Most of my family is still in Kentucky, and since I’ve been living in Wisconsin I’ve often felt disconnected from them. I was born and raised in Kentucky, surrounded by family, and I miss being able to see them whenever I want and keep up with the ins and outs of their daily lives. Today though, I got to spend quality time with my parents. We sat around watching tv and talking and had lunch together. That might sound like a boring day to some, but I enjoyed every single minute with them.
And on top of that, my parents and my boyfriend’s parents finally met! I made dinner for everyone at my house and lots of laughs were shared. I am so glad that everyone hit it off and I’m looking forward to the next time we can all get together again.
Bonus: My mom and I got makeovers today at Sephora. I am always happy in Sephora. 🙂 (And our makeup turned out great!)
Day 4: Scandal makes me happy. Are y’all surprised I am obsessed with Scandal? If so, you shouldn’t be. Fierce Black woman solving problems and saving lives while rocking designer clothes and carrying exquisite handbags? That’s got me written all over it. Yesterday was the show’s 100th episode and to celebrate, they did a “what if” storyline outlining what might have happened if important events turned out differently. I’ve been watching Scandal avidly since the first season–I am an old school “gladiator”–so I enjoyed seeing old characters and situations revisited.
Day 5: Customer evals make me happy. These evaluations (evals) I’m referring to are submitted by customers at the end of each class. They rate the overall course, training materials, and me (the trainer). This morning my team lead called me first thing and asked if I had read my evals from Thursday’s class. I immediately got anxious that something was wrong, but they were some of the best ranks I’ve ever gotten! I appreciated the positive comments my trainees left and also the fact that my team lead noticed and called to congratulate me.
Bonus: Today when I got home from work, I was able to sit down and eat dinner with my parents. I am so happy they came up to spend Easter weekend with me!
Lately, I’ve been struggling with appreciation. There are a lot of stressful things going on in my life right now (personal, professional, even legal) that can make seeing the beautiful things in life very hard to do. Therefore, for the next 100 days, I will post something that makes me happy and tag it with #100HappyDays to make myself reflect on the positive aspects of my life. These posts will include people, places, things, whatever–anything that makes me happy is eligible for the 100HappyDays hashtag. 🙂
Day 1: This blog makes me happy! Even though I don’t update every day (or even every month) I enjoy having this space to voice my opinions. There are some things I want to share with the entire world; this blog gives me the opportunity to get those thoughts and ideas out to a wide audience. There are some times when I’m sad, lonely, scared, angry, or just need to vent–this blog is the safe space I need to get those feelings out.
(PS: I got this idea from my friend/coworker Nicole. Check out her awesome blog here!)
It’s been a bit since my last post, but I’ve been busy in an unexpected place–the gym!
Now, I’ve never been particularly athletic. If I was, it was in an artsy-fartsy kind of way–ballet and jazz classes or colorguard with the marching band in high school. And I’ve definitely never liked to sweat (real talk–still don’t). But once I got to my heaviest weight ever last year, I decided to get my ass in gear…workout gear.
Like many hopeful fools at the beginning of 2016, shortly after January 1 I bought a gym membership. Guess how many times I went to the gym that spring?
Approximately twice. (Lame, I know.)
But now, a year later, I’m hitting the gym three times a week. And you know what? I actually kind of like it!
I never thought I’d look forward to going to the gym. Ever. It’s like Invasion of the Ashley Snatchers over here! But there were a few things that changed my mindset:
Accountability. Instead of working out solo, I hired a personal trainer at my gym. This way, I have an appointment–and someone to hold me accountable for showing up. Now it isn’t “I’ll work out when I have time” or “I’m tired so I’ll work out tomorrow.” I’ve got someone who expects me to be at the gym.
Guidance. When I worked out solo, I got anxious. I had no idea what exercises to do or if i was doing them correctly, so I stuck to easy cardio (walking usually). When I worked out in large groups, like a boot camp or class like Zumba, I got anxious and embarrassed. Was I the worst person in the group? Were the other people judging me? Once in a group boot camp, an extremely pregnant lady literally ran laps around me–not a great confidence booster, y’all. (And guess who never went back to that boot camp.) With my trainer I’ve got someone to show me what exercises to do, how to do them, and no pressure to be “the best” in the class–I’m #1 by default!
Consistency. If you know me, you know I’m a full-fledged Type A control freak. I gotta have a plan for errythang. So, I plan my workouts. I meet with my trainer twice a week on the same days at the same time; a recurring meeting request on my calendar keeps me on track. Starting this month, I plan a solo workout too–a week in advance–and put that on my calendar as well. Getting in a routine makes getting to the gym much easier for me.
Since I’ve been hitting the gym regularly, I honestly haven’t lost much weight. However, my body fat percentage has decreased since I’m replacing fat with muscle. I’ve noticed changes–my body is more toned overall and my waist is smaller–and other people have too. When I went home to Kentucky for Christmas, multiple family members commented on how I’d lost weight since they saw me for Thanksgiving less than a month before!
Don’t get me wrong–she’s not a gym rat yet. I go to the gym, sure, but I still hate sweating. (I guess some things never change.) However, I’m slowly enjoying my time there more and more. I’m even toying with the idea of adding a fourth workout each week in the morning before work!
My goal is to lose 30 pounds by my 30th birthday in September. But even if I don’t meet that goal, I’m still really happy and proud of myself. I’m making a lifestyle change! And that’s pretty damn awesome.
So, I made a big goof at work today. Nothing that warrants the electric chair or anything, but still not something I should have done. Excuse me while I beat myself up over it for the next 10 years.
Seriously. I cried as soon as it happened and have been replaying it over and over in my head since it happened. Even as I write this now, my face flushes with shame and my eyes well with tears.
Why do I do this? Why do I put this ridiculous pressure on myself to always do and say the right things at the right time? And why do I mentally berate myself when I slip up and show that I am, in fact, a human who sometimes makes mistakes?
Anxiety is probably part of it. But mostly I think it’s because I’ve always felt so wrong that I needed to be absolutely, perfectly perfect to balance it out. Ever since I was little I’ve felt like I had to prove to everyone that I was the best at every thing because I felt like nothing about me was correct.
Too loud.
Too fat.
Too Black.
So, I worked hard to be the absolute best so it wouldn’t matter that I was bigger than the other girls–I’d be smarter than them. I pushed myself to erase the whispers of “jiggaboo” on the bus every single day and and the sound of my sixth grade crush laughing, reading a note I’d written him aloud. One day, I would be laughing at them–better than anything they ever hoped to be.
And anytime I let that veneer of perfection crack, I punished myself. Hard. I remembered that fault longer than anyone else, and I reminded myself of it each time I made another mistake–a ticker tape of every single time I felt embarrassed or unworthy.
Not a good way to live, people. I say all the time I’m a work in progress, and this is one area where I still struggle. I’m trying to rewire 28 years of thinking and remind myself I’m still good, even if I’m not perfect.
Compromise: “a concession to something derogatory or prejudicial.”
Dang, Merriam-Webster. That’s a little harsh, don’t you think? (Though I’m certain advocates for the Virginia Plan would side with you.)
I like the simple definition better: “a way of reaching agreement in which each person or group gives up something that was wanted in order to end an argument or dispute.”
The key word in that definition? Each. Each person gives up something. Not one, but each.
I met someone who by all accounts was exactly what I wanted. Handsome. Intelligent. Successful. Wonderful listener. Socially conscious. Empathetic. Great teeth (don’t judge me, as everyone has their preferences and this is one of mine). But there was a teeny, tiny catch…
He was into open dating.
And, well…I’m…not.
It’s fine if others want to have open relationships, but I’m just not that kinda gal. Call me prissy, prudish, old-fashioned, unrealistic, whatever you want–it’s just not for me. I’m the type of person who goes all in when I commit to something, so that’s what I want in return. I’m also an only child, so sharing isn’t my strong suit (again, don’t judge me, as everyone has their flaws and this is one of mine).
So when he mentioned the subject with me, I listened to his rationale. I heard him out. I let him explain what it all meant and how he practiced it. (All the while hearing my intuition screaming, “Girl! What. Are. You. Thinking?!? This is not your lane! Don’t go there! This is not what you want!”)
And yet…I said I’d think about it. I honestly considered being one of many, even though my heart disagreed. This man was 80% what I needed him to be. I could live without that 20%, right? No one’s perfect. I was willing to compromise. That’s what adults are supposed to do–compromise! Each person gives up something for the greater good.
…But that wasn’t what was happening. Each person wasn’t giving up something. I was giving up something, and something I really, really want: Monogamy. Faithfulness. A one-and-only kind of love.
I don’t think that kind of love is impossible. I’ve seen it happen and I know it can happen for me. But it surely won’t if I keep doing this fake ass “compromising.”
I told him every man in my life (until recently) has let me down. They abandoned me. They decided that some one or something else was more important than me. I do not want that any more. I refuse to commit someone who is not willing to give everything, because that’s what I’m willing to give. I will not be second best.
I deserve someone who will make me their one. Their only.
So we decided it wasn’t going to work out. He’s a great person; I won’t cross the street or cuss his ass out if I ever see him again. He’s just not the one for me.
I was in my feelings a little bit after our decision to part ways and stumbled across this gem that reaffirmed I was taking the best action for my life.
Here’s to falling in love for the right reason and finding someone to share me…with me.
“But I don’t want to go among mad people,” Alice remarked. “Oh, you can’t help that,” said the Cat: “we’re all mad here. I’m mad. You’re mad.” “How do you know I’m mad?” said Alice. “You must be,” said the Cat, “or you wouldn’t have come here.”
Lewis Carroll, Alice in Wonderland
I must be mad, y’all. Sunday night, I did something I swore I’d never do again…
I got back on Tinder.
Now, my previous Tinder experiences have been lackluster at best. (Yes, at BEST.) Some of the men I’ve had the displeasure of meeting include:
…the one who asked me (before we’d ever met) if I liked to give head.
…the one who (after a pretty great date) disappeared for five months, then tried to come back into my life only to be too busy to spend time with me.
…the one who (again, before we’d ever met) called me damaged because I refused to cosign on his claim that he was the best thing that ever happened to me EVEN THOUGH I HAD NEVER MET HIM. He claimed I was “choosing a Buick over a Bentley” (whatever that means).
…the one who sexually harassed me, then bashed Black women (a.k.a. women who look just like me) on Facebook.
…the one who had a girlfriend the entire time we were dating. His girlfriend actually contacted me to find out the details of our relationship.
Y’all can see why Tinder-land wasn’t a place I wanted to stay for an extended period of time.
But because I’m optimistic–or a glutton for punishment, I’m not quite sure–I’ve decided to give it another try because I want to find love. My last relationship was pretty terrible. My Tinder experiences weren’t much better. But through it all, I’ve learned a few things:
Distancing myself from toxic people is okay. In fact, it is necessary for my personal sanity.
I don’t owe anyone anything. A man doesn’t deserve a date, an explanation, or a minute of my time just because he decided to speak to me.
I shouldn’t settle for just anyone. The man God has for me will be all I need him to be.
High standards yield high results. Holding myself to a higher standard (and expecting the same from the men I interact with) will help me weed out the ones who don’t deserve me.
Self-love is a prerequisite to a loving relationship. In the words of one of my role models, RuPaul, “If you can’t love yourself, how in the hell are you gonna love somebody else?”
Iamworthyofunconditionallove.
So with all of those lessons learned, I’m ready to head back to Tinder-land. Lewis Carroll said it better than I ever could:
“It’s no use going back to yesterday, because I was a different person then.”
This weekend I had the pleasure of meeting both of you at DragCon in Los Angeles. When I say I got my ENTIRE life, I mean just that–y’all slayed me and brought me back…only to slay me again! You may have forgotten our interaction, so let me jog your memories:
Bob–I stood in line for almost two hours to meet you on Saturday. Taylor, one of your assistants, assured me I would get through the line before you left at 4:30. I may have told him we would engage in fisticuffs if that turned out not to be true (I’m blaming my hangriness for that statement). You told me I was beautiful (which I am still gagging over). I said you would be my perfect husband because you’re just like me…you then introduced me to your brother and suggested that might be a better match. You signed my merchandise, we took two photos, and I promised to burn World of Wonder to the ground if you didn’t win (and I’m still mostly serious about that). I still can’t believe how gracious you were.
Purse first!
Ru–you and I met toward the end of the day Saturday. I had to take a moment when I saw you sitting behind that desk–I clutched my invisible pearls and audibly ordered myself to get it together. Your voice was heavenly; your suit the perfect shade of pink. You complimented my makeup (something I’m still reeling over!) and we chatted about products. You said you heard a touch of my southern accent…which I admitted comes out in extremely emotional situations. You hugged me. I cried when I left and swore that I could die right then and consider my life well-lived. Complete.
Pure joy!
Y’all are everything I’m too scared to be. You refuse to let the opinions of others block your greatness. You won’t allow your own thoughts of self-doubt to keep you from the success you rightful deserve.
Y’all are everything I know I am but won’t show. You make people laugh. You command rooms, stages. You knew you were destined to be performers and you took your rightful place in the spotlight. You choose to personify strong Black women when society screams a Black woman is the worst thing to be.
But I think the realness is what I appreciate most. You are yourselves, all the time. You don’t apologize for who you are. Even when you take on a character, your personality shines through.
Thank you for inspiring me to be myself, without apology. Thank you for the realness.
This weekend, I attended a few events and had a wonderful time. I laughed, ate delicious food, and shared the company of wonderful people. I left feeling on top of the world.
Later, not so much.
I have this problem with analyzing myself–being hyper critical. Rarely in the moment, but always afterward. A mental magnifying glass, scrutinizing every word, move, thought. Wondering if I was too loud. Too honest. If they liked me. If they didn’t…usually followed by things I should or shouldn’t have said, did or shouldn’t have done.
My guess is this comes from a lifetime of feeling less than. Not pretty enough, or smart enough, or talented enough. Constantly striving to present a perfect image so people wouldn’t see how broken I was inside.
That’s no way to live. And I won’t live that way anymore.
One of my goals is to care a little less about what other people think, accept my flaws, and love myself unconditionally. I cannot control the opinions of others, so there is no point in stressing over and worrying about them. As long as I’m the best person I can be–honest, friendly, empathetic, funny, kind–that’s all I can do.
I love me and–if these are the people meant to be in my life–they will too.
deepcurvesahead 