In my last post, we had a moment. We honored her—the woman I used to be, the one who tried so hard to fit into a life that never truly fit her back. We talked about how I was finally stepping into my real self, reclaiming my desires, my voice, my power.
And one of the ways I’m honoring her?
By reestablishing my dating choices—or, let’s be real, questioning my own damn choices because somebody explain to me why I let this last situation drag on for as long as it did.
I mean, you ever block a man so fast, you damn near sprain your thumb? Like, it’s a knee-jerk reaction—muscle memory at this point?
Because that’s exactly what happened when this man, five whole days after my birthday, had the audacity, the gall, the absolute nerve to text me:
“You up?”
Sir, I’m up. I’m up and realizing you are the reason I need therapy.
And you know what? I’d been playing so dumb for so long. Ignoring red flags like they were suggestions instead of warnings. But something snapped in me that day.
And by snapped, I mean I blocked him so hard, I swear I heard a sound effect.
But let’s rewind, because the sex was good, and unfortunately, that’s part of the story.
Let’s Discuss My Bad Decisions
I knew I was settling. I knew this man had the emotional depth of a soggy paper towel. But did I leave? No. I signed up for extra credit.
Because the sex? The sex had me delusional.
Like, walking around my apartment smiling at my phone for no reason delusional.
Like, standing in the mirror hyping myself up after he left, thinking I had just unlocked some kind of goddess-level femininity delusional.
Like, fully composing a breakup text and then deleting it because the thought of not hearing him say ‘come here’ in that low voice made my knees weak delusional.
This man knew his strengths and STUCK to them.
Every time I was ready to walk away, he’d pull me back in with the absolute filthiest, most well-timed nonsense.
The deep, intense eye contact. The way he’d pause right before going down on me, just to smirk like he knew I was about to lose my entire mind. The way he’d laugh when I was trying to pretend I wasn’t about to fold like a cheap lawn chair.
It wasn’t fair.
It was immoral.
It was highly effective.
And I kept going back, knowing I was starving for something real but convincing myself that at least my body was getting fed.
My standards were negotiable and my spine was a rumor.
Until my birthday.
The Birthday That Broke the Spell
Now, I spent all week talking about my birthday.
How it was a big deal to me. How I was stepping into a new era, shedding the version of myself that settled. How I wanted to celebrate this transformation.
And this man? Oh, he was right there. Nodding along. Acting like he understood the assignment.
He even hinted at getting me a gift. A gift, girl.
Like, I was over here thinking—Okay, maybe he’s trying. Maybe he actually cares.
Narrator: He did not care.
Because my birthday came… and this man was nowhere to be found.
Not a text. Not a call. Not a single acknowledgment of the day I was literally born.
Nothing.
And you wanna know what makes it worse?
My friends couldn’t hang out either.
So there I was. Alone. On my birthday. Sitting in my apartment, eating my own birthday cake like I was the sad montage in a coming-of-age movie.
Pitiful.
And then?
FIVE. DAYS. LATER.
Like a damn jump scare in a horror movie—ding! My phone lights up.
And this man, this walking red flag, this emotional criminal, texts me like he hadn’t just vanished off the face of the earth.
No apology. No “Happy belated birthday.” No “I feel like trash, let me make it up to you.”
Just a straight-up, shameless booty call.
And when I didn’t respond? This man had the absolute audacity to hit me with:
“Did I miss my chance?”
Sir.
YOU MISSED A WHOLE ERA.
You missed character development. You missed growth. You missed the part where I finally woke up and realized I deserve more.
And that’s when my thumb moved before my brain even processed it.
BLOCKED.
Late Bloomer Chronicles: I Finally Had Something to Say
You wanna know the worst part?
Before this, I had spent years feeling like I had nothing to add to the “So, how’s your love life?” brunch conversations.
Because I was a late bloomer.
And being a late bloomer is humbling as hell.
You sit at brunch listening to your friends swap stories about romantic getaways, men paying their rent just for existing, full-blown relationship drama—and you’re just over here like:
“Sooo… I recently discovered I like oat milk lattes?”
It was like everyone had this secret formula for love and desire that I somehow never got access to.
So when I finally had something—even if it was just physical, even if it was barely meeting my emotional needs—I felt like I finally had a seat at the table.
I could sip my overpriced mimosa and say, “Well, there is this guy…” and suddenly, I was part of the club.
Even if that club was full of red flags and regret.
But looking back?
I see it for what it was.
I was settling for crumbs just to feel included.
Reclaiming My Time, My Heart, and My Body
So yeah, I blocked him.
But more importantly?
I blocked the version of me that tolerated this in the first place.
The one who stayed because the sex was good but left every encounter feeling a little emptier.
The one who let herself believe that bare minimum effort was better than nothing.
She’s gone.
Because I deserve more. And the fact that it took my own birthday gut-punching me into realizing that?
Tragic. Hilarious. Transformative.
So if you’ve ever found yourself settling, rationalizing, hoping someone would just care—
🚨 This is your sign. Block him. Block the old you. And don’t look back. 🚨
We are not doing this anymore.
Final Thoughts (aka the Post-Block Glow-Up)
Am I still questioning my own damn choices?
Yes. Absolutely. I’m a work in progress.
But you know what I do know?
✨ I’m choosing myself now.
✨ I’m not waiting for people to care anymore.
✨ I’m stepping out of the shadows, whether the world is ready or not.
And THAT? That feels like the best damn birthday gift I could’ve given myself.
Here’s to never begging for the bare minimum again.
And if you’re in the same boat?
Welcome aboard, sis. We’re thriving.
Leave a Reply
You must be logged in to post a comment.