When I found out that my ex was cheating and had a newborn baby out here in these streets, I wanted to whip that girl’s ass. I screamed and cried, carried on with him but I wanted her. Ooh, the vision of dragging that ass in the street! Here’s the sad part: I envisioned all of this while still laying beside him every single night. I hated her but could not let him go. I couldn’t be the loser. Yo, I was lost before the I do’s but I wasn’t going to let this bitch have him. Humph.

Beating down, trampling, dragging, hating, tripping up, blocking, running interference, battling, competing, ripping to fucking shreds. Entire circles of friends beefing. Over dick. We will call jobs, bust windows out, completely body a chick on social media, and rush home to thaw chicken out and iron uniforms for his ass. I have never witnessed anything more relentless, tragic and just plain and simple sad.  

For most of us, we’ve had a seat at the table a few times. Same scenario, different dude. Can we call it what it is, though? Trauma shows up as tolerance. Things we don’t ever plan to face, or even know that we should. Fear that someone is going to receive something that we didn’t get. That looming question (and if you say you’ve never asked this of yourself, I do not believe you) – Is he giving her what he won’t give to me? I’m not talking in a materialistic sense, either. The other woman reminds us that we aren’t worthy of love. That reminder will continue to show up in hims and hers until we dig it up and throw it away. How dare we make her the problem. We will throw a full-fledged tantrum, screaming loyalty and love and “I held you down and you do this to me?” But..

What we really want to know is “WHY DON’T YOU SEE ME?!” and even deeper, “Did he finally catch a glimpse of what I see in me?  Did that push him away?” No. Pussy pulled him. Plain and simple. That’s not to say that men aren’t capable of being swept off of their feet by something beautiful and new. And I’m not mad at them and we should take a que with that. Leave what no longer serves you and don’t go near what attempts to destroy you. Go get that love.

But most of the time it ain’t even that heavy.

Dude cheats. Dude gets caught. Dude gets dismissed and ends up with somebody he had waiting in the wings. End of story. Maybe he’ll do the shadow work one day to resolve his shit but leave him to figure that out for himself. We gotta do better though.

My girl Beyonce even melodiously fired shots in her song Resentment, “I gotta look her in eyes, and see she’s had half of me, and she’s not half of me.” Ooooh Bey, I love you and I’ve been there but the nerve of us to look at our reflection in another woman and call it ugly. Let me say it again – whether she knew about you or had no clue that you existed: She is not your enemy.

*inserts mirror*

“I gave you parts of me that I didn’t give to myself. That’s some healing that I need to do but I trusted that you saw me, fucked up flaws and all and that you were willing to ride with me through my storms while I got this shit together. You didn’t and it hurts.” Say. That. Shit.

He can call his cheating a slip up, he can blame it on the liquor, he can even say he fell asleep and she pulled his dick out and hopped on it, but that honesty that you slam in his face, he can’t cover that with an excuse. He’ll respond with honesty because you did. You didn’t disguise it in, “How could you cheat on me with that ugly ass bitch??!! She ain’t even cute! She got 10 kids and 11 baby daddies and blah..blah..blah.” No. You hurt me. I let you. Period.

We can’t expect him to be a man about things that we aren’t addressing as women. But in the meantime, Shirley… stop stepping in the ring with your reflection aka Barbara.

2 thoughts on “#midweekmissle: Barbara Ain’t The Problem, Shirley.

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