Cowardly Custard

People talk a lot about traits they don't like in other people. Mostly everyone would agree that they don't like liars, people who steal, mean people, etc. I am finding that I don't like cowards. 

Believe it or not, I had not had much experience with cowards in my life. Growing up in the city going to public schools, kids seemed to be in your face and never afraid of anything. Honestly, the most cowardly person I knew was me. I was afraid to get in fights and afraid to speak up. I was a true scaredy cat. But what got me to thinking about cowards of late in my tanked relationship with Big Bae. 

Big Bae was a man I met on a dating app that I was with for 8 months before he ghosted me in the New Year. I, like a simp, was scared he was dead, seeing that he has heart disease. I sent texts, inquiring about his well-being which went unanswered. I feared the worse, only to notice him changing his profile pic on his socials. I guess he was just over me and didn't care enough to at least tell me so. I see this as cowardly. P disagrees. 

"He's not a coward. This is just the way people operate," he informed me. Well, I find this mode of operation to be cowardly. 

Then there was my friend of 20 years that didn't want to be my friend anymore. She didn't feel like telling me and used our mutual friend as a middle man to deliver the message. Now if that's not cowardly, I don't know what is! 

I find that cowardly behavior has become an encouraged way of life. Social media life coaches across the board agree that everyone should avoid the hard conversations and uncomfortable words to preserve their peace, turning us into a happy-go-lucky race of yellow bellies, oblivious to the pain our cowardice rains on others. 

I was a mentor to teen girls for 15 years, and the slogan for mentoring is "First, do no harm". This was why if a mentoring relationship needed to end for any reason, we encouraged closure meetings where the mentor would tell the mentee why the relationship had to end. You wouldn't believe how many folks skipped out on those meetings, leaving the mentee to carry the load. Again, cowardly. 

What seems so bad about this unique brand of cowardice is that it's not based in fear. Child Holly who hid from confrontation would understand that. It seems to be based in this I-don't-give-a-f$ckness that is devoid of any empathy or respect. It just rubs me as low, but what else would you expect from a coward? 

Ladylike

When I was a kid, even during my tomboy years, I would see older women who weren't all dolled up and wonder what happened to them. It wasn't that they presented as masculine, but more like gender neutral beings that gave up on makeup and any type of form-fitting frocks. They would tend to have on varying combinations of clothing that gave them the potato sack look. Many had even traded in stylish sneakers for colorless, drab foot coverings with no laces. I realize now that at some point these women had just given up. For some reason, keeping up appearances can register as just too much for some women as they age. 

All the way up until my grandma was diagnosed with dementia, she pressed her hair daily and wore pressed powder. She was in her '80s. I find it difficult to find the strength to paint my nails, which I always loved doing, and I just turned 40. Before Beyonce made it popular, my grandma used to tell me that being pretty hurt, referring to the figurative and literal pain of keeping yourself up as a woman. Now that I get the full scope, I have to applaud women who put in the effort because it is a lot. 

My closet is full of dresses. Pretty ones I used to love to put on and literally spin around in. Making sure I had a nice collection of summer dresses used to be my thang. Now I have to stop myself from Googling where I can get some potato sack gear. I don't want to lose my desire to be feminine, but I've been hearing the sound of men's sweat pants calling my name. I see married women with kids and jobs on social media who still put forth the effort. Amazing! I'd be rocking back and forth in a corner wearing a bedsheet. 

In an effort to keep it sexy I have decided that today I will put on chapstick. Maybe staying connected to my feminine self starts off with a series of baby steps. 

The Compliment Collector

I have to say, being on a plus size dating app is fun. It's nice to chat with men who are into me for a change. Plus, I am a sucker for a good story. So I love to hear the men talk about their jobs and past relationships. And, ashamedly, I love when they pay me compliments. When these guys message me sweet words about my smile, eyes, and figure, I light up like a Christmas tree! 

You see, in high school I could not have paid a guy to say I was pretty. Then, in college, I was overlooked for BEAUTIFUL thin girls that literally looked like models. I was also ignored. I could have done the banana dance in the middle of the cafe, and no man would have noticed. As a young adult, men who said nice things to me wanted sex or gas money. Finally, in middle aged, men are waking up to see what a dish I am. 

I wish I was one of these women who didn't need male validation and could solely exist off of my self esteem alone. But I'm not, so give me more compliments for 200 Alex! There are things I am admitting out loud at my big age. I like when men make me feel beautiful as pathetic as it is. I am hopeful that one day my confidence will be enough to get me through. It just won't be one day soon, lol. 

Empathic

This weekend, my therapist diagnosed me with being an empath. I frowned. I do believe that being empathic is a a real thing, but I also believe it's a diagnosis that has become overused. It seems like everyone with a sad face is calling themselves empathetic. However, my therapist says this is why I feel things so deeply and can't move on from life's hurts and cruelties. A part of me wishes my grandmother and elementary school teachers were here to hear this. They long ago diagnosed me with "being too sensitive". But that's only because I spent kindergarten through 5th grade in tears. Now look at me! I am emotionally o-fficial! Empath out. 

The Big Mourn

For the past few years, I have felt stuck on repeat in my life; having the same issues and not making any progress. So many of my friends have started businesses, traveled, and just done big things whereas I have felt frozen in time. Of late, I have been forcing myself to really meditate on why and try to make myself accountable. The long and short of it is I'm hurt, sad, and don't know how to move past these emotions. 

I'd say that the biggest issues that I deal with are grief and abandonment. I feel that these things go hand-in-hand because they both are behind this baseline feeling of loss and needing to mourn. 

Yikes! No wonder no one wants to do self work! It sucks and it's draining. I'm telling you now that its more fun to get a tooth pulled than it is to really have to grieve your mom's death almost ten years later. But it has to be done. 

I also have to change my mindset when it comes to the abandonments. I have to get real and just acknowledge that I don't feel like I was abandoned, I was. Once I can put the period at the end of some of these friendships, I think I can go from missing people to mourning them so I can move on. I know what you are thinking: But Holly, your old friends aren't dead!" Believe me, the way some of them have vanished, it feels like they are.

Yesterday, I attempted to start the work on Friend X. I was crying five minutes in. It was like trying to slowly pull duct tape off a wound which was taking off skin as you did it. I considered this person a sister. But she is a huge emotional owie that has to go. I think my psyche agrees. I had a dream that I grabbed her hand and we were running with her trailing behind me. This feels like my mind's way of trying to dispose of these emotions. 

I do believe that it was the great H-Town that told us that emotions make you cry sometimes. Hopefully, on the other side of this mountain of Kleenex, I'm unstuck and ready to make moves. Friend X is in active mourn mode. My mom is a bit too heavy but I will get to her which would leave a trillion more owies to address. Here's to progressive! 

Dirty 2: The Dumb and The Fearless

Early this morning, as I was texting with phone-mance man, let's call him HaiBae, some rando texted me a full-frontal naked photo that was apparently intended for someone named Jessica. Wow! Not only had he sent out an intimate photo of himself, but he'd sent it to the wrong number! I couldn't decide if he was fearless or dumb. 

I would be asking myself this same question as I transitioned to speaking to HaiBae on the phone. Let's just say that when it comes to being physical with someone, he's a speed racer type of guy and I'm a hay-covered wagon type of woman. For him, this equates to me refusing to be spontaneous or live life. And I get that. This is a man that told me early on that one of his favorite things is exercising on the nude beach where he's from. In response, I'd told him I like to read. 

Early this morning, our naughty talk crashed into me learning more about his personal doctrine. To say that he goes with the flow is an understatement. According to him, we are put here to enjoy lives. They are already mapped out for us. He believes in a higher power but not really an afterlife, because energy never dies. For me, if you don't believe in an afterlife, life gets easy and fun quickly, because there are no postmortem consequences. If you are never going to have to pay for things you've done that are against a doctrine you don't recognize, everyday is a party! Have another shot of vodka while you ride another wiener. Who's going to check you boo?! 

As I listened to him talk about his whimsical life, one centered on exploring, living, and satisfying desires, I could not decide if he was fearless for living out loud or dumb. I was hearing him say a lot of stuff, but nothing about guard rails. I'm assuming those come from God. But if God is a homie riding shotgun in your so-called life and not a heavenly disciplinarian, who needs rules? You'd just do what you want using your own ideals as a compass, which is what I think is happening with HaiBae. I just can't decide if that's low-end crazy or high-end genius. 

He knew without me even saying that I am someone who operates out of fear. I was a goody two-shoes kid which has translated into an overly cautious adult who secretly craves the freedom of being reckless. But is that really freedom? Since God is my judging father and not my high-fiveing roommate, I'm going to have to say the answer is no. 

HaiBae wants to "f*ck me" as he so eloquently put it. Nastily, he has a way with words that I like. However, we've reached the point where I have put up or shut up. He's over our spicy convos. HaiBae has made it crystal clear that we either need to do something or not because just talking about it "bores him". For some reason I thought of James 2:17, "Faith without works is dead." As hot as he is, I just can't let go enough to engage in a hookup. As fearless as hooking up with a man I don't know well would be, putting out my thirst for danger, I just couldn't. That would be dumb. 

Dirty

I have tasked myself with finding joy wherever I can get it. Recently, I found it in having inappropriate conversations with a man I met on a dating app. I'm ashamed to say that I was hypnotized by his dirty, nasty, sexual talk. I was also intrigued by the fact that he was out here living much of what he was saying while I was sitting at home moping. 

By choosing abstinence (I'm not sure how choose-ish it is at this point) I am realizing that I have missed out on a huge part of the human experience which has isolated me from the rest of the world. How messed up is that? 

This phone-mance didn't last long.  Long story short,  I made him upset. Now all his texts have an aire of irritation in them. What are you going to do? Apparently, I irritate people. 

The fact that I so easily slipped into this hotline bling of naughtiness is just proof of how desperately I need to get back into church and my Bible, but that's a post for another time. 

Abandoned

Turning 40 has brought with it hours of reflection which is exhausting, seeing that I'm already a reflective person. Mostly, I've been trying to do some self work on being abandoned. Oddly enough, my last shrink diagnosed me with being abandoned before abandoning me herself. Oh, what is life without these painful, cosmic jokes? 

I feel abandoned by the brightness, will to live, and optimism of my younger self. I feel abandoned by family I miss that has died. I feel abandoned by my most intimate goals and dreams. And these things I am trying to carefully unpack. Yet most of all, I feel abandoned by my friends and people that have claimed to love me. I feel like my full name should be Holly "Out of sight, Out of mind" Clay. 

Facing the fact that I have been abandoned in some of my friendships, some I'd even considered life-long, has been excruciating. Addressing this abandonment also comes with this severe, overwhelming sense of loss, sadness, and even betrayal. It's a wound that I can't fully tend to, because just looking at the band-aid sends me into a spiral. 

"You are going to have to save yourself Holly. No one is coming to save you," my gyno told me during our last visit. She was speaking in regards to me losing weight, but she had no idea how much the comment hit home. 

Save me? I thought. I can't even get people I love to call me! 

I guess the hardest part is creating closure from folks that don't give a sh$t. I'm trying to map out how to do this without everyday being overwhelmingly emotional. I will keep you posted.