I Was Just Trying to Situate the Situationship… So How TF Did I End Up Married to Satan’s Sidekick?

 Let me just say this: some stories are meant to be cautionary tales, and baby, this one right here? You might want to grab a glass of wine, some popcorn, and maybe a neck brace, cause this ride got WHIPLASH written all over it.

See, it was never supposed to be a relationship. Nope. Not even close. It was a situationship. One of those “we’re just vibing” kinda things that somehow evolved into “I do”—and not even in a cute Hallmark classic movie type of way. More like a 1998 Lifetime movie meets Judge Judy kind of chaos. And before I knew it, I wasn’t just living in delusional hell—I had a whole forwarding address there.

I got caught up in a whirlwind of cheating, gaslighting, manipulation, and abuse. The kind that makes you question your sanity while folding the clothes of the man who tore up the last three outfits you bought because you dared to look like a person in public. And when he did “replace” them? Babyyyyy… it was giving clearance rack at a retirement home. One shirt he got me looked like it came with a matching AARP subscription and some Werther’s Originals. (Yep, them candies that the elders would have in church they would give us to shut up, when we started tripping.) All I was missing was the Velcro sandals with the little wedge for support!!! WTF?

That man didn’t know me. He knew of me and how to use my soft side against me, tear me down, And the worst of all? I let him. I was out here breaking my back, holding down my kids, and somehow still making sure he didn’t feel like the weakest link, when in reality… that man wasn’t even on the damn chain. He wouldn’t ‘ve passed the first quality check test, to make it to the producti0n area. ~Anyways, I’ll continue.

I wish I could say I walked away gracefully. But nah. It took my mom getting sick for me to finally wake up and realize there was nothing left to save here—except myself. I had already sacrificed enough. My peace. My joy. My security, My sense of self. Hell, my damn waistline!

I used to be bubbly, fun, and full of life. Next thing I knew, I was hiding from the world, filled with fear and anxiety. Lying to myself and everyone around me that I was okay. Meanwhile, I was living in a house that felt like a haunted museum with all my unhealed trauma. My past had started coming back to haunt me. I was always triggered, living in a state of survival.

But guess what? That part of the story isn’t the ending.

“Rising from the rubble of disrespect, like the baddest blinding phoenix you’ll ever see.”

Through God, therapy, tears, and an overdue glow-up, I found the strength to stop sleeping with the devil. (Respectfully.) I left—not perfectly, but powerfully. I chose myself and my kids. I chose freedom over fear, peace over pretending.

And now? Now I’m building again. Brick by red-hot brick. Every damn day! I’m becoming her again—and not just the old me, but the elevated, evolved, ain’t-taking-no-shit version. Fuck them red flags, the first yellow flag and I’m gone! We don’t have to discuss anything, I don’t want or need an explanation, we cool but I don’t want to talk or see you again. Deuces!

Glow-up energy:

“The version of me you tried to break is the version that buried you—in peace.”

So, for anyone out there in a situationship that you know damn well ain’t situation-ing in the right way… let this be your sign: if he’s not pouring into you, he’s draining you. And if he’s draining you? It’s time to be out. Period!

Because as for me?

Too be, or not? 
FUCK THAT. I’m outside.

– Mizz Ladi R3d 💋❤️



Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

When Love Starts to Feel Like a Trap: How to Leave Safely (and Smartly)

Let’s cut the fluff: if your relationship feels more like survival than love, it’s time we talk. Not in a “girl, just leave” kind of way—because we both know it’s not that simple. No, this is the real talk. The “we’re packing bags in silence and getting out without a scene” kind of talk.   So, let’s get focused. This post might not be cute, but it might just save your life—or someone else’s.   First of All, Let’s Talk About What is Abuse  What Abuse Actually Looks Like: It’s not always bruises. It’s not always yelling. Sometimes, it’s that sick feeling in your gut when they walk in. Sometimes, it’s control masked as love: “I just worry about you, that’s why I check your phone.” “You don’t need friends, you’ve got me.” “If you leave me, I’ll hurt myself.” ‘She’s Not Your Real Friend, She’ll Sleep with Me if I would Let Her.” “Where are you going Dressed Like That?” “You Need Me, I Am the Only One that cares about You,...
Read more

You Can’t Be the Prize and a Doormat—Pick a Side, Bae!

Image
Let’s get straight to it: you’re either the one getting chosen, or the one getting walked over like you owe somebody something and you never received the memo. You can’t play both positions- this ain’t a church play and you’re not double-casted in some Tyler Perry 20-min put together script. And I say all of that with love… but also with a couple of shots of Remy and my phone on Do Not Disturb because I don’t argue with delusion anymore. Welcome back to “Too be, or not ‘F*ck that, I’m outside,” where we prioritize self-worth, healthy boundaries, and knowing when it’s time to gracefully exit stage left with your peace—and your edges—intact. We already covered the basics in the first post: we’re not begging, we’re not chasing, and we’re definitely not settling for “potential.” Today, we’re taking it a step further. We’re talking about how to demand the respect you deserve without turning into a stressed-out version of yourself who’s crying in the bathroom at brunch with your girls be...
Read more

Welcome to “Too be, or not, ‘Fuck that, I’m Outside"

  Let’s just start with the truth: I’m not a therapist. I’m not Iyanla. I’m just someone who’s had enough situationships to write a few “Girl, You’re Stupid!” books, a spinoff movie series, and maybe a musical if you give me a drink or two with k. Michelle on the karaoke and me signing “You can’t Raise a Man” into the mic off key and high pitched. Who’s judging? This blog is for the romantically exhausted, the emotionally enlightened, and the folks who’ve ever stared at their phone like, “Did this fool just…?” Yes. Yes, he did. And we’re gonna talk about it. We’re diving into red flags so bright they need a hazard sign and you some Ray-Ban’s, green flags that don’t get enough credit, and the art of knowing your worth even when someone’s trying to downgrade you down like it’s a flea market. Because here’s the real tea: it’s not always about being boo’d up, sometimes it’s about being you’d up . Boundaries, baby. Self-respect. And knowing when to exit stage left before you sta...
Read more