Is He Proud of Me?

“Likewise, you husbands, live considerately with your wives, giving honor to the woman as the weaker vessel, since they too are also heirs of the grace of life, so that your prayers will not be hindered.” 1 Peter 3:7

One of the many, MANY questions I pebble my lover with constantly is “Proud of me?”  And although I’m certain the answer is yes, I NEED to hear him say it.  His support and his admiration are beyond important to me.  I know most believe that I do not care an iota about a man’s opinion being the aggressive feminist that I am, but they have been sorely misinformed. I don’t base the decisions I make on how a man feels about them. Men don’t like women who wear weave. I care? Guys don’t like when you’re outspoken? Ha. Boy bye. I live my life for me, but with the man that covers me, I care very much about how he perceives me.

We women wear our independence like armor.  We trick ourselves into believing our accomplishments are all we need at night.  We put on a brave face during the day as we reap the benefits our multiple degrees give us, but when we shut our door at night and all we have waiting for us is a glass of wine and a bowl of popcorn, well…

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Cheer Her On

It was not my intent to post today. Those of you who follow me on Facebook know that I had a weekend of travel hell. So all I desired of today was to focus on things I may have missed and to use a minimal amount of brainpower.

That was the plan anyway.

I woke up to an inbox message that tried to ruin my joy. Paraphrasing, I’m being discussed by those who I neither talk to or think of often, and this discussion centers around my supposed conceit and faux motivation. Who do I think I am?

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Dear You

Dear You,

Surprised to hear from me? Probably not. Does that really matter, though? Never once have I chosen not to tell you what’s on my mind regardless of your feelings about it. I read somewhere that it takes at least eleven weeks to get over a break up. Best believe, I’ve counted each day. Though I’m not even sure it counts a break up. It seemed more of we mutually but exclusively decided we could not take more of the other’s bullshit. Do I regret that decision? Not at all. It’s where we were and that’s how I felt. Do I miss you?

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