Single AF
photography // Shah Ali
creative direction // Kiah McBride
Aww damn. Here we go again.
Another weekend ending the week in, wondering when dates will come and lights will dim for reasons beyond me going to bed alone. Again.
One head on both pillows, wishing that there were two. Instead, I’ll sit back and sip this glass of wine while I whine to Twitter about how I wish I had a boo.
Cue tears.
CUT. END SCENE.
Temperatures drop, panties drop, but I wouldn’t know nothing about that. I’d rather be single than to settle, over here we’re not wasting nights thinking about what could be.
Nah, I don’t spend much time dabbling in fantasies.
There’s this preconceived notion that being single is a death sentence, that it’s reason to despair. And while I must admit that the occasional Instagram post of happy couples coming across my feed does strike a desire in me, the hundreds of others announcing the latest cheating scandal, broken heart or STD scare reminds me that I’m right where I’m supposed to be—learning how to be fully content with myself, without feeling like I need a partner to complete me.
I know, I know. That sounds cliché. I get it. Truth doesn’t taste as sweet as delusion and dysfunction, and reality is only real if you acknowledge it. But if I say real talk, you probably won’t trust it, so I’m going to slide you a cup of hot tea instead—something that The Shade Room won’t tell you. You ready?
*whispers* You’re better off alone than unequally yoked.
I know, mind blown.
Too much is wasted getting caught up with where society says we should be instead of using that time to do the pre-work before testing out a relationship. We’re quick to hop in situationships that can be painful to get out of, or lower our standards because, well, we probably lacked them to begin with. No judgment, we’ve all done it.
But that’s the beauty of being single. It’s a time to really figure out who you are, and what you want without the pressure of pleasing another. It’s an opportunity to dive deep within yourself before getting under the covers, after all, the most pleasurable exchange is the one where afterward you don’t have to question your lover.
Energy is contagious, and you don’t want to pass nor catch the insecurities and baggage that broken hearts and unhealed wounds tend to pass around. And while it may seem selfish, it’s actually an act of selflessness to know who you are and what you’re about before becoming a 2-for-1 special. It’s more than just do you believe in marriage, and do you want kids? It’s can I count on you to be consistent, stable and committed to building an unbreakable foundation? Check yes or no. No hesitations.
And you may find during your x-ray that there are some things that you first have to excavate within yourself. And that’s where it gets hard, because we all want to believe that we’re better than we really are. We all want to point fingers instead of admitting that no matter how good you think you were, and possibly may have been, that there was still a part of you that the blacklight managed to expose. After all, it wouldn’t be a lesson for you to learn if you already knew the answer.
When you’re firm in yourself, and I mean really firm, no amount of attention or I love you’s will have you easily swayed. Disrespect is met with distance, and words of affirmation are tested against action before you invite someone into your space.
When you’re firm in yourself, no amount of attention or I love you’s will have you easily swayed.
So while you wait for that date, read that book, build that business, finish that class, pray. Go to therapy, get your mind and your money right, do things that bring you joy, keep your cup full so that you don’t attract someone whose cup is half-empty. After all, one of the sexiest things about a person is when they have their shit together.
And next time you feel Single AF, remember this. All those nights in spent digging within, it’ll all be worth it in the end. No Cap.
Becoming A Woman
photography // Coco Dandridge
creative direction // Kiah McBride
I imagine her in quality silk pieces that hug my frame, manicured nails trailing down the length of my body, and locs contorted in some gravity defiant style. She speaks softly but firm, a feminine essence that doesn’t require much yelling or backlash, a gentle whisper that puts out fires before they even start.
An HGTV-worthy home with Pinterest perfect cooked meals, healthy ones that nourish the body instead of deplete it of nutrients. Bed neatly made, every corner tucked, candles lit, flames dancing to the rhythm of the song streaming from a Spotify playlist. I’m dancing with it.
I picture her strong and she’s got it all together. Bank account balance slowly climbing past four figures. No debt, she’s controlled. She doesn’t want more than she can pay cash for. She’s patient and can save up for the bigger things in life.
She handles conflict with pure finesse. Whenever the dark past tries to creep its way into the present, she commands it back to its place. She’s in control. She doesn’t forget, but she’s evolved, never allowing anyone or anything to knock her backward. She’s only concerned about progress. Lessons become bits of wisdom passed along to those behind her, or those who just haven’t gotten it yet. We all grow at a different pace. Purpose fulfilled.
Love flows effortlessly through her veins. She’s not trying to practice self-love, she is love. It’s evident in her character, her kindness, her ability to forgive—even if just towards herself.
Yet there’s still a wildness to her, a mischievousness that dances behind her eyes. Playful but just so, you won’t know the full extent of her sexuality until you get close. And she rarely lets a man get close—choosey lover. She laughs loud and dances freely and unapologetically. She may slip a curse word or two. Okay three. She’s down-to-earth, close enough to hit her knees and pray every night.
I imagine her because she’s who I’m becoming. But the becoming isn’t quite what I expected it to be. It’s a constant friction between who I was and who I desire to be—loosing of chains that are double-locked around my ankle. I don’t always get it right—in fact I fail a lot. My temper slips up, my heart hurts, I question myself often, I self-destruct and scoop the ashes back into the bowl to shape and mold again. 10,000 hours of practice in hopes of becoming my best self.
But in the midst of that I’m learning to be kinder and gentler to me. Loving me. Diving deeper into the crevices, exploring the depths of who I am. I wade through the darkness but I don’t stay long, I refuse to drown there. In fact, I embrace it, and let the light shine on it and then shine brighter anyway.
I think that’s truly what being a woman is about. It’s not about perfection. It’s about the journey of becoming. Embracing who you are but never settling for who you could be. It’s in those moments of success—the small wins that draw me closer to my ideal self—that I smile and say “you’ve got this girl. You’re doing just fine.” My own personal coach in the race of life.
Girls Need Love
photography + creative direction // Kiah McBride
He can feel my vibe.
I’ve never been a shy girl, my eyes betray me before my lips part and speak what we’ve both been thinking. And it’s been on my mind all day. In the morning where wet dreams saturate dry sheets. At work where hidden corners become forbidden fantasies. On a Sunday, when thoughts slip past pulpits and dive into pools of pleasure.
Mmmm. Yes, Lawd.
I’m not afraid to ask for what I want.
And I ain’t too proud to beg for what I need. His touch sends a shiver down my spine, and if I wasn’t careful, I’d be walking on thin ice—bound to break at any time. I want something that Ben & Jerry’s can’t satisfy. Limited edition, my ice cream is a unique flavor. His cream is filling. I cream, I’m willing.
But I can’t let just anyone take a dip.
Rainbows are rare, and not every beau deserves a taste. I never claimed to be a good girl, but I’m bad at pretending that something casual is what I desire. Temporary interactions don’t work for a woman who aims to please and to be pleasured.
My worth has me waiting. Discipline has me marinating. It takes more than sweet words and soft touches to get the best of me. I’m holding out for a life-long commitment. Not thirsty for a diamond baby I’m a ruby—one of a kind, uncommon. No God complex, I just see God in me.
Girls need love, but women know they’re the epitome of it.
Girls need love, but women know they’re the epitome of it. I’ll love myself first before I settle for some casual dick.
A Man Won't Make You Happy
photography // Coco Dandridge
creative direction // Kiah McBride
Nobody wants to talk about
the work that’s necessary long before
he hops in your DM’s.
And few speak to the dry bones of skeletons past that need clearing before you say “I do.” It’s not sexy, becoming whole. It doesn’t sound as easy as dressing up insecurities or masking mistakes.
It’s work, that inner self.
It takes a certain level of commitment to right your wrongs, and it takes a certain kind of humble to admit that you didn’t know how to get it right to begin with.
We talk about being real with
everyone but ourselves.
We voice what we want, make lists of our expectations, complain that nobody matches our standards, but never stop to question, do we even give ourselves what we’re asking for? Nah, we just expect someone to come in and provide what we’re lacking. Empty vessels desperate to be poured into.
We’re chasing the wrong thing.
We want to be Cardi B but offset the possibility of holy matrimony by focusing on wedding rings and the “finer” things instead of fine-tuning the parts of us that need repair.
We want a mechanic, not a partner.
We want quick fixes and half-priced results.
It don’t work that way.
To keep it real with you—you attract who you are. And quite frankly I believe I deserve the best. So I challenged myself daily to become what I’m worth. My own savior, I became the solution instead of waiting on a man to swoop in and save the day.
Conflict resolution—I’m the answer, no longer the problem.
I’m the superhero dressed in the cape.
Masters of Destruction
Confession.
There was a time when I wanted let go, but didn’t. To trust, to get lost in his love. But a part of me feared the part of him that wouldn’t choose me daily like I chose him. So before I allowed him the space to show me what’s good, I had already mentally planted a seed of the bad.
I fussed.
I nagged.
I questioned.
The type of crazy shit that had him second guessing if he made the right decision, or if I was just another average chick looking for attention.
Subconsciously I pushed him away. Insecurities had me seeking his validation. Addicted to his compliments, I went through withdrawal whenever it seemed he was short on them. And as a consequence we lost so much time getting stuck in the shallow end of our relationship instead of diving deeper into one another. Dysfunctional lovers.
Mistakes of irrelevant persons from the past disrupted future possibilities. Stillbirth—the love was dead upon arrival. Drowned in a sea of doubt, there was little chance for its survival.
Broken women break things before they’re built.
Masters of destruction, we’ll create problems and place blame when significant others don’t produce a solution. Self-sabotage at its finest, we’re our own worst enemies. Putting unfair expectations on our partners as if they’re supposed to be our healers, when they just want to love the depths of you. To taste and embrace the parts of you that have yet to be touched. And if they really dig you, they want to do more than just dig into you. They’ll weed out the possibility that another will come in and grab your attention.
It wasn’t up to him to be my physician. He wasn’t responsible for making me whole. And while his actions could’ve helped to bring ease, I had to realize that when you’re a woman of substance, there’s no seat at the table for competition, and rest easy knowing that even if he chose another, the essence of who I am is irreplaceable.
Evolution
photography // Coco Dandridge
creative direction // Kiah McBride
IN HIGH SCHOOL THEY CALLED ME A HOE.
My body count wasn’t high, my self-esteem was just low. I sacrificed position for temporary pleasure, my reputation tarnished as my heart got colder, and my light grew dimmer.
I was looking for something to satisfy parts of me that were awakened too soon to understand, and too immature to protect. New girl, new city. I fell for pretty smiles, cool demeanors and intellect, and as boys tend to do they took advantage of that shit. Many shouted lies in public then whispered sweet words in private. They begged for a taste of what they thought others would get, and wanted to appear cool at my expense. Silly rabbits, I never could respect little boys who lied on their dicks.
Chatty patties that never stood a chance played their position between friends. Mask off, mask on—they smiled in my face then wondered why I covered up when they came around. I knew they would go back and slander my name for their own gain; I’ve never respected boys who were thirsty for fame.
I sipped a little too much, and moved a little too reckless, leaving a path of self-destruction then attempted to pick up the pieces when another didn’t master discretion. Zane books taught me the art of sex, but failed to educate me on the consequences.
Had I waited until college I would’ve been deemed free—sexually liberated. Instead, I found myself gasping for air, the weight of poor decisions crushing me. My lungs collapsed, I could hardly breathe. So many nights were spent drowning in my own tears.
I needed a change.
And being one who never showed weakness, I picked myself up, and strutted out of there with my held my head high. To where? I didn’t know. But I knew I had to move towards something greater than who I would become if I were to settle for less than who I was destined to be.
IN COLLEGE THEY CALLED ME A BITCH.
I never thought that I was better than the next, I just looked in the mirror and didn’t like who I was, so I began to transform into the woman I would one day be. I skipped spending the night in random dorm rooms and found fulfillment in focusing on my career and diving deeper into my inner being. Still, there was a part of me I couldn’t completely suppress. I still craved the attention of another. So I teased a little. I knew what they liked.
But something changed in me. In their eyes I read what they wanted. Our tongues danced over L-words but I quickly realized we weren’t speaking the same language. So I left many blue, or better yet, I ignored them altogether. I wanted something deeper, something more. Not something that would fade from memory over time. And the more I recognized my worth, the more they began feeling some type of way. Bitch.
And then I found love. First in him, then in Him. He would be the last one to penetrate the depths of me, and HE would remind me who I really was. That bitch.
NOW THEY CALL ME A QUEEN.
The road to redemption began with accountability. A lot of people talk about wanting to be the best—to master self-love—but few are willing to work for it. But I scratched, I clawed, I dug deep and found the roots of my pain. I stopped pointing fingers and started to ask myself the hard questions. The ones that were just a little too uncomfortable; the ones that most avoid. To become who I am I had to let go of the fantasy of who I wanted to be. I embraced the dark parts and in the shadows I transformed—so quietly, so subtly, every piece of me challenged, shifted, molded. Shaped.
Handcrafted by the Creator, I began to take note of every crack and crevice. Perfection.
Every blemish, every flaw. Perfection.
Every slick word and raw emotion. Perfection.
The mastery of them all? Elevation.
I tucked away naïveté and self-doubt. Doubled up my portion of self worth. Insecurities were no longer security blankets, nor were they shackles chaining me to the former me.
I set aside promiscuity and temporary pleasures. Becoming a woman taught me that you can be saved and sexually free, but timing is key and discipline is everything. For now I’m savoring myself, because I’d rather save the best for whoever is last. Mature palette’s only, I know my taste is acquired, not fit for everybody. I’m no longer a box to check or a prize to be won. I am beyond the confinement of labels.
And the journey has allowed me to be unapologetically me. I’m able to walk in my truth without taking away from any part of me. I still sensually whine my hips. I’m all rhythm, no blues. I’m the melody, an unforgettable lyric. A story waiting to be told. Purpose personified. Prophesy fulfilled. Yet the chapters are still being written. I’m still unfolding. I’m still becoming. The divine feminine.
Or simply, divine.
You'll Self-Sabotage Love Until You Find It In Yourself
She was going to lose him. She felt it in their last conversation—a two-hour, too long discourse that threw her off course of the dialogue that she intended it to be.
He treated her good. Great even. There was no doubt about that. But the broken part of her always found a way to self-sabotage. A deeper part of her, admittedly, didn’t believe that she deserved his love. She feared it even, despite knowing that love and fear can’t coexist.
In the midst of tearing down her walls she tore at his heart. She latched on a little too hard. With every inhale she drew from his soul hoping to fill her own. With every exhale she released her doubts, insecurities, and fears, and, for dear life, gulped down his compliments, praises, and words of wisdom. It was an uneven exchange.
He told her to look into the mirror. To find love within herself. To let go of her hurt. And she did. She stared intently into her dark eyes, but when the tears began to well up she had to turn away. She couldn’t quite face the dark parts of her that had been hidden behind cute selfies, funny Snapchat filters, and witty Twitter remarks. She couldn’t admit to herself that her yearning for love came from a part of her that was starving for acceptance, validation and confirmation that she was good enough, more than enough.
She couldn’t admit to herself that her yearning for love came from a part of her that was starving for acceptance.
She did her best to avoid conflict, but then, that too was the problem. She was always avoiding reality, choosing to live in the fallacy that she was okay, that she was ready, that she was whole. That’s what got her here in the first place, in a relationship that she wasn’t ready for. She was thirsty, and he was Fiji—deep, refreshing, supreme.
She thought it was love only to learn that it was lack, for love of herself and of him would’ve resulted in a different outcome. She would’ve waited, she would’ve respected. She realized that when she picked up The Mastery of Love and began to see parts of herself in each chapter—“The Wounded Mind,” “The Loss of Innocence,” they all spoke to parts that were damaged before she even had the opportunity to understand who she was, and accept who she wasn’t. She let the world become her mirror. She let the absence of positive relationships harden her heart and outside voices whisper her failures. She allowed pain to mask her beauty.
She was sleeping on her truth, and she was ashamed that it took the possibility of loss to wake her up. She had gotten so comfortable in her own dysfunction that she couldn’t even see herself clearly.
Yet, surprisingly, a feeling of hope began to stir inside of her. She knew she couldn’t take back the past, but she could change the future. As long as breath was in her body there was still time to repair what was broken. An excavation, her friend called it. A revival, she declared.
But it was her choice. Not his. Not the world’s. Hers, and hers only to make. And she decided. And she let go of the fear of love and being loved. She chose to be real with herself and do the work, and become the very thing that she lacked.
Start your journey on becoming love by getting your copy of The Mastery of Love.
There’s Nothing Wrong With Being A Woman
There’s nothing wrong with being a woman. There’s nothing wrong with wanting to cook him a good meal after he walks through the door with weary eyes and a tired soul--the weight of the world sliding off his slumped shoulders as you rush to greet him with a warm smile, soft kisses and hugs.
He needs that.
There’s nothing wrong with wanting to comfort and care for him, to give him deep massages, allowing your fingertips to gently tickle the spine that curves under the pressure of having to go out and be a man in a world where he’s undervalued and unappreciated—taking orders, being told that his intellect doesn’t match those of other ethnicities, reminded everyday that he’s replaceable.
After a day like that, he needs your love.
There’s nothing wrong with being a nurturer. It’s what we’ve been created to do from birthing babies suckling on our breasts to allowing your man to lay against your chest not speaking, just breathing. Embracing the quiet moments when two can become one without any exchange of bodily fluids, just an exchange of thoughts that are whispered once he let’s down his guard because you’ve built up his confidence.
He knows he can trust you, listen to you, learn from you, and that’s why he cherishes you.
There’s nothing wrong with investing in his dreams. Because for decades he’s been sold fantasies of white picket fences and expensive college degrees. He’s been told that if he goes the easier corporate route he’s guaranteed financial success and happiness, and that if he just sets aside his innate passions it’ll all be worth it for the wife, family, and kids that he’ll be able to care for without the stress of not having enough. But he’s seen what a dream deferred does to a man. He’s seen how it’s led to fragmented families, how jumping in too soon later led to broken homes, and he doesn’t want that. He wants fulfillment, and he wants a woman who understands that the road may not be easy, but it’s necessary for long-term happiness. He’s a visionary.
And he wants your support.
There’s nothing wrong with giving. For if you are blessed to have more than enough even small sacrifices don’t compare to the value that you will hold in his heart. He recognizes your royalty even if he doesn’t always say it.
There’s nothing wrong with being a woman, but there is something wrong when we allow the hurt and pain from past relationships (with boys who had yet to grow into men) to take away our womanhood. There’s something wrong when we have to question whether we’re doing too much because what we expected to be our return on investment didn’t match what we deposited. We forget that some things are priceless and can’t compare to another. Those late night conversations he had encouraging, building and uplifting you. The small, but meaningful gestures that required him to step out of his comfort zone just to put a smile on your face. They may not be grand to you, but for him they meant the world.
We’re afraid to be women because we’ve given so much to the wrong man that we no longer want to give to the right ones, just in case we have to deal with that heartbreak again. We build walls that tear down relationships and refuse to let in what’s not guaranteed. We’re afraid to take risks and wonder why we’re not rewarded.
But I say there’s nothing wrong with being a woman. Because even if the wrong guy doesn’t appreciate you, you could be the reason why he appreciates the next woman—breaking a vicious cycle through your sincerity and authenticity. And once you let him go you’ll make room for the one who is right, and if you remain open, if you continue to embrace your womanhood instead of holding back, you can give your all.
And this time, yeah this time, it’ll all work out just fine.
Stop Asking For A Man That You’re Not Ready For
I go through periods of self-evaluation where I get real and ask myself am I everything that I’m asking for. If I’m asking to be blessed with a new opportunity, I question whether or not I’m also providing opportunities for others. If I’m asking for someone to come and speak into my life, I question whether or not I’m speaking to others on the level that I’m at. And if I’m asking to be positioned around likeminded people, I check my own actions to make sure that I’m the person that I want to be positioned around. I find it necessary because it’s easy to get off track. It’s easy to start wanting more than what you’re giving, and to fall into this “me only” mentality out of emotional greed. Lately, I’ve seen a lot of people openly sharing that they would like to have a partner: someone to go out with, cuddle with, and share their problems with whenever the need arises. Someone to rub their booties, feed their bellies, and make them feel good when they’re not at their best. I don’t know if it’s because cuffing season is around the corner and people are anticipating those cold nights alone while their friends brag about their Netflix and Chill escapades, or if they’re genuinely looking for someone who will fall in love with them, flaws and all. But seeing these cries for love (or maybe lust) made me take another look at myself, and I wondered, why am I not asking for those things, too?
It’s not that I’m heartless or that I’ve sworn off the opposite sex because I’m on my super feminist “don’t want a man, don’t need a man” mantra, but because I’ve identified an imbalance that needs to be checked before I start asking for more deposits. The problem to me is that so many of us claim we want somebody who’s an asset when we’re the ones who are liabilities.
“Many of us claim we want somebody who’s an asset when we’re the ones who are liabilities.”
We want someone to love us, take care of us, compliment us, and strengthen us when we don’t even do those things for ourselves. We ask for a partner with financial stability when we’re still living paycheck-to-paycheck, expecting them to elevate us from broke to boss instead of coming to the table with our own instead. We want someone who will be loving and affectionate but criticize ourselves for not being good enough, so they now have to go above and beyond to give what we should already have. We want someone to pour their half into our empty cups and then wonder why we are still only half full. It’s a backwards mentality, and one that leads to breakups and breakdowns that are sometimes irreparable.
It’s not always that the person wasn’t right for you, maybe it’s that you weren’t right for them. Just maybe you’re alone because you still have some internal work to do, and there’s nothing wrong with that. We all have periods where we have to go back in and fix things. It’s called self-maintenance. During times of maintenance you have to go off-line because you are of no value to anybody until you’re repaired, otherwise you’re putting others at risk of breaking down with you.
“Maybe you’re alone because you still have some internal work to do.”
It’s not fair to ask someone to be your asset when you’re not in a place where you can make a return on their investment. So do yourself a favor and stop asking for someone you’re not ready for. Invest in yourself so that you don’t become a liability to others.