Did I ever tell ya’ll about my breakdown after my 30th birthday?
In 1994 I found myself in a new city with a new husband and a new baby. Not exactly how I pictured my life at age 30. While some women would have viewed my circumstances as a new adventure, something to embrace and look forward to, I only saw it as gloomy and depressing.
I had lived my entire life in the Northeast and suddenly I was married for the second time and moving to the Southeast with my new husband and 3-year old son. I didn’t know where I was going or what I was doing and I was terrified. Couple that with the fact that I couldn’t tell anyone that I was terrified, because I had too much pride, and I had a recipe for disaster. Hence, my breakdown.
My husband was in the military and gone all the time. I had to get a job because we needed the money which meant that I had to find daycare and leave my son with a total stranger. I was hating life. I got a temp job at this trifling law firm downtown where I had to work side-by-side with this bleached blonde chick who assumed that I was something that I wasn’t. I won’t go into detail but I will say that was my introduction to the racism of the south. I soon found a permanent job working in a small real estate appraiser’s office. It was cool for a while. I was finally getting comfortable with my new surroundings. Until I got pregnant. Damn rhythm method.
My second pregnancy was awful. I was sick every single day for three months. I gained weight all in my ass and my face. I was grotesque. Then my husband got deployed for six months and I was alone with my son and a new baby on the way. I had to have my daycare provider, who became a friend, come with me when I went into labor because I didn’t know anyone else. My daughter was born in September and in October I turned 30 years old.
I didn’t want anyone to acknowledge the day. I didn’t want to speak or even exist. What had my life become? I left a really good job up north to move with my husband. All in the name of love. I was so unexplainably disappointed. It wasn’t anything he did or I did or the kids did. I was just depressed. I was 30 and had no direction, no prospects and no money.
I don’t even know why I’m thinking about all this stuff after almost 12 years. Things are so different now. Better. I know exactly who I am. I’m secure and I love me. I was joking around telling B today that he didn’t fully understand the magnitude of my “fineness”. I was sort of joking but not really.
I think the thoughts of my “breakdown” came back to me today as sort of a reminder. I was really smelling myself today and I think I needed something to bring me back down to earth. I’ve said before that I know I have it going on but it wasn’t always that way. Not by a long shot.
I have a long-time friend who is married. But she seems to have forgotten that she was once a broke single mother living from paycheck to paycheck. I remember once she was telling me about some boy who was trying to holla at her daughter. She said the boy was nice but (and I quote) “he comes from a single parent home”. And she had this “poor thing” look on her face. I wanted to slap the taste right outta her smug little mouth. Not only did she forget that she was a single mother for 11 years but she was talking to me who was also a single mother. I was so heated. She is a very close friend of mine and I always knew she was uppity and pretentious but damn! She grew up in the projects and was trying to act like she had a friggin silver spoon in her mouth. Talking to me like I didn't know where she came from. I hate that shit.
Anyway, I think I sometimes try to remind myself of how it used to be so I don’t get caught up just because now I can afford a nice pair of shoes and a bag to match.
What is meant to be will be
