Diary of A Mad, Interesting Woman

Welcome to the random (and sometimes ratchet) ramblings in my head about life, love and pop culture.

When Will #BlackLivesMatter

Protesters take to the streets to bring attention to the push for justice in the Trayvon Martin case as they take over Rodeo Drive on July  17, 2013 in Beverly Hills, California. (Photo by Jose Lopez)

Protesters take to the streets to bring attention to the push for justice in the Trayvon Martin case as they take over Rodeo Drive on July 17, 2013 in Beverly Hills, California. (Photo by Jose Lopez)


I live in an affluent, suburban neighborhood. I’m a model citizen. I drive a luxury vehicle and my clothing reflects my executive level professional position. I am a Christian woman. I am Black. Remember that.

Last year, I ran out of gas. I saw the reminder, but was busy trying to be my own version of Super Woman. I thought I had time. I thought I could make it home. My car shut down while I was on a conference call, at a red light, at a busy intersection. I was just across the street (albeit a four lane busy intersection) from the gas station.

I called Mercedes roadside assistance because they give you just enough gas to make it to the gas station. I started to get out of the car and go across the street to try to get gas. A man screamed to “get my f*cking car out of the way”. It spooked me so I got back in and decided to wait it out with my flashers on. Police arrived. I was THRILLED. Help is here!

The police officer (a woman) came to the driver’s side of my car.

She asked, “Ma’am. Why are you stopped in the middle of traffic?” (note: I was in the lane next to the right hand turn lane with ample space for folks to pass me on either side. It was inconvenient to traffic, but not in the middle of traffic.)

I responded, “Thank God you’re here. I ran out of gas! I’m so embarrassed. Can you help me?? The gas station is right there, but I’m a little afraid to leave my car. I’m not sure if I’m supposed to. I don’t know what to do.”

She said (clearly exasperated and annoyed), “Did you call police? You can’t just block traffic like this.”

I said, “No. I called my dealer car service. They are on the way with gas, but with traffic, I figured I could beat them to it. I just need help. Can you help me get over there and get gas?”

She said, “Ma’am. It’s against the law for you to leave your car and you’re breaking the law by blocking traffic. I’m calling a tow truck. If your fancy car service arrives before my tow, I’ll cite you a warning and you can be on your way. If not, I’ll have you towed. You can figure out the rest.”

I stopped talking and looked at her. Here I am. A woman. Clearly shaken. Looking for a solution. Asking for help. It hit me in that moment that she didn’t see any of that. She saw a Black woman. Someone who had the nerve to disrupt her day with something stupid like running out of gas. Someone she could care less about “protecting and serving”.  She saw a nuisance. Something that fed her prejudice. My husband even called to help (because he’s law enforcement and they usually have a code of helping each other in these scenarios). Nothing worked. She wanted to hurt me. Wanted to show me she was in power and I was … nothing.

The tow truck arrived. Just as they were about to link to my car, the Mercedes rep pulls up.

I said, “Thank God! You’re here!”

I look over to the policewoman and the tow truck guys to say, “Ok. There’s no need to tow me. He’s here. He can give me enough gas to make it across the street.”

The policewoman said, “I don’t care that he’s here. I told you if he arrived before my tow, I’d let you off the hook. But he didn’t. STEP! BACK! NOW!”

Yes, she screamed at me. Like … I’d offended her. Like … we’ve known each other in the past and I did something to her that required retaliation.

I became ENRAGED. And I thought to myself … today might be the day that I die.

It’s the first time something like that has ever occurred to me.

I turned to her and said, “I don’t have time for this foolishness. I have to pick up my children. The gas station is RIGHT. ACROSS. THE. STREET. You want to give me a citation. Fine. I’ll see you in court. But these people are NOT towing my car. Sir, please put gas in it.

She places her hand on her gun and starts to shout.

She said, “You’re going to do what I said do! I don’t give a f*ck about your kids! I don’t give a f*ck about you, ignorant b*tch. You think you can talk to me like this?!”

The Mercedes rep stepped in and began to explain to her why she should calm down. The tow guy walked over to me and said, “She wants me to tow you. How about you pay me a dollar and I’ll tow you across the street to the gas station. Sound fair?” His associate handed me his dirty handkerchief. It hadn’t even registered to me that I was crying.

I began to sob. I’d never felt so stripped of my dignity. Ever. In life. I’d never felt so worthless. So helpless.

She hears the tow guys and shouts, “FINE. Here’s your f*cking license. Do whatever you want.”

She throws my license into oncoming traffic, hops into her car and speeds away.

Thankfully, the men there (both the tow guys and the Mercedes rep) helped to retrieve my license. They got me across the street and even offered to be a witness if I wanted to file a complaint. I declined. I just wanted to get home.

Each time a black person is wrongfully shot and killed in this country, I think of this moment. I wasn’t breaking the law. I simply needed help … while black. And it almost got me killed.

I don’t know what the answer is. I don’t even know how to help this madness stop. All I know is …

I foolishly thought that picking the affluent neighborhood, getting the executive level job and wearing the prescribed “I’m not a criminal” uniform would somehow reduce the likelihood of this happening to me. To my children. But it didn’t. Because I’m black. Because we’re black.

We must find a way to stop this. I don’t have the answer, but it first begins with planting the seed. So, I’m planting it. Petitioning that you and I figure out how we can begin to create a culture of accountability. We must vote. We must speak out. We must serve and protect. We must be the change we want to see. Together.

And in the still of the night when hope wanes, we pray. Pray and believe. Know that He is there.

#RIPAltonSterling #ISpeakYourName

Love you. Mean it.




As I read the thoughts and comments surrounding the tragedy in Orlando, I’ve come across more than a few folks asking if vigils and prayer are enough. And while I know anger and frustration about this type of senseless violence can move some to feel that anything less than physical action (voting, boycotting / demanding legislation change) is inaction, allow me to give you something to consider.

For those of us who pray actively, have a deep relationship with the Lord and have seen tangible evidence of His hand on our lives, I can tell you that prayer is quite possibly the most powerful weapon we have. Perhaps you don’t know our Savior like I know Him. You don’t believe He split the Red Sea, healed the blind or saved your soul by giving His life. But, I do. There were times when my despair was so deep that I thought … maybe life isn’t worth it and He sat with me. I felt Him touch me. He has healed my body, guarded my mind and protected me every day that I’ve walked this earth. I know that all things are possible just by believing in Him.

So … yes, we should vote to change gun legislation. And yes, we should lean on our politicians until we see change. And yes, we should rally to stop senseless violence from happening. And we should teach our children love and be beacons of love ourselves. But we should also pray. He hears and He sees all. And while I don’t always understand why He allows things to happen, I’ve learned to never question Him. AND, to live my life sharing as much love and light as I possibly can. Be careful that you don’t reduce the most powerful weapon that we’ve all been given.

“Again I say unto you, that if two of you shall agree on earth as touching anything that they shall ask, it shall be done for them of my Father which is in heaven.” Matt 18:19

To the families and victims of Orlando …

There are no words to describe just how heavy my heart is …

Know that I am praying … for God to heal your hearts. To lift the burden of your sorrow. To guard your minds as the enemy tries to steal your peace. To restore all that one man tried to steal. And to exceedingly bless you …

I love you. I stand with you.




So … it’s been roughly five days since Queen Bey dropped #LEMONADE and completely flipped my world upside down. Am I the only one out here completely caught off guard by the levels to this sh*t?! Like … it’s day five and I’m still catching new messages, hearing new undertones and experiencing new feelings.

And let’s be clear – it’s been on REPEAT since the moment she released it. I’ve not listened to terrestrial radio, not a nan CD or iPod (yes “nan” … it’s in the urban dictionary) or satellite radio. I’ve been ALL BEYONCE, ALL DAY since Saturday, 4/23 at 10pm. And … I’m amazed. Like for real. Eff if you think Jay cheated or if she’s talking about her Mom and Dad’s story or if you think it’s marketing bullsh*t to sell records. It’s brilliant. It’s deep on the struggle. The struggle of being a woman. A woman in love. A black woman. A proud woman. Even if you think it’s bullsh*t, isn’t it crazy how it has reached deep into the belly of damn near every woman out there (including those who aren’t black) and stirred up this sense of HELL YEAH, I’M HERE?!  And YES, I might be a little crazy. And YES, I might be a little wild. And YES, I love hard. And YES, I deserve you to recognize me. See me. Hear me. Love me. Own me. Claim me. And IF you refuse to do those things, to recognize those things and be cool with them, know that I am strong enough to survive you. Strong enough to thrive beyond you. And let’s be clear, that’s not just in the context of relationships. She’s talking about life. How women are perceived at work, at home and in society. How blacks are perceived in society. And how the solution to all of this struggle, all of this strife is to see one another. Acknowledge one another. Love one another. Embrace one another and be open to the complication it brings. There is redemption to be found there. There is healing there. There is a fresh anointing there.

Levels man …

Bey showed us levels.

If you can’t see that, I’m sad for you. If you can’t hear her, I’m sad for you. Whether you’re a fan or not, you’ve got to give nod to the deep saturation of profound thought behind the lyrics. The social themes. It’s crazy!!

I’ve actually cried several times through the album. Thankful for the place and space I operate within my life, but also grieving a place and space I didn’t even realize needed to be grieved. Grieving the dry lands and constant mirages I face as a black woman in Corporate America. Grieving the loss of past love.  And then simultaneously crying joyous tears for the love and overwhelming happiness I feel daily. The redemption God has blessed me to experience. The “exceeding abundance” He’s given me in life. My family. My children. My beautiful husband. My thriving career. My girls. My guys. Not to be cliché but, “I can see clearly now, the rain is gone.” And I honestly feel like #LEMONADE bubbled it all to the surface and gave me … release. A deep sigh. A blessed recognition. I feel … seen. Heard. Not in the way I feel it with God (not trying to say that), but like someone collected every woman’s inner thoughts and emotions, and gloriously exposed our heart. Maybe that’s it. It’s a crazy take on a new age love note. One to us. One to this country. One to our loves (past, current and future). I dunno … I’m still processing.

Levels …

Welcome to the world of a woman. A black woman. And while the struggle is real, the journey is beautiful. Complicated. Necessary. And this my friends, is the #theLEMONADEeffect.


Love you. Mean it.



Today, a good friend asked via Facebook, “Why is marriage hard?” She wasn’t asking to be funny. She really wants to know. She’s single, beautiful, worldly and beginning to consider the idea of a covenant. Honestly, more single people should consider marriage this way and seek to understand its nuances. Well, I don’t think there […]

just a kid

I’ve worked really hard in my career to reach a certain title. I’ve literally been blinded by nothing but TITLE for the last three to four years. And now that I have it, I have no idea what to do next. I’m not even sure I’m happy or fulfilled with it. Standing in these shoes […]

I Applaud Chris Rock (and You Should Too)



Let’s just put the sh*t out there so that I can say my piece and be done with it.

I think Chris Rock did a phenomenal job hosting this year’s Oscars. It was racially charged, awkward and poignant. It was direct and uncomfortable. It sparked every single solitary feeling you need to have about racial injustice, discrimination and lack of diversity in this country. And for those of you who thought, “It was a little too much” or “he should have quit after the monologue” or “I don’t get the Stacy Dash thing”, please find the nearest chair, church pew and / or bench and have several seats.

You know what’s too much? Oh, I don’t know, selectively removing a WHOLE RACE OF PEOPLE from consideration for great work. Killing unarmed black men and women unjustly. Systemic corporate racism that promotes the less talented and requires literal rock science from minorities to be considered for a job they could probably do with their eyes shut (considering we’ve been working twice as hard for YEARS to achieve the same corporate visibility). Sitting through a monologue in which you have to uncomfortably feel the result of your complicity isn’t too much. I dare say it’s the least you should receive for turning a blind eye and saying its “no big deal”. You do realize that racism and discrimination are not always blatant offenses, right? You DO get that complicity still holds offense?? Please tell me I’m not saying this to you for the first time?? And while you might want to argue, just look at the TONS of people that are willing to shout, chant and support Donald Trump as the Republican nominee for PRESIDENT OF THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. Are. You. Serious?! So you can’t sit through a monologue in which Chris Rock definitively points at the freaking dancing, neon-colored elephant in the room, but when Donald Trump talks about building walls, minimizing women and “taking back our country”, it’s just politics?? Am I missing something??

Oh. I see. So because you’re not related to Sandra Bland and Tamir Rice and Trayvon Martin and the Eric Garners of the world, you’ll sit comfortably on your sofa and watch black people die. And you’ll say, “That’s a shame.” But you won’t talk about it. You’ll watch us work hard to show our talents and when given a chance to acknowledge the work, you turn a blind eye. It’s semantics, right? Perhaps ALL of the films brown folks worked in / worked on just weren’t as good, right? Right? And when asked, you’ll simply shake your head and say, “the world needs to change”, but won’t lift a hand to create that change. You wouldn’t dare open your mouth to facilitate the conversation that will shift us towards that change.

Get this straight. If you are not a part of the solution, you are part of the problem. Instead of finding reasons to tear apart Chris Rock’s performance last night, applaud him. Champion him. Put him on your shoulders and parade him triumphantly through the streets for having the balls to go on one of the world’s largest stage and “tell it like it T.I. IS” (as they used to say back in my hood). Don’t run from it. AND, if ANY part of what Chris Rock did or said made you uncomfortable, run towards the solution of it. Dig it out and get to the root of it. Otherwise, you’re complicit … and you might as well metaphorically grab a rope, gasoline and pitchfork because you’re no better than those that did once upon a time.


Change starts with you. And when given the chance, you ought to be as brave as Chris Rock. As least he was able to add in a little comedy for levity.

Love you. Mean it.


Mommy’s Morning Musings

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Happy Monday! This year I’ve decided to make a better effort, no matter HOW busy I am, to post at least once or twice a month. Feel free to hold me to it!🙂

To start, instead of a long stream of conscious, I thought I’d share my Facebook post which I wrote after spending a GRAND night on the town with Hubs, my brother and his GF. The next morning, I quickly realized why married Moms of two, stay their asses at home and watch young people live “that life”. Yeah … here’s my “morning after” post:

Gooooooooooood Mern-ting to all of yous. You and you and you AND YOU! How long have I been up? Well, thank you for asking! After creepin (and I do mean creepin) into my own house with the Hubs, Brandon and Brittany at 3AM (so that we didn’t wake the kids), Lillian wakes me up promptly at 645AM with a rebel yell that said, “Hey! HEY! I’m up, Lady! I don’t care nothing bout yo punk a** ‪#‎aboutlastnight‬ situation. Come feed me and change me! NOW!” So I did … and let me tell you, I’ve never experienced a brighter or more vivid sleep pain in my life (you know that pain … that feelin when you get up too early and HAVE to concentrate on what you’re doing but it’s HARD AS HELL CAUSE YOU’RE BODY IS SCREAMING, “B*TCH/NINJA – GO. BACK. TO. BED.” Mmmhmm … that’s my current sitch (that’s short for situation … you heard it here first). And my knees hurt. And I slept in my contacts so my eyes hurt too. And I didn’t wash off my makeup so my face … looks like WHY?! And my hair … ‪#‎fixitjesus‬. Between the sweat from the club and the “The Show, The After Party, The Hotel” shenanigans from Mister Haley (and yes, after his performance you MUST spell out Mister … *winks at Bae*), I’m a wreck. Happy Super Bowl Sunday, Fam. Let me get in here and straighten up. Got ninjas coming over to watch the baby smash cake. Sh*t.

Fun was had by all and penance was paid by me. My body is still recovering. You know the sad part?? I REALLY USED TO BE ABOUT THAT LIFE!! I was a HOT girl! Party ’til the sunrise girl. Knew all the late night hot spots girl. The All Star Weekend shut DOWN girl. #AboutLastNight was a REAL thing for me … 10 (maybe 12 years) ago.

Today, I’ve watched Disney’s Frozen more times than I’ve actually had a night out with Hubs. A decent meal is chicken nuggets, fries, fruit and a good glass of wine because my kids have such fine palates as you can tell. A sexy night is when we don’t have to have hushed sex so as to not wake up the children. Although, I will say, my husband and I keep it steamy so hushed sex ain’t so bad. Sleeping in is 7:30am. If the kids sleep until 8am, we wake up SHOCKED, but so refreshed.  “Me time” is going to the bathroom alone (note: I haven’t used the bathroom without my kids interrupting or feeling the need to sit and watch since before Noah was born. That’s FIVE YEARS AGO!!!).  “Me time” is also my morning / afternoon commute to/from work. Honestly, I tend to think about how I can fit in a good night’s rest before I think about ways to have fun and get out of the house.  A friend invited me to a movie screening a few weeks back. When he called to see if I was ready to go, I was already home and in my pajamas. His response, “BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO! Really?!” My response … ‘Ye shrug. I was beat.

So as you can see, life here lately hasn’t quite set me up to be the out to 3AM type girl; but, I must admit, it sure is fun when it happens. And while I could NOT live that type of life every weekend, I’m thankful that every once and a while, Hubs and I get to remember what it feels like to chase the night.

Until Next Time,


What Do I Do?


Hey Loves!!

It’s been a while since I’ve blogged anything for a few reasons:

  • I only want to blog when I have something to say and for a while there … nothing relevant / thought-provoking came to mind. I mean … there’s only so many times a girl can talk about the “ratchetness” of reality television
  • Career + Mommyhood + Being the perfect Wife (#shedidthat) + Pregnancy = all-consuming. There’s almost not enough time in the day to bathe let alone come up with something pithy to say to you guys
  • I’ve been working on self which requires silence.  You can’t hear God if you’re constantly talking.

So, while I probably lost some faithful readers, I needed this time to adjust.  And you should always know that I’ll only speak when I truly have a topic that will benefit you, or at the very least, make you laugh. And moving forward, the posts may not be very long.  Just enough to get you thinking.

Here lately I find myself back in the midst of a relationship issue that’s giving me … pause.

Ever felt like something wasn’t quite right in your relationship (friendship, marriage, GF / BF, brother / sister, etc.), but you can’t quite put your finger on it?  Actually you can put your finger on it, but the “issues” are small and appear unworthy of attention … until you add up the issues and the time you’ve been dealing with them up and you realize … “SHIT! We’ve been dealing with this for a while!”

Yeah … welcome to my world. My favorite thing to say to people right now is that I’m “dealing with real world sh*t” in my life (like raising kids, juggling my career) and thus I’m a bit slower to catch on to things. *Ye shrug*

How do you address an issue with a loved one that you know is there, but have no idea whether your loved one is feeling the disconnect?  How do you even broach the subject? To have a formal sit down is too formal. To bring it up randomly during a get together is too … random.  When a relationship means the world to you, how do you address an issue that could potentially cause irrevocable harm if not addressed?  Especially when you’re dealing with someone who would rather chew off their own left arm rather than confront it? (I mean hypothetically … which must be said after that last Scandal episode with Olivia’s Mom. Good Lawd!)

That’s it. I don’t have the answer.  If I did, I’d tell you. I want you to tell me.  Hit me back in comments or tweet me (@AskThePRGirl).  This is important to me.  This time … I need your perspective. I mean, this is no one-sided relationship. You’ve got to pull your weight!🙂

I look forward to hearing from you. And once I’ve sifted through all of the comments, I’ll be sure to come back to you all with the solution I chose and it’s outcome.

All the best, AskThePRGirl

P.S. I’ve missed you.  We should chat more🙂

P.P.S. Don’t I look cute pregnant?? #SHEDIDTHAT (photo courtesy of @JennBinsPR)



Let me start by saying I struggled with this entry for a few reasons.  For one, I didn’t know what to call it.  I juggled with “The Gray Area” and “Glass Houses”.  I even thought I might simply call it “Scandal” since that was my inspiration, but I settled on what inflamed me and pushed me to write.  I also struggled because I don’t want to come off too … too … “preachy”.  One of the reasons I blog is because I want YOU, my beloved readers, to take a look at the other side of the line.  We often draw them in our lives most times without even knowing it.  But our ability to stretch ourselves to see the other side, to try to understand the common denominator in this human experience is really what helps us to grow.  I never want to push my own agenda down your throat.  I simply want you to take a moment and consider things differently.  And so I struggled.  Because I do feel preachy and vehemently on one side of this issue, but my hope is that you hear my point and simply consider it.  That’s all.

Over the past two years, much like the rest of the world, I have become obsessed with Shonda Rhimes’ new hit television series, Scandal.  Thursdays literally can’t come around fast enough in my home.  We count down the days until it arrives with day-after-day commentary on what Shonda’s gonna do next!  Not to mention the social media conversations we’re involved in. When I say “obsessed” I mean this show has completely eclipsed all other television experiences in my world.  It’s beautifully scripted and has such a smart cast that weekly turn in amazeball performances.  I’m coo coo for cocoa puffs over Scandal!

Every day I participate in email banter with a few friends from college.  It’s our way of getting through the workday, catching up on each other’s lives and discussing entertainment hot topics.  Recently, Scandal was the topic of conversation and I was shocked to silence by the commentary.  My email buddies (both male and female) were joking around about the salacious relationship between Olivia Pope (the series main character) and her love interest Fitz (the very married President of the United States).  They traded comments back and forth about Olivia and discussed her behavior.  They made fun of the fact that she was sleeping with another woman’s husband. They casually called her “H-Olivia”.  Fitz was championed as some kind of eighth wonder of the world. A stud. A pimp.  A man whose actions commissioned virtual hi-fives and “you da man” kudos.  Olivia was simply a whore.

I read it and was still.  I hate that word (and I don’t use the word hate lightly).  I detest the ease in which the label is used to too easily summarize a woman’s sexual choices when they conflict with some abstract, antiquated view that you learned during a f*cking after school special in 1982.  I hate the way a woman’s sexual choices are scrutinized to the point that if she isn’t living the life of a nun, she’s automatically the antithesis. No ifs, ands or buts.  No gray area.  Just an automatic assessment that if a woman sleeps with the wrong person, she’s a whore.  A freaking whore, people?!

I abhor it. I can’t stand it.  It. Makes. Me. MAD. Can you tell?

I’m not sure most people even know the actual definition of the word.  I believe we have replaced it’s original meaning with our own colorful, societally enhanced, MTV infused version.  So, let’s define it.  How does good old Merriam-Webster define the term “whore”?

Definition of WHORE

1: a woman who engages in sexual acts for money: prostitute; also : a promiscuous (composed of all sorts of persons or things; not restricted to one class, sort, or person; not restricted to one sexual partner) or immoral woman

2: a male who engages in sexual acts for money

3: a venal (capable of being bought or obtained for money or other valuable consideration): purchasable; especially : open to corrupt influence and especially bribery) or unscrupulous person

So … considering her actions, and even more important, the context in the situation, does Olivia truly fit this label?

Listen, I’m no feminist.  This isn’t my virtual method of holding color posters and chanting on the corner of my state capitol building to bring awareness for this particular women’s right issue; however, the quickest way to cook my grits is to haphazardly label a woman a whore because you don’t agree with her life choices.  We live in a highly sexualized, reality-television driven, morally void, buffoonery-rampant world where people clap and laugh about things that should drive us to shock and awe every day.  How is it that in all of the crazy that has clearly desensitized our value system we are still able to look at a clearly complicated relationship situation and simply deduce that the woman, NOT THE PAIR ONLY THE WOMAN, involved is a whore?!

Here’s the thing.  I don’t agree with Olivia’s choice to sleep with Fitz.  Let me repeat for those of you loosely holding the Bible you defy daily, “I DO NOT AGREE WITH OLIVIA’S CHOICE TO CARRY ON AN AFFAIR WITH A CLEARLY MARRIED MAN.” Did you hear me? Okay … moving on.  I also do not believe her choice to sleep with him makes her a whore.  In my opinion, her choice says more about her self worth than her morals.  She doesn’t see that she deserves to be someone’s one and only.  She doesn’t see that there should never be a choice between her and someone else.  She doesn’t see that she is worth more than a brief moment by the window, a quiet moment in the hallway, a glance when no one’s looking and heavy breathing over the phone at night.  She doesn’t see it. She just doesn’t.

And can you blame her?

How many of you have listened EVERY time a man lied to you and slept with him anyway? How many of you allowed him to pick that fight with you knowing good and damn well he was going to carry his ass to the next woman’s house THAT NIGHT? How many times have you told yourself that the relationship would get better? How many times have you allowed yourself to be disappointed even though everything in your being is telling you to walk away? How many lies have you told yourself to keep believing? What did he tell you to get you to come back? What did he say to make you think things would be different?  How did you square it with your soul knowing NOTHING would change?  What did you tell yourself so that you could sleep at night?  Remember when you pulled out that sad ass R&B album and put Tamia’s “Officially Missing You” on repeat feeling like the ONLY thing that could right the wrong of his absence is his voice … his touch … his presence?  How many tears have your cried? How many times have YOU spread eagle hoping your “sweet stuff” would be the cherry on your “I’m about to land this man” sundae?  How many people have you slept with? How many secret conversations or flirtations have you participated in because someone at the office or in the Starbucks line is giving attention that your husband or significant other has long stopped giving?  How many times have you batted your eyelashes to get out of a ticket, get an extra dollop of whip cream on your iced mocha or conjure a free cocktail while out at the club?  How many times have you laid down and given your body to someone you KNOW is not your forever?

Someone unworthy of you …

Someone who knew just the right thing to say …

Someone who somehow speaks to that place deep inside that no one else can reach …

Someone that makes you forget …

Someone that makes you forgive …

Someone who silences your subconscious …

Someone whose force is bigger than anything and everything your soul has ever connected with  …

Even. Though. It’s. Wrong.

He or she among you without sin, please step forward and throw the first stone.

I’m not going to lie to you.  If I were Olivia and was in love with Fitz and he’s saying all of the right things and I’m feeling this incredible, soul stirring level of emotion that no other person has been able to commission in my being, I can’t lie and say that my choice would be different from hers.  I’d be wrong.  Completely morally wrong.  But I can’t say that I’d be strong enough to walk away and seek my worth given the circumstances.

Years ago I was in a relationship that was much like Olivia’s relationship with Fitz if you take away his devastatingly good looks, his position of power, his swag and … his wife.  I loved this man.  I would do anything for him.  For me, matters were complicated even further because he was my first … everything.  The first man I gave my heart, soul and body to.  What I received in return was lies and complications.  Things between us would be SO good until they were almost unbearably bad.  And they were bad ALL the time.  But, I loved him.  He could have told me the sky was purple and I would’ve fought anybody who told me he was crazy.  I knew he was no good for me.  He cheated on me repeatedly and would create fights to make his indiscretions my fault.  Somewhere in my mind, I knew he was no good for me, but I couldn’t find the strength to leave him.  I was worried that he’d “straighten up and fly right” (as my Grandma would say) with the next woman.  I was afraid that he was all I deserved.

One night I literally sank to my knees in the shower and prayed while sobbing.  I told God that if He didn’t show me the path to leave, that I would never go.  I wasn’t capable of choosing what was right.  I prayed that He would give me the wisdom to see (and seek) my true worth.  I prayed that He would send me the “forever guy” and give me the wisdom to identify him.  Two weeks later, I met my husband … and thankfully, I was strong enough to let go of my reckless past.

I bare that part of my soul because it’s important to understand that the “gray” area in life is real and common.  I know we like to believe the covenant of marriage makes it very black and white, but sadly it doesn’t.  And it’s presence (i.e. marriage) certainly doesn’t make “the other woman” involved a whore. Adulterous. Yes.  Immoral. Yes.  Absent of self worth? Definitely. A whore?! GTFOH.

Again, my goal is to simply share that it’s never THAT simple. Doesn’t mean that there aren’t clear lines of right and wrong, but the circumstances should move you to compassion not a hollow and cruel dismissal.

Seriously … considering the points I’ve made … and your own experiences … are you a whore?  Hmm … it’s probably not that simple, is it?

All the best, AskThePRGirl

Real Women Stand Up!


Truth moment …

I’m no saint. I have an extremely saucy personality and can be a bit … mouthy when I want to be. At times I could use a better filter.  My shade game is razor sharp and scarily precise (even when I don’t mean to be). When threatened (or shall I say when there is an attempt to threaten), I assess the “target”, figure out your weakness and I begin the very deliberate, quiet and confident pursuit of disassembling you. They don’t call it the “Art of War” for nothing, right?

That said, I am also a consummate professional and I’m hyper aware of my personal and professional reputation. You will never see me do ANYTHING to bring shame to my good name, my family or any company, client or service I represent. It’s too important to me that my name and reputation is synonymous with integrity, maturity, respect and accountability.

I share this about myself because I want you to know I, too, have had moments during conflict with others that I’m not especially proud of; however, there is a line.  I believe it’s self-control, fear of embarrassment, respect for other humans and just a good village that keeps me from ever crossing that line.

Conflict is inevitable between people and certainly women.  We are beautiful, brilliant beams of light.  We are life. We have incredible power.  We can be such beautiful examples of this human experience.  We are responsible for so much during this walk of life so it’s only human that we lash out when offended.  We literally carry the weight of the world EVERY day and when someone disrupts, threatens or brings negativity into our world we retaliate like a lioness. I also believe that when that disrespect or disruption comes from another woman, the offense is even more painful because there is an unspoken code that SHE knows better than anyone the road traveled and the weight carried.  So it is my belief that we tend to be especially vicious with each other.

Last week I watched Married to Medicine, yet ANOTHER Atlanta based reality television show, for the very first time. What I witnessed was two “prominent” black women completely and utterly destroy their reputations with zero remorse for their actions.  I was MORTIFIED as I watched these two women physically fight each other at a black tie birthday party.  I literally couldn’t believe what I was watching.  I was shocked to silence.  Even more than the feeling of shock was that of embarrassment.  I was so completely embarrassed for them that I found myself wincing in discomfort and writhing in pain.

I took to Twitter and read comments ranging from who was right, which side America should take, whether the homeowner should have called the police to break up the fight and much more.  What’s sad is that I didn’t read many comments at all about the tragedy of two beautiful women tearing each other to shreds over something that could have easily been discussed another time.

What’s happening to us, people? When did this behavior become exciting?  Funny?  Entertaining?  Acceptable?  When did it stop being a tragedy to see two people have very little respect for themselves and others?

Hear me and hear me good. If you are publicly mirroring any behavior from reality TV whatsoever, please do everyone in your life a favor, find the tallest landing building you have access to and … jump. Ok, ok … not literally, but that’s how vehemently opposed you should be to this type of behavior, ESPECIALLY if you’re a woman.  The fight I saw last week on Married To Medicine disgusted me. And what’s even more tragic – instead of rebuking their own behavior, they have the audacity be self-righteous. I swear on everything that I love, if anyone and I do mean ANYBODY from my camp EVER models this behavior it will be a cold day in hell before you have access to my life again.

The desire closest to my heart is that women learn how to truly empower and support each other even when that means applying a deep level of humility.  Contrary to popular belief humility is NOT synonymous with humiliation.  It takes such strength of character to embrace humility and reap its benefits.  I believe that when we do, we will find a power that could truly change this world.

Think about it this way.  God has given women the gift of being the giver of life.  That’s extremely deep.  Shouldn’t we be focused on how to honor that gift and draw from it to be powerful agents of change in this world instead of looking for the next opportunity to destroy it??

I’ve decided to no longer watch Married to Medicine and I’m slowly but surely eliminating all television that mischaracterizes the woman I am. I don’t want that spirit in my home and certainly not in my life.  I refuse to accept that the behavior portrayed is okay.  I refuse to accept that all women model this behavior.  I refuse to make it easy for Bravo, WE TV and any other network to keep telling ME that this … this backbiting, vicious, undisciplined, unrefined, unloving, ridiculous, shameless being is the true representation of women today.

I am a woman.  I am NONE of those things and I will no longer delight in the tragedy of that depiction.

I challenge you to do the same.

All the best,