For the first time in my life, I’m an ANGRY black woman.

I can tell you exactly how it happened. Long story short, I’ve always wanted to be married. 

Growing up in the black church, I remember being told as early as 12, “Your breasts are for your husband and your babies. Sex is amazing within the covenant of marriage. And you can swing from the chandeliers when you’re married.”

So what did I do? I became obsessed with marriage. I created a laser focus on marriage and chastity. Starting at age 16, I became a serial monogamist, trying to make relationships work with men (boys, really) who just weren’t good fits. Although I knew deep down that I was trying to fit a square peg into a round hole, I kept hammering down, twisting myself into pretzel shapes to make relationships work…because I wanted to be married…because I needed to resolve my sexuality as a human with my desire to be right with God – and marriage was the only way to do that (or so I thought).

Now, don’t get me wrong. These men were not bad. They were the church guys and good guys and nerds of the world. I believed that if we remained abstinent and saved ourselves, God would bless us with marriage.

It doesn’t work that way.

Enter anger’s first seed: confusion. Why wasn’t it working when I was doing as told, keeping my legs closed and being the “good girl” I had been instructed to be in church?

The truth was, being a “good person” may not make you a suitable partner. The church left out that lesson. These “good guys” struggled with depression, low drive, low self-esteem, and low accountability. But hey, no one is perfect, right? So to make up for their humanness, I did the emotional labor of endless late-night free girlfriend therapy sessions. I sent job postings. I encouraged and spoke life. I even went half on meals and outings – because that’s how you “hold a man down.” Yet still, no ring. Did I mention these men were unable to protect me? I remember three distinct occasions in which I was required to stand up for myself while my lil’ “boyfriend” stood to the side as a peer (or, in one case, a bitter baby mama) verbally attacked me.

Enter anger’s second seed: frustration. Deep down in my soul, I knew these were not the men I could create a family with. So I exited each of these relationships. I did it scared, but I did it.

Eventually, 35 rolled around, and the age is affectionately known as “the danger zone” in the manosphere.

I knew that if something didn’t change, I might never marry or have children. So I took a year off of dating to refocus on myself. I decided to create the life I had always wanted. I hired a dating coach to help me recondition my mindset. I studied hypergamy. I participated in boot camps on the art of charm. I did deep therapy work. I locked my hair and even started traveling the world.

This was the new me. She was thriving. She knew herself. She knew her strengths and weaknesses. She knew what she wanted and wasn’t afraid to honor it.

With renewed confidence, I decided to reenter the dating world. And let me tell you…at first, and it was fun! I managed to line up multiple dates in a week. I knew how to lock eyes with men. My social calendar was full, and I was dating men with resources and vision.

Marriage must be around the corner, right?

WRONG!

Enter my anger – fully planted, germinated, and watered over time – RAGE!

Unlike the “good guys,” these accomplished men had no struggles with low self-esteem. And why should they? Women are clamoring over them like ants on fallen fried chicken at a black southern cookout in the middle of the summer. THESE men barrel over the needs and want of the people around them, expecting the world to accommodate them. The idea of mutuality within a relationship does not exist in their world. THESE men expect a pat on the head for demonstrating values like honesty (not lying), fidelity (not cheating), and decency (not manipulating).

Meanwhile, THESE men are happy to tell anyone who will listen that they could “just pick” a wife If they wanted to. They boldly advance to try to attain your body with ZERO promises of security or commitment. These few black men want it all. And they are given it all simply for doing what black women have been doing in masses…taking care of themselves and being productive world citizens.

Unlike the “good guys,” who may not be able to care for themselves (or their partners) financially or emotionally, these men can offer security. Yet, they, too, make terrible partners (if they even desire partnership at all). These men are narcissists, convinced that they are God’s gift and should be treated as such. Whether they are partnered or not, they will prioritize themselves and their interests, while you and your needs are lucky to get a close third. These men are providers, but they are terrible partners.

So I’m mad as hell.

I can spend money to work on my look. I can work to be fit. I can spend thousands on hiring dating coaches. I can go to therapy. I can set boundaries. I can love myself profoundly and even be wildly happy with my life (happy girls are the prettiest girls, right?), yet contrary to the advice of millionaire dating gurus, none of it will be enough to bring me a good partner.

Well, you know what? Keep your sorry partnership. I don’t want it if kindness, care, humility, and accountability are too much to ask.

Perhaps the problem is not me at all, or black women for that matter.

Perhaps we don’t need to love ourselves more or learn to be alone.

Perhaps we don’t need to learn to be more feminine, fit, and friendly. 

Perhaps we don’t need to figure out how to “live our best lives” so love will come,

Perhaps the problem isn’t us at all!

We are trying to function in a system designed for our collective failure. We are attempting to partner with men who are crushed under the weight of patriarchy, racism, and capitalism and therefore believe that finances, status, coochies accumulated, and proximity to whiteness are the measure of one’s worth and value. The majority haven’t the slightest idea on how to truly love themselves, let alone how to be loving partners in a non-transactional relationship.

Yet, the blame is placed on the black woman, and that shit is infuriating.

Today, I’m choosing to see past it all. I’m choosing to see that the fantasy of romantic love is just that – a fantasy.  I’m discovering that true love is not a feeling, but actions of sacrifice, compromise, and service extended over time. Rather than placing it as a necessary measure of my sanctity and womanhood, I’m taking marriage off the pedestal. It has been demoted to a simple and logical choice that will be made IF (big IF) I encounter a man who is a suitable partner.   As I refuse to be miserable for the sake of being partnered, I choose to see the beauty of singleness. In the words of Maya Angelou, “it’s never lonesome in Babylon.”

So, contrary to their predictions and attempted jabs about me dying alone with my cats, I will die surrounded by the love of the community I’ve already built. It’s a community of family, friends, god-children, possibly adopted children, churches, and organizations. I will have a love of God, a love of self, AND a love of others. I will lack nothing, regardless of the presence of a male…and I know that burns them up. I guess we will all burn with rage!

*This essay was written in February of 2022.   I am no longer filled with rage!*