You get pregnant and the man leaves you. 👀
Society calls YOU a whore.
Calls the baby a bastard. 😭
But somehow there’s never a shameful name for the man who walked away.
Being able to call and depend on a man is a flex. I mean yes I can absolutely handle things on my own but just knowing my life is a little easier because I'm supported and someone always has my back is top tier to me🥺
Yall my cousin had an abórtion like two months ago and my granny found out about it, we sitting in the living room my cousin said she got a bad headache my granny gone say “that’s that dâmn baby knóckin you upside the héád for what you did” LMFAOOOOOOOOOO
The money I spend returns to me tenfold
The money I spend returns to me tenfold
The money I spend returns to me tenfold
The money I spend returns to me tenfold
The money I spend returns to me tenfold
The money I spend returns to me tenfold
The money I spend returns to me tenfold
To the black men & women who want to make an announcement about how they refuse to deal with black men or women: we understand that you’re hurt, & want to express it but we simply don’t care. You can keep it to yourself & stop trying to seek attention
If you ended a relationship and realized they didn't go looking for another person, didn't go out partying, but instead started running, training, taking care of themselves, and distancing themselves from everyone so they could overcome themselves... I'm sorry to tell you that they truly did love you.
And I'm sorry to say you let a very good person slip away, one you won't find again... not even in another lifetime.
This girl said,The day I had my abortion, I was throwing up with morning sickness and my (ex)husband, from the couch in the next room, sighs loudly. With my head in the toilet, I ask what’s wrong. He says “I’m just tired of your bodily noises.” There’s absolutely no way you can tell me that the child I was carrying would have been better off if they had been born.
I almost died giving birth to our daughter.
Forty-two hours of labor. Emergency C-section. I remember the cold of the operating room and the way the doctors wouldn’t meet my eyes. They said if we had waited another hour, one of us wouldn’t have made it.
I woke up stitched, shaking, numb from the chest down.
He didn’t hold my hand. He didn’t cry. He just asked the doctor if the scar would be “permanent.”
When we got home, I could barely walk. I couldn’t laugh without pain shooting through my stomach. I needed help sitting up. He complained that the house was messy. Said maternity leave wasn’t a vacation.
Two weeks postpartum, he stood over me while I was trying to latch the baby and said, “You know women are supposed to give birth naturally. My mom did.”
I thought he was joking.
He wasn’t.
One night I overheard him on the phone with his brother saying, “She didn’t even give birth properly. They just cut her open.”
Cut her open.
Like I wasn’t split in half to bring his child into this world.
When I finally looked at my scar in the mirror, still swollen and purple, I didn’t see weakness. I saw survival. But every time he looked at me, I saw disappointment.
Then it got worse.
He stopped touching me. Started going to the gym every night. Said he “needed a woman who takes care of herself.” I was still bleeding. Still leaking milk. Still waking up every two hours.
One evening he tossed a waist trainer onto the bed and said, “You should start fixing it before it’s too late.”
I asked him what “it” was.
He pointed at my stomach.
I slept in the nursery that night. Not because the baby cried. Because I did.
Now he tells people I’ve “changed” since having the baby. That I’m emotional. That I don’t try anymore.
I almost died. I gave him a daughter. I carry a scar that aches when it rains.
And somehow I’m the one who failed.
I don’t know who I married. I don’t know how to leave. But I know this can’t be what love looks like.