We’ve all resented her at some point. For Jackie O, it was Marilyn Monroe. Faith Evans had Lil’ Kim. And for the women on Maury and Jerry Springer it always seems to be a cousin or not so distant relative. Regardless, the “other woman” tends to trigger the same responses in every woman she affects, the release of a surging can of whoop ass, and/or, crying, a whole lot of crying.
What of this “other woman”? This woman could be your hair stylist, a fellow church member, your favorite shopping partner, but you find out she’s banging your man and all of a sudden she sprouts red horns. Is she more than just the chick we love to hate and the heifer we blame for our failed relationships? Let’s examine it.
There are two kinds of mistresses, the ones who know their status and the ones who are fooled into believing they are his one and only. There are women like home girl from Diary of a Mad Black Woman who are way out of order. Then there are ladies who are not aware that they are the “other women” at all, like one of my personal favorites, Meredith Grey (Grey’s Anatomy). For all they knew, they were in perfectly monogamous relationships. In that case, who’s to say who actually has dibs on the dog? Is it the girl who’s been being played longer? Is it the woman he spends more money on, or, the one he spends more time with?
I am not making excuses for anyone. Cheating is never okay. I am saying that the “other woman”, is, well…a woman. She’s one of God’s children. She’s equally as human as you are. She needs love just like you do. Maybe in a moment of weakness she let the man sweet talk her into doing something she knew was wrong, and that moment, turned into an affair. Maybe she’s just trying to support her purse addiction and figures, what his girl doesn’t know won’t hurt her. Maybe she’s hated you since the third grade and just can’t stand the thought of you being happy. Maybe she’s at such a low point that she believes she is not worthy of a man of her own. In any case, she is still a woman.
The fact of the matter is, cheating is irrational. It makes no sense. So I am done trying to rationalize it. With my last boyfriend, when I was far too young to know any better, I did not know if I was the home wrecker, or, if it was his baby mama. What I know for sure, is that there will always be men who cheat. So the “other woman” will always exist. In the mean time I’ll try to live up to my Christian goal and love all of God’s children unconditionally. I don’t need anymore reasons to hate my sister.
Friday, August 10, 2007
Thursday, August 2, 2007
The Best Thing
The best thing since sliced bread. Like any other American, I’ve heard that phrase my entire life, but never took the time to think about what it really means, until recently. What could possibly be so good about sliced bread, that the very concept of it claims its own national idiom? Would it kill us to actually have to use that marvelous tool, called a knife, and cut our bread into slices ourselves. I know that recently we have crossed over into an all new level of laziness in this country, to the point where we even want our cars to drive themselves. But even the self-parking Lexus has its clear advantages. For one thing, most people, me included, can barely parallel park. But anyone can slice bread. So where’s the advantage there?
The fact is, the hoopla isn’t about the bread; it’s about everything else. We like the fact that someone has taken the time to do something so menial for us. It makes us feel important, special. Not to mention, it makes life easier. Could you imagine how much longer it would take for us to get out the door in the morning if we had to slice our bread, toast it, and butter it? A quick P&J sandwich would no longer be quick. Of course we’re fully capable of slicing our bread but isn’t it great that we don’t have to risk cutting ourselves or making an imperfect slice because it’s already done for us?
It’s no wonder they say good men are the best thing since sliced bread. They bring something to the table that cannot be replaced. It’s not so much what they do, as it is the fact that they do it, and do it cheerfully. When my dad pays my tuition and my car note, when my little brother pumps my gas, when my date opens the door for me and carries my shopping bags and picks up the tab at the end of the day, that’s the best. It makes me feel treasured, protected; and it makes life so much easier.
Don’t think for a minute that I’m undermining the power of a sister. Sure we can pay our own bills, kill the spiders under our beds, feed our own purse and shoe addictions, change our own flat tires, sport our own bling, pump our own gas, open up our own doors, even satisfy our own healthy sensual appetites (as quiet as it’s kept). But it’s just so much better when God sends us someone who wants to do all of those things for us, and enjoys every minute of it. It’s the greatest. It’s…the best thing since sliced bread.
Here’s to all the men taking care of home. Any man who knows how to treat the women in his life like queens, is definitely a king. You are loved and greatly appreciated.
The fact is, the hoopla isn’t about the bread; it’s about everything else. We like the fact that someone has taken the time to do something so menial for us. It makes us feel important, special. Not to mention, it makes life easier. Could you imagine how much longer it would take for us to get out the door in the morning if we had to slice our bread, toast it, and butter it? A quick P&J sandwich would no longer be quick. Of course we’re fully capable of slicing our bread but isn’t it great that we don’t have to risk cutting ourselves or making an imperfect slice because it’s already done for us?
It’s no wonder they say good men are the best thing since sliced bread. They bring something to the table that cannot be replaced. It’s not so much what they do, as it is the fact that they do it, and do it cheerfully. When my dad pays my tuition and my car note, when my little brother pumps my gas, when my date opens the door for me and carries my shopping bags and picks up the tab at the end of the day, that’s the best. It makes me feel treasured, protected; and it makes life so much easier.
Don’t think for a minute that I’m undermining the power of a sister. Sure we can pay our own bills, kill the spiders under our beds, feed our own purse and shoe addictions, change our own flat tires, sport our own bling, pump our own gas, open up our own doors, even satisfy our own healthy sensual appetites (as quiet as it’s kept). But it’s just so much better when God sends us someone who wants to do all of those things for us, and enjoys every minute of it. It’s the greatest. It’s…the best thing since sliced bread.
Here’s to all the men taking care of home. Any man who knows how to treat the women in his life like queens, is definitely a king. You are loved and greatly appreciated.
Friday, July 27, 2007
Needy
Opposites attract. Yin needs yang. Even when it comes to sex, it’s all about the birds and the bees. Everything that we learn about relationships, the joining of two beings under some common clause, revolves around the central concept of one being complementing another. Momma n’em may not have explained it in the best way, but they knew what they were talking about. In all of my genuine love journeys with God’s children I’ve found that I am drawn to something in the other soul that I lack in my own.
Of course there’s my most recent “love” interest (now history) who has such a no non-sense attitude about life that he handles everything like Lebron James shoots three pointers. It’s done with such finesse, such precision, such soul; you can’t help but be turned on and awe-inspired all at the same time. This man doesn’t live life, he executes it. So far from my more emotional approach to things. Even my mother, who’s intellect is so brilliant that she can analyze a complex situation in a matter of minutes, has a mind that operates almost exactly contradictory to my own. My Aunt Rosalind who I know is my very own God sent angel, has such a compassionate spirit that she loves with more than her heart. She loves with her mind and with her work and even her hair. Her beautiful braids, the results of an 18-hour production process, are her choice, not because she wants to be included in some trend, but because she wants to express her love and dedication to the people she represents. Yes, hers are truly locks of love. Such compassion, ebbed into the very essence, is something I know I don’t have, for sure.
When I went to college the script was flipped. In one of my most important relationships, I found myself the leading lady. My friend was the one inspired, motivated, awe-struck. I have so much that she seems to lack. Soon this dear friendship grew into something that began to change me. My friend was panting for love, acceptance, validation…all the things important in life. In her desperation she made decisions that required me to love and give in a way that I was not used to. There were days when I gave all of my positive energy to her, and she left her negative energy in its place. I was exhausted. I couldn’t understand why someone so precious would make such destructive decisions over and over again. And by the end of my first year of college, I’d had enough.
Recently this friendship took a very interesting turn and I gave up on it. It was this rough time that caused me to re-examine the situation. Was this relationship as one-sided as I thought? Perhaps there was apart of me that needed to be needed, just as much as my friend needed someone to depend on. If this is the case, she was my savior, just as much as I was her’s. Regardless of the specifics, there was give and take. And so I know that even though this hasn't been an easy friendship, it is not one-sided.
Is there someone in your life that you can’t figure out why God placed there? Maybe you have a relative who depends on you for everything. Remember that every relationship, every person, has its purpose. Be encouraged in your well doing. Stand by your friend, your relative, your spouse. And love them through whatever it is that’s hindering them. Even God created man, so that He could be in relationship with him. God does most of the work. He created us in His image, and if that weren’t enough, He wakes us up every morning and shows us new mercies. But the beauty of the relationship is when we, His children, as lacking as we are, worship Him in spirit and truth.
At this point I’m not sure whether or not this story has a happy ending. I haven’t patched things up with my friend, but I have begun to deal with my anger towards her. I cannot curse that which God has ordained. I know my friend has great potential and I hope that one day she realizes how priceless she is and never forgets it. Until then, I can’t give up. After all, God hasn’t given up on me.
Of course there’s my most recent “love” interest (now history) who has such a no non-sense attitude about life that he handles everything like Lebron James shoots three pointers. It’s done with such finesse, such precision, such soul; you can’t help but be turned on and awe-inspired all at the same time. This man doesn’t live life, he executes it. So far from my more emotional approach to things. Even my mother, who’s intellect is so brilliant that she can analyze a complex situation in a matter of minutes, has a mind that operates almost exactly contradictory to my own. My Aunt Rosalind who I know is my very own God sent angel, has such a compassionate spirit that she loves with more than her heart. She loves with her mind and with her work and even her hair. Her beautiful braids, the results of an 18-hour production process, are her choice, not because she wants to be included in some trend, but because she wants to express her love and dedication to the people she represents. Yes, hers are truly locks of love. Such compassion, ebbed into the very essence, is something I know I don’t have, for sure.
When I went to college the script was flipped. In one of my most important relationships, I found myself the leading lady. My friend was the one inspired, motivated, awe-struck. I have so much that she seems to lack. Soon this dear friendship grew into something that began to change me. My friend was panting for love, acceptance, validation…all the things important in life. In her desperation she made decisions that required me to love and give in a way that I was not used to. There were days when I gave all of my positive energy to her, and she left her negative energy in its place. I was exhausted. I couldn’t understand why someone so precious would make such destructive decisions over and over again. And by the end of my first year of college, I’d had enough.
Recently this friendship took a very interesting turn and I gave up on it. It was this rough time that caused me to re-examine the situation. Was this relationship as one-sided as I thought? Perhaps there was apart of me that needed to be needed, just as much as my friend needed someone to depend on. If this is the case, she was my savior, just as much as I was her’s. Regardless of the specifics, there was give and take. And so I know that even though this hasn't been an easy friendship, it is not one-sided.
Is there someone in your life that you can’t figure out why God placed there? Maybe you have a relative who depends on you for everything. Remember that every relationship, every person, has its purpose. Be encouraged in your well doing. Stand by your friend, your relative, your spouse. And love them through whatever it is that’s hindering them. Even God created man, so that He could be in relationship with him. God does most of the work. He created us in His image, and if that weren’t enough, He wakes us up every morning and shows us new mercies. But the beauty of the relationship is when we, His children, as lacking as we are, worship Him in spirit and truth.
At this point I’m not sure whether or not this story has a happy ending. I haven’t patched things up with my friend, but I have begun to deal with my anger towards her. I cannot curse that which God has ordained. I know my friend has great potential and I hope that one day she realizes how priceless she is and never forgets it. Until then, I can’t give up. After all, God hasn’t given up on me.
Monday, July 23, 2007
Le Debut
The only thing worse than me waiting forever to start this blog is the fact that, well, I started it, but I didn't actually start it. I got caught up in this sticky web of procrastination that got bigger and bigger the more I fed into it. First I didn't start because I couldn't think of a name that I liked. Then I held off a little longer because I didn't feel that I had anything to say. That's a load of crap. So then it morphed into, oh, I've got something to say, but I don't know quite how to say it. Then I thought, why am I stressing, who's going to actually read this thing anyway? Well, my procrastination is finally over. Audience or no audience...I'm talking.
I suppose the best way to start anything is to let people get a feel of where I'm coming from. I could say that I'm a black girl born outside of Atlanta and raised in Detroit. Match that with my name, Timeka, and you've got the seed of a fully blossoming ivy with leaves and leaves of assumptions whose venom has the power to taint everything I write from now on. Or I could say that I'm a Christian. I don't have a denomination. I pride myself on having a personal relationship with God and not a monotonous religion that I practice on Sundays to make me feel better about the crap I pull Monday through Saturday. If you think you've summed me up already, I'm afraid there's more. I graduated from an all girls catholic high school. And when my friends were partying well into the morning after senior prom I had to be sure to get home in time to catch the bus at 5am the next morning to the National Catholic Forensics Tournament. My dad has been a pastor for the past 15 years. I'm the middle child; the only girl. And there have been points in my life when I've actually wanted to be: one of the Olsen Twins, Ginger Spice, and Cher Horowitz (the main character of hit film and television series "Clueless"). Now you can peg me. Not that easy it. I'm pretty sure that even if you did come up with a clever box to put me in...you'd soon realize that somehow, I just didn't fit. I know it's confusing. Hell, I confuse myself sometimes.
Some of the boxes I've been pushed into were comfortable for me. I felt like I fit. So I stayed. There was that pre-teen snob who tells herself and everyone else that she's better than them, but secretly compares herself to Cosmo Girl characters. Then there was that box for girls too "blessed" for their own good. I played the role for my parents, but when it came to the boys, I let my double d's do the talking and collected numbers just for the hell of it. Okay, I may be being a little harsh on myself there. Then there was that box that I practically jumped into head first and tucked myself in nice and neat. The "woe is me" depression box. That was a good place to hide.
So I'm sure I've gone on for far too long and I guess I should reach an actual point. I'll post something new at least once a week and I'll make every post as real, relational, and rousing as I can. The title La Voix Femme (literally meaning, the woman's voice) comes from a similar title of a speech written by a phenomenal woman who was an abolitionist, suffragist, and awesome motivation to anyone who takes the time to study her. Aint I A Woman is a speech Sister Sojourner Truth delivered at a women's rights convention in Akron, Ohio in 1851. She told of the contrasts between herself and that which men (white men that is) consider to be a woman. There are many contrasts, she explained, but she is still a woman.
Throughout the journey that I take in this blog, I promise there will be contrasts. There will be things that just don't add up. There will be unexpected twists and turns and predictable pathways. In any case, I'm still a woman. I'm still a child of God. I'm still a sista. And yes, I still listen to my Spice Girls album occassionally. Ain't mine a voice worth hearing?
I suppose the best way to start anything is to let people get a feel of where I'm coming from. I could say that I'm a black girl born outside of Atlanta and raised in Detroit. Match that with my name, Timeka, and you've got the seed of a fully blossoming ivy with leaves and leaves of assumptions whose venom has the power to taint everything I write from now on. Or I could say that I'm a Christian. I don't have a denomination. I pride myself on having a personal relationship with God and not a monotonous religion that I practice on Sundays to make me feel better about the crap I pull Monday through Saturday. If you think you've summed me up already, I'm afraid there's more. I graduated from an all girls catholic high school. And when my friends were partying well into the morning after senior prom I had to be sure to get home in time to catch the bus at 5am the next morning to the National Catholic Forensics Tournament. My dad has been a pastor for the past 15 years. I'm the middle child; the only girl. And there have been points in my life when I've actually wanted to be: one of the Olsen Twins, Ginger Spice, and Cher Horowitz (the main character of hit film and television series "Clueless"). Now you can peg me. Not that easy it. I'm pretty sure that even if you did come up with a clever box to put me in...you'd soon realize that somehow, I just didn't fit. I know it's confusing. Hell, I confuse myself sometimes.
Some of the boxes I've been pushed into were comfortable for me. I felt like I fit. So I stayed. There was that pre-teen snob who tells herself and everyone else that she's better than them, but secretly compares herself to Cosmo Girl characters. Then there was that box for girls too "blessed" for their own good. I played the role for my parents, but when it came to the boys, I let my double d's do the talking and collected numbers just for the hell of it. Okay, I may be being a little harsh on myself there. Then there was that box that I practically jumped into head first and tucked myself in nice and neat. The "woe is me" depression box. That was a good place to hide.
So I'm sure I've gone on for far too long and I guess I should reach an actual point. I'll post something new at least once a week and I'll make every post as real, relational, and rousing as I can. The title La Voix Femme (literally meaning, the woman's voice) comes from a similar title of a speech written by a phenomenal woman who was an abolitionist, suffragist, and awesome motivation to anyone who takes the time to study her. Aint I A Woman is a speech Sister Sojourner Truth delivered at a women's rights convention in Akron, Ohio in 1851. She told of the contrasts between herself and that which men (white men that is) consider to be a woman. There are many contrasts, she explained, but she is still a woman.
Throughout the journey that I take in this blog, I promise there will be contrasts. There will be things that just don't add up. There will be unexpected twists and turns and predictable pathways. In any case, I'm still a woman. I'm still a child of God. I'm still a sista. And yes, I still listen to my Spice Girls album occassionally. Ain't mine a voice worth hearing?
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