February has historically been more about reclaiming, naming, and honoring Black History more than love. I am consistently Black, but not consistently in love. For 43 years, my love life has been marked more by inconsistency than anything else. Some could say I missed the part in I Corinthians 13 about longsuffering-ness, others could say I suffered more than I ought. I think its somewhere in between. I come from a long line of women who put up with too much—too much abuse, infidelity, humiliation, and more. In the spirit of being longsuffering, they stayed. Arguably, to their detriment. I watched many women I love suffer in silence—internalized depression, stress, bitterness, and sadness—that they rarely even discussed. It scared me! I questioned whether love that feels and is good is even possible.
My response to what I have both heard and witnessed is to have a low or no tolerance policy to the same. I have fled stability. I have stayed too long in chaos. I have sabotaged before I had the opportunity to be hurt (or not). I have perpetually returned to those who have wounded and scarred my heart. I can see where I made decisions to stay in toxic relationships because I wanted to be married with children. I wallowed in dread because I so prioritized my career that I feared I missed my opportunity to birth children. And I spent time trying to emotionally connect to men who I intuitively knew were emotionally unavailable or unable to sustain the kind of emotional connection I require. And while I may not be on the other side of it, I know I am healing because I can see all of it.
Good love is possible, but requires an unbelievable amount of work and transparency. Intimacy is impossible without being completely willing to be vulnerably and courageous about working on our stuff! The main thing I have learned about love…and in my experience, Black love, is too many relationships die without giving each other the benefit of the doubt. Hell, humanity requires that. We will die off completely without hope. We NEED each other to give the benefit of the doubt, to believe the best of and in us. Black people: we need to believe that this world will get better for us. That a world can be created for us to breathe fresh air, drink clean water, get a good education, and where our culture is put on because we are centered and not merely appropriated.
I will write more about it next month, but as I sit here at the end of Black History Month mourning the loss of Gram at 105 years old, I feel both angry and confused. Logically, I know it’s impossible, but in my heart I thought she would be with us forever. Gram has been asking God to take her for the last twenty years. God did not listen, so I just knew we needed her more. Gram had a way about her. Even in complaint (not all my life but definitely since law school), she prioritized US. If I sat in front of her, she made me feel like nothing else mattered in the world. She prioritized her loved ones over her pain and suffering. You gave to us until there was nothing left. You gave every bit of your love, so of course, you would depart in the month of love.
Gram: as I listen to “Unforgettable” in your memory, I pray you felt as loved as you loved us. Thank you for pushing yourself to say one more time: “I love you guys.” You said it twice, so we would always remember that. Thank you for making us feel unforgettable too.
Teresa the Plant? She is still bugging. Literally. I saw little bugs on her. I took her out the old soil, sprayed some neem oil on her roots, let her dry out a bit, and put her outside. She ain’t been right since Gram passed. But I am not giving up on Teresa, like I am not giving up on Black love, like I am not giving up on the culture, or Black facts. Y’all: send Teresa some good vibes. Happy Black History Month!
Sending you all the love, joy, freedom, justice, and power you can stand.
Righteously and cheerfully,
