For all the praise women get for being strong, nobody talks openly about what that strength quietly costs. Folk’s love calling women “independent,” as if it is always some badge of honor, but baby, they do not say much about how lonely it can feel. I am talking about when you have become so used to carrying yourself that softness starts to feel like a luxury. 

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Ovulation in my 30s is intense. See, I can be minding my business, on my phone sending audio messages, and the next minute I am craving chocolate, eggs with fish sauce, emotional intimacy, and somebody’s grown and sexy son all at the same time. 

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Let me say this plain, I am not broke in my mind, my spirit, or with my vision. I may be in a season where I must stretch, sacrifice, and move much more carefully. However, that is not the same thing as being stuck in a broke mindset. It means I am rebuilding. 

Listen… come over here and chill with me for a minute. I’m also not talking about the “oh, it looks like it’s about to rain outside, don’t it?” you say in passing at the store. I mean the real kind. The kind where you exhale first is as if you have been holding your breath so long you forgot what air felt like.

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