Think the thoughts, feel the feels...write it down

Sometimes visions of shitty, terrible, horrific things that happened to me start playing in my head. Usually when I'm still for a little while or quiet or just by myself minding my business. But then they don't stop; those memories of past traumas keep looping while I frantically try to not remember, try to  think of something else. But they keep playing. So vividly I remember the words and the scenery and what I was wearing. This most recent round of trauma loops ruined my shower. I had decided to take a longer shower than  normal, take care of myself, burn an incense. When I started thinking about how I had recently shared about the most recent sexual assault I remembered with someone but in a weird lighthearted way. I didn't call it by its name, 'rape', I quickly and carefully chose less jarring words. Words that clearly painted the picture, but in less vivid color. Then I tried to figure out why exactly I shared this story with that person; I guess because the...

I often don't give my past self credit. Like, I be knowing, but don't know that I knew until afterwards. I recently opened my journal to write/process, and I read a few journal entries from the past three years. They were sporadic, but very explicit in language. At the time of the older entries, I thought that since I had written about my problems and frustrations that they had been resolved. This isn't true, BUT they were still valuable entries. People always say that we are to look back at our past to do better, do right, in the present and our futures; they're talking about more global realities, wars and environment. But why not in a microcosmic scale? Why not look at our individual pasts and adjust our presents and futures from there? Why not be in constant communication with my past self? Just because I was young and naive doesn't mean I can't glean lessons from my past self. When I initially saw this I felt affirmed and the familiar shame. S...

Hovering over my phone in a weird almost-laying-on-my-stomach position, she began to trace my body with her nail. I was tense because my ex had walked in the house a day earlier than anticipated and we were fucking with my bedroom door open. The door now closed, I hovered and scrolled through my phone anxiously waiting for my ex to leave the house so her and I could continue. Just a few minutes after my ex left, I gingerly collapsed onto the bed, facing away from her. She had been continually tracing me the whole time. "That feels...nice" I stammered "Are you okay?" she asked " Yea, yea" more stammering " It's just you're not used to it?" " Right, but it's really nice." I confirmed " It's my pleasure." she urged Memorizing each raised hair as she traced my body, I tried to remember the last time I was touched like that. Fuck Coléa, when was the last time the body has been appreciated like this?!  I was a...

Today marks two weeks (and one day) of being 30. Going into it I was hesitant (as if I could slow down time) because the past few months have been tough and I was scared the shitty trend would continue. BUT so far thirty has been great! I feel the healthiest I've felt in a over a year, probably closer to two years. I feel loved and vibrant. I feel fulfilled and whole. I feel attractive and optimistic. I feel like I'm important in my own life . I am terribly good at enveloping my existence in someone else's; in devoting my life to someone else's happiness, needs, wants. But I've been working to untangle myself from that disposition. Self care is most efficient when consistent. I believe in setting intentions and manifesting. I believe that we speak, project the trajectory of our lives. So I was nervous about how to speak life into my life, partially because I had forgotten how. I had had this internal conflict of speaking/writing about my life because I didn...

Years back I read a then popular book, The Paris Wife . The book affected me because I just felt so heart broken and such a connection with the main character, Hadley Hemingway. Hadley was Ernest Hemingways' first wife. The wife he met at home and moved to Paris with and became famous with. When my ex and I ended, this book immediately popped in my head. I began drawing parallels between Hadley Hemingway's relationship with her (ex-)husband and my relationship with my (ex-)wife. Then I scolded myself for 'being so dramatic;' I mean my ex didn't fuck their mistress while I was in the bed with them, but they were secretly "talking/texting" another woman while we were still together. But my ex didn't get infuriated when I became pregnant, but they did scroll through their phone sitting just feet away while I put my puppy down. But my ex didn't say they couldn't trust me anymore, but they did call me fat and lazy to my and others' face...

Today I visited one of our love landmarks. I went there with a friend because it’s beautiful and I wanted to share the beauty with her. I was fine at first even though every plant I touched sent a tiny shock of melancholy through my being. Then I wasn’t fine. I became exhausted from outrunning these memories. So I sat on a bench, surrounded by plants and memories, and cried. It was annoyingly picturesque. This black femme, surrounded by nature’s beauty, crying about a lost love. I couldn’t outrun the memories. Every leaf, every flower, every rock, every bench had been covered by our proclamation of love. How many rains does it take to wash all that away? I find myself encountering sweet memories as I go about my day, minding my own business.  The love landmark where you first called me “my love”… The love landmark where you first announced that you loved me… The love landmarks where we’d revel in cheap tacos or good sushi… The love landmarks where my heart burste...

I don't know what it is. If it can be helped. If it's my fault. If I can prevent it. I just don't know. This feels cyclical. I don't feel wrong. But I do feel crazy. I feel like I can't talk to anyone about IT, like the very person I want and need to talk to about it doesn't wanna hear it. But I always hear their shit. I always actively listen and dish advice when prompted and coddle and coo and try to understand and sympathize. So why can't it be reciprocated? It can. It should. Now I'm sitting at home being pathetic while they're out going to the very party I wanted to go to. I am baffled and confused and hurt and broken and frustrated and scared. Is this it? Are we broken for good? My heart feels irreparable. I feel like I fell into this trap. I feel awful. My stomach is in knots; my eyes are exhausted from crying; I feel like the tiniest person. The tiniest, most pathetic person who's outer shell looks deceptively strong. Years ago, when I w...

A few weeks back I was in conversation with a handful of women about sex. All but me were straight, some married, some single, some in a relationship. The youngest one of this grouping chirped up and said she's 'saving herself for marriage.' No one really batted an eye because we all respect each other and the different lives we choose to lead, but I had to resist the urge to correct her. The language agitated me because it sent me back to a time when I said the same thing: saving myself for marriage. Let me be clear in saying that I take no issue with a person choosing when they desire to become sexually active. If a 16 year old decides they are ready and knows how to do so safely with a safe partner, then so be it. If a 30 year old who is not yet married wants to wait to have sex with their future spouse, then so be it. If a person decides/feels that they only want to masturbate for the rest of their life and have no sexual contact with another person, then so be it....

internally panicking every time an unfamiliar number appears on my screen because this could be the call that iterates the news of a family or friend who was murdered by police literally being scared of walking my dog in my neighborhood of two years holding my breath and clinching my jaw every time police pulls up behind or next to me while driving having to choke back the tears and anger every time I have to go to work after another Black hashtag has been created panicking every time a police drives by me in my predominately white neighborhood never getting rest because I never stop being Black.

You ever have those shower thoughts in which you revisit a memory out of nowhere and re-frame and rephrase? So now the memory is awkwardly mixed with what actually happened and what you wish you had said and realized at the time...I had that moment today, in the shower. Out of seemingly nowhere I revisited a memory from 2ish years ago when I was living in Concord with four other women and was in a really bad head space and heart space and literal space. I had been doing a lot of soul-searching and self-realization and was acting on it; my roommates didn't like it. I was transforming from the always smiling, (secretly) self-depricating, self-scapgoating, and exorbitantly self-sacrificing person that was so easy for everyone to doormat and 'love' to a woke, self-realized, self-loving, strong woman. I started speaking up for myself and asking for what I needed and addressing issues when they arose to the people who were part of the issues. In short, I stopped letting myself ...

In just a couple nights there will be a live performance, on NBC, of Motown’s The Wiz . If you’re not familiar with The Wiz , it’s Motown’s version of The Wizard of Oz . All different songs, same plot, all Black cast. The original came out in ’78 with Dorothy played by Diana Ross, Michael Jackson as the Scarecrow, Nipsy Russel as the Tin Man, Ted Ross as the Cowardly Lion, Richard Pryor as the The Great And Powerful Wiz, Lena Horne as Glenda the Good Witch, and a few other stars! I grew up watching this movie at my grandparents’ house huddled around the giant wooden tv with my cousins. We sang the songs, tried imitating the dance moves, and felt at home in our brown skin as we watched other brown people be exemplar. This Thursday’s production has me overjoyed and anticipatory. Again, and as it should be, the entire cast is Black. All the main characters are played by pretty famous people including Queen Latifah, Common, Mary J. Blige, Elijah Kelley, Uzo Aduba, and Amber Ri...

Same sex couples baffle people. Every type of people. Even those in the LGBTQIA community. My girlfriend’s close friend is a stud; quick lesson in lesbian lingo: a stud is a lesbian who has a lot of masculine energy, typically wears men’s clothing and is stereotypically supposed to be more dominant in their relationships with their partners. She, KiKi, is kinda obsessed with gender roles; she adheres to the strict guidelines (there are no strict guidelines) to the Stud-Lesbian Code of Conduct. She believes she should be the pursuer, the aggressor, the leader, the bread-winner, the head of the household. When KiKi first met LeAnna, she thought LeAnna was a stud. LeAnna is not a stud. For the past several months KiKi has constantly been challenged and confounded by LeAnna’s gender and sexuality expression. So LeAnna and my relationship confuses her. When we started dating, KiKi, once again, had questions; they ranged from “Coléa, you’re a girl, do you like this bag?” to very intrusive...

“See that boy over there?! His name is Garrett Brooks and he’s cute and I like him.” Shari Tate confided; I anxiously nodded in agreement. It was my first full day of kindergarten and my first afternoon at after school. When Shari, a super cool first grader, picked me to be her best friend and protege she also introduced me to crushes, boys like girls like boys, and the dirty word ‘sex’, and to the male gaze. Garrett was also a big first grader with an expressive face, a whiny, scratchy voice, and round head with large ears. For the next couple years Shari and I would be best friends. We’d  join hips in the cafeteria after school and put our almost matching book bags together as we rehashed our days. She had a rectangular Beauty & The Beast book bag and I had the Little Mermaid one. We’d visit each others’ homes for playdates and when her dad died, I’d go to her dark house and play with her as her mom laid in her bedroom and cried. I was so proud to be her best friend. She cho...

Her and I are both anxious people. But when I'm around her, my anxiousness completely subsides; and when she's around me her anxiety dials down to a sensible realist level. Which is why a couple weeks ago, when I quietly asked if we could hold hands, she said 'no' and explained she felt anxious about it. I gently answered okay and we kept walking, unattached. Her hand-holding anxiety made sense, we were in Concord Mills Malls. It was once the largest outlet mall in the East, and as a former resident of Concord, I remember in great detail the guarantee of seeing at least two confederate flags per day when out and about. It turns out racism isn’t the only thing attached to that fucking flag. It’s something we’re always mildly aware of, hand-holding and general public displays of affection. It’s also not something we talk about; it’s unspoken when we walk closely to one another, but never make contact while walking through the aisles at the store. We pass by male-fem...

I was hanging with a friend the other day when I met a friend of her and her husband's. He apparently took a liking to me and offered to buy me a drink, he just "wanted to buy a drink for a pretty lady." I declined because I didn't want him to get the wrong idea/lead him on. She, my friend, then came over and asked why I didn't accept his invitation, I replied that I wasn't interested in his offer, although he seemed like a great guy. She then basically tried to convince me to try dating men again, as if now will yield different results from all those times before. This is a close friend of mine who, although her mom is gay, sometimes says some ignorant stuff about the LGBTQIA community. Typically, I try to educate/correct her, but this time she was persistent. And I was made really uncomfortable and offended. I'm not bisexual, although I did toy with the idea whenever I first realized my attraction to women was more than platonic. But all the soul-se...

I had a necessary/awkward/good(?)/brief/deep conversation with someone, a friend, recently that has me feeling some type of way. Long story short: I was going out with this woman, Pam (not her real name), and things were going great, then things started going less great, but I wanted to hang on because I really liked her and it's in my nature to allow people to repeatedly treat me like shit and still stay loyal to them. She broke it off with me and immediately dived into another relationship with Jan (another pretend name). Pam comes to my place one night to hang out and she reveals that she doesn't like Jan as much as she initially did and has cold feet about marrying Jan, and she doesn't really love her that way anymore; I try to give her advice, stuff like 'it's okay to have doubt as long as you're being honest with Jan about what's going on' and 'when you love someone you have to accept the stuff you don't like about them in addition to all ...

Recently someone asked me how to best be an ally to Black people; she didn't want to offend/step on any toes/misstep. I really appreciated her asking, but I also gave a convoluted answer. I thought instead of being redundant, I would share a great video that succinctly talks about how to be a good ally. Franchesca brings up privilege , which can be something really hard for people to understand. I remember realizing a privilege I have when I was interacting with someone who has dwarfism, her and I were talking and walking, when she starts taking the ramp and I head for the stairs. It hadn't even occurred to me that the ramp was a viable option, but for her she always took the ramp because it makes her life easier. Here's another super video that's about intersectionality, but is a good illustration of privilege (white-female privilege). Both of these videos are great, but there's a few other things I'd like to add on how to be (or what to ...

I mean, I’m a catch, right? I’m intelligent, attractive, compassionate, kinda fit, social, I could go on, but you get it. So why, a few years back, was it so hard for me to catch someone? This was the first time in years , possibly ever, that I had decided to actually try to not be single. I yoked myself to the online dating world and invested time in finding the right guy. In retrospect, I now realize why none of those potentials worked out. I dated some eligible guys. There was the really handsome anesthesiologist tech who was a great conversationalist and shared my love for breakfast foods. There was the parks & rec employee with a brilliant smile and winning attitude whose one flaw was that he had a cat. And there were a couple of guys who just really weren’t for me. There was the guy who expressed that he was so great that he wanted to have kids so they could admire his greatness. There was the guy who wanted to jump right into a relationship with me and then got upset w...

A couple weeks ago I was in fitting rooms (trying on clothes I had no business buying) and I was taken aback, encouraged and thrilled, by the chatter I heard among the women in the space. As women, we’re taught that we should always be ashamed of at least one thing on our body. And that we should dress according to our physical insecurities instead of our tastes in clothing. So if she is self-conscious about her fat thighs, then she should only wear knee length skirts/dresses/shorts; and she’s brave if she wears otherwise. In the fitting rooms I heard women building up one another by compliments and best of all by correcting. When someone would say she didn’t look good in something, her friend corrected her and said that she looks great in whatever she feels comfortable in. If she likes yellow, then wear yellow and don’t worry about how others will perceive her; if she likes big prints then don’t think she can’t wear them because of her size. It made me smile and almost brought me to...

You know that feeling when you stand up from sitting on your leg wrong? You know you're leg is there but you can't feel it yet it's heavy and then the uncomfortable prickly feeling kicks in so you try to carry on gingerly because that leg can no longer be trusted? That's you.