for), and I love giving the beautiful parts of me freely. But I’m learning, that I’m worth the work. I have experience with being in a partnership where there was zero curiosity about me as a person. This person never asked about my fears or dreams or goals. Never asked how I was feeling or honestly, wanted to spend time with me. I licked the wounds of my hurt by reminding myself that this person told me they loved me and had a full plate of their own career to think about. But what that did, that lack of curiosity, it taught me that I didn’t matter. It showed me that there was not much to me, that I was not even worth a conversation or a date night. There was nothing interesting about me. And honestly, I know that that is just not true, now. I’m aware that there are different conversational styles, but because of my past experiences, I need someone who can take the lead in a conversation, because I certainly can. And I need someone who is genuinely interested in me and has the conversational maturity to know how to ask questions. I mean, honestly, it all goes back to empathy, right? Because if we hope to truly understand someone, to feel for them, we must figure out a way to get to know them. Fully.

I’m writing all this shit out, and it just seems so damn simple! Why are people so people like? SMH.

I have been with myself for as long as I have existed, and yet,  I am just learning what it feels like to be loved by me. Isn’t that wild? And that realization is confirmation that I need this time to become wildly and madly in love with myself so that I know what that feels like. So that I am able to recognize what it looks like to with great effort, love the whole of me. But honestly, it’s not something that I am in a rush to experience. I’m in this weird Kumbaya state with myself where I love the love that I am able to give myself when I am at my best. When I am practicing good self care, and immersed in the healing environment that I need to be well. 

Truthfully, I’ve never been loved like this before. And it’s perfectly ok if this is the best and most perfect love that I ever experience. 

I hope you know that you are loved, your feelings are valid, you are worth the effort. You can trust yourself.  And you, are more than enough.

Love, Tereva.

When What You Want Isn’t What You Need

I loved being a wife. Like most little girls, conditioned by a patriarchal, romance crazed, society, I had dreamed of motherhood and wifehood for as long as I could remember. Tightly, I held onto memories of my mother, cooking meals and setting the table and sitting close to my dad on the couch at night. My parents divorced when I was young, and though the tender memories of their partnership are few, I knitted them into the very fabric of my ‘ideal life’. 

The ‘giving’ that is required for partnership has always come easily for me. Give my attention, give my mental space, give pleasure, give  affection, give my time, give my resources, give all of me. (If you’re reading this and shaking your head, and hearing “DANGER! DANGER!” Where were you during my formative years?!) I truly believed that if I gave enough, to every facet of my life, I would be rewarded with what I wanted. And so, I gave until there was nothing left of me. 

Months after my divorce was finalized, I looked at myself in the mirror, and cried at the sight of the unrecognizable face. I mean, it was me, but it also wasn’t me. My eyes were sunken in, my face, usually characterized by high cheekbones, was hollow. My hair had been coming out in clumps for years and was dry, brittle and thinning beyond repair. Already naturally thin, I had lost about 5 pounds, which for my frame, looks concerning. I truly believe that our physical self is a manifestation of our emotional, mental, and spiritual health. This corpse of a reflection indicated that I was dry and dead, and sadly,  I had no idea how to be revived or rejuvenated.

I thought about what I wanted. I wanted to be loved. I wanted to be acknowledged and seen. I wanted to be happy and to get over all of the disappointments and hurt and trauma and regret that can happen in a decade. I wanted to let loose and have fun, and be the me that I deserved to be. So, I did what seemed logical at the moment. I put in a new set of crochet locs, bought a new bag, got on the dating apps and let the attention of fine ass men gas me up. I began dating  and “talking to” men who most would consider ‘prime pickings’: an Air Force pilot, a former athlete, a celebrity chef. These men would’ve been the perfect Taye Diggs to my Angela Basset for my “How Stella Got Her Groove Back” moment. And, I mean, they were. Though I was cautious, I was looking forward to falling in love again. I know how to be in love. I know how to, through my actions, show and express love. I was so ready to give again. 

But this time, things felt different.

The first time that I had an indoor movie date, Mr. Man offered to make me vegan tacos and then, homemade French fries, since I am obsessed with fries of all varieties. A few weeks later, when we had to change the time of a date to a later time one evening, he asked what nail salon I’d like to go to, to get whatever I wanted to make up for the time. When I had cramps and didn’t want to leave my house or socialize, he drove 30 minutes to bring me J.R. Crickets (if you know, you KNOW) massage my feet, and then bounce. He once left work early, went shopping with my measurements memorized, and brought me an item that I needed for a quick turnaround audition. 

This felt…wonderful and yet, so foreign. I started to feel livelier and energetic. And yet, with the restored energy, I wanted only to spend it on myself. I was enjoying this feeling of receiving, but it felt wrong. This wasn’t the way that I was used to functioning. I loved cozy nights in with him, but I also looked forward to days alone. Through therapy, I was learning how to do simple things that focused on myself and my own needs. Going to the grocery store with a list that was only made up of the things that I wanted. (That sounds so simple, but being a stay at home mom and wife who did all of the grocery shopping, my focus was always on everyone else’s needs and dietary preferences.) Watching the shows that I wanted, taking bubble baths every night if I wanted. The best days are when I’m able to usher out the shame of needing rest, and when my children are with their dad, I sleep in, order out, and spend an entire day in silence. 

Once while spending time together and doing nothing in particular with my dating partner, I began to become cognizant of a deep sadness and almost like a film, saw all of the beautiful parts of my life that I had at one point and missed so terribly during marriage and motherhood. Dancing, writing, going out and drinking, vacationing (well, I’ve truly never gone on a real vacation, but I always thought I would as an adult!), laughing (which I did a lot of in this relationship, thankfully), being a violinist. I had been saving money for a few years to buy a new instrument as my last had damages beyond proper repair. It never seemed like the right time to purchase it. Even though my violin and classical music was such a major part of my life, throughout the entirety of my eleven year marriage, I couldn’t remember one time picking up my instrument, with the exception of a performance in which a director incorporated the skill into my role. 

So, I sat up, and told my date “Hey, I’m gonna go and buy a violin.” And I did. I left his place, went to the local Luthier, and spent about an hour playing on different instruments to find my new baby. The employee sat and listened to me playing bits of Bach, Bruch, Vivaldi, Mendelssohn, and we compared the tone and warmth of the different instruments to find what I was looking for. “Try this one” the employee suggested, bringing a new addition to my bunch. Immediately I melted at the warmth of the tone and the ease in projection. This was the one. When I checked the tag on the tuning peg, I realized it was out of my price range. 

“Take it. For the price you wanted. You need to be able to play like that all the time”.

I had tears in my eyes. I paid and packed the instrument up, and thanked him profusely. I went into my car and just sat. 

That was the most impulsive decision that I had made in the past decade of my life. I had just spent a shit ton of money, but money that I had to spend, but would have never spent on myself in previous years. Also, I was just sitting around doing nothing. With someone I very much enjoyed, but still just doing nothing, because that was my way of giving at that time. Giving my energy and time and presence. But I realized that I felt incapable of giving much. I felt depleted and tired. I wanted to give. I wanted to give so much; but I what I needed was simply to receive. 

I wanted to give. I needed to receive. 

That night, my dating partner asked to hear me play my favorite piece. Tears sprang to my eyes. Besides that one production that I played in for work, I hadn’t been asked about my music, and definitely not to share my art in more than a decade. It was this…once so significant, now buried part of me that had just been exposed. I began to play Borowski’s 'Adoration’. This was a solo that I performed in front of a few hundred people when I was 13. It was the piece that gained my admission into my prestigious high school. It was this piece and the applause that followed all those years ago, that made me aware of how good it feels to have something worthy of giving. After the first three measures, I felt a flicker in my stomach. Excitement, relief, but moreso, an unshedding of myself. And then I stopped abruptly. This felt good. And it felt special and intimate. And I needed this moment of reconnecting all to myself.

And thus, began a new season. There are so many things that I wanted that were not what I needed. The things that we want are often the things that feel and taste and look so damn good, but they have no nutritional or substantive value. I wanted the marriage that lasted until death dealt a pause. I wanted my children to have one happy home. 

I needed something different.

I wanted to fall in love again. I wanted to heal quickly and move on with my life. I wanted to book all of the jobs and live my best life ever. 

But what I need at this moment is time. Time to receive from the universe and God and ancestors that surround me and that fill me with wisdom through dreams and gentle whispers that flutter through my mind in the midst of peaceful silence. I need to learn how to give me all of me. To invest in myself, to prioritize myself and place myself at the center of my own life. 

I’ve started doing things that make me feel amazing. I work out. I go to dance classes regularly. I practice my violin regularly and my children enjoy listening to my practicing downstairs as their lullabies to sleep. I practice yoga and meditation. I have began writing again, and am in the process of having my work edited and I have a goal of publication in the near future. I am in the process of working towards my certification to become a dyslexia specialist, and am also still busting my ass auditioning. I completed my Business Communications certificate from Duke University. I received a certificate in Diversity, Equity, and Inclusion. And I’m really enjoying motherhood. More than I ever have. I feel closer and more available to my children. They come to me and talk freely about things that bother them. We play often and laugh hard together. We stay up on weekends and watch movies and have dance parties and eat sweets and pop popcorn and play laser tag.

I take it all in. I receive all of the love and inspiration that the universe gives so very freely, and I just soak that shit up.

When I’m ready to give again, it will look so much different. Honestly, I can’t even imagine what that will be like, because right now, in this very moment, all I’m focused on, is what I need. I need rest. And restoration. I truly believe that what we all  need is a little more of ‘ourselves’ and a lot less of everyone else. 

Because you, as my Queen, Toni Morrison wrote in her novel, ‘Beloved’, you are most certainly, your own best thing. 

May you always, always, have everything that you need. 

Love, Tereva.

I’m Not Happy; I’m Healing

I’m exhausted, and yet here I am, at my computer unable to quiet the reoccurring anxiety that sets in every night before I sleep. My babies are in my bed, leaving a sliver of space for me that I will have to fight to keep during the night. They wrap arms around me, leave satin bonnets under my neck and lay heavy heads on my chest. They are growing and changing and I’m grasping for more opportunities to be ‘mama’ to my babies. My son, at nine, is becoming a young man whose feet are bigger than mine. He asks me for advice on how to be a gentleman to pretty little girls. He’s becoming a young man who looks at me to figure me out, instead of looking at me to tell him who he is. He knows he is brilliant. And my daughter, who I taught to read two years ago is now six. She’s reading chapter books independently, and my text messages sneakily, and tells me that she’s going to marry Kendrick Lamar because he is so handsome. She’s got good taste. And yet, with all of this goodness. These babies who have been the most important beings in my world, with these incredible humans by my side….I am not happy. And that is ok. I’m healing. 

I’m looking at a note that was sent with a gift from one of my dearest friends from childhood.

“On your birthday, I celebrate you and the special place you have in my heart.” And I tear up every time that I read it. This friend has been a part of my life since I was fifteen years old. He  talked me through nights of devastation regarding my divorce. He was my first crush. The first guy that I looked at with awe. The first male that inspired me. I remember watching him from the balcony of the grand Olympia theatre in Miami,  during a dress rehearsal. A trumpeter with bravado and swagger and passion. And something began to swell inside of me, and I knew, whatever he felt on that stage…I wanted to feel that as well. I wanted whatever he was made of. I have a complex relationship with men, as most women do. I have experienced the majority of my trauma from my relationships with men. I have also received the majority of my healing from my interactions with them.

Healing is an interesting thing. We are now so informed, that we flippantly remind ourselves that it is not linear, but I fail in acknowledging to myself that it is also not logical. Healing follows no rules and gives zero fucks about time. It is outside of our limited scopes and truly runs its course, zig zagging throughout the emotional and spiritual elements of our compositions. 

The first time that I was intimate after divorce, I slept through the night soundly for the first time in over a decade. My partner knew bits about my past; that I was abused as a child. That my ex-husband had been my first and only sexual partner. That I experienced sexual assaults as an adult. Although my new partner was strong and sturdy, he was tender and attentive and I felt seen and safe; a feeling that was never consistent for me.

And so, here I was, waking up the next morning, in his oversized shirt, poking myself in my right dimple, because it is so pronounced from my smiling. I’m telling myself to get the goofy grin off of my face but I can’t. And it’s in that very moment that I finally, truly know, that all of the difficult decisions that had led me to that point, were all worth it. I cover my face with my hands to try to convince the tears not to come, but they do. And for the first time in a long time I feel…like I have permission to be me. 

I turn over, and of course, my partner has been watching this whole inner moment silently. We lace fingers and he asks if I’m ok, and I convey to him that I am fucking amazing. 

And I am. Fucking amazing in my existence. I am healing. I’m grateful. I am present and doing the hard work of standing up every day. I am doing the hard work of resting; unlearning conditioning of always being a support and instead, centering my own needs, comfort, and pleasure. I’m doing the unthinkable and retraining my subconscious to believe that I matter and that I am worthy of good things. I am challenging voices and scars of neglect with truth. I am content. It’s kind of the feeling performing. Before I go onstage, I ground myself. I dismiss the feelings that I have…excitement, hunger, sadness, giddiness. Whatever those feelings are, I let them know that I will give them space when I leave the stage, but for now, I’m lending my body to this experience. Right now, I’m content with not feeling happy. I’m lending my body, my spirit, to the experience of healing.  I’m often overwhelmed, but grateful. Scared shitless, but, grateful. Lonely, but, grateful.  I am learning basic skills to thrive that I never had the opportunity to learn or practice before.  I’m learning that when I choose myself, I will always win. 

Isn’t it amazing? I’m no longer dating my ex-partner, but I’m so grateful for him. My relationship with him was a gift to release my doubt, my self blame, my feelings of guilt for choosing myself. I experienced traumas being healed instead of compounded. I found hope in the reflection of myself that I saw in his eyes. 

 And  seeing myself in that way…the way that he saw me. Perhaps that’s what I saw on that stage all those years ago. Something that I wanted and that I look for in the men that I find myself so drawn to. Perhaps, they are reflecting the potential of who I could be, or the reflection of who I really am, and so,  naturally I am drawn to them. Drawn to myself…which is most surely, the only companion I truly can’t live without, and the only way to get, to happy.

I hope that I get there. I believe that I am worthy of happiness. I look forward to this journey that I’ll take with all of it’s turns.  I yearn for big, bountiful happiness. Happiness that is self generated and long lasting, bursting with expectancy for its continuation. But for now, I’m just healing, and that’s alright with me.

If you are on your healing journey, I salute you. You are worth the work, and the effort. If things feel difficult, know that that feeling isn’t abnormal. Nothing is wrong with you. You are doing the the hard work of saving a life. You’re a fucking superhero.