A Queen's Reflection on Love - Black Love
I recently participated in a documentary titled “Black Love II” created by J. Lee of JLee Plays. Once I accepted the invitation to be interviewed for the documentary, I started thinking about what Black Love really means – to me. The first thought I had was the question of whether or not there is such a thing as “Black” love. My spiritual being doesn’t agree that love can be categorized or labeled in this fashion. But, I do understand what J. Lee is looking to evaluate, so I rolled with it.
My experience with love has been rocky – to say the least. Believe me; I started this love thing really early. My father passed two months before my 13th birthday. Today, I realize that the path I took to get to true love was paved for me by the vacancy imprinted in my soul when my Daddy transitioned.
It started with my across-the-street neighbor who happened to be my best friend’s brother. I absolutely loved him. He knew it. He didn’t care. When he felt like he needed some attention, he flirted with me. Little did he know, each time he paid any attention to me, I fell harder and harder. I never did become his girlfriend and I wanted that more than I wanted to breathe.
When I got to high school, I began to get a little bit of attention from guys. I was, of course attracted to athletes and bad boys. None of which ever truly reciprocated my feelings. But, here’s where I began to use my body to get attention, thinking that would lead to love. Of course, it did not.
I remember being “in love” with one particular guy who told me that we were in a relationship but the relationship didn’t ever become popular knowledge to my friends. I mean, it was pretty much just between me and him and particularly after school when he’d call me over to his house to “appreciate me”. So, come time for the prom, of course I assumed we’d go together. He never asked me though. When I finally asked him, he said he couldn’t afford to take me to prom. So what did I do? I had my brother buy him a tux and a corsage for me. I bought a dress. All he had to do was pick me up.
About an hour before he was to pick me up, I called him. No answer. I cried and cried because I knew deep down that I’d been stood up. I was determined to get to that prom. So I called a girlfriend who was going stag and asked her to pick me up. When I got there, I saw him there. He was in the tux my brother had bought for him with a girl wearing the corsage my brother had purchased as well.
He never apologized to me. Since no one ever knew that we were even suppose to go together, I just pretended to have a good time and vowed to take that secret to the grave with me. This was my first introduction to heartbreak. It was also the beginning of my belief that men could not ever be honest and therefore could never be trusted.
There were a couple of guys who liked me in high school but most of my encounters in high school were with guys that didn’t like me; who didn’t want to be my boyfriend; and, who lied to me every chance they got because I was insecure and vulnerable. I didn’t even believe them most of the time, but it felt good at the moment, so I acted like I was dumb enough to trust them. I wasn’t. I didn’t. But, my need for acceptance and love proved to be more important than me taking a stand for myself.
Completely broken, I entered college at the tender age of 16.
My first encounter with a man in college was with the creepiest creep ever! It was sort of a continuation of my involvement with Prom Guy. Still hurt and tainted, I entered the same type of involvement with a new guy. Our relationship was nothing but sex, but of course that’s not what he told me – just me.
One day I approached him in a public part of the campus after he’d been ignoring me for an hour or so. He was with his boys and immediately took issue with the fact that I approached him as if I had the right to do that. He looked up at me with eyes that only Satan’s child could hold and I knew this would be ugly. The guy called me every despicable name I had ever heard before. He walked up to me as if I was nothing and yelled in my face with the same regard. Basically, he told me and everyone else present that I was nothing and he didn’t give a shit about me.
I left the room that day hating him and hating me. I remember thinking as I walked back to my dorm room that I would never, ever care about another man again as long as I lived.
HA!
Not long after that, a sweet, nice, churchy guy started sending word through anyone that would listen that he liked me and wanted to get to know me. I wasn’t impressed with him at all – of course, he wasn’t a bad guy. But he was an athlete. I watched him play ball. I was coming around but not quick enough. So, one day, he stood below my dorm room window and sang to me. BOOM! I’m in love again. Not because I really love this dude, but because he was really into me. So, I told myself this time it would be different.
We started dating. He immediately stopped dating the three women he was seeing (at one time) so that he could be exclusive with me. Because he did that, he expected and directed me to stop talking to and participating in any friendship I had with any man. I did.
A couple of months passed. I had pretty much lost all interest in school and going to class. My entire life revolved around him. We spent every waking moment together. But it always felt so heavy to me. Not having anything to compare this relationship to, I thought it was normal relationship heaviness.
I went to a scrimmage game that he was playing in one night. One of my former male friends was playing in that game. I guess I smiled at him or said one too many words to him because it set my boyfriend into panic mode. He asked me to go outside with him. We walked away from the gym; he cursed at me and called me a couple of names. Then, before I knew it, he’d knocked me to the ground and stomped on me. I had gravel in my hair and rocks in my mouth. The shock of the moment passed quickly because he picked me up and cried. He immediately apologized. We cried together and I felt sorry for him. I knew then that he loved me and that I could forgive him.
I was with him for 11 years. He cheated the entire time and he was physically abusive the entire time. He alienated me from my friends and he convinced me that I was fat and worthless. He made me feel like he was doing me a favor by being with me because no one else would want me. I believed him since, up to that point no one ever did.
Eventually he broke up with me. It’s funny because I never would have left him. But I am thankful that God intervened and saved my life because he probably would have killed me. He’d already wrecked my self esteem and diminished my perception of reality. He also sealed the deal for me when it comes to love. I was convinced coming out of that relationship that love DID NOT exists. I never intended on being serious with a man again. I was dead set against being married or monogamous. I was prepared to be single and enjoy taking advantage of men in every possible way. I even decided that if the right girl came around, I’d even try out being a lesbian. Why not? Love just did not live here anymore.
For a couple of years that worked. I was happy partying and enjoying life. I dated married men who only wanted to spend money on me. They didn’t want anything else, not even sex. That worked for me. I was cool with that. I was in somebody’s club every night of the week. I was loose and carefree. I hated the idea of love and I hated the idea of being committed to any man or anything – period.
Then, it happened.
He walked into my life and the very first words he said to me were “Will you marry me?” Full of game myself; I thought, wow, this sounds genuine for a one-liner. Never-the-less, I walked away from him and didn’t think about him again - until the next week when I saw him again. He was perfect. He was dark and his teeth were gorgeous. He was husky and taller than me. I mean, really, this dude was the guy that I pictured when I was a little girl and I thought about what my husband would look like. It’s almost as if God sent him to me and said, “Here my child….this is for you. You’ve been through enough already. It’s time for you to know love, to feel love and to give love.”
That man brought me back from that dark place. Day by day he taught me how to love again and how to be loved. I had refused to ever give my heart to any one again, but slowly he broke down those walls. He took the time out to listen to my horror stories and he cared enough to want to understand why I had lost faith in love, life and men. He accepted everything I had done, all my imperfections and he loved me anyway. It wasn’t easy. Most people don’t come back from the mentality I was comfortable in. But with God’s favor and the gift of this man, I was able to see the bright light that I never saw before. I was able to open up my heart to love again.
I would not change a single thing about the journey I’ve taken. It hurt. It completely destroyed the person I was, but the person I have become is all the better for it. If I had never been abused and mistreated, I wouldn’t appreciate the awesomeness that true love brings. I would never have known how much of a blessing it is to have a man that loves unconditionally. I wouldn’t know how to compromise and support a man. I wouldn’t know how to breathe easy just because my soul mate has my back and I don’t have to worry about the enemies of life. I have a partner who is my best friend. We laugh, we argue, we make up, we create, we exist together.
I paid my dues to get to this point.
Love is a process. It’s not an action or an emotion. It’s a journey. It’s not a yellow brick road. It doesn’t come just because you want it to. It comes because you deserve it. It comes because The Creator has favor on you and your life. Until that time, it’s just a relationship or an experience. It’s a powerful acceptance of self. It’s a part of life just as much as breathing, eating and sleeping. Once love falls upon you, you will be different; your life will be different; your mindset will be different. While my heart and soul believes that love is love, there is also something in me that recognizes that there is a particular realness to Black love. It was a wild ride getting to a place where love can exist and thrive. But I made it and I know that this love is a complete and good thing. If you ask me how to recognize Black Love (or white love or mixed love), my only response can be: It’s just love and you’ll know it when it claims you.