"Why did I do that?"
I shook my head to the air. I vowed I would weigh myself in the morning just to see if the scale budged a bit. This was the first time I had been below 200 lbs in six years and I was determined to keep it that way.
Though I had indulged, no all that was left was disgusting, dry, after taste in my mouth. I thought about throwing up and being...one of those girls.
I had just eaten four vanilla cupcakes with white frosting...in five minutes.
This was not the first time I had done something like this; in the past it was an 8" Carvel Ice Cream cake complete with sprinkles. Other times it was an entire bag of lays. On worse days, it could be a six pack of cupcakes, some fried chicken, and surprisingly a diet Pepsi (Like that helped). But it had been a long time since I felt like I needed to eat like this. I had been on an exercise regimen that included 3 days of Zumba and an aggressive ab workout. I had come too far to turn back now.
But then again, I was in the middle of a rigorous grad school program, working full time, trying to figure out why a guy wouldn't take me out, tired of being broke, tired of being treated like an inferior, and seriously...seriously contemplating driving to Maryland one weekend and just winging it. The culmination of events was forcing me into escape mode...but I had nowhere to turn. Even if I ran away, I had nowhere to live and had a brand new car to pay for. How could I do that with no money?
I stared silently at the cupcake package. Left over icing was sticking to the top, and even though I started to feel that old, familiar pain radiating from my gull bladder...I wished there was more. More comfort food so I could just focus on that for a moment. However, as hard as I stared, I couldn't make the cupcakes reappear. I couldn't let go of all my stress either. Suddenly, I was lying in the middle of my bed, half blinded by tears that were rolling down my cheeks.
I went on like that for about twenty minutes, berating myself for the cupcakes, belittling myself for the guy who didn't care to take me on a date, hating myself for not saving smarter when I was an undergraduate, and wishing that I could fly to Maryland overnight like Peter Pan.
Twenty minutes of tears, hatred, and frustration turned into prayer, discernment, and then finally understanding. Even though I didn't want to admit it, I was stressed...and doing and worrying about way too much. I needed to take a step back; figure out why all this stuff was getting to me...get rid of the stuff that really didn't matter.
I came to conclusion that I was almost done with school and had been pushing so hard this long that I could continue doing so. I realized that finishing grad school was a gateway to my life in Maryland, that my inferiority complex was collectively my own as well as certain professionals who tried to pigeonhole me into a stereotype, and that the dude who didn't want to take me on a date but to his house could kick f****king rocks. I knew that I couldn't correct my money mistakes in the past but could try harder to be frugal now so...I could definitely make that move in a few months.
I also realized that that would be the last time I choked down four cupcakes...or anything like that ever again.
Ever Again.
I'm not saying it's easy but we must come to a point where we recognize the problem is within us and we are the only one's who can change this. Though we may think it is ever the condition in life, stress is an option. If you feel that it is inevitable, stress about what actually matter as opposed to the trivial things in life.
Free yourself from the cupcakes!!!!
Friday, July 26, 2013
Sunday, July 21, 2013
Bitter
Ever hear a song that hits your emotions right on the head? That's me today; Shante' Moore's Bitter is blowing a hole through my brain and the problem is it is making me even more bitter.
If Nirvana's It Smells Like Teen Spirit was the anthem of teen angst, then Bitter has got to be the fed-up, single, black, woman's anthem.
Of course Shante' sings it more sweetly than I ever could have. If I had to rerecord that song right now, I'd be yelling the lyrics so loudly that they'd kick me out of the studio! I don't think I could transfer the emotion of being bitter any other way...the fact that you've been nice and have done all for someone only to be taken on an emotional roller coaster. You may have even fallen in love with the fool.
However, Shante's song is not just about one person, its about multiple situations that black women have to go through in the dating world. As women who have it all, our talents are overlooked, our generosity is abused, and our strength is avoided. Strength to me is a balance in a relationship; serving as safety net when one partner is weary; they can balance on the other. Yet, the strength of a black woman is misconstrued as "she can handle it, so she doesn't need me...hell she can hold me down while I do nothing!"
And this is why I have to stop myself from singing under my breath in the grocery store, when I spot someone who is obviously no good looking at me:
Don't follow me home...nigga
Don't ring my phone...nigga
Just leave me alone..nigga
No, I don't condone her usage of the word nigga but when you're not in the right frame of mind...well things and words happen.
OK, time out. It's OK to be mad and frustrated about the relationship situations we go through but what if we took all the bitterness and rage and transformed it into a positive force? Life is all about learning experiences and through those experiences, we learn how to either avoid situations or nip them in the bud very quickly.
I can remember a few years back when I was suffering through a very tumultuous relationship and I was talking to my mom. She would sit me down at the dining room table, hand me a few tissues, and say "People are in your life for a reason and a season. What you have to do is decided what you cannot and will not take, and then take the good qualities from each man you've dated and find one that will encompass them all."
Wise advice, no doubt from my mama. She wasn't saying that there was a perfect man out there, she was just saying that I needed to think about the essential, necessary things, that I needed to have in one. If I just really thought about these things instead of diving head first into whatever was thrown at me, I might stand a better chance. Sometimes in love you have to be very selective.
Jumping back to the present, I also realized that there was another issue: I WAS LOOKING! Sometimes when you go looking for stuff, you ultimately will find something that you didn't want in the first place. I know, I know, we all just want a friend when we're lonely...we want that movie kind of romance that Sanaa and Omar had, or Sanaa and Taye, or...well you get the picture. Instead when we go looking, we get Leon's character in Waiting to Exhale.
Don't get me wrong, it's not our fault that these mistakes happen. However, the Bible says in I Corinthians Chp 13, V 4 that "Love is patient...Love is Kind." If love is patient then maybe we should wait for it because it is waiting for us! Even if you are not religious you can certainly agree that most of the beautiful things in life are worth the wait.
So maybe Shante's lyrics might be the way that I am feeling consistently as I walk this earth waiting for my prince to arrive but, I am not going to let bitterness manifest me. I know that this feeling is only temporary and in due time, I will meet Mr. Pretty Damn Good.
Black women, we have got to take the time out to remove the bitterness from our hearts so that love may have a place when it is time.
If Nirvana's It Smells Like Teen Spirit was the anthem of teen angst, then Bitter has got to be the fed-up, single, black, woman's anthem.
Of course Shante' sings it more sweetly than I ever could have. If I had to rerecord that song right now, I'd be yelling the lyrics so loudly that they'd kick me out of the studio! I don't think I could transfer the emotion of being bitter any other way...the fact that you've been nice and have done all for someone only to be taken on an emotional roller coaster. You may have even fallen in love with the fool.
However, Shante's song is not just about one person, its about multiple situations that black women have to go through in the dating world. As women who have it all, our talents are overlooked, our generosity is abused, and our strength is avoided. Strength to me is a balance in a relationship; serving as safety net when one partner is weary; they can balance on the other. Yet, the strength of a black woman is misconstrued as "she can handle it, so she doesn't need me...hell she can hold me down while I do nothing!"
And this is why I have to stop myself from singing under my breath in the grocery store, when I spot someone who is obviously no good looking at me:
Don't follow me home...nigga
Don't ring my phone...nigga
Just leave me alone..nigga
No, I don't condone her usage of the word nigga but when you're not in the right frame of mind...well things and words happen.
OK, time out. It's OK to be mad and frustrated about the relationship situations we go through but what if we took all the bitterness and rage and transformed it into a positive force? Life is all about learning experiences and through those experiences, we learn how to either avoid situations or nip them in the bud very quickly.
I can remember a few years back when I was suffering through a very tumultuous relationship and I was talking to my mom. She would sit me down at the dining room table, hand me a few tissues, and say "People are in your life for a reason and a season. What you have to do is decided what you cannot and will not take, and then take the good qualities from each man you've dated and find one that will encompass them all."
Wise advice, no doubt from my mama. She wasn't saying that there was a perfect man out there, she was just saying that I needed to think about the essential, necessary things, that I needed to have in one. If I just really thought about these things instead of diving head first into whatever was thrown at me, I might stand a better chance. Sometimes in love you have to be very selective.
Jumping back to the present, I also realized that there was another issue: I WAS LOOKING! Sometimes when you go looking for stuff, you ultimately will find something that you didn't want in the first place. I know, I know, we all just want a friend when we're lonely...we want that movie kind of romance that Sanaa and Omar had, or Sanaa and Taye, or...well you get the picture. Instead when we go looking, we get Leon's character in Waiting to Exhale.
Don't get me wrong, it's not our fault that these mistakes happen. However, the Bible says in I Corinthians Chp 13, V 4 that "Love is patient...Love is Kind." If love is patient then maybe we should wait for it because it is waiting for us! Even if you are not religious you can certainly agree that most of the beautiful things in life are worth the wait.
So maybe Shante's lyrics might be the way that I am feeling consistently as I walk this earth waiting for my prince to arrive but, I am not going to let bitterness manifest me. I know that this feeling is only temporary and in due time, I will meet Mr. Pretty Damn Good.
Black women, we have got to take the time out to remove the bitterness from our hearts so that love may have a place when it is time.
Saturday, July 20, 2013
I am not my hair...or at least my hair makes me not who I usually am
For the longest time, I was one of those girls who refused to wear a hair weave for style. During high school I had only worn it in weaved cornrows twice to give my hair a break from the straightening comb and once in micros during prom to replicate the Brandy-esque Cinderella. I had always had a good "grade" of hair as my great-grandmother would tell me and it was fairly long (not like Pocahontas or anything). In fact, unlike most black girls I knew, I didn't even get my first relaxer until I was 18 and a sophomore in college. I was proud of that fact because I had known so many girls who had been sporting relaxers since they were six. They may have had long, beautiful straight hair in their younger days but, now in their twenties they were going bald... and had to sport hair weaves to cover the damage.
Though I was meticulous in taking care of my hair when I got my relaxer, I developed a thyroid condition when I was 24 and my hair began to thin and in some cases fall out.
I was devastated.
As I sat in my hairdresser's chair, watching her snip away at the straggly and thinning pieces to form a bob, I felt like the ugliest human being on earth. All of my pride was falling to the floor around me.
The bob cut turned out cute and my hair started to grow back again, however, instead of growing to its original length, it would only grow to a certain point and begin the cycle of breakage again.
Every time it fell out, it would take such a toll on me that I became severely depressed. I didn't feel sexy, confident, or attractive. What was it about having hair that made me feel any different? I tried to tell myself that hair was only a part of my body, and didn't have anything to do with the wonderful and beautiful person I was...even though it was extremely noticeable that women (especially black women) with longer hair seemed to get a lot more attention. I even had a good reason not to even consider any additions to my hair after seeing Chris Rock's documentary Good Hair: women in India shave their heads in sacrifice and we black women put it on ours for vanity...a total contradiction.
I stood steadfast in my decision not believe in the weave until it was recommended that I tried a sew-in to give my hair a break from the harsh chemicals in relaxers. I loved it...even though after a while it itched like hell and was a pain to wash. It was great to not see my delicate strands covering my brush for a while and when I decided to get it taken out after about 3 months, my hair seemed a lot healthier.
I would go on to repeat this process with sew-ins and quick weaves, which are glued to the head and alternate with my relaxers. I didn't become a chronic weaver, but I did notice how my attitude had changed when I had that extra hair on my head. For some reason I was more energetic, happier, feeling more confident, and sexier. Clothes I had not dared to previously wear became my go tos. Men seemed more eager to approach me.
As I sat back and noticed all these changes, I became a bit conflicted; why was having extra hair on my head making such a big difference? Stepping back, I realized that it is not the hair...it is me.
I wasn't feeling good about myself which is the only reason why it made the difference. Subconsciously, I believed that my appearance was the only thing good about me which is why my attitude shifted so with a fresh weave. Realizing this, I looked in the mirror and promised myself a few things:
1) When this weave comes out, you will still be you.
2) You will still be beautiful.
3) You will still be confident.
4) You will love yourself and anyone who doesn't love you without this weave is non-F***ing factor.
As black women, we are always pitted against women of other ethnicities by society and the black men that we love. From an early age, a lot of are made to feel as is we are unattractive due to our skin tones and because our hair doesn't grow straight out of our heads. Before I had my epiphany, I fell into that trap as well.
I think this is something a lot of black women need to reckon with before they become addicted to weave. I would like to say THERE IS NOTHING WRONG WITH WEAVE. However, the problem starts when any kind of enhancement to your physical being starts to manifest your spiritual and emotional being. YOU MUST LOVE YOURSELF EVEN ON YOUR WORST LOOKING DAY.
Last weekend, I went to my cousins wedding sporting a quick weave. Long and wavy, I looked more like an Indian princess than anything. While I was greeted with by extended family with choruses of "Oh look how beautiful you've grown to be!" and "You are gorgeous honey," I knew that they weren't saying it because of the hair.
They said it because I was smiling.
The thing I am realizing slowly but surely is that...it ain't about what's on your hair, body, or face, its about what you are carrying on your spirit. If you learn to love yourself no matter how you look, as cliché as that may sound, it will shine through you and people will take notice. Who doesn't want to be around a person who has joy shining through them?
I am not this hair. I am Alonna.
Though I was meticulous in taking care of my hair when I got my relaxer, I developed a thyroid condition when I was 24 and my hair began to thin and in some cases fall out.
I was devastated.
As I sat in my hairdresser's chair, watching her snip away at the straggly and thinning pieces to form a bob, I felt like the ugliest human being on earth. All of my pride was falling to the floor around me.
The bob cut turned out cute and my hair started to grow back again, however, instead of growing to its original length, it would only grow to a certain point and begin the cycle of breakage again.
Every time it fell out, it would take such a toll on me that I became severely depressed. I didn't feel sexy, confident, or attractive. What was it about having hair that made me feel any different? I tried to tell myself that hair was only a part of my body, and didn't have anything to do with the wonderful and beautiful person I was...even though it was extremely noticeable that women (especially black women) with longer hair seemed to get a lot more attention. I even had a good reason not to even consider any additions to my hair after seeing Chris Rock's documentary Good Hair: women in India shave their heads in sacrifice and we black women put it on ours for vanity...a total contradiction.
I stood steadfast in my decision not believe in the weave until it was recommended that I tried a sew-in to give my hair a break from the harsh chemicals in relaxers. I loved it...even though after a while it itched like hell and was a pain to wash. It was great to not see my delicate strands covering my brush for a while and when I decided to get it taken out after about 3 months, my hair seemed a lot healthier.
I would go on to repeat this process with sew-ins and quick weaves, which are glued to the head and alternate with my relaxers. I didn't become a chronic weaver, but I did notice how my attitude had changed when I had that extra hair on my head. For some reason I was more energetic, happier, feeling more confident, and sexier. Clothes I had not dared to previously wear became my go tos. Men seemed more eager to approach me.
As I sat back and noticed all these changes, I became a bit conflicted; why was having extra hair on my head making such a big difference? Stepping back, I realized that it is not the hair...it is me.
I wasn't feeling good about myself which is the only reason why it made the difference. Subconsciously, I believed that my appearance was the only thing good about me which is why my attitude shifted so with a fresh weave. Realizing this, I looked in the mirror and promised myself a few things:
1) When this weave comes out, you will still be you.
2) You will still be beautiful.
3) You will still be confident.
4) You will love yourself and anyone who doesn't love you without this weave is non-F***ing factor.
As black women, we are always pitted against women of other ethnicities by society and the black men that we love. From an early age, a lot of are made to feel as is we are unattractive due to our skin tones and because our hair doesn't grow straight out of our heads. Before I had my epiphany, I fell into that trap as well.
I think this is something a lot of black women need to reckon with before they become addicted to weave. I would like to say THERE IS NOTHING WRONG WITH WEAVE. However, the problem starts when any kind of enhancement to your physical being starts to manifest your spiritual and emotional being. YOU MUST LOVE YOURSELF EVEN ON YOUR WORST LOOKING DAY.
Last weekend, I went to my cousins wedding sporting a quick weave. Long and wavy, I looked more like an Indian princess than anything. While I was greeted with by extended family with choruses of "Oh look how beautiful you've grown to be!" and "You are gorgeous honey," I knew that they weren't saying it because of the hair.
They said it because I was smiling.
The thing I am realizing slowly but surely is that...it ain't about what's on your hair, body, or face, its about what you are carrying on your spirit. If you learn to love yourself no matter how you look, as cliché as that may sound, it will shine through you and people will take notice. Who doesn't want to be around a person who has joy shining through them?
I am not this hair. I am Alonna.
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