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They say before one jump’s into another relationship, it’s best to take time to “work on you”; essentially, date yourself. Who are they you might ask? My assumption is 20-something hipsters who are part-time BuzzFeed “journalists”.
Date myself? Ugh, why? I’d like to think I could do better than myself; have you smelt my breath in the morning?!?! Not to be superficial but I’ve got such dark circles under my eyes that someone once asked “who won the fight”. My forehead is so big, IMAX has begun negotiations. Don’t get me started on my neediness and hypochondria.
These incessant self-evaluations had me attending an ongoing pity party for the last 3-months. A party whose guest list included:
- Mr. & Mrs. My-Career’s-In-The-Crapper
- Willard J. Loneliness
- Dr. & Mrs. You’re-Not Good-Enough
In all honesty, I think body could do a lot better than my brain. As gay as it sounds, I have to start loving me for me. That’s why a much needed overhaul in my thought process is imperative.
Every January 1st begins with resolutions that equate to a prosperous year filled with success and love, mostly fueled by an appropriate amount of alcohol and minimal drunk dialing. As 2015 began, I decided to make goals instead of resolutions. The first and most important was to pull myself out of the rubble and begin to reconstruct this mess I call my life. We’re just a couple of days in and I’ve made real strides; listening to a little less Taylor Swift and little more “Uptown Funk”.
The second is to give a 110% towards my career goals (more on this topic later) and lastly, you guessed it, give me and myself a fighting chance. I know the idea of perfection in all aspects is absolutely ridiculous; getting my brain to listen is the hurdle. It’s just like my dad, deaf and a skoach racist.
Here's to being a strong, black woman in 2015,