Are You A Hysterical Woman?

Most women are completely oblivious to their hysteria. Unbeknownst to them, they are carriers of this detrimental disease and unfortunately, may pass this infliction onto their daughters. This, in turn, results in generations of hysterical women. Women rebelling, challenging all that society has worked hard to stifle. So, here’s a little test. If three or more of the following statements apply to you… You may be hysterical.

You want equal respect and consideration as any other person.
You want the spouse, the house, the kids and the career.
You like to push the envelope when it comes to office etiquette and dress.
You expect him to call when he says he will. (And you’re definitely hysterical if you call him on his mal-behavior when he finally does call three days later)
You cry when you’re sad, yell when you’re angry and ask questions when you want answers.
You like sex and don’t necessarily see the correlation between the act and love.
You don’t believe in holding your tongue.
You’ve been described as crazy by two or more of your ex boyfriends.
You expect to find a man that appreciates and loves you for yourself, not your representative.

Female hysteria is a common medical diagnosis, made exclusively in women, which is today rarely recognized by modern medical authorities as a medical disorder. Its diagnosis and treatment were routine for many hundreds of years in Western Europe. Hysteria was widely discussed in the medical literature of the 19th century. Women considered to be suffering from it exhibited a wide array of symptoms including faintness, nervousness, insomnia, fluid retention, heaviness in abdomen, muscle spasm, shortness of breath, irritability, loss of appetite for food or sex, and "a tendency to cause trouble". – Wikipedia http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Female_hysteria
Are you a hysterical woman? If you are Black, female, fed-up and two seconds from snapping… You just might be. The term hysterical is often ascribed to women exhibiting behavior that is uncontrollable, controversial and/or unconventional. In the 19th century, the treatments for this disease varied from incarceration and forced feeding to “pelvic massage” (use your imagination). Today, symptoms include, being loud, enjoying sex and refusing to let a man convince you that being a lady means submitting to his will. Likewise, treatment remedies have evolved to include, watching “chick flicks,” marriage to “A Safe Guy,” or buying books that teach us how to think like men and keep our legs closed.

Most Black women, by today’s standards, can be described as hysterical. Our legacy dictates this. Harriet Tubman, Angela Davis, Alice Walker and even Oprah Winfrey, all hysterical, crazy for their ambition and for having the audacity to want more than what others felt they deserved. Common terms used to describe hysterical women include the following, Crazy, Whore, Feminist/Womanist, Lesbian and of course, Bitch. Everywhere we turn, we are faced with images and other propaganda designed to “cure” our hysteria. Last year, national media went frenzy with stories of our single-dom. Reporting that we are the most undesirable, and un-marriable women on the planet and that it was all our own faults because we emasculated men with our pickiness, education and high incomes. Sensational much?

I often find myself on the receiving end of the term. People, men and women alike, stare with confusion at my wild mane, choices in attire and rebellious tongue. I say, if hysterical means following in the footsteps of pioneers, trendsetters and revolutionaries, that is what I’ll be. And I encourage all of you to follow suit. I recently announced to my friends and family that I may not ever want to get married or have children. I’d be perfectly happy if my life revolved around travel, writing, teaching, friends and family. They gladly dismissed these statements as bouts of hysteria, most likely caused by a broken heart or my menstrual cycle. I, on the other hand, felt great about the decision. In my opinion, moping around in stagnation, waiting for some man to marry me and “make my life,” is hysterical.

As Black women, we have two choices. You’re either a lady or a whore. Unlike our white counterparts, our purity and femininity is not a given. We have to earn or prove that we deserve the respect their men lynched our men in protection of. Therefore, we sometimes go too far, or too right, in our attempt to conform. But, by nature we are the mothers of hysteria. We were starting wars and ruling kingdoms before Helen (of Troy) or Elizabeth (Queen of England). Their rules and standards don’t apply to us. So, the next time your neighbor, boyfriend or boss calls you crazy, calmly reply, “I’m not crazy, I’m hysterical.”

Dating Rules for the Hysterical Woman

There have been dozens, no hundreds, scratch that, thousands of books, articles and blogs written to aid Black women in the pursuit of the perfect man. As a hysterical woman, I read these aids and gasp and gag in disgust. I’m no Victorian lady or Debutant; I’m hysterical, meaning I’ve been around the block and picked up a few scars on the way back. That said, I have created a few dating rules of my own. Ones that don’t tell us to shut our mouths, act like ladies and order the cheapest thing on the menu because it’s the polite thing to do. These rules are real. For the hysterical woman, by a hysterical woman. Follow them at your own risk; many of them have been untested. But, truth be told, what do you have to lose? The other stuff hasn’t worked either.

Rule Number One. Remember, you are by social standards “crazy.” However, despite what they say, them Negroes are even crazier.

Rule Number Two. Never Ever take advice from your friends, especially not the single ones… Why am I listening to you? That’s like Ray giving Stevie fashion advice.

Rule Number Three. Never Ever be yourself. Be your craziest self. What’s the point in calculating a gradual reveal? If he can deal with you on 10. He’ll love you at 3.

Rule Number Four. Don’t ignore your gut or his. If you are completely turned off by his physical appearance, corny or offensive jokes or the way he chews his food, don’t be afraid to walk away. Oftentimes, the things we ignore are the things that come back to bite us in the end.

Rule Number Five. Ask about his ex. Yes… And if he starts the conversation off with “That Bitch was Crazy”… Run for the hills… nine times out of ten, you’re crazier than her and you’ll be the next “crazy bitch” he’ll be talking about.

Rule Number Six. Beware of Mr. Perfect. If he’s too suave, too well dressed or too polite, HE’S LYING! No man is perfect. And you most certainly are not. If he’s afraid to show you his crazy, he won’t be too comfortable with yours.

Rule Number Seven. Don’t compare him to your ex. In fact, contrast him (It didn’t work for a reason). The only comparisons that should be made are between you and him. If you have the same likes, dislikes, passions and taste in movies, why not give it a try?

Rule Number Eight. Crazy needs crazy. If you show up and your neurosis leads you to start rambling about how much you hate Jaguars and the pretentious jerks that drive them and he chimes in and says that he hates the idiot woman who date them and the conversation lasts for three hours, I say you’ve just made a match in Crazy Heaven (And perhaps, Dork Heaven or Bitter Angry People Heaven… You be the judge).

Rule Number Nine. Nice guys finish last. Poor suckers. Try one out. Accept the date. He may be a little square and gasp at some of your brash statements. But, if he laughs instead, he may be a keeper. Sometimes hysterical women need a little balance and nice doesn’t always mean naïve or soft. Maybe his “crazy” is that he likes “loud, neurotic, pessimistic women.” This may be the last first date of your life.

Rule Number Ten. Remember, crazy women need love too. There is someone out there for almost everyone (just being honest). You’re crazy; but, fabulous. You love and accept you. Why wouldn’t someone else?

Romance, Please.

Let me hold you tight
If only for one night
Let me keep you keep you near
To ease away your fear
It would be so nice
If only for one night

Remember Luther Vandross? The man with the silky voice, and the sensual lyrics, whose songs got you in the mood and kept you in love? And even though he may not have had a six pack, and a “pretty boy” face. Women loved him anyway.

I’ma kiss you right, yea, yeah
I’m gon lick all night, yea, yeah
Girl, when I’m inside yea, yeah
Yeah girl, you heard what I said
I’m gonna make you wet the bed

Oh Chris Brown, with your wicked lyrics, six pack abs and bad boy persona. Who woulda thought you’d be our modern day Casanova?

Both songs describe an experience, one that includes pleasure, intimacy and sex.
These songs are a reflection of the times. Is romance a thing of the past?
Institutes such as dating, courtship and marriage still exist; but, just in the case of the transformation of the primate to the man (homo erectus). Relationships have evolved. So, the question hangs, “What the hell do modern relationships look like?”

I Hate Social Media

I am a writer, not because I have this desire to be heard. Not because having a blog is in right now and most certainly not because I think people want or need to hear what I have to say. I write because its my right, its my talent and because getting all of this stuff outta my head and heart just feels so good.

As a writer, particularly one on arts and culture, I am finding it more and more difficult to find inspiration and material to write about, while maintaining true to my integrity as a writer and frankly as a sensible human being. Most magazines, online and otherwise, want material that is current and reflective of the needs of their audience. Therefore, as an Arts and Culture critic and commentator, I must follow the trends and report on the topics and events in the media, Fine, I can get down with that. What I can’t get down with is the nonsense that we as Americans refer to as “news” and current events.

Im sorry; but who really cares if Kim Kardashian’s marriage was a sham (It was by the way) or if Shaq cheated on Shawnie because he could (Duh!). Why is this news and more importantly, why do people care?

I also hate Facebook and Twitter. Once again, this directly contradicts my progress as a professional writer. People cant and wont read your work if one, they can’t find it, two, they have no clue who you are and three, they can’t friend you or follow you on Twitter. This is not to say that I have an issue with people that utilize or enjoy utilizing social media. This is to say that I, particularly, hate using it.

Why does everyone on twitter keep posting and reposting the same articles about the same subject that is being ran on every magazine and channel? And who cares what you think about it?? How pretentious is that to think that I/ we care about your opinion. We have our own. Or maybe we don’t.

Long story short. I have to use social media. I have to read the gossip blogs and I have to follow the trends. If I don’t, my work becomes irrelevant, and sadly, unreadable and unread. After all, who cares what I have to say, if its not reflective of their lives or interests. Otherwise, its just an angry rant by a unfriended, unfollowed writer.

Just Too Much! (A Little Info On me… )

I am the girl that a lot of insecure women hate. The woman at work in the high heels and borderline inappropriate outfit. The one that‘s always in someone else’s cube or has someone in hers (oftentimes male ). I’m the one with the loud voice and the even louder laugh. The ridiculous hair and full face of make-up. Hold on to your man, because she doesn’t have one (and I hear she’s on the prowl). I’m that girl. Do you know me?

Well, if you think you do, you don’t.

Here’s the actual truth. I’m not the “traditional” lady. I sin. I cuss and I’ve been known to enjoy a clove cigarette or two. I’m aggressive and assertive and don’t believe in backing down for the sake of maintaining some archaic notion of femininity. I fight, physically and verbally, as well as eat with my hands (not just fingers, hands). I talk about sex, in mixed company, at the most inappropriate times, and I have no qualms about telling a man if I feel like his game won’t or can’t match up. I flirt and never feign modesty. I jokingly boast about my intelligence, skills and beauty and am undeniably self-centered (who else is my world supposed to evolve around, some man?). I am not a lady. But, I am a woman. A strong, assertive, beautiful, intelligent and self-assured, Black woman. And darn proud!

Ok. Ok… This is the truth. But, it’s not all I am. I am also extremely sensitive and hate being judged, a daddy’s girl and a push-over when it comes to my kids (Oh, I’m also a youth worker). I go to bat for my friends and believe in telling the truth, even if It gets me in trouble. I cry at least twice a day over, things that don’t even involve or affect me and I value my family more than they will ever know. Oh, and I love kittens. :)

I’ve never had a hard time making friends, its just been a little difficult maintaining true friendship with other women. When you are as “too much” as I am “too much,” it can be difficult for people to tolerate or even enjoy your overcast. I find this to be particularly true when it comes to other women, especially other, single, attractive women. If they only knew that I’ve come along way from being some “pretty girl’s," overweight, sidekick who was the last chosen to dance. I used to be afraid of not only others; but my own voice. Bet they'd never guess that I was raised in a household of men and a tomboy until the age of 15. Or that I had to fight daily with my peers at school because of my religious beliefs. Would anyone guess that I hated my hair and body until the age of 21. If they knew that, would I still be hated or judged?

Don’t get me wrong, yes, I am a HAM, and yes, I do enjoy putting on an, occasional, one-woman, show. But, by no means do I require ALL of the attention, ALL of the time. I LOVE being in the presence and hanging with extraverted, hilarious, over the top, eccentric,” too much” women. One, I receive a sigh of relief, “Thank you GOD, I’m not alone!” Two, I have a partner or partners in crime to play off and put on even bigger, better performances. And three, It takes the pressure off of me to always well, be on. Sometimes, in fact oftentimes, I enjoy sitting back and being the spectator.

Most of you are probably just like me. You just don’t want to be judged for it. So, you stay in the safe zone. Place your hands in your lap and feign modesty. Well, on behalf of all of the “Too Much” girls, I say, welcome to the world. Throw on your favorite, “hot girl gear,” throw away those safe outfits, put on some make-up (if you like) and speak up! The world is ready for your debut.

My Sister. My Friend. My Enemy?

The game, Pursuit.
The target, a Black Man.
The goal, Marriage (preferably before 35).
The opponent, Any other living, breathing, half attractive woman.
The rules, NONE.

Sound familiar? This is game played by thousands of Black women in this country and around the world every day. Beautiful, intelligent and successful woman all vying for what they deem to be the missing piece in the puzzle of total, and complete happiness. We can have it all, if we work, plot and scheme enough. The house, the car, the vacation spot in Martha’s Vineyard, and of course the man… the Black Man.

I have always been very comfortable communicating, befriending and, if so inclined, pursuing men. I have plenty of male friends, some ex-loves and lovers, others just “cool dudes” that I’ve gravitated to over the years. Never being much of a “girls’ girl,” but, very much a “girlie girl,” the friendships and the witty banter I often exchange with the men in my circles are frequently, misunderstood and misinterpreted as flirtation. Which has made me a target for female scrutiny and harsh judgement.

Don’t get me wrong, I am not one of those “I only hang with guys, girls are too petty” women. In fact, I have a solid group of female friends, all of which are beautiful, intelligent, ambitious women of many different hues, character and type. I love my girlfriends. They are essential part of my life, and in my opinion the life of any woman. I just so happen to also have a close blend of male friends, as well.

What is so disappointing, yet not surprising to me, is the lack of regard women have for each other when it comes to the pursuit of men. Time and time again, I have witnessed women undercut and use each other to get to men. And a few times, I have been the victim of this.
I’ve had women cozy up to me to meet my male friends or even pretend to be my friend just to see how close I am to “their” man. Like, really? If another woman is a potential threat, then he isn’t yours anyway and may not even be that into you.

I love my sisters; but, we have got get it together. There is plenty of room in the universe for each and every one of us to be hot (beautiful, sexy, intelligent and desirable). So, stop undercutting and dissin’ your sisters just because you believe that she may pose a threat to you meeting the man of your dreams. If he is meant for you, you will be with him.

What really pisses me off (on top of the jealously, spitefulness and obvious hating we do on each other) is that men know this about us. And they PLAY ON IT!! If a man can start a bidding war for his affections, he has not only mastered the game, because not only has the amount of effort he has to exert gone down to zero; but, he has the chance of walking away with the MVP trophy, both women. And us women we play right into it. Battling each other so hard we have no clue that what we are fighting for isn’t even worth a verbal slap, let alone a hair pull.

Could you imagine what would happen if we stopped letting them win? Yes, letting them win. That’s what happens every time we choose them over each other or allow them to divide us. One, we will begin to forge stronger interpersonal relationships. Two, men will have no choice but to step up their game and be forced to come correct and treat all of us with the respect we deserve. And three, this will increase the pool of eligible, “good” men. So, it starts with us ladies. Love yourself, of course; but, remember, love your sister. She is not your enemy. She is your ally.

Life on the Other Side

It’s been almost three months since I’ve embarked on this journey to the other side. The other side of fear, the other side of confusion, the other side of myself. Three months ago, I made a promise to myself that that I would drop all pretenses, all insecurities and fears and reclaim myself.

I never knew that I wasn’t really happy. I always knew I was ok… for the most part, content. But, never happy and certainly not joyful. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve experienced moments of “happiness”… working with my students, spending time with my beautiful nephews, drinking with the girls… But, experiencing joy on a daily basis was a foreign feeling… a foreign understanding.

Three months ago I stopped drinking, dating, and self-loathing. Told myself that I needed and deserved a better life. Reflected on my imperfections, accepted some of them and decided to improve many of them. I decided to become a better person for myself, and as a result for my family, friends and community.

I find the responses to my change amazing. For the most part, people have been very supportive. Of course, some have not taken to my sudden shift as warmly as I would have liked; but, that is to be expected… What is to be expected from the guy who lost his late-night sure thing?

A wise woman recently told me that life is a series of life-altering events and that I shouldn’t be surprised if I find myself going through a similar change years from now…According to her, it’s all a part of the process of living, learning and growing… I believe her, through I must say the possibility of undergoing another “crash and rebuild” scares the hell out of me, at least right now.

Many people don’t understand the reason for the change or even see it…. And I’m ok with that. I see it and most importantly, I feel it. I feel the confidence, I feel the happiness and I feel the new found love that I have for myself. Do I miss the old times? The alcohol, the men, the sex… Yes. Of course I do. The latters more than the formers :) But, I don’t miss the old me. The me that relied on those vices for comfort, support and direction. The old me that was afraid of who I was, and what I wanted. The old me that didn’t know who I was or what I wanted. Not that I have all of the answers now; but, the picture is a lot less fuzzy than it was three months ago… for the men reading this, it’s kind of like going from regular TV to HD.

I owe so many people credit for this change. Some were catalysts, others enablers. The catalysts… one in particular, a wonderful woman by the name of R, whom I met on a trip to Connecticut … my mentor, sister and spiritual advisor… a true gift from God. Proof that you can make new, real, friends in adulthood and that “girl power” is more than a 90s cliché. My enablers… I can happily report that I have many… J, S, T, C, G and others… great people all in their own rights, who through sarcasm, teasing and love all push me to be the person I’m claiming to be. But, I cannot forget or neglect to mention one of the key catalysts, the man to whom I must give credit where hurt and pain is due… (He shall remain nameless or initial-less in this instance) I must thank him for breaking my heart, exposing my weaknesses and unapologetically showing me that no one will ever love you, unless you love yourself. Thanks, Prick (See, I’m still not there yet...).

Most importantly, I got to thank the most important person in this equation. The person who has been both a catalyst and the ultimate enabler… GOD. As my father taught me… “Allahu Akbar,” meaning God is the greatest :)

I still have my moments… Moments when I find myself missing him or feeling hurt by what he’s done... But, I’ve come to the realization that it’s going to take as long as it has to for my heart and ego to mend. And I’m ok with that. And more importantly, I’ve realized that living with pain, desire and sometimes doubt are all human emotions, given to us by God. And I embrace all that God has given me. What I’ve found is that it’s learning how to not let them consume you that we must learn to do. So, OK… So, I backslide sometimes… We all do… after all, we are human… But, it’s the ability to re-climb, climb and ascend even further, that makes heroes out of mere humans. I’m only three months in, sixteen more to go… I’m not even half-way there; but I have the joy in my heart lighting the path ahead of me.