There’s no fun in being like everyone else, in matching and living up to expectations and then spending the rest of your existence trying not to break the hype…However, there’s such life, such decadence in being the kind that is unpredictable, the one that makes moments memorable and worth reminiscing over…I crave that kind of being and I thrive in such conditions..so when my beloved told me to pack up for a one day midweek getaway, I was ready in seconds…
It wasn’t all in good faith though if we’re going to be honest. A few days prior, I was in the middle of explaining my frustration with his lack of, what I felt was consideration (picture a tired mama walking through the door from work and being confronted with a what’re we eating for dinner question) when he asked if I was on my period. *Pause for a dramatic effect * .
Although I could tell from his look that he regretted the words as soon as they came out, I wasn’t about to waste a speech that was racing through my mind in what I must admit was pure overreaction borne of hunger and fatigue.
If you’re in an adult relationship, and you’re around each other long enough, and you’ve become free enough, then you know someone is going to slip up a little more than sometimes. And even though it’s understood that you’ll both move on from the slip, the friction it causes gives you a little more insight into the other person’s psyche. (I do over analyze everything, hence the reason I suffer with my thoughts).
So a surprise midweek minicay is a big way of saying I’m sorry, but also, I heard you…at least that’s what I told myself because who wants to ask why, when a nice gesture is presented at a time you need it the most.
I shudder to think there’ll be a time that I’ll lose my spontaneity…granted, motherhood and parenting has made it less spontaneous, but it helps to have a partner that understands my wellness place, and pace.
I know too well the self-sacrificing notion of being everything to everyone and adulthood meaning the loss of your personal pursuits and selfhood…but with time, I realize that losing yourself means being less of who you truly are a little everyday,  until one day you can’t even recognize yourself anymore.
I’ve learned that with self-actualization comes the knowledge that what feeds me won’t feed you, what fills me up may empty you and what brings me absolute joy may cultivate misery in another…and again, that is all very much okay, we’re not meant to be the same, from our fingerprints to our DNA.
It takes a pretty special relationship, a relationship with yourself, to honor yourself in such a way that only those who honor you in the same way are invited into your space…and I’m not talking about your public space. I’m  not talking about the space you create to work with others, to eat with others or even to ride with others in the subway or bus, that kind of space has no sacredness…that public space requires humanity and the ability to coexist and tolerate each other as society.
I’m talking about the personal space reserved for those who know you without your social mask..the space where you’re allowed to be so utterly yourself that pretense cannot survive, the space where only few are invited in a lifetime and sometimes none at all but your supreme being.
My beloved understands that space, he got scared shitless of that space in the beginning of our relationship, he misunderstood that space a few times and almost got evicted from that space, but he was determined to know that space, so he stuck around….he is the kind of person who will get this overly ambitious, super-introverted, and ever so neurotic mama, to pack her bag on a Wednesday night just because…..and if you’re asking, it was worth every single second of my existence…I live for these thrills, I cherish them because not too long ago, as an African woman, I was told I shouldn’t desire such, because it was unbecoming of my status of womanhood in life.
I don’t know what kind of excuse you need to do for yourself what you freely do for others, but if freedom is what you seek, then permission to live freely.
Afromomma says.