Life On The Other, Other Side

My first love called me last week.

Scratch that, the first boy I really exchanged I love you’s, went through toxic drama with, let de-flower me, and gave me enough lessons that I still remember a few years shy of damn near twenty years later, called me last week.

And, I answered. I listened. Just mostly listened. Because I have not physically seen this young man since 2009. So, what did I owe the pleasure of that call?

Well, it was a lot of apologies for how he treated me when we were together.

Then, it went into a lot of “I’m so proud of you/you really made it out the hood/keep inspiring women” that I’m mad as hell I didn’t record and save for my future mixtape.

Then, somehow I become the listening ear for some of his problems but I ain’t gone tell his business. I actually stopped him from telling me as well — cuz honestly…. I don’t care.

The most interesting part of the conversation was him praising me for how I loved him: which was really me sticking by his side no matter what he did, not listening to the whole hood when they told me to leave this man alone, going against family and all for him.

I quickly reminded him that the only reason I did all that was because I was a child… I didn’t know shit. I didn’t have boundaries. I didn’t know what was healthy and what wasn't. I just knew that I loved and cared about him. He was my first everything. So, if I knew then, what I know now as a 31-year-old woman, Mr. First Love obviously wouldn’t be on my radar. Me and my micros would have steered clear of him — or at least tried because I am a sucker for charismatic niggas who show me a bit of attention. I love to yap and I love when a nigga yaps to me. The vibes I bring to the table are immaculate, engulfing you like a hug.

I am light.

I am warmth.

I am safety.

And even if they can’t articulate it, that’s what niggas of the past and present love about me.

It’s a gift. And a bit of a curse, because while I’m out here providing love, support, warmth, and safety to niggas, I can’t help but wonder what niggas are bringing to me besides headaches, a dysregulated nervous system, and constant disappointment from being desired, but not loved or chosen all the way through?

Mr. First Love was in his feelings. Perhaps, I should be flattered that I am “the one who got away” in his story, but I’m not.

Because, everything he praised me for was reduced down to how much I was able to endure and I just —-

long, exasperated, negro spiritual sigh

I want better for myself.

I want better for Black Women.

I want better for myself as a Black Woman.

To love and be loved is one of my deepest desires. I want the love that chose me the first time around. I want the love to come easy like Sunday mornings. I don’t want the love I had to fight for and come out with a few battle scars for. I want love that is healthy.

My past isn’t something I boast about. There’s no star stickers for being a nigga’s dummy. There’s no trophy for how much you’re able to take on the chin and keep moving like nothing happened. Yes, I became stronger and wiser, but at what cost? I wish I could proudly say that Mr. First Love was my last toxic relationship, but it wasn’t. I spent my twenties in and out of therapy trying to right my wrongs and learn how to love myself so I could finally have some peace. The last two years of my life have been the most intentional I’ve ever been. I don’t always get it right but I try my best. I only share the things I do because hopefully, someone sees this and learns from me but also understands that they aren’t alone. I hope someone sees that and finds a similar dedication to improve. To have boundaries and make peace with the mistakes they made.

Mr. First Love got something else wrong. He assumed that I would still be angry at him, that I would curse him out and hang up on him.

And the thought made me laugh, just like his sixteen-year-old apology humored me too. You don’t get to treat me like shit, rob me of my innocence, bring pain that brought me to my knees, and think that you still hold space in my mind and my heart and that Imma hold a grudge as if I actually give a fuck. Lol. Mr. First Love doesn’t hold that type of power over me anymore. No one does. Not one ex does. We don’t have to speak again. I’m not Brandy, I’m not sitting up in my room, performing rituals for a nigga to think of me. So nah, I ain’t gone curse you out, berate you, or make you feel shitty. According to Mr. First Love, he feels that way anyway because I’m no longer by his side and he’s reduced to watching me live my life on these social media apps.

shrugs but what do I know? I am not anyone’s end all be all, but I am impactful and you will likely never forget me.

But I digress.

Life on the other, OTHER side looks like peace. The true kind, that’s cultivated by my choices. The kind that resides in a woman whose nervous system is now calm because I simply don’t entertain bullshit. The one who now knows that true strength is not about how much you can endure but about how you rise above everything that was sent to destroy you. The kind that isn’t inflated by ego or trying to prove points because the opinions of those who once mattered so much, matter very little… and not in a bitter way, but in a way that says: this is MY life. I forgive you, but please don’t think you’re bigger than the program. The kind that recognizes that I can still care for people, but from a distance is okay too.

It took 16 years for it to really hit me, but I’ve really grown so much. And I will continue to do so until God calls me home. Apart of me wants to weep for the teenager I never really got to be (and maybe I will later) because my introduction to love and all its intricacies could’ve been different. Healthier. But shit, it is what it is. I ain’t drop dead when I got my heart broken and even in its brokenness, my heart still beats. I am still optimistic that my desire to love and be loved wholly will be fulfilled.

So cheers.

Shout out to Mr. First Love for some good writing material.

And cheers to this beautiful life, on the other OTHER side. 🥂