If you can’t stand the heat…

“Women want too much”

“Black women are too aggressive”

“Older women with children aren’t desirable”

“Less than perfect women should not expect to be protected and provided for by a man”

“Strong women don’t intimidate men… unless she thinks strong means aggressive, rude, unpleasant, and outspoken”

Strong, old, Black, too short, too tall, too big, too skinny, and just people with vaginas say a rousing… Fuck you! The Trumps, Richard Spencers, Robert Fischers, Kevin Samuels, Umar Johnsons and all the men who subscribe to their particular brand of women hating can also grab a seat on the Fuck You train. Men who have taken credit for women’s accomplishments, deemed us too weak and not smart enough, or James Evan’ed us to the kitchen and the bedroom instead of the lectern, boardroom, classroom, or wherever the hell we wanted to be… fuck ya’ll too! Check this out, real men don’t sit around dissecting and dictating who and what women should and can be. Men with time to focus on what women are doing or not doing should perhaps find another job, lift some weights, pick up a hammer or chisel, do some carpentry or masonry, or choke on BBQ smoke. Pick one.

Sexism is a tale as old as time. Before a White man ever thought about enslaving a Black man, he was controlling his wife. Many extremely smart women in the 19th century and early 20th century never married, such as Susan B. Anthony, Clara Barton, Caroline Hershel, or their accomplishments were credited to their husbands. Women feigned being dense or dim-witted to marry, because men weren’t interested in smart women, but women who would bear them heirs, look pretty on their arm, curtsy, and make a good biscuit for their tea. Sadly, not much has changed. Women who champion feminism and the rights of women, or those whose successes brought about the need for that championing are looked at as aggressive, masculine, independent, and uninterested in male companionship, marriage, child-bearing, and things the patriarchy paints as feminine. This is true across racial lines, and especially true, a remnant of both racism and sexism, for Black women.

Here is a truth… as a collective, NO other group of women in history have been as abandoned and abused, and then victim blamed as Black women. None. Our victimization has been at the hands of men: men in power, particularly White men, and men we share blood or affinity to, particularly Black men. Those are facts. Slavery separated us from our ancestral families in Africa and the ones we created in America. We were forced to bear the slave children of our Masters, creating an emotional wedge between us and our slave husbands. The Civil War left us without husbands, alone to raise children, who fought on the front lines for a country that would never treat us fairly. Jim Crow and Black Codes destroyed the communities of color we built, leaving us destitute and unable to feed, clothe, and house ourselves. Black women were forced to take on maid and mammy roles while Black men were forced out of the job market. Desperation and unjust laws left them jailed and us alone to raise kids with no men in the home, practically destroying the Black nuclear family.

Today, remnants of watching our single mothers struggle but persevere while knowing our father’s chose not to participate in our family reside just under the surface. We watched our brother’s take on man roles in a child’s body, and now see them struggling to overcome the stigma of incarceration. We remember our uncles, real and play, teaching them that manhood was about how many women, cars, and dollars you could stack and never showing emotion, compassion, or vulnerability. We see them mistreating our friends and sisters, helping themselves to whatever we have and leaving us worse off than we started. We stay at Friend of the Court trying to get them to help buy a pack of diapers or help pay for DeVanté, who looks just like his trifling ass, go to the private school so he can be a doctor like he always talks about. Before you get in your feelings, YES, there are plethora of Black men, men period, who are excellent husbands, fathers, friends, and leaders. We salute you!!! 👏🏽👏🏽👏🏽👏🏽 But for any man to spend his time determining that how we broadcast strength and resilience is wrong and indicative of our worth, without acknowledging what we have been through… he might want to consider that he is just further victimizing us with his judgement and patriarchal bullshit. Fuck you guy.

You want us in the kitchen frying your pickerel in lace underwear, real booty banging, hair laid (and it can be weave as long as you can’t tell), smiling and calling you King. But fish grease pops, so when we put our clothes back on we are rude, when we tie our hair back we are aggressive, and when we stop smiling we are rude. No, we just got fucking burned… but we keep on cooking. It’s you who can’t stand the heat bruh… so back your ass up out of the kitchen until your balls drop, you can grab them, and come help me tend to my burns. Until then, keep your fucked up opinions to yourself. How I exhibit strength is MY BUSINESS. If you don’t like it, then go find a woman you like, cuz the fact that you are talking about it MEANS that you are single af. Figure out why that is before you lay out your philosophy on why some woman, you don’t want, acts in a way you don’t agree with. Newsflash… she likely doesn’t give a fuck!

Your homework: Before you write a dissertation on why certain women are so undesirable, figure out why nobody wants you?!?

Women are always caping for men… all women. We keep your secrets, help you hide bodies, and cover your abuse with Maybelline… because we want to help make you better before we give up in you. But we are sick of your abuse, your judgements, your dominion… and we won’t continue to be your victims. We can be bad by ourselves. We can choose who and what we want to be. We can exist, live and breathe and walk and talk, without seeking your approval. And the entire truth is…

“Neither was man created for woman, but woman for man.” 1 Corinthians 11:9.

Get it right!

Release the Ike Demon

Something’s on my mind…

I watched the Tina Turner documentary on HBO today… and frankly we talk wayyyyy too much about raggedy ass Ike and not enough about Tina’s arms and legs at 50 years old. My gawd…

But a big part of her story is Ike, and a big part of the movie was her disappointment and pain of having to relive and retell that story of abuse and violence so many times. It was clear from her recollections that the movie, where most of us got to see his heinous behavior and those famous scenes of him dragging her by her hair through their home or her kicking his ass in the limo, were identical to reality. Violence from your mate or spouse is so horrible; a person you give access to yourself in ways that just don’t make sense to exist on the other side of a fist, hair pulls, fear, and disrespect. It’s a demon… and you have to exorcise it.

Demons make good music, have good jobs, can woo you, dress well, kiss you, give to you…only to take away. Demons are most often just afraid of you, that if you shine your light on them, like most demons they will burn and die. I mean you must know Ike’s drawn up little gnarled ass was hugely insecure next to her magnetism, her performance, those legs and arms. My gawd… He was both attracted to her sunshine and fearful of her sunburn. Just a demon, with demon ways… and she didn’t free herself until she forgave… not just walked away. You see, demons want you to hold on to their shit… it is that power they want. Don’t do it. Release the Ike demon in your life. Like release him all the way. Forgive him for being a demon, and watch the angels appear. Amen.

Also be clear that demons appear nice and friendly, cool and calm, and victims of their demonic behavior often hide it and keep it to themselves. No demon wants to be found out, and no victim wants to be seen as a victim. So that raggedy negro who pulled her by the hair, slapped her, and pushed her down or that woman who was punched at, patched the holes in the wall, and flinched in fear when he jumped at her like he was going in on double dutch… they call it domestic because most often it happens behind doors you aren’t allowed to enter. Neither of them want you to know. It’s shameful, it’s disrespectful, it’s ugly, and it’s damaging. It’s not the loving partnership she thought she’d have… the gentle and sweet refuge from the hard and difficult world. The world often pales in comparison. Demons ain’t shit.

But you can stand in opposition to domestic violence. If you are a man who knows your home boy often gets physically violent with his woman, speak on it, let him know that’s very moist of him. If you are a woman who suspects or knows your friend is being abused, support her don’t become silent and just mind your business. The truth is, men often kill women while engaging in abuse behaviors. They want so badly to own and possess her, to live inside her head and body, they drown in her blood. Your unsaid words won’t matter anymore if that happens… so let them both know you’ll bust his head to the white meat. Somebody should have whopped Ike’s ass one real good time.

Violence, but especially male violence towards women is some sucka shit. Be like Tina, get over despite him cuz you are simply… the best!

If you are in a domestic abuse relationship, call the National Domestic Violence Hotline at 1-800-799-SAFE.

How do you spell relief…

Y’all remember that commercial!?

Well this ain’t about heartburn. But it fits.

A little bit about me before I get into it, I am pretty straight forward, no nonsense, ignorance and mess averse. I grew up in a house where you were encouraged to say what you felt with respect of course. I had a hard nosed Grandmother who said WHATEVER was on her mind and didn’t care about your feelings or if you took offense. If you had a Betty Lou, you know you learn very quickly how to not only respond to foolishness but stand up in your own imperfection and own it. I often wondered what her deal really was… I recall my Aunt, her sister, telling me once “Your Grandmother needs a psychiatrist. Never forget that or let her forget it.”

I later learned exactly what that meant. At the time I thought it was funny, but as I got older she was basically telling me that I wasn’t personally responsible for managing my Grandmother’s emotions and insecurities and nor did I have to act like they were not there or like she wasn’t in need of a long sit down in the couch of her choice. Seeking mental therapy was normalized for me in that moment. I remember hearing my mom and even my Grandfather saying things that let me know Nana was not to be allowed to infect us with her unhealed trauma… whatever trauma it was.

So I got with Nana!

I’m about to get with you!


Earlier this year my closest, dearest, and bestest friend got really ill after contracting COVID-19. She was put into an induced coma, intubated, and spent two weeks in the hospital. When she was released home, she spent a very long time inside of the house and clearly afraid to go outside. The virus and it’s affects on her had left her with an acute case of PTSD that she couldn’t seem to shake, even a few months after being home. We were talking at least once a day… and each conversation her outlook on her physical healing got more gloomy and added another day in the house at the beginning of summer. So like I do, I said to her, ” Hey you might wanna talk to someone because your body and your emotions are traumatized and neither will get better if you don’t move around and start to reestablishing your daily patterns.” I let her know I understood that she’d feel different… your body IS different! But she was still in charge of her own healing… she could talk out ways to integrate some necessary changes into her life to establish a new baseline. She said something like… yeah I know. But soon after she told me she had started therapy, and next thing I knew she was at a social distance, outside event, mask on, but healing in every way. To that I say… Bravo!!!!

Normalizing therapy is important!


Life is a series of experiences… lessons and learning opportunities. Some are like Hamilton, you get schooled while folks rap and dance in costume. Others are like Saw, you get tortured in the process, but if you make it through, you can survive anything. You don’t get to choose how you learn. I believe it depends on the severity of your lack and importance of the knowledge… the path to enlightenment is paved in karma and curses you gotta learn to hurdle over. Jackie Joyner-Kersee them jokers!

But these are not unique to you. Sure your particular set of experiences and how they manifested in your life are uniquely yours, but be clear… people get cheated on, abused both emotionally and otherwise, stolen from, tricked, played, hurt, manipulated, lied to, lied on, misunderstood, and mistreated daily. That isn’t your fault, that’s based on the mental illness of the perpetrator. But you are responsible for how you handle those experiences and whether you choose to heal from them. That is totally on you. You can’t ignore it, push it aside, joke your way through it, or put a mask on it and call it something else… because it will find it’s way back, it will deposit itself on your skin, in your pores, in your heart, in your liver. It’s that starvation, insecurity, overindulgence, inappropriate behavior, nonproductive overexertion, lack of discernment, and fake shit. It will leak out from any orifice. It will infiltrate every good thing and rot it until it stinks like that old meat Langston reminded us about. It will pool around you until you drown in it… unless you save yourself from it. It is trauma. It’s worse than the most aggressive cancer or the most vile killer. That shit there is toxic and you gotta fix it. Or it will fix you.

Trauma is like quicksand. You knew the ground had gotten softer but you didn’t walk around it, and it sucked you in. Eventually it started to fill your nose, airway, and eyes with sand.., your last vision, feeling, thought, sound stuck at that last moment your eyes witnessed. You reach out your hand, but you’ll just pull them in too. No one wants to go there who doesn’t have the tools to pull you out from stable ground. But it’s possible to save yourself. It requires you to put on your big girl panties or your big boy draws, pull em up, and DO YOUR WORK … c’mon Auntie Iyanla told y’all. And in the process you must seek help from people who know how to help you help yourself. Most of the people around you simply aren’t equipped to manage your emotions. It’s not their job or responsibility.

In all seriousness, I leave you with this, My favorite book is The Alchemist by Paulo Coehlo and he always has the most sage advice. He once posted on Twitter, “To heal a wound you must stop scratching it.” Anyone who has healed knows exactly what you must do… change your thoughts. We focus on what is and has been wrong, keep peeking under the band aid, scratching at the scab, to just reopen the wound. Instead you have to DECIDE to do what is necessary to let it heal. For a physical wound it’s usually to leave it alone. For an emotional one it’s to bust it wide open, scoop out the bad insides, look at them, trash them, and concentrate on the present. Most times, to do that well, we need some help. Therapy comes in many forms. If couches ain’t for you, get some spiritual healing. If that ain’t your bag, try some crystals, reiki, whatever you need to do in order to learn the lessons, heed the word, and exist in a state of vainglorious.

You’ll be alright, just get yourself together and get some T-H-E-R-A-P-Y!

The Cloak of Men of Color

Is this your King…

Black men, if you have a penchant for using women’s thighs as your hand warmers and their breasts as your stress balls because “that’s what men do”… nope. That is not your ministry my G. The same rules don’t apply to you. Just ask

•Bill
•Robert… or R-rah ( as in Kelly … luckily this is written because I refuse to utter his nasty name)
•Tavis
•Russell
•Morgan (“Say it Ain’t So” Freeman… I mean Grandpa Mo cant be out here playing God and tryna go up folks skirts)
•Neil (deGrasse Tyson… even brilliant men do dumb shit), and whatever other brother who has been accused or found guilty of sexual harassment or assault. This ain’t your game.

I am attributing no blame to any of these men… well except the one guy, who “made the water” on folks… but you are not like your counterparts. You cannot make excuses like good old Tavis Smiley who claimed that since his company didn’t forbid sexual relations and he gave no positive or negative favoritism, that he had done no wrong. Stop it Smiley… your penis is too friendly. You cannot don the male supremacy cloak to shield your wrongdoing. That vestment is only for White men. You cannot act like there is no uneven power dynamic between a man and his female subordinate who are doing the sex. You certainly can’t expect Black women to excuse your foolishness.

My brothers, these rules that your White male bosses and the guys on the golf course live by do not apply to you. You all have been hoodwinked into the realm of male impropriety and fuckboy shit. These men were pillaging the bodies of African women during slavery, your wives, sisters, children in front of you. These men are continuously allowed to grab women’s body parts by their own admission, then go on to be President. They harass the women they employ and become billionaires. Then there is your Svengali.

Clarence Thomas was nominated to the Supreme Court in 1991 after a nomination process that exposed his blatant and disgusting sexual harassment of Anita Hill, a brilliant law professor and a Black woman. The guy who likes pubic hairs in his Coca-Cola took the place of our beloved first African-American justice, Thurgood Marshall. Seems like he got away with his transgressions. Well, He’s a Constitutional textualist whose carob colored ass surely would have been seen as 3/5ths. He’s the courts MOST conservative judge despite the myriad of civil rights, race and gender based cases he’s heard during his tenure. He will invoke anti-integrationalism and limited federal powers to uphold his stance that the law is colorblind and unable to even out the playing field caused by racism.

Harriet and Frederick would rebuke him, but what’s an ancestor to a turncoat? The powers that be knew he’d promote this extreme conservatism to fuel their white male supremacy. Moreover his victim was a Black woman…no one really gives a shit but other Black women. Yet Bill Cosby, who was drugging White women left and right, got the hammer.

Rich nigga, poor nigga… still nigga.” -Jay-Z

Male supremacy is born of hierarchy and power. They once cut off your feet so you couldn’t run. Now they entice you with their dominance to effectively stop your forward progress, our forward progress. They convince you to overpower and show your dominance to Black women, when that’s not our ancestral model. You oblige them so you leave us no choice. Black women will continue to speak up and out against sexual abuse at your hands, not because we only want to punish you, but as a matter of proximity… we are your first line of impropriety. It is our responsibility to stop you and protect ourselves, if you won’t do it. So we shall. But you share in that responsibility.

Why become Male Supremacists, when you are born Kings. Kings don’t need to force dominance, they don’t need cloaks, they are born with crowns, and they sure as hell don’t like pubic hairs in their carbonated beverages.

A good man treats women with honor. -Prophet Muhammad

Untitled Truth

I write for purpose and my main purpose is sharing knowledge. Most of the time it’s really silly and tongue in cheek, but this won’t be, not really (well maybe a little). It’s hard to talk about being mistreated. It’s even harder to talk about being abused. But as a grown up person, it is imperative that we share lessons learned so maybe one someone can heed the the words without experiencing the reality.

So here we go:

I lived in a two family flat as a kid. My grandparents lived downstairs. I’d go down on Friday and Saturday nights to have ice cream or graham crackers and milk while watching Johnny Carson. During a commercial, when I was about eight, my Grandmother told me to come sit on her lap. At that age I was almost her height, and maybe just thirty pounds lighter than her 110 pounds. I sat down in the big green chair, her boney knees in my chubby thigh, and she said “Now get on up you little elephant.” I knew she wasn’t calling me cute… even though there’s few things cuter than a baby elephant

… and in response, I got up and went back up to my house. No unnecessary criticism happened up there! I didn’t tell anyone, at the time, but I knew in that moment that she would be as verbally and emotionally abusive to me as she was to my Grandfather, and attempted with my mom and aunt.

She continued throughout my life to attempt to corner me into some discussion that was sure to hurt my feelings or make me feel bad on purpose. I would challenge her at times, and at others just retreat upstairs to my room. I wasn’t sure why she thought it appropriate to speak to me in that way. However, I heard her tell stories about how fun, secure, and social her sisters were in comparison and how they made fun of her, accepted socially only because she was attractive. It wasn’t lost on me that my mom and I, the targets of most of her negativity, looked much more like her sisters than we did like her. Lighter skinned, curly haired, and thicker than a snicker. I realized she wanted to thwart my own security in an effort to find the voice her sisters silenced.

Both of my Grandmothers were similar in that way. The other a self inflicted victim who sought to chop down those of us who found and sought success, finding some way to attempt to make you feel like that success made you responsible for the happiness of others. Both quick change artists. Wearing teddy bear suits over their snakeskin. It was best to grab your keys at their first hiss, because you were sure to get bit if you lingered.

Abuse.

I eventually retreated from those two. I went off to college and started to feel really comfortable in my own skin. I met a boy who thought I was as fine as I thought I was…and who hearted😍 me. He moved from Detroit to Ann Arbor, I thought to be near me. He supported me in school. He worked and ensured we had the things we needed. However being in a space where I had roots and he didn’t started to weigh on him. Turns out he didn’t join me but he followed me. If that sounds like stalker shit…

but at that time I didn’t get it. I was all lollipops and unicorns and didn’t have a clue what he called love was really possession. He didn’t want to be with me, he wanted to have me. Now as smart as I’d like to believe I was, I wasn’t aware of this at 19. I was bossy, ballsy, and braggadocious, and certainly didn’t plan on taking any shit from him. But with the shits he came. First, his small comments turned into full on criticisms. Again, at first I wasn’t aware of how what he was saying correlated to his attempt to possess me… but much more quickly this time, it made sense. He wanted me to himself, didn’t trust anyone I had around (really a distrust of me), tried to micromanage me, control how I spent my time, and push my buttons when none of that worked. I realized that he wanted to break me down to build me back up as he wanted to see me, not accept me as I came. He also wanted me to believe my friends simply didn’t want to see us together, as he could see in their eyes they despised him. Alienation, control, and subjugation. He pushed so hard, I walked away.

Abuse.

I never saw those experiences as abuse, not until this last go round. I ended up in a MCL 551.2 soured by poor choices. As I reacted to those poor choices, he reacted physically. It escalated from a loud voice to hands going through the walls. The pristine apartment we lived in went from looking like a showplace to looking like The Price is Right Punch A Bunch game. These macro aggressions the result of me saying No, failing to respond to his foolishness, or any other set of actions on my part, none of which gave him license to hit or feign hitting me. Also a result of scenes he’d seen before, causing conflict in his head about whether the dart or the bullseye causes the hit.

It culminated with a trip to a bespoke store, where he had to give some brief information to get into the then exclusive tailor. As he stood at the door, he looked back at me, expecting me to speak for him, and I remained silent. Use your words… But he didn’t and was rejected entry. We went to the car and he got hysterical about being embarrassed. I informed him that while I frequented the business, I couldn’t sponsor him and had given him the necessary information, it was on him and not me. I pulled out of the lot and he grabbed my seatbelt that I had just fastened, and pulled it. I yanked back for him to let it go. He then pulled tighter. It moved from over my shoulder to around my neck and cut me. I pulled over and demanded he get out of the car, and he refused. Yet as the police road by, he got out, afraid I’d make a scene… and he was CORRECT. I left him standing there and drove myself home. Later that evening, when he arrived home, smelling like ten thousand years of equatorial war, I informed him that his things were in the basement until he found a place to dwell. Love don’t live here anymore and I won’t be sleeping with the enemy. I also told him I’d bash his head in and think about Heaven later, if he so much as looked at me wrong. Otherwise everybody would be Kung Fu fighting up in that bungalow.

“Hit em with the left, hit em with the right…”

And we ain’t talking about cats or pocketbooks.

Abuse.

Not all abuse is physical, although we may experience the hell of that as well. Whether one has experienced verbal castigation or cruelty, physical assault or aggressions , or that Color Purple “climb on top and do his business” sexual violation… it all feels like violence and leaves psychological scar tissue. Sometimes it appears only in context to the abused and the observer, but guarantee that it will escalate to suffocation. Whether domestic, financial, or ritualistic, it’s a powerless persons attempt to gain power over you, because they see what they want to be in you. Influence, status, wealth, self-worth, health are all targets.

What is generally believed is that abusers target the weak, and while that may be true in child and elder abuse, the fact is that they tend to see a strength in you they want to conquer to feel more powerful themselves. Whatever the case, whether it comes from family as a child, partners as adults, caregivers as elders, or employers as an employee… an abuser gets his or her kicks by preying on people that aren’t necessary weak but who represent an opportunity to strengthen a weakness in themselves.

Other people don’t get to take out their failure to heal themselves out on you. But their attempts to, are often abusive manipulation of attention, favor, finances, companionship, or worse love. Love doesn’t operate in the same sphere as hate, fear, violence, or abuse. Love doesn’t makes you feel bad, ever. Love is kind, and fuck any people that attempt to make you believe otherwise.

In closing, heal your shit so you don’t become the very thing that caused your pain!