As I get closer to four years post-divorce, people keep asking why I am still single. Baby, because I am good on the disappointment. I am not lonely enough to entertain confusion, lower my standards, or make room for somebody who brings nothing but disruption. I fought too damn hard for my peace to slide it across the table just because folks think a woman is supposed to have a man by now. I am not auditioning for companionship, and I am sure as hell not settling just to say I have somebody.

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September is here, and baby, I am walking into this month with my head lifted. My heart is still soft. My feet are planted firm. August tried me in ways I did not even have words for. Between being a Black woman, a mama of two, keeping up with work, school, bills, responsibilities, and still trying to look myself in the mirror and say, 

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August did not ease in gently. It came in heavy. It got comfortable and sat on my chest, and made me feel every single responsibility I have been carrying. Some months teach you through joy, drive, and new beginnings. This one taught me mainly through exhaustion. There was so much pressure. I whispered prayers. 

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I am going to be honest with you like I am talking to one of my close friends. This is the kind of stuff that looks simple from the outside but feels heavy as hell when you are the one living it. When school started, I really tried to find somebody reliable to help me with my kids after school. 

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