midnight train

Sam Smith starts this song off saying, “I choose me, and I know that’s selfish love.” An intro that I have sang through so many times (Sam Smith is still fye idc idc). I heard it for the first time in a minute yesterday and my heart felt so heavy— for probably the first time in my life, I have deliberately chosen myself. I didn’t expect feelings of guilt from picking peace over a person I love, or choosing removal to thrive instead of staying to slowly shrink. I also didn’t realize that trusting my intuition and standing on business around these things would feel so good. The realization of this set in very slowly, but then all at once. Let me start from the beginning.

Like most stories, this one starts with my girl, Pearline Johnson. My grandma told me this story once about how she worked up until the day before she gave birth to each one of her nine children. At the time, it made sense to me. Not because I knew anything about pregnancy, childbirth, or what it meant for Black women to HAVE to work until the day they gave birth to survive- but because being hard workers ran in my family. Whatever that meant.

Well, actually, I know what it means. This story is not unique, watching Black women I love and becoming one; being self-sufficient, hyper-independent, adultified by family AND systems almost defines us. My grandmother was a single mother to those nine children. So she had to work 2-3 jobs at a time where she got paid $2.15 an hour. My father, a single father, was the last born to this family and has worked 2-3 jobs my whole life to make sure we were good. Growing up with examples like these, I’ve wanted nothing more than to follow in these footsteps. To go where I want when I want, provide for the people I love, buy the things I want on a whim. To have the freedom to make life decisions based on desire, not survival.

Don’t get me wrong, there have been times in my life that I didn’t want to do anything let alone work. Especially as someone conscious to the fact that thats all this fascist, capitalist, using my taxes for genocide, trash ass country is all about- you know? However, to live, grow, travel, exist- I need to work. So eventually I did buckle down and get the degrees, took the tests, and followed my passions and have done ok (squints, looks around, shrugs, nods, says hell yeah). Until recently.

Getting fired this time hit different. Not just because of the money- though please believe, that part hurt- but because it forced me to face how much of my worth I had tied to growth and being the one who knew I didn’t have to handle everything or be the one always “on to the next,” because I know that’s survival, not confidence (shout out to Deshawn, best therapist I ever had). I thought I was past measuring myself by my productivity, but apparently not.

The reality of what it means to have an identity tied to work really started to set in. Mind you— I have community. I have hobbies, amazing friends, a baby nephew I get to see almost daily, I drum, I do acupuncture, I doom scroll Instagram and TikTok, and I’m re-binge watching American Horror Story, right? So like, work isn’t everything AND when my bank account is under $100 with no source of income and a lot of bills due SOON- I start to look at my life from a birds eye view. I decided- well, less of a decision and more of a have to- to move back home.

After years of living on my own, that move felt like failure wrapped in survival. My ego hated it. My inner child hated it even more. Being back under the same roof with my dad has pulled up a lot! Old wounds, old habits, old silences. Some days, it feels like I’m 16 again, trying to stay small to keep the peace. Other days, I’m grateful to have a roof, no expectations, a reset.

The summer before all of that, though, something unexpected happened. The most beautiful soul crossed paths with mine, and before I knew it, I was in a relationship. They were a farmer and I was a therapist (resisting the millennial urge to quote Avril Lavigne). They were romantic, sweet, and everything I’ve ever wanted in a partner. Like honestly, I could right a whole essay on their qualities and mean every single thing. So what happened? Well, we became unemployed about a month apart from each other and while they kind of settled, I kind of… spiraled.

The day I told them I’d been let go, they held space for me and said, “Now we’re both penniless sitar players.” A Moulin Rouge reference, one of our favorite movies. Normally, I would’ve laughed. But in that moment, it didn’t feel romantic. It felt… detached. Like they were floating above a reality I knew I would soon drown in.

We’d been dating for almost two months when I lost my job- still in that soft, sweet honeymoon stage where you’re supposed to be falling in love and grossing everyone out, not spiraling over unemployment and identity. They’d been honest about their mental health from the beginning, which I respected. But honesty and effort aren’t the same thing. There was no urgency about getting help, no steps toward managing it. I understand the lack of urgency around seeking help. We live in a society where providers often don’t give a fuck about the real life struggles we face every day. My partner explained to me that they had tried tirelessly for years before we met to no avail. While I have compassion for this, and always will, I’ve done so much emotional labor in every relationship I’ve been in— always holding space, stabilizing, reminding, fixing (I’m also just a therapist by trade so having to put on this hat in my romantic relationships feels excruciating). I told them early on that it wasn’t fair to me to carry that weight again, especially not this soon.

Every day, I’d wake up, apply for jobs, tweak my résumé, try to stay grounded and level headed. When I’d call them later, they’d tell me they’d just watched videos or “needed a slow day.” I’d try to sound supportive, but inside I was so agitated. I didn’t need them to want to work like me, I just didn’t understand why they didn’t want to. My whole life has been about doing whatever it takes to keep moving forward and to handle business. Watching the person I was supposed to be building a life with move through this experience so casually made me feel the gap between us in a way I couldn’t ignore.

One night during one of our heavier talks, they said, “I don’t think I’ve ever had a stable year in my twenties. I don’t even know if I’ll ever be able to offer you stability.”

Hearing those words hit me somewhere unexpected. Stability has always been my love language. It’s what my grandma and dad built their whole lives around so I could rest. And here I was, with someone I cared about, basically telling me they couldn’t give me the one thing that’s been the goal my whole life.

The next day, I told this beautiful human being that I desire more for my life than they were able to give, and I ended the gentlest relationship I’ve ever been in.

Ending that relationship didn’t hit me like I thought it would. I was sad, absolutely. It rained for a week straight and I laid in bed and sobbed. I think a big part of this was the lack of negative self-talk playing in the back of my head. I struggle real bad with feelings of being unlovable and feelings of ruining my chances for love that I historically have been dragged through the mud until the relationship comes to an end and the weight of that is gone.

Eventually, though, I realized it didn’t feel like a weight off my shoulders, but it also didn’t feel like loss. It felt like I had turned down the wrong street, drove a little ways, realized this actually isn’t the right way and got back on route. Like when Burke left Cristina at the alter and she realizes he’s gone. Us viewers think she’ll be devastated as she stands in their shared apartment, still in her wedding dress. She looks at her best friend and says, “He’s gone, I’m free. Damn it.” Because even though she loved him down, she compromised and gave pieces of herself (you remember the brows, the surgeries! IYKYK) for Burke, in the name of love- daily! I love my ex very much, but staying would have ruined me- pretending to be okay with a life I’ve always known I didn’t want, all in the name of love.

We were fundamentally misaligned. Our values, our sense of urgency, and our vision for the future just didn’t match. Growing up, I watched my grandmother and father work tirelessly to provide for their families, and I’ve always known what I want: stability, effort, and someone willing to do whatever it takes to create a life worth living. I couldn’t ignore that this person wasn’t operating from the same place, and staying would have meant compromising what I knew I needed and deserved.

I begged them to understand that I was in survival mode- unable to grow, focus, or be fully present. Sometimes I would be laughing and then just dissociate, thinking about upcoming bills with no clear way to pay them. Shit, like Nicki says, broke people should never laugh! I don’t believe they were blocking my blessings, but I do believe that the universe will make situations and environments increasingly more difficult when we’re not aligned with where we’re supposed to be in life or in love.

For the first time, I feel the full weight of what it means to put myself first. Even after making the decision, settling into the fact that I had chosen myself doesn’t feel completely good, safe, or comfortable. How could something that feels so awful and brings so much pain to a person I love be a good thing? A healing thing? A realignment thing? And then to write about it like Alexander Hamilton & the Reynolds Pamphlet- like, who tf asked for this! Choosing myself meant choosing stability over chaos, effort over perceived complacency, and a vision for my life that aligns with my values and character. Choosing myself isn’t selfish. It’s necessary. It’s the only way I can build a life that feels like a sigh of relief instead of holding my breath.

Damn it.