"Too be or not, "Fuck that, I'm Outside!!!"

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,...

So, boom—one day you wake up tired of being sick and fucking tired. Tired of crying in silence, tired of overgiving, underliving, and making excuses for people who wouldn’t flinch if you disappeared. Congratulations! You just entered your Rebirth Era—and guess what? Ain’t no going back, after this. Now let’s talk about it. Health First, Drama Last That glow-up you’re chasing? It starts from the inside. No more using wine as dinner, sis. Drink your water. Book the damn check-up. Start walking, stretching, or dancing in the mirror to Beyoncé (She’s the Motivation Queen!)—do whatever you need to get your blood moving and your energy back. Mental health check-in: If it costs you peace, it’s too expensive. That includes family, friends, and whoever you’re texting back out of boredom. Protect your mind like your Wi-Fi password—secure, strong, and not for everybody.   Emotional Level-Up: Boundaries Are Sexy You want peace? Set boundaries like you set your lash appointments—r...

  Ne wly Single and Completely Sexless: My Coochie is Crying Out to Me, but My Standards are Screaming “Hell Nah” Relationship Advice Nobody Asked For, but You Gon’ Get It Anyway   Let’s get this out the way: I’m newly single. Not “I’m sad, play Summer Walker” single—no, I’m “hide my phone, block his number, and stop listening to slow jams after dark” single. And on top of that, I’m not having sex. AT ALL! No Voluntarily. No Kind of. Just none! Now, before you nominate me for sainthood, let me be honest—this self-discipline shit is a ghetto hot mess. Nobody talks about how hard it is to go from consistent (even if it was inconsistently satisfying volunteer work-type) sex to… silence. Dry sheets. Dry phone. Dry life. My body looking at me, asking, “Girl, don’t you miss him, just a little?” And I be like, “No, I miss the regular d! There’s a difference.”   The Withdrawal is Real and Very Mean   See, people always warn you about heartbreak, but they neve...

  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 shi...

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...

  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...