When Abuse Follows You

August 9, 2023September 3, 2023 ~ Tael ~ Leave a comment

I was groomed to hide abuse.

That’s what I’m learning about myself now.

My darling friend said I should write a book on it, because of all the firsthand trauma I’ve experienced from narcissism in my life. And more and more folks are starting to share their stories all over social media. More and more folks are not hiding their abuse.

Those of us who grew up around abuse can unfortunately hold a higher tolerance for disrespectful behavior because it was so prevalent in our childhood. I’d lay on a mattress by the front door with my best friend as we snacked on pasta and scribbled in activity books with headphones, trying to block out the shouts and crashes in her parents’ bedroom. Summer vacations spent with my extended family, I’d wake up to my aunt wailing at me and my cousin to flee next door and call the cops on her husband as he assaulted her, only to get the “nevermind” call at the neighbors. On other occasions, cousins and family friends pinned me down, ripped my shirt open; their hands wandered my body, their bodies on top of mine, their mouths sought my private places, they directed me to do the same to them.

I never told my mom any of those things until recently, as a full-grown adult. Because there was an unspoken rule not to talk about these things that we caught, even as children. And when it’s the people you love and trust in these situations, well…it becomes “normal”. Not that big of a deal. Everyone has to deal with something like this in the real world, right?

So you bring that “resilience” to the real world, accustomed to dysfunction. You’re so comfortable with it, you’ve always navigated it…that you don’t even realize…you’re always navigating it. It’s become second nature. You don’t think to run away from your “normal”. You’re just used to it.

In college, when my ex put me in a chokehold, I didn’t tell anyone. I just gave him another chance. When he did it a second time and started punching me when I wouldn’t submit to him, I left him, but I didn’t report anything. I told a couple of my closest friends and kept it moving. Oh, and I told some frenemies who claimed to care about me, but then they spread rumors that I was still seeing him, knowing what had transpired. I was never afraid though, because he was a little bitch. Only little bitches hit women.

We’re groomed to hide mistreatment.

We’re also so used to abuse only being physical, outright yelling or nasty belittling. A benefit of social media is that it’s opening our eyes collectively to the different types of emotional abuse that are so insidious. That we weren’t taught classified as abuse growing up. When I recounted different childhood experiences with my mom, my therapist said “Let’s stop dancing around the word we should be calling it, which is abuse.”

Abuse. Full stop. Because it’s so hard to connect that word with those you love. Because my mom’s intentions were good most of the time. But neglect and abuse are not always intentional. And accidental doesn’t mean it’s not there.

I wasn’t allowed to show “negative” emotion as a child. If I reacted with sadness or anger at anything my mom did, I was told I had an attitude or punished. I could not show any disapproval at her actions, no matter how ridiculous or illogical they were. That’s a key narcissistic trait though. One of my narcissistic exes once told me himself he needed to be around happy people only, because he was not capable of producing happiness himself. Also code for, “You cannot respond negatively to any of my abuse“. Narcs cannot regulate their own emotions, which is why they cannot handle yours, and will call you “emotional”. They flee from any emotion that is not “happy” or “anger” rather than dealing with it like an adult (because remember, they are emotionally immature). Which is why they need to constantly be surrounded by others hyping them up and giving them pats on the back and telling them “Good job”. They crave external validation because they cannot give it to themselves. That same ex needed me to celebrate every time he made a “sale” at his job, even though, that was literally his job every day: to make sales. So I had to celebrate him doing his basic job correctly, the way you clap for a toddler during potty-training. My last ex got mad that I didn’t automatically high-five him after a gym session. I have been with some bodybuilding-looking motherfuckers, and not once did they expect any sort of validation for completing their routine gym workouts. Because internal confidence does not breed the need to beg for recognition. But I wasn’t “supportive” enough because of this.

My individuality was not valued as a child, because my mom saw me as an extension of herself, as did my narc exes. In my last relationship, I constantly felt misunderstood, not heard, and not seen as my own person. Because I wasn’t. Things that were important to me were overlooked or easily forgotten. I was seen for how “good” I made my partner look (because I was attractive, fit, had home-making skills and participated in his hobbies), same as when I was young and my awards and educational accomplishments therefore made my mom look special in her parenting. But my unique quirks were not appreciated (they were usually laughed at), and if I had a differing opinion, or did something they thought made them look bad by association (because with narcs, it’s all about their projected image), it was all over. My personal feelings, thoughts or beliefs did not matter. If anything, they expected me to change my mind for them. I was expected to be uncomfortable so that they could look good or have their way at all times, and fake happiness even when I was miserable. If I didn’t, then I was “ruining the mood”, and the one thing a narc hates is if you ruin their good time because you’re upset by something inconsiderate that they did. But because they don’t want to be seen as a bad person in any capacity (and in their heads if they’ve done a bad thing then they’re automatically a bad person and they can’t process the shame involved), they just keep doing bad things and not taking accountability for them.

My mom is the first one to bend over backwards for someone and perform a favor that may greatly inconvenience her, if it will make her look like a savior. It’s generally a great production so that everyone knows, “Look what I did.” My narc exes were exactly the same, because it made them look like good people. But you’ll notice, they’d never do something like that for the people closest to them, like their partners or family members. Like, they’ll jump out of bed at 3am because their drunk friend called and needs a ride in the next town over, but complain about having to pause their game and drive their girlfriend home from the doctor 7 minutes away. It’s telling.

Heavy criticism is another marker. My mom never thought twice to publicly shame me for little things that didn’t match up to her standards, making spectacles of beating me or announcing my gifts were wrong, then proudly proclaiming her disciplinary actions to others. My aunt has witnessed her being incredibly cruel to me vocally on more than one occasion, and giving zero fucks about my feelings despite my being obviously visibly hurt. My two worst relationships with the biggest narcs were rife with criticism. And it was never constructive. I kid you not, my last ex brought up a work trip from 3 years prior, before we were even together, where I snuck a man into our company Airbnb late into the night for some “fun times”, so I barely got any sleep. The next morning, our group activity involved taking a yacht to a private island. I discreetly asked the captain if there was a room I could catch up on a few Zzzs in. He gladly obliged, I conked out for like 2 hours and awoke refreshed, ready to party with my team, feast, take pics, and swim in the river. But my ex made the biggest fuss about this years later for some reason. HOW DARE YOU DISAPPEAR FOR A NAP BECAUSE YOU DID DIRTY THINGS WITH A MAN BEFORE WE WERE TOGETHER. I DON’T THINK THIS WILL WORK OUT. Keep in mind I caught him going on Tinder while we were together “for validation” (narcs have ridiculous double-standards galore). There was absolutely nothing I could correct about that situation; it just happened and he wouldn’t let it go and angrily shoved it in my face for hours/days as this somehow lowered my worth in his eyes. The guy who also patronized sex workers and happy-ending massage parlors.

He told me he sometimes saw me as “his friend’s leftovers”, since I had dated his narc friend as well, and somehow thought he’d be different because of how hard he pursued me and earnest he was with his feelings (beware of love-bombing ya’ll). Another something I could do nothing about, but he held it over my head as if I’d now been demoted to a clearance rack item. Another instance he wouldn’t let go of for months, was a gaming session with friends, where a player I barely knew profanely roared at me when I beat him, which made me feel extremely unsettled. I ended up leaving because I couldn’t shake it off, and he once again claimed that my removing myself “ruined the mood”. The fact that he was well aware of my past trauma with abusive men yelling and getting physical didn’t matter. Because your feelings never matter to a narc, your discomfort doesn’t matter, your trauma does not matter. All that matters is what they want in that moment and how they think they look, at your expense. You live to serve them.

Have you ever had someone you loved callously watch you cry, turn their back on you and leave or like, pet the cat instead? Almost sociopathic, right? Normal people don’t like to see their loved ones hurt, but to narcissistic people, our tears inconvenience them. It’s literally, “Shit, they’re crying, now I gotta console them, ugh, I don’t wanna.” And yet, I’ve literally had them earnestly look deep into my eyes and say, “This anime is very important to me, I need you to pay attention and watch it seriously,” because I was looking at my phone. Double standards. Lack of empathy. Hallmark narcissistic traits.

And then the manipulation. They don’t have a great sense of self, so they don’t respect yours either, hate your boundaries, and ignore your likes and dislikes. And so, they’ll insist you do things that you’ve made clear you don’t like, and then get mad at you for not visibly enjoying it. One ex got angry because I opted out of playing beer pong and sat on a stool to watch the game instead. Another threw a fit because I pulled myself out of a game of Never Have I Ever, when a coworker kept pressing me on a question I didn’t want to answer. If you’ve been with a narc yourself, you’ll know, the anger is always severely disproportionate to the actual “offense”, due to their terrible emotional dysregulation. My ex even admitted that though he’d been promising that he’d close the gap on our relationship by moving to my state since we got together, he’d hoped that we could do drugs together and I’d be enlightened to change my mind so he wouldn’t have to keep his promise. You’re not accepted for who you are, but rather, the ball of Play-Doh you become for them to mold into whatever they need at the moment.

But we’re trained…to stay…silent.

I remember the first time I broke the silence of keeping the chaos a secret in my last relationship. After my alcoholic ex getting into 3 vehicular accidents within the first year of our relationship, and the fear I felt one night wondering if I might become a victim in the passenger side of his reckless swerves and curb-jumping. I remember him being pissed that I’d told someone, but in no way concerned for my safety, just his image. I remembered thinking how horrified my family and friends back home would be if they found out I’d been hurt (or worse) in a completely preventable accident because I’d chosen to move states to be with a substance-abuser with heavy mental issues who hid liquor bottles in his cue-stick bag and constantly pushed me to leave but I stayed because I really wanted to help heal him but staying meant constantly enduring why can’t you just think how I think and act like I act and NOT be your own person and never disagree or dislike anything I say or do and excuse all of my bad behavior? Why can’t you ever be…good enough.

And you won’t be. Not for them. You will never be good enough for them. Because they move the goalpost every time you finally reach it. And because nothing is ever good enough for them. Because they aren’t actually happy with themselves, and that’s why they’re always chasing the next high, restlessly looking to fill the void and persistent emptiness inside of them with outside stuff. They are not at peace with themselves, so they’ll never be peaceful with you. And they don’t love you for the person you actually are. They love you for what you’re doing for them, how well you’re handling their projected emotions, how well you make them look. The second your real flaws and needs come into the picture as a person, and they have to cope with actual human sides of you, the “love” they say they have stops.

Ben Taylor of Raw Motivations, a self-aware narcissist who shares helpful content on narcissistic abuse, reminds us that narcissists’ words never line up with their actions. A glaring mark of dishonesty. And that you always need to be looking at what is being demonstrated over what is said.

So, let’s take this example. One of the biggest recurring issues in my last relationship was that my ex had an “internet friend” that he’s only met once in his life. Someone he’s never really shared his hopes and dreams or trauma with or who has never stood by him through some deep shit or helped him in any meaningful way. He repeatedly swore up and down they were just friends and there was nothing sexual or anything more going on between them. But women have intuition and know when something’s up. Despite my ex willing to die on the hill of his assertion that this was a run-of-the-mill friendship, the following happened during our relationship:

He liked all of the pictures she posted and commented on how beautiful she was.
He showed me old messages between them of him admitting his crush on her and getting upset whenever she mentioned her boyfriend (the literal definition of simping).
He tried to hide the fact that he was watching her Twitch streams when I was around (because obviously he felt it was something that needed to be hidden).
He bought her OnlyFans subscription in secret, “out of curiosity” he said (even though he supposedly had no sexual feelings for her) and then admitted to me he was looking for her pics to jack off to.
He mentioned she once sent him a video of her having sex with her boyfriend.
Despite MANY serious conversations and ensuing forgiveness, culminating in a giant boundary being set by me that I could not “happily” continue the relationship if he continued to reach out to her, he broke the agreement we made, did it anyway, then deleted the conversations between them. He then lied to me about how they got deleted, trying to convince me the phone must have deleted it, the social media platform must have malfunctioned (guys, THIS is textbook gaslighting) until he finally admitted to it, but claimed there wasn’t anything suspicious said (though he felt the need to delete the evidence). He then refused to unfriend her after breaking the promise, which caused our relationship to end (He also immediately confided in her directly after the breakup).
He came back months later asking me for another chance, saying he confessed all of his shady behavior to her because she needed to know. I later found out this was also all a lie once I actually saw the messages. He basically just told her I was being ridiculous. He then told me that he lied to me to “make himself look better” so that I would take him back again.
And then, after the subsequent breakup, he immediately unblocked and refollowed same girl AGAIN and began liking her stuff, even though he’d told me he “barely thinks about her anymore”. Even after we’d made a pact to try and be friends and help each other get through this breakup together, stay in one another’s lives, remain sensitive to each other’s emotions, a source of comfort, not post anything hurtful, you know, all that mature breakup jazz when you actually care about a person? Even though I was expected to “watch what I post” and make sure I didn’t accidentally post a guy’s arm anywhere on my social media. So I called him out on it, and he apologized saying “I had no idea it would upset you, I’ve unfollowed her”, (after 3 years of this being a recurrent problem, had no idea) only to find out he friended and still spoke to her on another platform.

Believe the words? Or the actions? What is being demonstrated here? Trust, honesty, loyalty, and caring? Fuck no! If it walks like a duck and quacks like a duck, it ain’t a cow, no matter how much a narc tries to gaslight you into believing you don’t understand farm animals. They will lie to your face. And they think their lying is justified because they have a faulty conscience that operates as a “What can I get away with?” meter. “Did those actions display love like his words did?” No Ben. They did not. Were those the regular friendly actions of a man who’s totally not into this girl and has no ulterior motive whatsoever? No. They are not. What is actually happening is what is factual. We are so hurt by the actions and so confused when they don’t line up with the words, that we’ll lie to ourselves just to soothe the pain of betrayal by someone we loved and would have done anything for. We’ll lie and say “He didn’t mean it,” or “This is how caring looks.”

But take away all the slick words and the silver tongue. Someone who directs his attention to talk to the dog while you’re breaking down and hurt doesn’t love you. Someone who tells you, after you have to physically remove yourself from the room because he won’t take your no to sex for an answer, “You should have said no more seriously,” does not love you. Someone who says “I understand that this hurt you,” and then proceeds to do the exact same thing over and over again…does not actually care. It’s all a deceptive facade.

My mom and I have been having a lot more talks recently because she genuinely wants to improve our adult relationship. And she finally used the word herself last week. She said she didn’t realize that what she was doing back then was emotional abuse. But she realizes it now. And perhaps finally calling it what it is, by name, is freedom.

And not hiding abuse anymore is freedom.

And having the courage to radically accept the painful truth that you loved those who never reciprocated meaningful love or caring in return despite their words?

Freedom from their lies.

And freedom from the lies we had to tell ourselves to be with them, that we actually meant something real to them; the worst pain of all.

Tell your story.

~Tael

Reclaiming Fried Chicken

March 17, 2023 ~ Tael ~ Leave a comment

A month or so ago, as I walked up the stairs to my apartment, I smelled the warm, homey aroma of that night’s dinner coming from my downstairs neighbors’ door. The smell of the Spanish food they cook up regularly tempts my nostrils; I almost wish they would offer up their leftovers because I would gladly take them (plus the grandma lives there, so you know it’s banging). But that particular night, my perceptive nostrils recognized the unmistakably comforting scent of homemade fried chicken, and sent a signal to my brain that made me realize I desperately missed it.

So the next day I went the grocery store and grabbed some vegetable oil and flour, whipped up a batch, and sunk my teeth into the blissful seasoned crunch that soothed my craving. And as I went to pour the leftover grease into a Chinese takeout container, I paused. I remembered when a container of used grease by my stove was as regular as the iodized table salt canister. But I no longer made fried chicken often, so what was I going to use the rest of this grease for if I saved it? Well…it was here now. Why not fry some pork chops next?

While fried chicken was one of the first things I was taught to cook on my own, there’s a few reasons why I stopped eating it regularly since my college years. The biggest one, even more so than health, is that I come from a family of Black aunties whose cooking rarely fails. When you are raised on authentic Black Auntie fried chicken, it’s hard to settle for REGULAR fried chicken. And then of course, the basement-after-church-service fried chicken. And then there was my Grandma, the head fried-chicken-making OG. Whenever we’d make the trip down from New York to Baltimore, no matter what time we arrived, even if it was 2am and she’d already gone to bed, there was always a bowl of fried chicken waiting for us on the kitchen table. That just-as-good-possibly-better-even-when-it’s-cold fried chicken. Cause anyone can be lazy enough to eat some cold fried chicken from a fast food restaurant, but that doesn’t mean it’s going to be good. My cousin and I would sometimes sit in the backyard on a discarded dresser, escaping the sweltering, air conditionless kitchen, snacking on Grandma’s fried chicken and throwing the bones over the fence to the neighbor’s dog.

So since I grew up on the best fried chicken, I learned not to seek it out anywhere else much because it was never the same caliber. I mean, Popeyes can hold its own in terms of fast food fried chicken when you forgot to make dinner or you’re coming in from a drunken night and need a meal that consistently delivers some flavor. Then there’s what I call the “hood chicken spots”, those dingy little joints in urban areas with the cheap specials and a million items on the menu and it looks like some shit could go down at any moment (think Crown or Kennedy Fried Chicken); they actually tend to be reliable to quench a hankering, especially after a grueling church service gone on for too long. Hip-Hop Chicken and Fish chains in Baltimore gets an honorable mention as the top store-bought fried chicken I’ve ever had. But I even avoid soul food restaurants because as many as I’ve been to, their fried chicken has never been as good as Grandma’s or my aunties. Or their mac n cheese (once again, my aunties slay in this department). Most of the time, I’d just hold out and wait for the best.

But now, Grandma is gone. And I don’t see my aunts as much, and they don’t fry up chicken as much, and ever since I started eating healthier almost 9 years ago, I cut out fried and fast foods heavily. But that random, home-cooked fried chicken craving and my not-as-good-as-Grandma’s-but-still-delicious results felt soothing.

So I kept the grease. And I made pork chops a couple of nights later. And fried up some fish. And then a few weeks later, I bought some MORE vegetable oil. And I made some MORE fried chicken and fish. And I’m not worried about it because I have habits now. My food choices are superbly different now than they were before I started eating better. My body generally craves the home-cooked option before the fast food one, the baked option before the fried one, the whole food option before the processed one. The 3-ingredient butter over the 18-unpronounceable-man-made additives “spread”. Making some homemade fried chicken once or twice a month is not going to derail my wellness when I’ve built up 9 years of discipline with consistent workout routines and choosing real food over the quick option.

And the memories attached make it good for my soul. 🙂

~Tael

What Makes Healthy Attractive

February 20, 2023February 20, 2023 ~ Tael ~ Leave a comment

Most women I know swipe left on the guy in the dating app with the shirtless bathroom-mirror selfie. Even though, 99% of the time, the guy doing it IS ripped so shouldn’t it be impressive?

Thing is, we swipe left on those guys because of what posting a shirtless bathroom-mirror selfie tends to say about personality. For men (I admit there’s a shameless double-standard when it comes to women). Look at my buff body, doesn’t this entice you? I don’t know proper lighting, that’s why there’s massive screen glare and mad shadows behind me. I never leave the house so I couldn’t get a shot at the beach where I’d naturally be shirtless, but I NEED to show you what I’m working with here to up my desirability points.

He may be showing he’s fit and healthy, but it’s giving desperate. Basic. Lowbrow.

We’re more likely to swipe right on the guy in the snug-fitting shirt that hugs his guns well. It’s not IN-YOUR-FACE, but gives an underlying confidence (I don’t need to flaunt a very obvious, conventionally attractive asset to seal the deal) as well as allowing the myriad of positive traits within the fitness tree to shine as well.

Everyone loves a body in shape, mostly because of the very obvious, visually-appealing, #1 reason that’s always focused on: it’s nice to look at. It’s sexy. It’s a plus to date someone who works out. #Fitspo is all over the Internet under the guise of health consciousness, beautiful athletic bodies at the forefront. But the non-physical, positive aspects tied into it don’t get the same shine. Taking care of your body IS one of the top pillars of health. And healthy people tend to be attractive people. For a LOT more than just looking good.

Discipline. Every adult KNOWS that routinely carving out time to put your body through physically taxing actions for the sole purpose of building strength and stamina is WORK. It’s not really considered fun. And it’s tiring. Especially while balancing work, kids, adulting. We’d rather be chilling on our couch. Controller in hand. Nomming on cookies. Sleeping. Mentally slothing out on social media. All those things that are way less work and much more appealing than getting our ass to the gym. It’s EFFORT. But at the end of the day, it’s mind over matter. I literally tell my friends I have to “catapult myself to the gym now” because I am mentally grabbing myself by the britches and slinging myself out my door before I come up with any more excuses not to (rain, sub-zero temps, and still-sore-from-last-workout are the big ones). Because often you DON’T really want to do it, but you do because you know it’s GREAT for you. Which is why it requires…

Motivation. Hella motivation. Hella self-motivation. Because while you can lean on others for encouragement and to keep you accountable, nobody can go out and get this shit done but yourself. And that’s attractive. Consistently incorporating exercise into your life for the sole purpose of improving your health and physical prowess is determination. It means you understand the concept of delayed gratification and are willing to invest in yourself for your own betterment in the long run. Motivated people, especially self-motivated people, get shit done. And it’s because they can give themselves their OWN push and aren’t afraid to face something challenging by themselves. And that motivation to push themselves comes from…

Self-love. You have to respect a person working to be the best version of themselves because they VALUE themselves. Their health and mobility is important, and a strong part of what keeps a human youthful, vibrant, and energetic through what you hope to be a long, happy life with as little medical intervention as possible. They’re empowered through a commitment to themselves, and confident. And we all know confidence is sexy. Those who love themselves take care of themselves, because they want a strong mind and body. And folks are always admired for their…

Strength. I have older women in my life with dancer’s bodies. Personal training and running marathons in their 60s. A retired grandma who continued to volunteer part-time within the education system in her 70s just to keep her mind active. Healthy mind/body/spirit is a THING, ya’ll. Another grandma was sturdy af up until her 80s. Never needed a cane, never had a hip replacement. Stayed wearing her jazzy outfits and perfume when she went out, and you couldn’t pull the wool over her eyes, even in her old age. Hell, she didn’t even exercise. Imagine how much more formidable she could have been if she had. I look up to all of them. Strength and determination are captivating. A strong body and mind are coveted. You know how they say you’re the average of your five closest friends? My four closest friends ALL make a point to incorporate exercise into our lifestyles (Hey, I’m five!). And we never once even tried to push it on each other; it just happened organically that way. Positive influence rubs off, as does negative. I see videos on social media now of ladies in their 80s deadlifting at the gym. I hope that’ll be me.

I speak from the female perspective, but it goes both ways. A man sees a woman who tends to her health as positive and attractive. She takes pride in her appearance. She’s motivated to keep herself healthy. A strong, determined partner to rear children. A smart teammate who makes healthy decisions that will benefit the family.

Good health will always look attractive because it symbolizes so much in a world where the opposite is the norm. It makes you look better, feel better, perform better. It instills the qualities of motivation, determination, discipline, strength. THOSE are the attractive qualities you can’t see right away, but are buried under the superficial surface of “fit”. A long-term commitment to one of the most important things in EVERYONE’s life is the body we live in for the time we’re here. And the commitment to care for it is not limited to gymgoers. Dancers. Runners. Rock-climbers. Those who get a walk in every morning. Cyclists. Acrobats. Sports. There’s so many ways to actively take care of your body, just by putting in a few hours out of the 168 ones we go through every week. It’ll never NOT be worth it.

Taking care of yourself is appealing. Self-esteem is enticing. Striving to continually improve oneself is engaging. Water in your system and sunlight on your face and nourishment to your soul…

Good health is attractive.

Posting shirtless bathroom-mirror selfies on a dating app is not.

~Tael

(This is not a post on dating lol. Be your best self.)

How To Not Be Broke

April 5, 2022April 5, 2022 ~ Tael ~ Leave a comment

I’m a normal-ass person.

Well, scratch that, I’m relatively badass. But normal in what I consider the financial sense. Even though apparently over half of America lives paycheck-to-paycheck and has a credit score around 600 or lower. So statistically, I guess I’m above-average financially.

I might act urban-bougie now, probably because despite not having much, I learned frugal quality and value EARLY. If you’ve read other blog posts of mine, you’ll know I didn’t grow up with money. I wasn’t poor by any standard, but I was for sure lower-class, statistically. And what saved me from growing up on welfare in the projects was my mom’s inherent hustle-nature. Seriously; she has shamelessly haggled with small children selling hand-made crafts in Hawaii for her souvenirs on vacation. But through a life of fake addresses for better educational options, well-intentioned church connections for better living conditions, and finely-honed discount instincts for better clothing and sustenance choices, I was able to at least go to the best schools in the districts, look presentable through thrift-store clothing, and eat good off sale-priced foods and discounted goods sold from dented cans and imperfect crushed boxes (that little warehouse in Queens was like a wonderland growing up). I knew not to ask for much unless it was my birthday, Christmas, or back-to-school time (RIP to the OG WholeSale Liquidators in SoHo).

It took until I was 13-years-old when my mom was finally able to secure a co-op and we didn’t have to move around anymore; I now had my own bedroom and an address I didn’t have to lie about so my mom could utilize my student-issued bus passes and Metrocards to save money on transportation costs. Stability was nice. We were finally on the come-up.

I settled into that comfort all the way up until college, where it really hit home what adulting would entail.

I was broke.

Broke broke. While my mom was working her ass off to make sure she could put me through state-college, I was left to figure out how to survive off everything else. I couldn’t ask her for “spending money” since she was already helping me pay to go. I tried work-study jobs for meager earnings but those earnings went to necessities, like securing used textbooks off Half.com. I couldn’t even contribute $5 for Dominos $5/$5/$5 deal when my friends ordered pizza. I couldn’t afford Chinese food. I didn’t go off-campus with them to party and dine at Applebees or bar-hop. The dining hall options were gourmet and abundant to me. Sale racks at no-name mall stores were my best friend when I had a bit of cash to myself.

When I graduated, with about $13,000 in student loan debt (and I am supremely grateful for my mom’s help and that I chose to go to an economical SUNY at the time, otherwise, it would have been much higher), I left home directly after college and moved to Boston.

Right around the start of the recession.

Now I was broke without the lifeline of living at home, AND learning that since the job market SUCKED, all those promises of how easy it’d be to make it with a college degree held little weight. I tried holding down multiple jobs for awhile, but I was overworked, underpaid, and depressed (Urban Outfitters made me vow to never work retail again, and you know it’s bad when the actual customers tell you they feel sorry for you). I couldn’t even afford internet. I got two library card memberships, one for the Boston Public Library system, and one for the local town of Everett where I lived. This granted me 2 free hours of Internet a day between the two, which I used to furiously apply to as many jobs as I could to improve my living situation. I couldn’t afford to partake in any common leisure activities like movies, events, restaurants. And when my ex-husband-then-boyfriend-at-the-time couldn’t seem to keep a steady workflow of hours to pull us out of this situation either, I finally grew TIRED of being broke.

That was my catalyst.

I was tired of my family coming to visit me and not being able to do much with them because I had no money. Tired of fearing when my student loan deferral period would end and I’d have an additional bill on my hands. Tired of living a life that essentially seemed like a prison, needing to be frugal 100% of the time, with nothing to show for it. There’s no freedom in being broke. I had done it for too long, and I was sick of it.

After 2 years in Boston, I moved back to NYC where I immediately got a job on Wall Street; the best paying job I’d ever had at the time. But that was not the “cure,” simply choosing to move where the money was and make more of it. Ask all those broke lottery-winners and once-famous rappers who file for bankruptcy. I needed a plan and habits to retain the now more-money I’d be making. I needed to NOT spend more just because I had more. And luckily, my thrifty upbringing had already trained me for this.

Despite my sudden jump in salary, I made the very conscious and difficult decision to NOT be dazzled by the more-money and continue living exactly how I’d already been living, with the goal of eliminating all of my student loan debt, because I’d finally reached the point where I could no longer defer them. Even though I was sick of it, I had already been doing it for so long; I could wait another 6 months to a year and stay uncomfortable for a greater end goal to benefit my life. At least now I was consciously choosing to live broke for a real purpose, with better days on the far horizon if I could remain disciplined enough. So all that additional salary went to hacking away at my student loan debt in chunks, to pave the way to my financial freedom.

My second priority after eliminating my debt was building a cushion in my bank account and a savings account on the side, so that I’d no longer have to live paycheck to paycheck, and no emergency expense would rattle me. Fun fact: If you’re not budgeting for emergency situations, you’re doing it wrong. It takes a lot of unexpected circumstances to realize, they will always happen. I used to budget $200 a month for random shit. Someone’s going to come into town. Your friend is going to invite you to some spontaneous thing. You’ll discover an unadvertised pop-up event only active for one weekend, or you’ll suddenly discover that thing you’ve been keeping your eye on for awhile is now having a whopper sale and you need to buy it like now.

There will always be an unexpected circumstance that costs money. Plan for it.

Since I had reached the core of my “I’m sick of being broke”-ness, I was committed to achieving this goal as SOON as possible, so even though I was technically no longer broke, I still lived like I was, until I had eliminated my debt and amassed enough of a financial cushion to finally be able to breathe easy.

Even now, I still choose to be economical. Just because you have money, does not mean you have to spend it. Most folks are bad at simply holding onto the money that they already have. If you’re shit with less money, you’re still gonna be shit with greater gobs of money. And yes, we can cry foul at the government and capitalism and unfair labor practices, but at the end of the day we’re still broke and we still need tactics to get around a system that exists and ain’t really going nowhere.

Learn to chase value.

I know everybody’s momma (Black ones anyway) said a variation of the phrase “There’s food at home. You got [eating out] money?” I never thought that phrase would make so much sense now.

Cooking is one of the biggest things that got me through broke times. Maybe I couldn’t get a pizza or splurge on Applebees, but I could at least make sure I ate good. I do not cook for presentation, nor to impress anyone or post my culinary masterpieces on a Facebook food group or Instagram (unless I did a damn good job). Some of those internet recipes got too many damn ingredients and I leave out 1/4-1/3 of the shit and make modified versions, just because I don’t want to spend money on the extra herbs and spices and juices that will go bad in a week cause I didn’t have anything else to use them on. I mostly cook for UTILITY. Because I need to eat. Does it take work? Sure does. Is it economical as hell? YES AF. So I put in the work to do it. My boyfriend ordered ONE gourmet pizza one night a couple of months ago, and the shit came out to $40 with taxes and delivery fees and such (Delivery fees have SKYROCKETED since Covid). For ONE PIE. I strongly urged him to reconsider. But he really wanted to try this pizza. Shit was smaller than the average large pie when it arrived. Now, was it delicious and hearty? Yeah. But 2 weeks prior, I’d gotten a pie from Papa John’s WITH cheesy bread and honey chipotle chicken tenders on the side for $30. Value.

Leftovers. Leftovers. Leftovers. If I have leftovers at home, 95% I am eating at home. And in the unlikely 5% of the time that I eat out with leftovers at home, I’m coming back to the leftovers somehow the next day. I will eat the same leftovers for 4 days straight, and if I get bored, cook something more so that I can rotate between the new thing and old leftovers until ALL THE THINGS ARE GONE. I do not like to waste food. Food gone bad is money in the trash. Likewise, if I buy a 16 oz soda, you will find my container at various levels of completion throughout the day, possibly even several days. Ask my cousins. Or my boyfriend who witnesses me place opened cans of Mountain Dew back in the fridge regularly, or drink leftover cups of juice still out from the day before. I don’t like to waste drink either.

I ate grits, eggs, and a banana for breakfast every day for a whole week straight last month. A grain, a protein, a fruit. Nothing fancy. Takes about 10 minutes total to prepare from start to finish. An autopilot breakfast that’s wholesome. $2.50 for a dozen eggs at the supermarket. About the same for a 5-pack of bananas from Whole Foods. $2.99 for a container of grits that’ll last you quite some time. $10 got me a week and beyond’s worth of breakfast. You cannot knock the value.

Awhile back I discovered that the Duane Reade chain in NYC carries 6-pack paper towels and 12-pack toilet paper for $5 each. Five…dollars…each. And not some cheap $1 store brand or like Angel Soft masquerading itself to be better than it is. It’s SCOTT. The nearest Duane Reade is 1 block and 2 avenues down from my apartment. My nearest grocery store is around the corner. If you’re wondering whether I make the longer trek each month for the better price, I hope the answer is crystal clear. I could pay $6 for 4 rolls at my local grocer, or I could get some damn exercise. Bruh, last time I went there they had BOGO if you had the store card (which I sure as hell do). I paid $7.50 for 24 rolls of toilet paper. This shit might last me half a year.

Value.

A couple of months ago, I went to the Metropolitan Museum of Art. My friend cautioned me not to buy tickets online in advance, because then you couldn’t use your New Yorker discount. Cool. We got there and realized the line to buy tickets using our discount was practically as long as the line to get into the museum. Took at least another 25 minutes. So pretty much almost an hour in total wait to get into the museum on cheap tickets. But that wait meant I got to “donate” $10 for my ticket instead of the full price of $25. And my friend admitted, she simply donated $1. I wish we’d been in line together, because seeing her do it would have rubbed some thrifty courage on me to halve my donation further.

I’m not a “shopper” and it’s not something I do in my spare time for fun either. I only buy new clothes or footwear if I need a replacement, a specific item for a purpose, or if the targeted ads on my social media and website browsing show me a sparkling rare item that aligns with my soul (those algorithms have gotten REALLY good). Because of this, I rarely make impulsive purchases. If I’m going to buy something, I make sure I really want the thing. I’ve never been someone who will just go “Oh, I’ll just return it if it doesn’t look good.” It is not always economical to repackage an item, ship it back, and wait for a refund with shipping costs possibly deducted. Because of this, I rarely return anything and can’t remember the last time I’ve regretted making a purchase. Additionally, commit to always at least looking for a way to NOT pay full-price, whether it’s shopping at TJ Maxx/Marshalls, waiting for emails advertising 50% off the site, or doing a quick Retailmenot.com search for coupon codes. The Sale section of anywhere is your friend; I can’t believe I ever thought SALE was a dirty word. I legit used to cringe and check if anyone was watching when my mom would go straight for it.

I pay $20/month for a Blink membership; one of the cheapest gym memberships you can get in the city (it even lets you bring a guest!). Blink, because the bottom of the barrel gym is Planet Fitness and I at least have standards. I get my free weights and machines in a safe and clean environment and I craft my own workout regimen, without having to pay extra for plush towels to wipe the sweat off my face, Kiehl’s lotion in the bathrooms, or fancy classes.

There’s a lot of freedom in living below your means. I decline purchases that I feel aren’t worth it with ease. Self-restraint comes easily to me, with an ironclad will against monetary peer pressure. One day I looked up and was no longer waiting for my next paycheck. “Oh, we got paid today?” became a regular reaction for me. I barely glance at grocery receipts because I have my practices on autopilot to keep my spending in moderation. I splurge on cool shit I could only dream of as a child, like freaking Zelda backpacks, Mickey Mouse sweaters, and all those cool immersive art exhibits without checking if I can afford it (I can, because I made it so). Or real vacations, random excursions, experiences that are only around for a limited time. Buying popcorn and snacks at the movie theater is non-negotiable to me (buying snacks pretty much anywhere has become my bougie non-negotiable), to the point where I don’t even sneak the 16oz bottles of soda into the theaters anymore. I BUY MOVIE THEATER SODA NOW. Sometimes I add NACHOS and Buncha Crunch too, when I’m feeling particularly baller.

I’ve taken trips back to Boston just to enjoy all the shit I couldn’t when I lived there, and eat at all the places I could only wistfully gaze at back then. I reached my goal of being able to live on my own in Manhattan, contributing to retirement accounts, with an online savings account I never touch, and a Robinhood account I opened a year ago to play around with, though I’ve lost $900 in the stock market (thanks a lot, WallStreetBets).

I never borrow money from anyone because I feel like if I don’t have the money for something, I probably should not be buying it. Instead, I have credit cards to “borrow from myself” and I never let my credit card debt go higher than what I have in my checking account, meaning, I could pay it all off and wipe the slate clean if needed. And if I find the scales tipping and my spending so much that my credit card bill is growing at a faster rate that I can pay off (without dipping into any savings or losing my checking account cushion, then I start cutting back on my spending until I can “pay myself back” accordingly. Because finding the balance between living a satisfying life and retaining as much of my money as possible, to me, is worth the prevention methods of ever returning to those dark days. I’ve done too much work to go backwards. I had an ex who used to brag about how well he could survive off $40 until the next paycheck, after his expenses had ate up his entire check in a matter of days. I ain’t about that life.

Last week, I discovered an untransferred $75 sitting in my Venmo account that I forgot was in there.

That’s the life I’m ’bout.

So, how badly enough do you not want to be broke? Enough to REALLY suffer through it with a goal to overcome it? To sacrifice a lot of the things you enjoy for a lengthy period of time if it means financial freedom comes of it? To keep a little bit of your broke past with you by holding onto habits you used to roll your eyes at your mom for with your mission in mind? You’d be surprised at the things you become capable of when you’re really sick of something.

What’s your catalyst? Or what will it be?

~Tael

(Eyes on the prize)

A New Yorker in NOLA

January 25, 2022 ~ Tael ~ Leave a comment

“America only has 3 cities: New York, San Francisco and New Orleans. Everywhere else is Cleveland.” – Tennessee Williams

Our NOLA Art Tour guide enlightened me to the existence of this quote as I visually inhaled the vibrant murals on the streets of New Orleans. Of course, as a diehard New Yorker, I wholeheartedly embraced it, especially since I can’t remember when I’ve ever been so dazzled by a city that wasn’t my own.

Thanksgiving of 2021, I decided to do something completely different. Rather than celebrate the day with my fam or significant others’, engaging in turkey-eating while avoiding any sort of real contribution to the actual food preparation (Millennials, do ya’ll hear me?), I accepted a gracious offer from my Argentinian friend traveling in the states to meet up in New Orleans for a leg of her months-long trip.

Let me just say, I couldn’t have picked a better traveling companion. Both in our mid-thirties, we were not there to get Bourbon Street wasted or Mardi Gras hammered every night. We took the obligatory stroll down the strip the first night and found some poor soul’s corporate credit card on the ground outside, which I finally decided to just shred after we failed to hunt down a cop to turn it in to (surprising, I know, but we only encountered EMS). Better it was us pure souls with no nefarious intentions that found it than a shady drunkard.

Now, once you get that initial Bourbon Street walk out the way, you’ll wonder why all you ever hear about New Orleans is a party place to get sloshed because this place is chock FULL of culture! The Sydney and Walda Bestoff Sculpture Garden (right next to the New Orleans Museum of Art) is a MUST SEE, and it’s gorgeous, enchanting, and FREE. JAMNOLA is one of those super fun art experiences that is actually worth the price (though we did score Groupons, so BONUS). Honey Island Swamp Tours will pick you up FROM your hotel (for the smallest additional fee) and take you about an hour outside of the city to their swamp. While we didn’t get to see any gators (fun fact, if the weather gets too cool, they hibernate), we got one of those weird swamp rat sightings and local birds, including a bald eagle (!). Our guide was super knowledgeable and taught us a lot about crocs vs gators and the “camps”, those uninsured, low turnover abodes that line the swamp and look like “roughin it” shacks to an urbanite, but apparently have running water and electricity. We even hit up a local nerdy burlesque show, another first for me as I got the opportunity to throw singles at body-positive performance artists with tasseled nipple pasties. Oh, and a man in a banana hammock thong. The aquarium here is aight; the only attraction I found underwhelming and top-10-in-America list questionable.

When we weren’t hitting up one of the numerous non-drinking activities, we were hoofing it EVERYWHERE, my companion being from a big city as well, and New Orleans is incredibly walkable. A 20-30 minute walk to reach a destination for us is nothing. A light stroll. A chance to sightsee or stumble across a secret. Or just to feast our eyes on the splendor of the beautiful, artistic architecture there. Is urban exploration considered a hobby? Our hotel was in the Garden District, so our main stomping grounds for the week consisted of that area along with the French Quarter and the Bywater district. Walking the colorful quarter in the daytime, you’d find random bubble machines on the 2nd floor balconies, as if they simply wanted to add to a fun and festive atmosphere. And probably due to the climate, there’s greenery everywhere. Tree-lined streets with spanish moss, glorious parks, yards with gardens and fountains.

Now, FOOD. I am Black, with southern roots. And NOLA is known for their SEAFOOD. Maybe not the culinary wonderland for my vegetarian travelling companion (we had to check the menus in the windows each time beforehand to make sure she had options), but every place was fair game to me. And I am a PICKY eater with a non-spicy palate. I tried po’boys, gumbo shrimp, biscuits and gravy, catfish, and BEIGNETS, the pastry I never knew I needed in my life. Warm, fresh (ALWAYS fresh), fried squares of delicious dough with powdered sugar on top. Glorified funnel-cake minis, but so much more classier. If these are available in NYC, I am completely unaware. We sought out local spots only, avoiding chains like Starbucks, McDonalds (which I don’t eat anyway) and even Popeyes. Deciding where to eat next made me giddy; I wouldn’t label myself a foodie, but eating out and exploring new restaurants gives me joy.

On my last night there, we even got a chance to sit AT the famed Carousel Bar, which I thought would be horribly touristy and overrated, but I’m super happy we ended up taking the chance. Is it expensive af in a fancy hotel you’ll probably feel out of place walking into? YUP. Now walk in like you own the joint. We were hoping to just score seating at the little couple’s tables by the festively decorated windows, but after about 10 minutes of waiting seats opened up right at the rotating bar. Pretty sure my drink was about $15-17 (Pimm’s Cup), but it was DELICIOUS, this was a rare experience, and reminiscent of the NYC prices I don’t even pay for at home. Along with my drink I got mussels and truffle fries and a beignet order for dessert. ALL scrumptious. The bar seating slowly REVOLVES around the bar just like a carousel. Gimmicky, YES, but squeal-worthy and done right.

Sidebar: Travelling with another boss-ass urbanite woman who is financially secure and knows how to take care of herself is the move. Because splurging/deal-seeking is a tightrope we toe well. Walking everywhere, finding online deals through Groupon and Priceline, and scanning places that offer a similar activity for the best price is second-nature to us, but we know the inherent value of unique experiences and when it’s worth it. Our trip was a mix of whatever-priced YOLOs (dammit that stupid term has grown on me) and free/low cost experiences. We didn’t give a second thought about shelling out $30 each for a walking art tour, or back down from a restaurant we wanted to try because of price. Nor did we give a third thought to discounted activities, park explorations and general city-adventuring that cost nothing. We left the hotel around 10 or 11am each morning and didn’t return until nightfall. We even took turns paying the whole bill for whatever the activity was, and simply used the Splitwise app to keep track of who owed who in the end.

I completely stumbled upon the street art tour by accident. I hadn’t researched NOLA’s graffiti scene at all beforehand, so imagine my surprise when the tour I settled on mentioned it would end with an authentic BANKSY piece viewing (currently my favorite artist, and yes, I consider street artists, ARTISTS). I was unaware that there were even two authentic Banksy pieces in this city. “Girl With Umbrella,” is protected and maintained by the tour guides themselves (shout out to @nolaartwalk). Our guide also told us where to find the 2nd one in the city. “Looters” is housed in the lobby of the ritzy International House Hotel where they practically have a Banksy shrine room adjacent to it that you can just waltz right in to.

I found out lots of interesting tidbits from our various tour guides. Like New Yorkers, they’re not wild about tourists, but they know it’s necessary for business. Apparently the crime rate has been increasing so much that many locals are leaving the city because of it. One woman basically told us if you hear a ruckus, just duck and wait for gunshots. She was shocked that we’d been walking around at night exploring by ourselves, though we felt perfectly safe. She also told us that by living here, you accept the fact that you will probably end up restarting your life over twice, due to your home getting destroyed by a hurricane. While this is a crazy sobering thought, it’s also a testament to truly loving and choosing your city, something New Yorkers can relate to.

I noticed the homeless population is quite large here. As urbanites, this didn’t put us off or anything. The majority we encountered were quite pleasant and usually bid us a good night as we passed them, unlike the kind in NYC that you warily watch on the subway as they chant to themselves, hoping they don’t suddenly come at you with a knife. Another thing we noticed is that despite NOLA being extremely walkable, NO ONE ELSE WALKS HERE. Outside of the French Quarter and touristy/bar/entertainment sections, it was rare to encounter another pedestrian on the sidewalk. Probably because the sidewalks CAN get pretty janky here in a lot of neighborhoods. I’m talking, watch where you step because the concrete will slant at laughably exaggerated angles, or a slab will suddenly poke out as if it’s trying to grab your ankle and bring you down to kiss the cement. But in residential areas, there was barely any street traffic either. And even weirder, as we passed and admired all the lovely homes (seriously, we must have been drawn to all the nicer neighborhoods by luck because the houses were HUGE and spectacular; you could easily spend a day just sightseeing the homes), no one was really in them. And yes, we looked (don’t you?). We never observed families cooking dinner, watching TV, kids playing in the backyards or anything of the sort. It was often like walking through wealthy ghost towns.

I guess I’ll have to put San Francisco on my travel bucket list, just to see how it stacks up against New York and New Orleans. But NOLA delighted me and touched my soul. It’s a friendly city with character, beauty, and HELLA culture, and I recommend you go and explore all it has to offer outside of Bourbon Street. Walk the parks, eat ALL the things, ride a STREETCAR. Visit the Tree of Life at Adubon Park (and be sure to check out that amazing artsy pink/purple Barbie-dreamhouse-looking mansion with a pool and German Shephard guarding the yard) and then go to New York to SUNY Purchase and compare it to the awesome Elephant Tree behind the administration house. It’s a city I would love to return to in the future. And if a New Yorker can be impressed by it, then that’s saying something.