I had to share this post because I’m a mother and in between watching your son grow up, shuffling him to activities and helping with homework and watching him sleep at night, you pray that you will never ever have to bury a child. But, this mother and many mothers do have to bury their son’s.
“Two people can only keep a secret if one of them is dead.”
Out of all the crazy stuff my Dominican abuela (I mean, grandmother) used to say, that was the wisest and truest thing to ever come out of her big uncensored mouth.
You see, the secret I’ve been keeping has been eating away at me. And with each passing day, the story keeps bubbling up inside of me, trying to escape.
I’ve never told anyone about what happened, at least not all of it.
But I have to get this weight off of my chest and the only way I can do it is by writing it down. If I was really smart, I wouldn’t write it down at all, especially online where people could find it. But I need to tell my story and figure out how I ended up here in the first place.
This blog is really meant for me and my eyes only. I mean, who would even care about my incoherent ramblings?
But just in case someone does stumble across this blog (and if you are reading this, I mean YOU), please remember that I’m not a bad person. I had to take Abuela’s words to heart and I did what needed to be done to save myself.
Truth be told, a little part of me hopes that you do find this blog. I mean, maybe you’ll help me piece this all together and help me see where I went wrong, though I kind of already know.
And of course, I’m writing this anonymously so I won’t tell you my real name. But you can call me “Cara”, short for “Caramel”. That was Abuela’s nickname for me because she loved the color of my skin. She also said that I was like burnt sugar with a bitter aftertaste. Back then, I never knew what she meant by that and the only time I had the nerve to ask, she had simply shrugged her shoulders and said:
“Mas sabe el diablo por viejo que por diablo“.
Yes, the devil knows more from experience than from being the devil. Maybe Abuela saw something in me back then that I only discovered later and that I’m reconciling with now…who knows.
But I’m getting off topic. Maybe I’ll write about that later.
Right now, I need to start at the beginning and tell you how I met my abuser Dex..
Continuation: B is for “Bomb”
All Rights Reserved ©2018 Marquessa Matthews. Graphic above created with Canva.
This guest post by Marquessa Matthews. It is a repost from her A to Z Challenge and you must read all the posts in this challenge. She is an incredible writer that I’m praying gets to publishing a collection of her short stories soon. Please check out her blog at https://marquessamatthews.com/
I know it’s Mother’s Day weekend and I’m sharing a post about my daddy, but I had to share this. I was asked to be a part of an incredible project by Dr. K E Garland. Her next book is called Daddy: Reflections of Father-Daughter Relationships and will be released next month (pre-orders are going on now and hard book copies will be available June 2, 2018). This is an amazing book and I wanted to share my write up for the upcoming release.
Daddy is going to give you insight into the importance of father-daughter relationships. All relationships are important, but I tell you growing up without a dad changed me. In good ways, but definitely some bad and I’m not alone. So, I wanted to share my story.
I’m so excited to be a part of this project. It was therapeutic and I know that you will enjoy the book, so please check out my interview via DADDY CONTRIBUTOR: Tikeetha Thomas
Also, look out for me promoting this awesome book for everyone and think about getting it for Father’s Day as a gift to the many men in your life that are raising daughters.
This particular Saturday morning, I’m looking at my 2-year-old son playing with puzzles. He looked at me and said: “Mommy, this is too hard, but I got it.”
All parents have read about bed or morning routines. Even Daniel Tiger and Elmo have this covered. My family has always believed in the power of words or confessions. My mother confessed to my sister every morning: “You are the head and not the tail, above only and not beneath.” I believe (& think my SiSi would agree) that these words resonated in her mind when she wanted to throw in the towel.
Every night we pray for my son to be thankful for family, friends, and provisions. But additionally, I pray (out loud) for my son to be strong & brave. I never saw that world as a scary place until I became a mother. These glasses of parenting put a filter on everything as terrifying. Most importantly, I know the world will be unkind to a young black man. The joy he has today is delicate and needs to be preserved. I want to protect him, cover him, shield him… but I know I can’t. I can only pray that he always finds the strength to be joyous, strength to trust God and Strength to be brave enough to keep moving forward when the world will feel cold.
I guess, I never meant for this reflection to be so emotionally heavy. I am generally not that type of writer, but out of your heart flows the truth. Take the time to speak life over the children your world. Nieces, nephews, God-children, neighbors, & friends every child deserves to hear that they are loved and amazing.
Southern Fried Mommy
This post was shared by Southern Fried City Girl. I love her blog. She’s one of the newer blogs that I discovered and I’m happy to share her work. She’s a wife, a mom, a woman of faith and everything in between. Go follow her at her wonderful blog called: Southern Fried City Girl
It’s not like I am some creepy dude with no life next door. But that’s what you were thinking, right?
credit to and found at https://giphy.com/gifs/pretty-kszpK4XuR5gQ
Please don’t think I’m creepy but I can’t help it.
She moved in last week and I have been watching her almost every single morning. It’s not like I go out of my way to do it. Her bedroom window and balcony is directly in line with my French doors and even though there is quite a distance between the two houses, I still have a good view from the kitchen island as I drink my coffee.
She has wrecked my morning routine. After having breakfast with Nate and then sending him off to get ready for the day with niñera Alma, I used to spend that time meditating. But instead, I am observing her, wondering where she comes from and for how long she will stay at the Wilson’s rental home. I am intrigued and not just because she is cute. And curvy in all the right places. There is just something different about her.
In the morning, her black curls suffer from a serious case of bedhead and she glides around barefoot in some kind of over-sized T-shirt, starting her day with a large mug of coffee on her balcony and looking out into the distance until it is empty. What she doesn’t realize is that we are having coffee together.
When she is through with her coffee, she disappears for a while and reappears with a towel wrapped around her wet hair, a bathrobe hugging her body. She turns on some music but never loud enough for me to decipher what is actually playing. A smile on her face, I can see her dancing and twirling, from her bedroom to the balcony and back. I chuckle as she brushes her teeth and suddenly stops to use her toothbrush as a microphone mid-balcony. She never glances around to see if anyone is watching her and even at the odd occasion when joggers pass by at that early hour, she doesn’t miss a beat. She waves, they wave back and she continues dancing.
She doesn’t seem to have a care in the world. And just watching her somehow makes me happy. I am more than intrigued and haven’t felt that way for a long time, probably since being with Nate’s mother.
I know that she isn’t a regular tourist or vacationer. Dressed quite chic and her wild curls tamed into a tight bun, she would disappear into the back of a black town car at 8am and resurface around 4pm.
Where is she going with nothing more than a fashionable purse everyday?
Since I have been spending full days in the studio on the east side of the house, I see the same town car pull up to the main community gate and so that’s how I know she gets back around 4pm...It’s not like I am some creepy dude with no life next door. But that’s what you were thinking, right?
From the heavenly scents coming from the Wilson’s house around 5pm everyday, I know that she is a good cook. Concoctions that required buttery fried onions, freshly diced tomatoes, pungent herbs…Definitely a woman who can handle herself in a kitchen and likes real food. And from the healthy curves she has in all the right places (I said that before, didn’t I?), I can tell that she appreciates a good meal. She isn’t one of those I-will-just-have-a-salad kind of girls, she is a meat and potatoes/rice and beans type of woman. A woman after my own heart.
I noticed a few days ago that she takes walks on the beach at sunset, adorned in workout clothes and ear plugged into her cell phone tight within her grasp.
I need to meet her and somehow invite her over for Christmas dinner with us.
And that’s when I decide to take Nate for a walk before his bedtime to accidentally on purpose bump into her.
All Rights Reserved ©2017 Marquessa Matthews.
Originally posted on April 13, 2015, adapted December 2017
Disclaimer: I have no copyrights to the song and/or video and/or hyperlinks to songs and/or videos and/or gifs above. No copyright infringement intended.
Great post on dating and relationships and what we women do when it comes to men. Please check out this awesome post by KE and her website: KE Garland I promise you’ll love her blog.
I have a lot of thoughts. Conversations occur. People ask for advice. People share things about their lives. I overthink the conversation, advice, or experience, and voila! A thought occurs. So, I jot it down in my notes section in hopes of writing about it on a future date. I have 221 notes on my phone. I figured the future is now lol. Here’s my first one:
I’ve listened to how my male friends talk about women and how they interact with them. I also listen to and observe how women interact with men. Sometimes it’s different.
Men don’t treat every woman like she’s their future wife. They don’t treat every relationship like there’s an impending wedding. Men seem to know which women are so-called “wife material” and which ones are not ready to commit. Consequently, they seem to treat each “type” of woman accordingly. Now, I’m not saying this…
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For those of you looking to do a guest blog, Gary over at Skipah’s Realm is asking for volunteers for the entire month of June. Great blog, with great viewers. Check him out.
It’s funny, I have no where near the numbers of followers that Danny and Jason have, but I get asked this question a lot too. Please check out what Danny has to say about growing your blog. He is one of the main people that I followed when I started to blog. Read him and you will understand why.
Source: Danny’s World: A Common Question
Here are some tips that Danny shares as well: Danny’s World – A Few Blogging Tips
As I’m gearing up for Mother’s Day on Sunday, I wanted to share a series of posts about my experiences being a mother. First up is this one when I was pregnant with Munch. This post was originally shared on January 25, 2008. I was about 20 weeks pregnant and having complications. We had to go and see a specialist after I spent the weekend in the hospital. I was married to Munch’s dad and this was our first child, so we were both quite nervous. Some more than others…
LT and I went to see a Maternal and Fetal Medicine Specialist regarding the shortening of my cervix and the development of the baby’s brain. The doctor said everything was fine with the baby and the brain stem and flap looked normal. I thanked God. We got the cutest pictures of the baby in my stomach.
The hospital had told us last week the sex of the baby. We knew we were having a boy, I was right all along, but LT decided to question the sonographer. LT: “Are you sure it’s a boy because I heard that sometimes sonograms can be wrong”. Sonographer: “Here’s the penis and here’s the scrotum, any questions”.
LT was truly annoying the sonographer yesterday. She would say, “The fluid levels in the sac look normal” and LT would then ask “So, the fluid levels in the sac look normal?”. I asked him “Why are you repeating everything she says and then asking it like you just didn’t hear her? He said, “I just want to be sure of what I am hearing.” It frustrated the hell out of me. I told him to bring a video camera next time so we can record it and he can play it back later. Without a doubt I am married to the craziest man in the world.