So we’re gonna do this today. the truth, straight with no chaser.
I’m here with this tough love because I needed it. and because I care and want you all to be great, I’m extending the same tough love to you. trust me, the process was hard. rough and emotional as fuck. but, in order to recognize the pattern of screwing up all my relationships, this moment of shadow work needed to be raw and uncut.
here we go, mental marriage.
don’t blank stare me, you know exactly what I mean.
the shit we do when we meet a guy.
slap him with the “potential” label, then run off and marry him in our head. imagine a future with said man. contemplate how the sex would be, how you’d cook him breffis in the mawnin’. all the mind fucking you did in the 2.2 seconds he walked into your space.
yeah, that. mental marriage.
you know good and well you’re married to a plethora of men in your head. real talk, I’ve been “married” to a man, in my head, for the last five years. we got kids and shit. live on an island eating passionfruit and guava all damn day. I get metaphorically “dicked down” just the way I like. but we’ve never slept together and I ain’t seen much but a dick print—shadow dick.
sounds dumb as hell doesn’t?
but that’s what we do.
jump off a ledge and place dudes in a category. set up expectations for men who barely know our last name—don’t even know we exist. and he bet not like an instagram post! now, we go togeva. sounds cute chatting it up with the girls. kee-kee about all the freaky shit you’re never gonna do in real life because the fantasy never becomes reality. we wish upon a star and hope said dude reads our nonverbal cues: likes, emoji waves in messenger chats, “hey there” temperature checks via text, slick comments which look and sound like every other thirsty chick in the thread.
let’s presume information is exchanged. conversations ensue and a first date manifests. if this dude ain’t all up on you or ask you about your entire life (only for you to play coy and deflect), send sexual innuendos, put his arm around you at some point, send you a “goodnight” text, and “good morning” text the next day, you throw him away. suddenly, he ain’t shit, never been shit, ain’t gone be shit.
a freaking tirade because he didn’t meet the expectations you designed in your head. the ones he never knew. didn’t hint he wanted to go that far with you. but you did. why? cause you don’t know how to date. no one told you every man who takes you out doesn’t necessarily want a relationship, nor does every man who pays you a compliment want to bend you back and buss it open.
but I get it.
the dudes you’ve experienced have mimicked those stereotypes. half of us ain’t never been with a good dude or had a genuine connection with a man who just loved our person. folks say men and women can’t be platonic and I call bullshit. flag on the play. the reason why folks say this is due to a lack of value. we stopped valuing each other. instead, we’re objects. folk who can “do something” for the othe—a benefactor. not a person who deserves to be treated as such.
you marry men in your head because, deep down, you’re lonely as fuck and want a dude to save you. cringe when you see a dude playing captain save a ho because secretly, you want him to be your knight in shining armor. wish the glass slipper fit your foot. the fairytale ya mama, nana, auntie, or some antiquated teacher told you back in the day.
society pushes the cinderella idea. make you think love is supposed to be magic and glitter all the time. hype you up to believe a man is gonna swoop you up and save you from your lonely ass. what they failed to mention is the only way a man can come and sweep you off your feet is if you’re halfway off the ground. you gotta be in your own ecstasy beau. in love with yo damn self, married to yo damn self.
how a man gone come love on you and you out here pimping yourself out for the quick fix feel?
and I know it’s hard to hear. I know you don’t want to admit it. I didn’t but I had to sit with it. sit with why I have empty conversations. text threads with no forward movement. vague ass invitations for company with me still waiting for a man to reply: “sure, we can hang.” the man you want will find you while you’re in motion, not living in your headspace with a random who ain’t gave you a second look. your #mcm is with the chick who’s emotionally available, not preoccupied with emotional bookmarks.
that dude you married in your head, divorce him. he don’t want you. cause if he did, you wouldn’t be on a honeymoon with his shadow or living in inbox intimacy.
stop wasting your energy.
no, honey, you can’t marry homeboy in your head.
but if you shoot your shot, show some actual interest, and clear your emotion cache; he may see you’re interested and come to you.