Love Yourself Like That

Mornings. I hate when you leave.

I wanna spend all day with you next to me;

feeling your hand on the back of my neck,

playing in my hair,

and kissing my head.

I yearn for the day we don't have to get out of bed;

when all that needs attention

is our intimate connection.

You're not my man, but your presence releases tension.

You're a blessing like that.

This is what I choose.

What we do and how we move,

it's been alright by me.

I'll hold you down, I'll hold you tight

'til morning, when you leave.

Chapter 1: The Sunday Kind of Love.

The evidence from last night stained on the couch, prompted seductive flashbacks of what took place just 8 hours ago and was all the proof I needed to remind myself about the pattern of our "relationship".

The way he grabbed my hips and pushed deep inside me, his stroking rhythmed with my thrusts. The thoughts made me feel giddy and flush, but at the same time, so empty and anxious.

I know exactly why he comes over but I like to keep playing into the illusion that we feel the same. The connection is strong and undeniable. It's confusing though, because he ain't even my man and I'm out here doing wife shit for him. I sent him on his way to work this morning with some hot breakfast and coffee.

Maybe next time I can try some positions that will connect our feelings and make me feel whole and complete, or makes this make sense and disappear ...at least that's what I like to think, to try to convince myself that this situationship is going somewhere.

Because then next time comes around and the heaviness in my chest and empty space in my gut feels just a little bigger the next day. The void of security is in tact and will soon trigger loneliness. I know the lies, but still ignore the truth.

It was so perfect, though. The way he slid in and out. The way my ass bounced off his lap as I straddle him, with the grip of a cobra holding me on top. There is no way this goes further than sex. It can't. I know he's no good for me, but he feels so good to me, in me, on me.

I wonder what it feels like for him though, since I had the baby seven weeks ago. This is the first time we've had sex since I've been cleared by the doctor. He's gotta be feeling me deeper than what he shows, right? No man resurfaces in the middle of a pregnancy, accepts it, and stays even after the birth of a child that isn't his if he didn't want or feel something deeper, right?

I battle thoughts like this about him often. He calls and makes time for me, sends "good morning" texts daily... and cares if I ate... and checks in throughout the day... and he used to get me out of the house... I keep rationalizing and convincing myself just to avoid the facts, HE'S ONLY AROUND FOR HIS BENEFIT, SEX.

When DJ and I did reconnect, it was first through social media and then by happenstance of life circumstances. I gave him my number and we tried to set up meeting for weeks, but my crazy schedule and where I was at with life kept pushing it back, until one day we just linked. It was in the summertime. July. I re-introduced myself to his mama. She was in town visiting for a few days.

I knew it wasn't right, but we fucked that first night. A lot. And then again in the morning. Twice. I was 6 1/2 months pregnant, homeless, but staying with friends and trying to get back on my feet after a "dark night of the soul" transformation.

I never had a sexual attraction to him before that night. I always kind of looked at him like a distant cousin. It sounds weird to say, but we've all had family members that have friends that become family and randomly just become appealing to the eyes out of the blue. Don't play.

I was certain how the events were going to unfold for the next - day "walk-of-shame". I didn't expect to want more of him.

I was originally going to shower, get dressed and be on my way... I did shower and get dressed, but then he asked if I could iron his shirt and pants while he got in the shower. I said yeah, I guess. A little time went by, I'm in the room fixing my hair and I see a shadow in my peripheral. I look left and there he stood, he took over all my attention. In that moment I really felt a feeling for him. Infatuation. He walked back into the room in just his towel. His chocolate skin shimmering from the water dripping off his fresh faded haircut.

I did not iron his shit. I thought about it, but I was getting myself ready to start what I thought was going to be a solo day. I was in my independent, self-help season.

I was left alone in this pregnancy. Baby Mac's daddy and I broke up a couple months before I got pregnant, but we still drank and fucked around recklessly. I decided to keep the baby. He's an alcoholic. We both are. We brought out the worst in each other. (He's another chapter, just hold on) It took every fiber of my being to stay strong, resilient, and to gain my independence back for myself and my kids. I was succumbed to the realization I'm going to be doing this single mom thing now with 2 crochfruits, but with daily practice, I was demonstrating, to myself mostly, how to stand tall through the storms of life.

And then here he comes. My counterpart.

I was thinking our thing was going to be just a hit and quit. The norm for today's society. "Hook up Culture". It's what I've been conditioned to accept, giving myself to someone and then being treated like an option. But not with DJ. No, see, he and I spent the whole day together. He insisted I run errands with him after he ironed his own clothes. So I did. We went out to eat. We went to a car show. Laundromat. He even introduced me to some of his cousins.

Every day after, it's just felt different. Better. We went on trips together, before the baby was born. We build each other up with positive affirmations, sex, peace and food.

What if I try being transparent and vulnerable, just one time? Maybe he'll be receptive and say how he feels. Once I hop on this train of thought, I know I've gone delusional.

"WAAA!" Thank God! Baby Mac starts crying and I'm quickly brought back to my reality. I hope I'm bringing up my two boys well. Raising them to not play with the hearts and emotions of their prospective lovers.

Just be honest, and compassionate. Comprehension is crucial, but don't take anything too personally. Use discernment. I understand they won't be perfect but I try everyday to exemplify my version of love and respect so they can absorb it and implement it in their lives without questioning themselves.

I have a fantacy kind of love with DJ. A "Sunday Kind of Love". One that distracts me, but also keeps me grounded. He pulls my focus to the moment and away from my perceived problems in life. The kind of focus to stop time, but can also leave me questioning what's real and what's in my head. There never feels like enough togetherness, but he always fills my cup.

It's an old school love kind of feeling with him, that 90's R&B type. "What's understood, don't need explaining". He's ten years my senior and has been around in my family for a long time, almost my whole life. I have a respect for him that stems from inspiration and positively motivates me to want better for my personal life outside of being a mother. An independence kind of dealing. We don't ever show we're struggling, even when we know we are. He does his thing, I do mine. We meet when we meet, sometimes by surprise. Those are my favorite times. His ability to share with me has expanded recently and I feel more vulnerable with him now, too.

I cried this time he left because I hadn't ever felt anything so pure, so safe when he touched me. When he kissed my neck and inhaled my scent, while firmly but gently grasping the back of my head and a handful of hair. Maybe it was the combinations of blunts and solfeggio frequency music playing on YouTube in the background, but I felt so wholesome and full when we were in it. Like we became one. It was spiritual. We fell asleep holding each other, and then he left.

I know I need to stop fucking with him, but I don't know how to let him go. I don't know how to just surrender every memory we've made. How invested is too invested? I can't get hurt again. The universe keeps sending me signs I interpret as "I should leave him alone" and then the opposite happens when we are in each other presence. He comes with his swag, his charm. He enlightens me with his perspective.

Sometimes I feel like he's all mine. Then there's times he goes a day or two with saying very minimal or nothing at all... usually after a night of passionate sex. I think he gets scared of his feelings for me and pushes me away. Don't catch feelings.

My stomach starts to hurt. I gotta feed the baby before his dad gets here to take him for the weekend. My phone rings, it's my mom. "Hello? Fel, what time is Lyric's school concert? I want to make sure I have enough time to drop Mark off at the airport beforehand."

She's been with Mark for 15 years. I know my mom's not happy in their relationship, but they stay with each other out of comfort. She doesn't want to start over again. Complacency. That's what I learned from my mom by watching her in the relationships she's chosen for her life. All long term commitments. She's been married and divorced twice, never to Mark. "Just because it's hard, doesn't mean you gotta run." She knows her daughter well. I am a runner, But I don't run when it gets hard, I run when it's too late and the only way out becomes violence, because I've stayed too long.

"It starts at 5 p.m., mom. I think you'll have enough time to get him there and meet us at the school if you leave by noon, you might even miss traffic." She lives about 3 hours away from the airport and another 45 minutes from the school.

DJ has never laid his hands on me in a violent way. It may help that I don't drink anymore, so I have better control of my impulsive outbursts.

The traumas I used as an excuse to drink became the reasons I quit. Drowned in liquor and holding on to my sanity, having those cycles of bad relationships continue because I didn't know my worth. Engaged in the lifestyle.

It always starts out the same, with a drink to meet, then a drink every time you're together. Then feelings build based off feelings that developed while under the influence, so you move in together. Drinking every night after work and all weekend. Fights begin, all the arguing and harsh words being said. Eventually someone's impulse brings them to throw something, an object or a punch, either way, the cycle doesn't stop until you recognize it and stop it.

It's been one year.

I'm wandering around the house gathering things baby Mac is going to need for the weekend. His dad should be here in twenty minutes and I've just been reminded of the itinerary for rest of my day, thanks to my mother's call.

Lyric is my 7 year old, he's in the 1st grade. He's in a new school this year and I can tell he enjoys it. He's going to need some nice pants and a button down shirt. He calls those his "wedding shirts". His father has his own chapter, too.

I can't get these reminiscent thoughts to slow down. They keep breaking my composure, a smile cracks across my lips that bares my teeth. It's so intriguing, how one person treats you in a moment can create long lasting feelings attached to those moments in memory.

Something's missing. I hurry to the boys' room and grab an extra pack of wipes. It's an adjustment seeing a crib in my house again. 2 beds in one room. I've only been in this new place for a couple of months. Everything was put together and away before Baby Mac was born. He came at the end of the same month we moved in. Right on time.

I've always unknowingly had a good sense of judgement when it came to new places of residence. If I unpacked right away, it was a long term stay. If I casually unpacked or just left things in boxes, I wasn't going to be there long. My depression, which I now recognize might have been my subconscious, would either dissipate long enough for me unpack, get cozy, and return as it pleased, but stay manageable. Or, within the first few days of moving in, it would appear and linger heavy with shame and unease so nothing would get done except rearranging the way the boxes stack against a wall.

I meet Jackson at the front door when he pulls up and he follows me into my apartment. He comes in and starts walking around with his damn shoes on. "Sir! Get off my floors with your shoes still on, or wait at the door and I'll bring him to you." He rolls his eyes and tromps back to the door, takes his shoes off and grabs a water from the kitchen. He still sees me as the person he was in a relationship with. He tries to navigate through conversations like we're friends. Like he didn't just let me go through the whole pregnancy journey alone. Like I'm not supposed to put boundaries up just because of the way we "loved" each other. Like the person I was when I was drinking, before baby Mac was conceived. I'm not.

I strap baby Mac in his car seat and make sure he's secure. Jackson has an eye on how my hair is fixed and asks "What you been up to this morning? Seems like you had company last night." He glance shifts to the living room. "I did, and it's not your business, so please mind your own." His eyebrows raise and he takes a step back, holding both his hands in front of his chest, "Whoa baby moms, I was just making an observation. You ain't gotta jump down my throat. Alls I'm saying is, whoever it is, I know he ain't making you nut like me." I scoff and stand up. I'm small, physically, but my aura and spirit are big as the sky. He can sense it. I'm gaining my strength back. It's all about mind games with him. I come up to Jackson's chin when I'm compared in size.

"Take care of our son" I hand him the car seat. "Make sure he gets his medicine on time every day. He's got a small diaper rash so please be sure you're putting coconut oil on him at every diaper change." I remind him for extra measure and to change the subject, he has a bad habit of trying to make me feel like I can't find anyone better than him all because he's light skin with blue eyes. He's so wrong.

As Jackson walks out the door, he looks back and says "Don't be letting these clowns gas you up, you know I'm coming back home soon." I roll my eyes in disgust and close the door. He's got some nerve.

I call DJ, so I can use the sound of his voice to reclaim my energy.

He provides a space for me to vent and verbally release. Then brings me back to a more grounded perspective, opting for solutions instead of just hearing the problems. Something that I don't always consider immediately when I'm emotionally charged.

He has helped me learn a "how" about myself.

It's a beautiful construct in my healing journey, but to him, is it still only about sex? Does he see the growth and better change taking place with my mindset and internal being? Can he piece together the parts of my life that he sees with what I don't talk about? Are these even problems I need to concern myself with?

I just want to feel validated in my human experience.

The conversation with DJ was only about ten minutes. It seems we both got something productive out of it. He enjoys hearing the smile on my face that his insight brings me and I was given the chance to renovate my emotional response and not give Jackson that kind of power over me.

It makes me physically ill to think of DJ being with other woman. The way he cares for and nurtures my soul feels like nothing anyone has ever been able to influence. I am whole and feel surrounded in comfortable, warm and genuine love when we're together. His touch sends quivers to my voice whenever he pulls me in for a hug. The smile he simultaneously gets as our eyes meet after not seeing each other for a few days relinquishes all of the worries and questions my mind wonders.

In the beginning, I knew I wasn't the only one. Hell, neither was he, but we were and still are all about only each other when we kick it. Not on our phones, completely submerged in each other's presence. Exchanging and replenishing each other's energy. Not a thought of another person when we're together. I caught him slipping, though. I found an empty condom wrapper on his bed once. Handed it to him and said "you forgot something" with a smile on my face, turned and walked away. I thought, shit, at least he's being safe. But he wasn't, and I still chose to fuck with him. I've accepted this and it could be considered a poor spiritual choice, in a way, because now we have soul ties.

I find myself feeling connected to him when we aren't together. And I know he can feel me, too. The amount of time during the day i think about him, what he's doing, what we did, the conversations we've had, it's almost like he's imprinted on me and I now have him as a protector. He make me feel safe, secure. I can express myself fully to him without fear of judgment.

The sunday kind of love theme I fell into with DJ has taught me to be more independent and practice gratitude. His sway ways and the outlooks he shares with me has created this space within me that I cultivate daily. One of these days I'll find the strength inside me to uphold my worth and stop letting his outside actions drown my mind with the "what if's". With time, I am learning to love myself how I want him to love me.

(Chapter 2 Pending...)