The wails of a good woman

I should let you all know up front, if you are new to my blog, I’m divorced. I’m still cycling through the brokenness that comes with the process. And no — not everything I’m processing is directed at my ex-husband – but he is sometimes mentioned. There were things I needed to work on prior to getting married that I had buried. So now in this “new season” of healing and reflection, I’m trying to revisit those wounds and do the work to close them up. It’s heavy shit and then throw being Black American on top of it.

Courtesy of Nappy.Co / Photographer credit: https://www.instagram.com/carolinamarinati/

My mother used to scream “Men don’t want good women, all they want are whores”. I remember her saying that several times over the course of my life with her. Her face was filled with tears and her voice always shrilled when she said it. She was in agony. I will never forget those words. I’ve heard them all my life.

Her fiance, to whom lived with my Mother and I, had cheated on her with some broad from the projects. He had lost his job shortly after he moved in with us and for years, my Mother was the bread winner. He did nothing but obsess over wartime movies as his PTSD played out into boredom (I guess) and then into another woman’s bed.

And then my Mother caught him.

And then her heart broke into a million fucking pieces. His infidelity crushed her in so many ways. I had to live through her grief, her debilitating depression, her cruel outbursts, and her self sabotage. I think my Mother’s dysfunctional relationships profoundly shaped and were foreshadowing for the losers and sicko relationships I would have in my adult life.

“Men don’t want good women, all they want are whores.”

Those words will never leave me. Know why? I screamed those same words in absolute soul crushing agony when my ex-husband cheated on me.

I remember crying into an empty bottle of wine mumbling “I’m a good woman”. I fucking wailed. I cried. I cried. And cried. And some times, here 7 years later after my divorce I look out into the back yard and I cry.

I’m educated. I’m innovative. I’m fierce. I’m loving. I’m daring. Sometimes I’m really fucking boring. I’m sexual. I’m opinionated. I’m a good woman, right?

I’m a good woman. And no one wants me? And I don’t want just any body, because I refuse to date down, sleep down and settle after my “trail of tears of relationships and uninspired fuckboi lovers”. I’ve settled all my life. I damn near always dated down. Feeling that I had to because I was told I was “too” everything for everybody. The brokenness of my youth and after divorce had me out here believing I was not good enough, when the truth is I’m golden. Many men I’ve encountered over my adult life didn’t want to evolve and meet me on the top of the self-affirmation pyramid.

… but something wonderful happened five years ago, I decided the toxic social hierarchy of American society and how it hates Black women was longer my burden to carry. It wasn’t my monkey. It was never my circus to begin with…

“Men don’t want a good woman, all they want are whores.”

I circle back to that because being a Black American woman is like being dropped into a horrible, sociological nightmare that starts unfolding by the time you are 5 years old. We are relegated to be the least desired, but treated as the oracle because of our forged moxie, so the very people denigrating our humanity look to us to carry the weight of and solve the worlds problem? Ironic. Also bullshit. I’m not your emotional or sexual mule.

I can remember my Mother telling me I was too smart to date and no one would want me unless I dumbed myself down. That moment broke my heart. I had to dumb myself down to keep the company of fragile fucks? How insidious?

And yet, I did it. How underwhelming and disappointing. And yet, I did it.

On everything, I sit alone. I write alone. And you know what, there is a peace, there is a kindness and there is a wonderful free spirit running through my life right now. I don’t know if it is because I let go a lot of bad emotional baggage I was carrying due to colorism, classism and racism as it pertains to dating while being a Black American woman. I don’t know if it is because I dropped the emotional baggage of having to dumb myself down to get dick and have relationships. Don’t know, but I feel lighter and I’m happier for it.

I no longer bother myself with the negative emotions surrounding other people’s perception of Black American women. There are so many layers to being socially and romantically disenfranchised as a Black American woman in America. I don’t have the bandwidth to dissect it because I lived it and now I want to be free of it. I don’t debate the failed communal bond between Black American men and women as juxtaposed with respectability politics and mating. I’m an accountant, not a fucking sociologist. LOL! Not my wheel house. And honestly at 47, I don’t care anymore. I’m tired. There are so many other grandiose things I want to do with my fabulous Black ass life!!!

I know that I am an amazing woman. I have been amazing since the age of 6. My viewpoint of the world, my Blackness and what it meant to be a Black woman that has evolved into a unhinged masterpiece – it’s all here and I think I am slowly dissecting and releasing the wails of being a good woman in this society with dark black skin.

I’m too much woman for many. Not my problem.

Some men don’t want a good woman. Some unaccomplished, broken, mentally and emotionally inept men want to use good women. They want to plunder their resources and use them emotionally because they – themselves – are walking mounds of failure and nothingness on a metaphysical level. There are some men who want whores. Many misogynistic men want to possess their ideas of whores or IG models. They rather objectify a woman and command the performance of love and re-enact their sexual fantasies (most of them which they themselves don’t live up to…). Their fragile egos are invested in establishing dominion over a woman rather than do the work to be caring human being that can actually love a woman in true partnership, without wrecking her life or possessing her like an object or without relegating her needs and her existence to a role of subjugation.

… And then there are beautiful men who make the world go ’round with kindness, who have put nothing but goodness into the world bit by bit without destroying one soul on their journey. I think they deserve good women. I think they want good women.

So I’m here, at age 47, knowing that I am a good woman. Slowly enjoying the silence and peace that comes with no longer wanting validation or affirmation from a society that deems me unlovable. Freeing myself from the need to seek alignment or adoration form a society that hates me unless I’m adjacent to whiteness.

I’m living my life as a middle aged, unapologetically dynamic, sexually confident, intellectually outstanding, Black American as fuck grown woman!!!