Yes, I’m pulling out all my Beyonce stops and calling myself a Queen. Because it’s Womxn’s month and f*ck it. We’re supposed to be uplifting each other, right?
Now, this cockiness doesn’t come easy to me. You’re either born with it or you go through a lot of years of hyping yourself up in the mirror to get there. Behind a keyboard it’s easier, of course, but for me it was the long years of mirror talking and the time watching my husband pour love into my sons as well as into me.
My husband is not the typical “Black Man”. You can find him in his car listening to Coldplay, creating comedy skits with our boys when he’s bored, as well as glued to the TV screen every Wednesday night tuning into WWE RAW (much to my disdain). But the common thread that I find in him as well as every other black man in the world is the thread of strength and rock-strong stability that he strives to provide each and every day to us.
When my husband met me, I was well into my 3rd year of dealing with high-performing severe anxiety and depression, had been through some f*cked up stuff in my childhood and (to go easy on myself) was just a straight mess. It was NOT the story of womxn finding man and fixing man up. Very much the contrary.
But while he did his best to help me in the early years of our relationship, the shift in him (that eventually caused the shift in me) happened after the birth of our first born.
After the birth of our first born, my husband crumpled in the most genuine and awestruck way I had ever seen. I could see the heaviness of that moment in him and after losing his father at the age of 15, I wasn’t sure how to comfort him about standing in that moment and not having your own father there to walk you through it. And to give myself grace, I’m not sure anything I said (or could’ve said) would’ve been enough. I’m not nor will I ever be a Black Father. Nevertheless, I could see the change. I could see the enormous weight it was asking him to pull.
And he stepped up.
He took our days in the hospital to gather himself for a journey neither of us knew shit about and by the time we walked out of the hospital (me in heavy PPD), he was a different man.
He was a man that knew every decision we made, every behavior we executed and the manners in way we held ourselves would seep into this new soul we just brought into the world.
Though he was always laid back before, he stayed true to himself while also aligning with a certain new gravity to him. One that would continually push for the best for his family and the best of his family.
As I mentioned before, this is what would ultimately seep into me. When he and I met, I was in a job that meant nothing to me but paid the bills.
I was a writer at heart who hadn’t picked up a pen in 10 years to write something from my heart.
I was a woman with all of these plans in my head that I was scared would never come to fruition and at my very foundation.
I was a soul dealing with terrible anxiety and depression that hindered me from moving forward in any direction.
After our son was born, my husband decided it was time for some changes for not only the stability of our son (and son to come) but to also provide him with an idea of what life could be if we worked for it.
What life could be if we didn’t allow outside forces to direct our course because we will always be steering our own ship and the blame, no matter how persistent, can never fall on someone else.
So he pushed me. He pushed me to give up the lack mindset I was sitting in. He pushed me to go to therapy and unpack why I had arrived at the place I did. He pushed me to rediscover myself so that I could start waking up happy to start the day and walking a life I’m proud to talk about.
And he didn’t give up on that. He would shower me in affirmations, shower me in unconditional love and reaffirm it all with confidence and positive energy every. single. day.
He was annoying at times, I’ll admit. Never allowing the thought to cross his mind that I could fail and never letting me hold myself to anything but the highest of standards.
But the ultimate sign of this King molding his Queen was his trust in me. His trust that I would do the work and that his vision of our family would come to fruition.
4 years later…we have another son. I’m running my own business (quit my 9-5 and never looked back), written a novel that’s in the stages of being pitched to publishers, and while still dealing with anxiety and depression…it’s nowhere on the scale it once was.
And now I have dreams for my family and I that my King is happily helping me mold.
His ability to step away from the selfish thoughts of me, me, me is unparalleled. So many times have come by where I’ve realized how focused he’s been on helping the boys and I that I feel guilty he hasn’t had a chance to bathe or eat or sleep or just…be. And yet he would never take the offer were I to ask.
He’s content doing nothing more than watch his kingdom flourish and the boys and I are sure on a mission to make him proud.
