I’m struggling to stay afloat. That’s the truth. I have one month’s worth of savings left. That’s the truth. I have no plan of how I’m going to do any of this. Truth. Two credit cards. Almost maxed out. TRUTH.
I’m ashamed to admit that. To say it out of my mouth. I have two fuckin’ master’s degrees and some work experience, yet I’m treated in the work world like I only have a 9th grade education.
Same day while drinking a slushee, I burst out crying in the front of my friend’s house. In the car. Alone. I hate when people see me cry. I know. I’m weird.
As a black woman, we pride ourselves in maintaining this strong persona. We can’t let them see us weak. We can’t ask for help. Don’t let them see you down.
As a writer, I pride myself in being transparent. It’s how I built the foundation that I do have. I like sharing intimate moments with people. Especially people who get it. People who want real and appreciate that life isn’t snapshots of Instagram posts, but broken-down cars, and fucbois, and weight-gain, and bad ass kids.
Ain’t nobody perfect. Whether their profile says it or not. I don’t care how many filters they place on their selfies.
After, I posted my cry for help, people started to reach out in droves. I crocodile cried again. Y’all know that ugly ass frog-face cry? Yep, that was me.
My inbox blew up with people wanting me to know to not listen to my ex or my inner demon. People that were Muslim talked about patience. People who weren’t Muslim talked about hope and faith. A few individuals even asked for my PayPal info. I told them to hold off a few weeks (cuz ya never know, maybe a job or two would call me back). A few didn’t care and sent money anyway. *Inserts Frog-Face Tears*
I was so overwhelmed by the love. The hundreds of comments and likes. Strangers from different states offering to speak with the HR at their jobs and that they’d even put me up in a room if need be. It’s more than I’ve even gotten from my own blood relatives that see me struggle every day. Women shared similar ‘struggle-bus’ stories of when they got divorced, had their dignity stripped, and was now starting over. From scratch.