I’m sitting in bed listening to Jill Scott’s latest CD. “Why does my body ignore what my mind says? I try to keep it intact but I’m here in this bed. Again.” Oh, how many of us can identify with those lyrics!
You know me. The wheels in my brain started whirring. What does it take for your body to respect what your mind says? Is it possible or are we just doomed to keep failing. Are we suckers? Are we the weaker sex without the ability to resist that “thickness, the kind that make you get up makin biscuits with Breakfast.” Um-um-um.
I can’t answer that question for you and I ain’t about to start diagnosing. Everyone has a different emotional G-Spot that renders you brain-dead. His thickness could be physical. Or we might find his business savvy really thick. He might make us laugh. He might pay attention. Yep, that was my thick thing. He might be deeply spiritual, impressed with our devotion to God. Or ole school, the chivalrous man. Southern gentleman, the polite type of man. Many of us get impressed with that. On the other hand, it could be that it sneaked up on us. He was just alright until he somehow stumbled on that place. Something got tripped inside and now we just can’t help ourselves. He’s on our mind all the time. We minimize it with our girlfriends but secretly we check our cell phones on the sly. Adjust the volume. Check to make sure the ringer’s on. Everything in us hypersensitive to his every move!
It’s almost romantic. Don’t know why, but there is a romantic quality in the mystery of it. The drama of it. The off-balanced, I can’t get myself together of it. I don’t know why though. It’s torture! I believe that’s what we’ve be conditioned to expect. We rationalize that this must be love. He might be the one. After all, it ain't a good love story without it. That's what our favorite artist, our Jill Scott, sings about. The “I can’t help it’s” of love.
I love Jill, no doubt. Her lyrics are so unapologetic and madd real that they stir the passion deep down. They are our love story poetically delivered, set to beats that make us sway as our eyes roll back in our heads. They speak to the depth and feelin of our hunger for love. The ups and downs of love. But, and I say but, I don’t feel so good when I hear these lyrics.
These lyrics take me back to a place of defeat, humiliation, guilt and shame. I failed again. I told myself I wouldn’t but I did. I went on a man cleanse but. I promised I wouldn’t have sex for at least a year but. I promised God that if he got me out of the last hurt, I’d never ever again but. I put my hand on my hip, moving my neck and whippin my finger back and forth when I said “hell to the no” but. Until….
Until I made a conscious decision that my mind was wiser. Until I realized that I wasn’t the exception. Until I accepted I wasn’t the woman who’d make a player put up his toys. I wasn’t the one to change a cheatin man into a family man. I wasn’t woman enough to change him. I wasn’t pretty enough. I wasn’t smart enough. No matter how cute I looked. No matter how fly my hair. No matter how well I learned the game and how well I played it. No matter how many “how to get him to fall in love with you” books I read. I was going to be left feelin less because for the umpteenth time, I fell. I failed. I got played. Not just by him, but worst, I played myself.
Dr. Phil says, “you can’t change what you won’t acknowledge.” That was the first step for me. My first step of recovering, if you will. The second was to establish accountability. I knew that I wasn’t strong enough, smart enough or stable enough to put my mind before my body. I needed help. I needed someone whom I respected to keep me awake. Awake to those thoughts that kept landing me in compromise. Awake to my lifestyle that was setting me up for failure. Awake to that thing, that lack, that need inside that was my lullaby. I needed someone to help me to stay awake to what I deeply and truly wanted – LOVE.
I am really deeply moved when I watch Extreme Makeover: Weight Loss Edition on television. You see beautiful souls imprisoned by something eating away at their insides. Creating a hunger that they’ve used food to relieve. Such great stories of overcoming and becoming! I often wonder how those people are doing one year, two years later. Sadly, many of them return even larger than they were before. Makes you scratch your head and wonder what happened.
Much like these brave individuals, we set a goal to lose weight. It may not be 200 or 300 pounds. Just enough weight to get into a certain size or a certain dress. To feel better. To look better. To become more healthy. Sooooo we exercise. We watch what we eat. We watch how much we eat. We spend money and hours at the gym. We might even hire a personal trainer. We jump up and down after our goal has been met. Then within weeks, months, years, we’re right back to the same ole thing. Here lies what many fitness and weight loss experts are now aware of. In order to be successful, we have to adopt a new lifestyle.
My transformation started with a change of mind and then accountability, but ultimately, it had to become a part of me. I had to get it. My head was wiser than my body. Its voice had to become louder and I had to believe it. For me, an unavailable man would send my body into an absolute tizzy. I found him sexy as all get out! It wasn’t any one thing about him. He could be as fine as Boris Kudjoe or as homely as Chris Rock. Nonetheless, like a moth to a flame, I was drawn in. My head had to recognize that.
I had to tell myself the truth. Not the general truth. Not the surface truth. But the real truth. The real truth that 90% of the men I felt that thick attraction to were not available. Not only did I have to get that in my head but I had to get that into my body too. I couldn’t get betrayed once again by hope. That hope that he might be different. That hope that makes you ignore those blaring signs and magnify his potential. That kind of hope is a lie. It’s a betrayal. It’s not a little white lie. It’s a deceiver with the intent to sabotage me: short circuit my sobriety and draw me back into my alcoholic-similar, addictive, compulsive tendencies.
“This ain’t no movie mane (man), I’m a real woman. Been down this road before. I just need more.” I now have more. You can have more.
