Learning to stay in your place regarding other grown people

Dear Bossy and Dominant Family and Friends, this one's gonna be hard for you to swallow.

From the family member who never has anything good to say to or about me to the coworker who thinks they're everyone's mama and boss, I've been oversaturated with Bossy and Dominant Types.

But, it's what you so desperately need to hear. After all, people typically don't approach you for fear of your anger, so-called authority or education. Unlike yourselves, some folks (me included) don't like conflict and usually try to avoid it at all costs. 

But sometimes, like now...something must be said. Us non-conflict types tend to be people pleasers, putting on a mask as to not upset the domineering types. Afraid that someone's going to be mad at you or yikes! hold a grudge. 

With me, those days are gone. 

Here it is: stay in your lane when it comes to how other grown folks choose to govern themselves. 

I know, I know. That sentence goes against everything you believe in, doesn't it? You're the boss. You were born to rule. You've got it together. People never question you. You're damn near perfect. As such, this gives you license and most of all, audacity to actually open your mouth to suggest what it is you feel another grown person should do and say. It never crosses your mind that your opinion is in fact, unwanted and believe it or not, unnecessary. 

Unless a person is literally hanging off of a cliff or setting the building you're in on fire, don't interfere. Stop meddling and mind your business. If another person's actions aren't directly affecting your life, shut up. Notice I didn't insert a please in front of that because I'm not asking nicely. Yes, the former Nice Girl is telling you, S. T. F. U.

I know, I know. How dare I tell you where you stand? After all, you've conquered the realms of marriage, parenthood, career and spirituality whereas yes, I'm still figuring out my own unconventional life path. That's probably enough reason for you to think I or anyone else wants to hear your two cents. Be that as it may, I nor anyone else can say it's a bad path. Unlike you, I'm big enough to own my shortcomings, sins, and other areas I know I need to improve. The last thing I need is your opinion, thesis, or complaints on what you feel I should or shouldn't be doing. Number one, I'll find my way without your input. Number two, you're out of your place. Number three, I don't care. Number four, remember your place. 

Your place, is your business and never mine. Imagine how much more you could accomplish using the energy you use trying to govern free spirits like myself, toward your own life and well-being. Your place is anywhere except about the choice I make and the things I choose to say. No one is paying my rent, bills, or student loans. No one can suggest to me what they feel I should or shouldn't do, especially as I function quite well on my own, thank you very much.

I have never, ever expected anyone to follow my rules or agree with my preferences in life. I personally don't like blonde hair on black skin. Doesn't mean I have the right to tell someone else they can't enjoy it if that's what they like. Nor do I agree with polygamy, hard drugs, or the hood life. However, if that's the life another grown person willingly chooses, I am not at liberty whatsoever to say anything about it. Furthermore, it's simply not my business. I've got enough business of my own. 

"Damn, who pissed you off?" is probably the question that crossed your mind as you read that. The answer is not one particular person, but a small group of people that have unwisely come up against me in recent times. Each person was surprised yet angry that I dare mouth back at them, as if they're my authority, and not a one of them are. Hit dogs holler and if anyone is in fact offended or feels some type of way, you're precisely the person I'm speaking of. Get off of your high horse of superiority and mind your business. You hurt more than you help when you step out of the place you need to stay in. I say it on behalf of any peace-loving person who has yet to find their voice against people like you. I say it in honor of those who like me, have found their voice and realized we don't want or need your two ridiculous cents. 

It all boils down to RESPECT. So many of you just expect that it'll be handed to you on a silver platter yet you refuse to give it to others. That's called a double-standard and you know I reject all double-standards. I as a former Get-Along-Girl can't take it no more. If I have to lose friends or family along the way, if I'm known as a bitch from here on out, I'll happily be that if it means I properly stood up for myself. Yes, my comfort is more important than your approval. 

I'm not sorry. 

Learn to be quiet for once, step back, and think out of the box. Consider that you don't know everything there is to know about the person you're attempting to control. Realize that they probably will choose a different avenue than they would of solving a problem. And because you know it all, you know it's not going to work as well or not at all because they didn't follow your instructions. So what. Worry about yourself.

Unless they're your children or significant other.....remember to always stay in your place. 

The fairytale of marriage & children: my infertility story

If I had the power to help just one girl avoid how I feel now when she grows up, it would be enough. At least one person didn't have her breath held in anticipation for decades over something that never happens.

Oh, it happens to the majority. But I feel it should be taught from a very young age that not only is it okay to not want marriage and children: but the fact that because it simply may not happen before her childbearing years are over. Or some medical condition changes everything. 

I know it's virtually impossible for the beloved wife and/or mother to understand. After all, I'll be the first to admit it's difficult to imagine yourself in the shoes of another. I've been single and childless for so long that it makes me tired to think of the challenges wives and mothers endure daily. 

But honestly.....shouldn't we be telling the children that they might never get married? And that it's okay?

Well, because I'm not a mother (and probably never will be), maybe I don't realize perhaps it's something you in fact shouldn't tell a child. 

However, I feel that my seemingly assigned plight in life would be easier to digest if hadn't been programmed into my head at a young age, although kindly, "you'll get married and have kids one day." Not only by just my parents, but pretty much everyone in society. The words "you'll have a family of your own one day" have been said with so much certainty and conviction, that there was never a doubt in my mind that yes, even I too will actually have a husband and babies made in our images. 

So, like most women, my twenties were a time of discovery about men and relationships. One serious, most fleeting. Never more had anyone heard "you're cute, you're nice, but let's be friends." Of course this bothered me deeply, as I felt the clock was ticking away. But many folks reassured me that I had more than enough time to become a family woman as I so desired. I tried packing away my jealousy of the women who found it all in their twenties; handsome adoring husbands and gorgeous babies. I tried focusing on just being me and discovering who I really am. 

My thirties bought only more relationship disappointment. For the most part, I kept to myself and had pretty strong faith that the Lord would drop the right one in my path at the right time. Around the age of thirty-five, I started panicking a little. Thirty-five, officially "advanced maternal age," although still a young person. I never envisioned being an older mother, but if it was God's plan for my life, I was happily ready to embrace it. After all Charmin, women are having babies well into their forties. Chill out. It's gonna happen. Be patient. Wait on God, I told my impatient self. After all, there's someone for everyone, right? You're quite the peculiar blend; indecipherable to most, but someone's gonna take a sip and claim you for their own. 

It did happen. Precisely a year before I turned forty. I met someone, we dated, and finally, finally, I'm actually having a conversation with someone who says he loves me, wants to marry me, and have at least one baby of our own. When did we hope to have this accomplished? By at least 2020. Ironically, which is now.

Now, where this someone turned out to be a monster from a Stephen King novel and had to be dismissed. Now, where I am still recovering from a medically necessary total hysterectomy that occurred only a month and a half ago. Now, where I know that I will never biologically give birth to my own child. It's something I had dreamt of my entire life. I have always been fascinated with pregnancy, wondered what it would feel like, even the birth and delivery part. I always fantasized what a child of my own would look like, always dreaming he or she would resemble me for the most part, loving on him or her and doing the best I could to be a good, loving mother. Being a good wife to his or her father. 

Now...no.

While I praise God for seeing me through the ups and downs, the emotional roller coaster has been miserable. Not just the myriad of hormone-fueled emotions typically experienced after a hysterectomy, but the overall disappointment of not experiencing that golden fairytale of love and legacy. That fairytale that everyone told me would happen, yet it didn't. Again, I find myself annoyed that it's automatically told to children that it will happen when I know good and damn well it's not guaranteed for everyone. This isn't me being negative or pessimistic. It's just me being real, raw, and honest. 

One of the hardest things to tolerate after having a hysterectomy or enduring any other fertility issues is being surrounded by all of the people that the fairytale have happened for. It seems that the moment I learned of the need for my hysterectomy, everyone around me started popping up pregnant. Literally. One of my coworkers, a very nice young lady revealed her pregnancy at virtually the same time. Although I've never been happier for this young friend of mine, it was a silent yet sharp kick in my side to see her grow with a beautiful new life inside of her, knowing it will never be me. The kicker is, she wound up giving birth on the same day I had my procedure. Any time I went out of the house after surgery, BOOM! Roundly pregnant women everywhere! Beautiful babies and children innocently smiling or waving at me. The worst place a woman can be after learning of her infertility/becoming infertile, is social media. Admittedly, Facebook and Instagram posts of pregnancy announcements and newborn babies have gutted my soul. It's really something to be genuinely happy for a family member or friend; like and comment with a lump in your throat and tears in your eyes. Us childless ladies can say "team no kids" all day, but deep down in my heart, I know we're missing out on the job of deepest satisfaction in life (so I'm told): motherhood.

Infertility. It's a time when you as a woman think of pregnancy scares of the past only to wish those scares would've came true. I find myself beating myself up for not using my uterus when it was healthy, before the fibroids. All those years, wasted on undesirables and mainly, by myself. Single mothers that I somewhat had judgment about now easily sources of envy. I'm sure they can vouch that single motherhood isn't nearly as boring and unfulfilling as having no children is.

Everyone keeps throwing adoption in my face. I know they mean well, but it's still hitting me wrong and awkwardly. I would never rule out adoption, but it's something my mind can't comprehend right now. Firstly, men hate me, so I don't have a significant other to help out with a child that I chose to adopt. Secondly, it's no secret that sometimes children that are put up for adoption come with unforseen issues. Issues that only true golden hearts can handle. So that entire idea is on the backburner for now.

Maybe the good Lord will see to it that I have a caring, loving mate one day, but I've learned not to hold my breath. Wait a minute, let me correct myself. I've taught myself not to want it no longer. I'm no counselor (yet), but I'm almost certain I've done this as a defense mechanism. In my mind, it's just not possible, someone actually loving me for me. My inside as well as my outside. In 42 years, I've never experienced it so why keep hyping myself up expecting for it to happen? Not that I feel I'm a lesser person for it because I think very highly of myself. But it just goes back to my original point. That there isn't someone for everyone. That marriage and children is purely a fairytale only meant for some select people.

I have no shame; I've been seeing a therapist occasionally for about two years now. I'm trying not to cuss so much these days, but she's f*ckin' awesome. The way she listens to me with no bias or judgment is f*ckin' awesome. I'm not sure if I ever experienced that in my life. When I poured my heart out to her a couple of weeks ago, she encouraged me to blog and journal my feelings. I told her that although I already enjoy doing so, that I hadn't in a while because, life. We discussed that besides me getting my feelings out and having a more positive outlook on life, that perhaps and maybe I can help others out as well. Now that there makes me feel really good, the thought of helping another who needs comfort, soothing, and understanding. Which is why more than ever, it's time for me to yet again return to school. With no children and no spouse, I can focus on being an even better me. I'd love to become a therapist myself.

Maybe you read this because you actually love and care for me. Maybe you read it out of curiosity. Whatever your reason, I hope I gave you something to think about. Maybe you'll hug your children a little harder today, despite their temper tantrums, you could not have them in your life. Kiss your husband or wife a little longer, although he left the toilet seat up or perhaps she spent a few more dollars than she should have at the mall. 

Or, maybe you'll tell your children/teenagers that maybe they won't get married or have children. Not that they're undesirable, but that sometimes, it just doesn't happen that way. That there's other life outcomes. And that it's okay.

-Charmin

 

Mourning the mother I'll never be......

Just the day before yesterday, I received some news that changed my life forever. 

The news: I will never, ever conceive a child of my own or give birth. Yes, I am over forty years of age. Yes, I had hope that it might just could possibly perhaps maybe probably happen. An inkling of faith, it was indeed as small as a mustard seed. That tiny piece of sun you see shining through a wall of clouds. 

I've pondered once again whether I should really discuss this publicly. However, when I think that my words may actually help another woman or even myself, I have no regrets. 

So, I've decided to be transparent and open about what's been happening with me. 

After a couple of years of chronic pain, I learned that I had uterine fibroids in 2018. At that time, there was no cause for concern because they were only few and small in size. However, as time has gone by, the pain has increased in severity. Not a week has gone by where I didn't feel like I was having a daily period. 

Upon my finally getting an MRI about a month ago, my gynecologist was alarmed to see "innumerable" fibroids. Alarmed to the point of referring me to a gynecologic oncologist. Yes, one who usually treats women with cancer. Not the words a hypochondriac like me needs to hear. In the meantime, I had my yearly physical with my PCP, who had my MRI results. He's so kind and professional, but he blurts out "oh, you're going to have a hysterectomy." I'm like, "ummmmm, no I'm not!!!????" In that moment, I felt annoyed as if he had dropped the ball but looking back, I feel inadvertently gave me a heads-up about the news I would have to digest a couple of weeks later. Which is now.

So, I tried my best to keep a cool head up until I met with the surgeon, who was kind and warm as a surgeon could be during the coronavirus era. I extended my hand to shake hers, but she kindly and understandably rejected. She had to wear a mask, so I couldn't totally decipher her facial expressions. So when she dropped the bomb on me, I couldn't tell if her mouth was frowning or if she was smiling in sympathy. All I can remember the sad way her eyes looked when she told me that my MRI results all pointed to the need for a partial hysterectomy. That my uterus is distorted by too many fibroids to count and that she's concerned about the speed and intensity with which they've grown. 

I will never be pregnant with a child of my own or experience giving birth to a child of my own. 

Never.

Don't cry, Charmin. Don't cry, Charmin. Don't cry. Don't cry. Do not cry. Don't cry. Hold it in. Don't cry in front of this woman. Be strong. Get it together.

I cried. Freely and sadly. The surgeon sat quietly and patiently after futilely searching for a non-existent box of tissues to pass to me. As I reached in my purse for a loose napkin to blot my eyes with, I quietly blubbered to the surgeon that I thought I had a chance. That although I'm over 40, that I still have a chance to meet someone special, that I still have enough strength and energy in my body to grow a baby. That although I'm pretty selfish and set in my eternal bachelorette ways, that I'd be open to the idea of a baby changing my life at this late point in the game. She seemed to understand. But she can't understand 

I will never be pregnant with a child of my own or experience giving birth to a child of my own. Gone is that little glimmer of hope. Gone is the dream of experiencing pregnancy. In my late thirties and early forties, despite kind of snubbing my nose up at such late motherhood, I secretly harbored a desire that I too, could become a mother. I've always admired/envied the way everyone caters to pregnant women. The attention. I just always figured, my moment will come too, just wait and trust in God. 

But no.

 Tearfully, I asked if she just couldn't do the myomectomy (surgical removal of fibroids) and spare my uterus somehow. Through the angry hazy cloud of sadness and disbelief I was suddenly engulfed in, I managed to ask if at least my fallopian tubes and ovaries would be spared. She said that they would. Not really satisfied in my sad state of shock, I further inquired if I would be able to have a child via a surrogate. She told me yes and that she would refer to me to a fertility specialist to discuss those options. 

Is this real life? I thought. Am I really hearing this shit right now? A fertility specialist? For me? I am going to lose my uterus, that's why. Do you want to talk about ADHD-grief fueled thoughts? Why the hell do I need a fertility specialist? Hell, there's not a husband, let alone a boyfriend in this picture. Even if I did, I couldn't afford it anyway. I don't want to be a single mother. This is so fucked up. Why me? There goes my womanhood. In a medical plastic bag destined for wherever they dispose of medical waste.

However, now I'm feeling that being a single mother would be a far more superior fate than being a childless woman. I'm one of those dumb broads that have psyched herself up over the years who thought she was above it by not being burdened by children or their worthless daddy. I admit it. I'm not proud.

There's something else that's bothering me. 

Surgery. 

Never in nearly 42 years life have I ever had to stay overnight in anyone's hospital. I may have had a couple of ER visits in my life, but they always resulted in me going safely home afterward. I do feel this is definitely a blessing, but yet a curse because I am just that scared. Being on the edge of the medical field for my entire adult career, you know that I know about anesthesia. That some people experience complications. That some people enter vegetative states, never to return to consciousness. What if I have a bad reaction and vomit afterward? For those of you who don't know, I'm emetophobic (look it up). You know they're cutting me low. How bad is the pain going to be exactly as I recover? Four to six weeks out of work and off my feet? What's the scar going to look like? Will I ever be able to wear a bikini again? What will my hormones do? And the question of all time.......

....will I enjoy sex after this????

Luckily for me, the question should be yes, as I will get to keep my ovaries. I've learned these past couple of days, they produce hormones and are what make you a woman (not your uterus). I'm trying to embrace the upside amidst my disappointment. I will get to keep my ovaries; I will still produce eggs. However, I will never have a period again. While it sounds great, I do feel a sense of mourning about it. It was something I couldn't wait to get when I was 11, 12 because all of the other girls had it. And although it's not been something I particularly enjoyed experiencing on a monthly basis for nearly three decades, it confirmed in my mind that I was okay. That I was normal and that my body was functioning as a woman's body should. And now, I may experiencing two or three more periods before I never do again. I do feel some type of way, as weird as it may sound. 

The word that keeps getting thrown my way is adoption. While I would be open to the idea for sure, I kind of had 

Another upside is that the handful of people I have told, have been so golden in their sympathy and kind wishes of warmth and hope toward me. My sister and a couple of other folks have jokingly? told me that they'd happily be surrogates. I know pregnancy is no picnic and I wouldn't expect anyone to go through it (with someone else's child!) without demanding a hefty price tag (once again, I cannot afford). But just that it would be the first sentence out of one's mouth is so kind. 

Yes, it's the woman who really didn't want kids, but wanted them enough to be disturbed when she realized she can't have any. If that makes any sense. 

I'm actually tired with emotion; I will come to a close with this entry, but will write more soon. There much I must do and much for me to still think about. I promise to keep everyone updated.

Thoughts? Comments? I welcome them. 

 Thanks much. Love, Charmin

Coronavirus: I'm not truly scared. Here's why.

Ah, the Coronavirus. 

I'm trying to think of another time in my nearly 42 years of life where I've seen such a profound fever pitch of panic. We are living in a most interesting time of history, aren't we?

Y2K, West Nile, Zika, etc. No other event or illness seems to have had such an impact on the world. At least in my generation's lifetime. We're now living in a time where all of the luxuries and necessities we usually enjoy at a finger snap, now all of a sudden not available. Daily life has done a swift and merciless 180 for so many without discrimination regardless of class, age, race, gender. With the most brief of warnings, folks are without their typical steady source of income and left to find some type of balance amid chaos. I get it. 

However. I'm not scared. Cautious, but far from fearful or scared like the rest of the nation and the world appear to be. I've even asked myself "should I be as frightened as everyone else?" 

I'm just not. There are a couple of good reasons for this. 

1. I know who's in control. It's not world leaders, governors, mayors, or even the CDC. It's definitely not me. However, God has been, is, and always will be in control. Ever since this entire corona-whatever has made its appearance, I have to say that I've been pretty unfazed. It's almost a peaceful calm I experience until I momentarily allow someone else's paranoia to affect me. Then I just remind myself who's in charge. I remind myself that He has kept me safe all of these years, why should I even waste time worrying? What better time to work on my faith than now? I'm pretty proud of myself, too. God's got me and He's got you too, regardless of your spiritual/religious beliefs or lack thereof. One of our patients encouraged me to read Psalm 91. Do it if you have a moment. I have way too much going on in my personal life to where the Coronavirus barely registers as a blip on my radar. Where do I start? My financial issues? The ongoing court drama with my psychopathic ex-boyfriend? Or should I start with my parents; both of whom have had some serious health setbacks in the last year alone? Sure, I definitely worry about their health and well-being. However, they're safely homebound and for once, I'm not upset about this. And oh yeah, I had an MRI about a week ago and the results weren't so encouraging. For the first time in my life, I'll be having what I consider a major, yet common surgery. How much will this set me back? Corona who? I don't even have time or brain cells to waste worrying about it. All I can do is continue to wash my hands and move about my life as usual, trying to still decide what's best for my future. 
   
2. I must also say that I'm a little more blessed and less stressed than most folks my age at this time. Not gloating. I'm single without children. Therefore, I don't have the additional stress of worrying about my spouse and/or child(ren)'s health, the unexpected impromptu end of their school year, and scrambling for childcare. Again, God knows exactly what he's doing because we all know if I had children, I'd more than likely stress myself out to the point of dysfunction. Additionally, I work in a cancer center where we've been told that the care of our patients will not take a backseat to the Coronavirus and that cancer is still killing more people than the "Rona" is. They also reassured us that there are no foreseeable plans for us to close. I feel very blessed, humbled, lucky, and happy to still go to work and earn my check daily. Screening questions are asked and temperatures are taken of every person that enters our building. So, I'm not in quarantine....but exposed to any germs our patients may bring in with them: ol' Corona included. 

I have a question. How much fear would we be experiencing if social media didn't exist? Who's been looking at their Facebook timelines as I have only to see that literally every other post is Coronavirus-related? A little tiresome and redundant, although I've made my lil' post or two. I mean, I know the actual news on TV and elsewhere still exists. But more than likely, it's not something you're continually doing. However, everyone is almost always holding a cellphone, scrolling their lives away. Scrolling and stopping at chockfuls of stories and articles; people, animals, inanimate objects with masks, . 

Which leads me to, this daily death count. Must we know about every single Coronavirus death as it occurs? Do we as the public really require an up-to-the-minute tally on who's died so we can be even more frightened? While I feel the public has a right to know, I feel we have a right not to know as well. This means disconnecting from the social media, news sources, and even our friends and family who obsessively sit on their seats in anticipation of these crumbs of information. 

I got curious as I was discussing the topic of pandemics with my friends and some patients at work this morning. I did a quick piece of research and not at all to my surprise, the coronavirus wasn't even listed in the top 15 major pandemics of the world. Did you know twenty to fifty million people died of the Spanish flu (otherwise known as H1N1) between 1918 and 1920? Let's not even bring up the Black Death, a.k.a. the bubonic plague, which took out an estimated 75 million to 200 million people on earth in the mid 1300's. A very unsanitary time in history. When I read about the symptoms and effects of the bubonic plague, chile........I'm not sure if anyone living in the year 2020 could handle it. A flea bite or rat bite seven hundred years ago was enough to cause flu-like symptoms, seizures, gangrene, and a guaranteed death sentence. Amazingly enough, despite our technology and medical advances of today, a few people worldwide still die from it today. Amazing, isn't it?

I guess what I'm really trying to encourage people to do is calm. The. Eff. Down. Please. I heard it somewhere that this coronavirus mess should peak within 45 days or so. I truly hope so for everyone. While I'm sad to see that folks are dying at a much higher rate than we're accustomed to in our modern day and age, the end of Coronavirus' story will be nothing like the plague or smallpox. I do feel like something like this needed to happen to jolt people (especially us spoiled and pampered Americans) for us to appreciate our lives as they were PCV (pre-coronavirus). Us, with our routines, our trips to restaurants, our get-togethers, our jobs, our children's schools, and even traffic as we all go about the responsibilities and pleasures of our lives. Us, with our typically-in-abundance of hand sanitizer. Us (well, most of us), with our clean asses on a daily basis thank to toilet paper. Did you know many people of the world don't even have access to toilet paper? We're losing our collective minds over going without what are considered luxuries in other parts of the world. I guess the best thing to come out of this will learn not to take the simplest little things for granted. And do some things we should've been doing all along before this happened.

So. Here's hoping that this nuisance of an eye-opener is over sooner than later. All we can do is continue to pray, wash our hands, disinfect everything, and yes, stay away from each other. It's all going to end eventually. Hang in there, and let's take a moment to thank God for a most unfortunate, but necessary time for everyone to rest and ponder things before things return back to "normal."

Until next time, Charmin

Embracing the (possibly eternal!) single life!

Long time, no blog,

If you've ever followed me, read my blogs, or paid attention to me as a person, you know that I've historically wished for a relationship, love, undying commitment, marriage, children, and everything else that comes with it. Right? I was that single woman who whined openly and out loud about my unhappiness about being single and yearning always for some man out there to just please, love me. Wholeheartedly believing that at the right time that the Lord would send someone wonderful my way. Knowing for sure that I would have the pleasure and pain of giving birth to at least one child before menopause. Dreaming of domestic bliss as a mother and wife, wanting so badly what seemed to come so easily to other women.

Now? In November 2019?

It's amazing what can happen in two years' time. Although two years is only a blip on the radar in the life of a typical person, it is still seven hundred and thirty days. One hundred four weeks. In other words, a long time depending on what can transpire in that time or who you ask.

You may remember me finally getting into a relationship about two years ago. Some people were (understandably) in disbelief, but most friends and family were sweetly happy for me. But no one was happier than me, as I felt I had finally met my match. Someone to finally introduce to Dad and Mom and the rest of the family. I had to squelch the urge to post a Facebook status stating "Charmin Is No Longer The Third Wheel." Instead, I posted my relationship pictures to a plethora of likes and to the satisfaction of a new adoring boyfriend. Gloated triumphantly yet silently through my smiles at people who told me personally that I couldn't or wouldn't ever find a man. For the first time in a very long time, I could say that I was taken. And for the first time ever, I thought that I just might be married and have a child or two of my own before it was all said and done. The Lord and his timing sho' is impeccable, I thought as I entered my fourth decade of life. After all, so many women these days are becoming first-time mothers in their forties. I mentally prepared myself for the actual possibility of being proposed to, walking down an aisle in front of my family and friends, and attempting to get in shape in order to experience a healthy pregnancy one day. I happily perused through Pinterest, asked my female friends for love-marriage-baby advice, and thanked God that this was all finally happening for me.

I was feeling like CeCe Peniston. If you have to ask who she is, you're too young for me.

You may remember me jumping out of this very same relationship this past summer. July to be exact. Long story short and horrible details aside, my relationship turned out to be a complete failure. Things were much worse than I'll ever share here. It took me a little while to realize it, but I learned that I hate being controlled, hate being told what to do, and suspected of things I'd never do/think of doing. The not-so love of my life turned out to be an insecure control freak hellbent on changing the very essence of who I was/am. How disappointing. Right?

Wrong.

You see, when I finally freed myself of Mr. Wrong, I had never felt happier. I felt like that bird that Jenny in Forrest Gump asked God to become so she could fly, fly far away.

Not only did I feel happy, I felt free, proud, and very much like a new woman. I, Charmin J. Bristol, said no to bullshit. I said no to being in a relationship just to say that I was in one. And I had to thank God for giving me the strength to walk away. I would say that I was most proud of myself for holding my head up after the breakup, but I was so very proud of how I didn't let the fact that I will probably never be a wife or mother get me down.

Yeah, you heard me right. The likelihood that I will ever get married is quite low; the likelihood that I will ever give birth to a child of my own is even less. This is not my opinion. These are hard cold scientific and biological facts.

The truth is.....I'm simply not sure that marriage is for me. I mean, I'm sure dating a crazed maniac for a couple of years has contributed to my newly acquired mindset, but I'm also certain that I am too different, opinionated, free, undisciplined and headstrong for any man to want to settle down with, let alone marry. Despite all of my wonderful attributes and otherwise winning personality, I don't follow directions or orders well and don't ever care to. It works for other women; doesn't work so well for me. I've had to learn to be okay with this.

Me either Tami. Me either.

Something I've learned: relationships are very hard work. And it's like, slavery when you're in a relationship with the wrong person.

And guess what? I am so okay with this that I don't even have sufficient enough vocabulary to express how okay with it I am. Seriously, if I never get married, it's no skin off my back. And although I have a deep love for babies and children, I'm afraid I'm simply too old to go through it so late in life. Sure, society keeps reminding us that it's very much possible. But since I will probably never settle down, it's not possible for me. And if the Lord so happened to send a good one my way, I never intended on being a first-time mother in my late forties. It's simply how I didn't forecast my life ending up. I believe every word every tired parent says: it's the hardest job on earth. I don't feel like it as I did in my younger years.

My poor children, if they ever existed, would probably get a never-ending stream of "ya mama's so old" jokes.

My only regret is this silly fairy tale that's force-fed to every child, particularly girls from the time they're small. The marriage and children fairy tale. While I do understand the need of preserving the innocence of children, I feel that at some point in late childhood/early adulthood, kids should be taught that there is that possibility that one will never find a soulmate. That you possibly could go through life without being married or having children. And that there's absolutely nothing wrong with that. I've often heard it said that there is someone for everyone. I simply don't believe it. I think it's just one of life's impossibilities. If it were true, wouldn't everyone in the world be coupled up?

That said, I feel like I've truly embraced the single life for the first time, ever. No, there isn't a man by my side, but I stand pretty well alone. A man doesn't and never has defined who I am. Where I allowed myself to be depressed in the past about being lonely, I absolutely savor having my apartment and my life alllllllllll to myself. It's a helluva golden feeling, not sharing my space with an undesirable. I think the best part of all is having my bed back to myself. I want this feeling to last forever; not having to share, not having to please, not having to change or adjust anything about my life, the way it is now. I promise, it's so wonderful. I'm so happy.

The old Charmin would fret and worry if there's the right man out there for her. The new Charmin simply doesn't care. The new Charmin sees a bright future ahead of herself, although single as a Pringle. Enjoying her new job, hanging out with her family and friends, checking out the jazz clubs, experiencing new restaurants, dabbling in painting her own masterpieces, thinking about her balcony garden, and where she's traveling for her birthday next year. Without anyone's opinion or worthless two cents. I've joked about going into old maidhood and visiting the SCPA to start my cat collection, but I think it will be a very vibrant and fulfilling life for me.

I'm not saying no to love or a relationship in the future. I just don't expect it any time soon. Or later. Or ever. Maybe I'll be proven wrong. Or maybe, I'll die a really old happy single lady.

Me, myself, and I. What a beautiful sentence. One has to be completely in love with his or herself to embrace it. I would encourage anyone struggling with their single status to take a few moments to imagine themselves in the worst relationship possible. Sometimes, only after you've been with a person you can't bear to be in the same space with, can you truly appreciate solitude. Cry and feel how you need to feel, but embrace yourself. The end of a relationship is almost always never easy, but you must look to the future: even if you're standing alone in the vision of it. One's single status is so far from the negative connotations attached to it. It's definitely what you make of it and I intend on making the absolute best of my singlehood. And oh yeah. STOP caring about what others are saying and thinking about you. It's one of the most self-destructive behaviors you can engage in. I had to stop caring about others' opinions of me. Are any of them the assigned maker I'm meeting after I leave this earth? No. Are half of them in half-assed, together-only-because-of-the-kids, unfulfilling struggle relationships themselves? Yes. So why care? I don't. And I'm better off for it. You must reject the notion that "something must be wrong with you" if you don't have a significant other.

Okay, I think it's all I had to say for now. I do plan on blogging a lot more in the future.

What do you think of what I had to say? Do you have any input? Opinions? Thoughts? Suggestions? I welcome them all at any time.

Love, Charmin

The "blue/all lives matter" crowd seem to have changed their tune this week.....

Good evening,

Let me jump right into it. No beating around the bush.

A young, blonde, white female was killed by a black male cop in Minneapolis.

After this tragic event occurred, I could not help but notice the reactions of the usual American conservative patriots were vastly different from the reactions of the past. You know. When innocent black men, women, or children are killed by white cops.

All of a sudden, these proud American conservative patriots were not screaming "blluuuueeeeee lives matter! Hey black person! ALL lives matter!"

All of a sudden, these proud American conservative patriots aren't attacking the character of the deceased as they usually do. They're not digging up old incriminating photos or stories about her. They're not screaming, "she should've abided by the law, her parents should've raised her better, she shouldn't have resisted, BLUE LIVES MATTER TOO DAMNIT!"

All of a sudden, these proud American conservative patriots aren't standing behind the cop and his actions as they usually do, screaming that he too, has a family that he wants to go home to and live another day. Suddenly, there is no mention that this guy is a hero for handling low life scum on the street on a daily basis and that he must shoot now and ask questions later.

All of a sudden, the usual narrative is flipped upside down on its head. Because the deceased is a white blond woman, she's not referred to as a thug. And because the cop who did the shooting isn't a white man, but a black man, he is now the bad guy. It doesn't even matter that he's a part of the blue brotherhood. He killed a white woman, whether she was in the wrong or not.

It doesn't help his cause whatsoever, that he is from Somalia. A country where most people are Arabic-speaking Muslims. I mean, if there's anything that American conservative patriots could possibly hate more than American-born black people, it must be foreign-born black Muslims. After all, I've seen these conservatives whining and demanding that this cop be deported back to Somalia. But wait a minute. Don't you have to be a legal American citizen to be considered a part of the blue brotherhood? Don't the same rules apply, even if the cop in question is a black guy from Somalia?

Apparently not.

So. What am I getting at?

All I know is that, the double-standard of racism could not be more clearly blatant than it is now. Now that the the tables have turned, now that the shoe is on the other foot, there is this great big outrage and outpouring of sympathy from American conservative patriots. Their minds are simply incapable that such an atrocity happened. They lament over the fact that she was an Aussie on the verge of getting married. The outpouring of sympathy for her fiance and other family members is deep and heartfelt. After all, this scenario is quite rare and almost always never happens in America or anywhere else in the world, period. The cops typically don't shoot white women, let alone black cops. White people in America are allowed to resist and fight cops as they're being arrested. Don't believe me? Check this out.....

https://youtu.be/daVhasi95c4

In case you don't want to click on the link, it's a clip of white people with weapons who do not get killed by the cops as black people WITHOUT weapons are sometimes killed instantly.

I can't help but draw parallels as well as stark differences between this particular incident and the reactions of when black men are shot and killed by the police; whether it be for a minor crime or worse yet....being black. There are usually grieving family members left to pick up the pieces. However, the American conservative patriot squad usually whines that the "thug's family is looking for a payday," even if the deceased black man was unarmed or living life as usual/not committing a crime. What the f...??? How does money replace a dead family member? Then when the cop in question is acquitted for the umpteenth time, cleared of all and any wrongdoing, the patriots focus on those in the black community who riot. Hell, even if you choose not to riot, you're still labeled as a racist for daring to stand up and speak out on it at all. I also can't help but notice certain white people on social media smugly saying that whites aren't looting and burning up their neighborhoods over this latest incident. DUH. Of course they aren't. It's not every day that a pretty blond white woman is offed by black cops. Hell, I'm trying to remember the last time any unarmed white woman not committing a crime was killed by ANY cop.

An American nightmare? I'd love to sit with the folks and tell them what a nightmare it can be, being black in America.

But now, a precious blonde white woman is dead; the world is in shock and in mourning. A black cop killed her. Fairly or unfairly still yet remains to be seen (sound familiar?). One can only wonder what his punishment will be. Will he be forced to resign from the force or will his white counterparts, the ones who usually protect the blue, see to it that he spends time behind bars? I know better by now than to ever think he's going to get away with this scot-free as white cops do when they shoot and kill black people. If he does, I will be seriously surprised because that's not how it works in Patriotic Conservative Americaland. Black people are never to get justice or experience a fair trial. Even if you're the police serving and protecting because the hatred against black people run that deep.

I can honestly say, unlike American conservative patriots about black victims, that I'm sad about what happened to this woman and even sadder for her family. I just read about the 911 calls and it appears she walked up unexpectedly on the cop as he arrived, shooting her as a reflex. What I'm about to say may sound harsh, but I make no apologies for saying it. Maybe, just maybe certain white people will realize just how incredibly traumatizing it is, to know how it feels when a cop murders your loved one. Only in this case, it appears to have been merely an accident when black men are shot on purpose. It was an accident; but this particular cop is ripe for the crucifying. Because he's black first, a cop second.

I could say much more, but this is enough. I've learned my lesson. When a black cop kills a white woman, he's automatically a bad guy by default and his blue life doesn't matter. Throw him in jail or send him back to his country. When he kills another black person, no one bats an eye or suggests he forfeits his American citizenship. Blue lives don't matter if they're black guys or black guys from other countries doing their job apprehending or shooting whites.

Got it. Lesson learned.


-Charmin

39 and never been loved....and I hate your advice.

I can't follow society's rules; was never made nor meant to act as others act. If you tell me to do something because everyone else is doing it, chances are that I will break my neck in an attempt to do it differently from everyone else. It is just the way I was made.

I want love. Unrelenting, unfailing romantic love. That kind of love where my man is always happily showing me off. That kind of love where he is just always gazing at me with obvious happiness dancing in his eyes and in his heart. The guy who appreciated that I can be listening to harp concertos, jazz, or gospel one moment and Outkast, Three 6 Mafia and Wu-Tang the next. That man who is not so easily annoyed by me and my quirks. He would be so into me that he'd want nothing more than for me to be all up under him and appreciate the fact that it's where I want to be. I would rather have this type of love and acceptance than millions in the bank.

I hate how people expect me to act all cold and aloof, as if I shouldn't want or desire it. But lo and behold, I am but a simple flesh and blood woman who desires monogamous male companionship. I can no longer fake the funk just because I fear what people may say. I've always prided myself on being the most real and true individual I can be. I'm not here to placate others or say what they want to hear.

I honestly can't tell you why it hasn't happened for me. I am a phenomenal woman. If I went into the reasons why, I'd be typing all night. I'm not at all conceited. Just humble with self-esteem high enough to know I'm worthy of the best love any good man has to give. I am also aware of my flaws and shortcomings because I keep it real. I could go into the single man shortage, but that's pointless and another argument altogether. 

Love. I have never felt it before. At least not romantic love. There have been at least two times in the past where I thought I was in love. However, the love wasn't returned, as I didn't fit whatever mold society demands us black ladies fit. So, I don't consider myself ever having been in love because it's never been reciprocal. Despite my deep approval of myself, I just don't look like what the average black man wants on his arm. To some of the men out here, I don't have enough education (although soon this will change). To other men, I'm not slender enough. To a certain type of man, I'm just good enough for a good time. I have so much love to give; an overabundance. All I've ever wanted to do is be the reason a man wakes up in the morning; his sole reason for laughing and smiling and doing the right thing.

Never has any man living made a concerted effort to lock me down and make me his. 

Truly, I know what it is to be eternally single. Fuck fat shaming, short shaming. There's nothing quite uniquely stinging like the stigma attached to a woman of nearly 40, unattached without children. You may believe some of the things people have said to me, although it doesn't make it any more polite or thoughtful.

"That's why you ain't got no man." This is usually said with the intent of throwing salt into a wound, I guess. That sentence implies that whatever I said or did that someone didn't like, usually culminates into this. Despite many women saying or doing much worse than I do having boyfriends and husbands. It's meant to make me feel bad about myself, but I never do.

"Maybe if you changed your appearance." Really? Sorry, not sorry that you disapprove of my appearance, but I actually happen to love how I look. A lot. If a man is into me only because I'm wearing the latest fashions and in the salon once a week, perhaps he's not for me.

And of course, all of the same regurgitated advice that I hear like a broken record. I do believe most people mean well when they say it, but my goodness, it gets so tired and old. I hate hearing:

"It's going to happen for you one day." I've been hearing it for the last 20 years. Mmm hmm. I wonder if I'll be hearing the same line right before I turn fifty.

"You're way too picky." Yes, by all means, bring me a handsome yet emotionally unavailable man with four kids by five different mothers and a tendency to step out and spend time with a side piece. That'll make life so much better and pleasant for me. At least I'll be able to say I have a man, right?

"If you keep looking, you're never going to find it." Now this one actually drives me crazy because I'm almost always never looking for it. It's assumed by most that I'm actively looking. I'm the type who wants to be found, discovered by a good guy. He who finds a wife finds a good thing, right? I'm old-fashioned and would rather be pursued by a man who's into the gender role-reversal that's so prevalent these days. I hate it when people presume that I'm so pressed for a relationship that I am looking at all men like a sailor through a periscope.

Yes, I know, I know. People are just being nice and encouraging.

People have incorrectly assumed that I want a relationship solely because others are in a relationship. Never that. I want it because it's what I want. It's something I want for myself because I've been single for so long. It's something I'd want even if everyone else in the world were single.

One of the things I hate most about being single is lack of physical contact. What woman/human doesn't want hugs, kisses, cuddles and sex all of the time? More than that, I simply find myself yearning for my back to be rubbed and caressed gently with love and support. Somehow, that seems to be one of the ultimate forms of meaningful and impactful affection to me. It would mean so much and feel so good to have a strong male hand touch my back to reassure me through these stressful times that I have to endure alone. A supportive cheerleader helping me out emotionally after stressful days of work and the impending start of college.

But day after day, year after year, I go without affection.

Without love.

I'd be lying, if I told you I weren't a little bitter as a result. Because I am. I know for a certain fact that I'd be a better person if I were loved. Life would be much more tolerable, nor would I be the object of anyone's pity. I need a good man to smooth out the rough edges I've acquired as a result of being single for so long. As much as I desire to be someone's rib, I've had no choice in my life but to be independent. It also sure would be nice to be a little dependent on a good man from time to time too. Someone to help me carry my heavy groceries up three flights of stairs for once. Someone who can tell me what's wrong with my car when it acts up. Someone who would be proud and happy and feel manly helping me knock out this rent and all of the other expenses of life. Someone I can call when I'm in trouble and would drop everything to help me out. That man who can make me laugh if I cry or otherwise had a bad day. The man who can have an argument with me and not hold a grudge and still want to be by my side regardless. That man who would binge-watch Queen Sugar with me before I watch sports with him. That guy who will wake me up early on Sunday morning so we can go to church together and enjoy dinner and a movie afterward, full of laughs and good times.

That, to me, would be love. The kind I unashamedly ask for.

Maybe God will send me someone that I won't have to chase. Someone who will find me such a delightful catch that they would prevent any other man from laying claim to me. As much as my faith is low when it comes to me finding love, my faith is indeed the size of a mustard seed. A tinier-than-usual mustard seed, but a mustard seed nevertheless. I have become more than impatient with the Lord's timing. But that's between He and I.

Pray that love finds me because I'm so tired of being single. I don't want to do it anymore. It's tiresome and lonely. No amount going out with friends and family and socializing will ever change how I feel, the deep void I feel inside. I promise if a guy loves me, I'll do whatever humanly possible to make him happy. Maybe one day I'll have the pleasure of writing about how it feels to truly fall in love for the first time and experience the raw beauty and splendor of it all.

I promise.


-Charmin