Hello, let me start by first introducing myself…my name is Karimah and I’m here because have a fascinating story to tell; it’s an old tale that’s shrouded by shame and has left many wounds festering and painful as hell.
For centuries women have been seated atop a throne of no mercy; and the men that caused the damage, broke spirits, cursed us tainted and left us alone are the same ones that marked us unworthy
See, a while back I met a man, trusted a man, just knew this man had changed his ways from a sketchy past; and I believed my best interests were in his heart as I gave him my body whenever he asked.
It’s comical because right now, in this moment, I wonder what I was thinking; propelling sacred caution I thought was overrated in the wind
But back to my story:
A year passes and after one night it had all caught up with me; and a week or so later I’m sitting in the bathroom alone, petrified and holding my belly.
See, he made me a mother but never had the intentions on making me a wife, when that’s never the path that I anticipated for my life.
But wait, I must be responsible and take accountability, because it was not by his actions alone that opened my womb and infused beloved life within me.
So now, years later there’s an illusion being cast that I’m not a single mother because my babies know their father; when at the very least from Monday through Friday and dawn to dawn, my children depend on me to keep their lives in order.
When I have nothing, but my kids need something, and their dad says he hasn’t a thing…there’s still no excuse, mommy always has to make the impossible happen.
The paradox of my reality is wifely duties are still mine, because through sickness and in health ‘til death do we part', these two lives and myself will forever be intertwined.
My love for my children along with the fear of losing a father by blood like their mother, forced me to be who I wasn’t, constantly allowing myself to be backed into desperations corner.
On my income alone I’ve been holding life together for me and the kids, and once upon a time I thought it was fair, but six years later it was a hard lesson learning that that game only ever allowed their father to sidestep monetary despair.
Five days a week, three maybe four meals a day and snacks had to occur; because tears and sleepless nights from empty bellies was something that I refused to allow my babies to ever endure.
And on the occasion when bills were caught up and a free paycheck was issued, all I could think was if my children needed clothes, socks, underwear or possibly a new pair shoes.
Some call him baby daddy but I’ve always called him my children’s father, but he probably calls me bitter and maybe even angry too; but I’m not. Wait, hold up…now that I think about it maybe I should be because believe it or not, what I want to yell at him is: “I’ve been looking out for you!”
Don’t get me wrong, though these two little ones can be a handful, I love spending time with them; but since when does he get to pat himself on the back for picking his children up almost every weekend?
I have to pause and remind myself to breathe, because I said I wouldn’t get angry; but honestly, tell me how that could not be the case when he’s betrayed every trust I had but claims he’s the one being treated unfairly.
I sacrificed so much to be a mother to our children, and not a second of it is regretted; but I do feel these miracles should have been granted to another, because before they were even born their father had another woman pregnant.
Rubbing salt in an already open wound is another practice that I found he excelled at, seeing as how before my babies were six months old he told me he was moving out of state to be with a different woman.
Absence of regard for our children, self-seeking plans were changed drastically the minute fate called on Karma to ensnare him once his then darling caught wind of yet another infidelity.
Once upon a time I looked from the outside of my window upon women that were suffering through my current plight; and though the angle was different the rage remains the same and sets fury to my soul, like the rumble of thunder in the night.
Why are we the ones held under the metaphorical microscope and subjected to the exploitation and shame, but men get looks of approval and pats on the back for virtues slighted and conquests made.
But now I’m tired. Not just tired but sick and tired of being the scapegoat, the jezebel, and most certainly the victim; the days have passed where I must accept my unrighteous acts and men can flee without acknowledgement of their sin.
Women are tested creatures of majesty, worth, strength and beauty; because even when everything around us is in turmoil and disarray, our answer to life’s storms is a clap back with commanding ferocity.
And though my children may stand with me when storms ensue, they remain dry and unscathed as today’s trials are made the victories that have been; I was created equipped and taught to have faith within my strength, unafraid and swinging a sword forged within a divinely blessed kiln.
And in the words of a great woman named Maya Angelou:
“You may write me down in history
With your bitter, twisted lies,
You may trod me in the very dirt
But still, like dust, I'll rise.”