Thanks... I think.....

I believe in closed door blessings. Sometimes, what you don't get is as important as what you do get.

Where's the story? Well, here it comes: A few weeks ago, after a brunch/dinner with friends, I had a heated discussion (ok - argument) with a friend. She is angry at Black men, because they don't step up their game, and marry sistas. That is a whole 'nother blog, and probably a series of blogs, to be honest, but in her frustration, she stepped up her insult game and took it to a place I wasn't expecting - the "baby momma". In case you haven't been reading, I am a baby momma, so I was listening intently when the point she was trying to make shifted from "these bitch ass niggas out here" (which I can relate to as I have referred to many a man as a bitch ass) to "baby mommas are contributing to this problem because they keep on reproducing with these niggas".

Screech - "whaaat?!?!?!"

Wow. I felt like old boy in Shottas: "ya gone too far, Biggs..." She took it to a place where it became reaaal personal. As I calmed myself down from reaching across that table and giving her an old fashioned beat down, I reminded her that my son was the product of a union where there was love. I was not a guest on Maury, he was not some dude I wanted to just fuck, and not all baby mommas were no ambition having women who settled for just being with anyone.

My BFF was there too, and after I stormed out, I was kinda mad at her because I felt as if she hadn't "defended" me. For the next few days, I was disgusted everytime I thought about the conversation. You know those memories that come at you while you washing dishes, stirring your chili, and they make you so mad you start talking all up under your breath? That's what I felt. Rage.

By this time, my BFF and I had spoken, all was squashed on that end, but I was still ready to not EVER speak to this other friend again.

Then she emailed me, apologized for her words. I didn't reply.

A few weeks pass, and my rage dies down, and one day, I started to reflect on what she had said. I realized that although she was mean, I agreed with her on some points. I did think that Black men drop the ball on marriage. I had wanted to marry my son's dad at one point. I wanted to be validated as a wife, I wanted to have that public recognition, and fuck it - I put in work.... I earned my ring!

In fact, I still do, to a man that will love, honor, and cherish me and my son, and want me to do the same for him.

From that conversation with myself, what I realized was that maybe I was projecting on her, and reading more into what she had said because I was feeling so unrealized in love. I was disappointed, feeling as if people looked on me and my son with pity, or underestimate the depth of my feelings or effort in the relationship because I was not a wife.

I had to accept that she had some valid points. I had been with a Black man who didn't mary me. I believe he loved me, but maybe not enough. This conversation forced me to examine anger issues and insecurity I thought I had suppressed. It also opened up a world of questions.

Why was I so angered by her comments? Was it because they had touched a nerve? YES. Was I hurt by what she said because it had some truth to it, in my own life? YES. Was I upset that despite my best efforts, shit came undone, that I would always be lumped in the "baby momma" category,and not that of "ex-wife", which carries more social clout? YES.

As I sat and reflected, I realized I had some things to work on: I had to accept that people will have their opinions about me, and more importantly, that I had some things to work on, to get my mind right, to fully deal with. I cannot control the past, nor can I let it control me. One failed relationship does not define me. It is up to me to make sure it does not.

Don't get me wrong: I'm still hurt by some of the comments. I thought they were harsh as hell, and our relationship has changed. Despite that, however, I was glad to have had the catalyst for that conversation I needed to have with myself.