When I was in my 20s, I used to date a firefighter. For the sake of his privacy, I'll call him Kevin. So, I'm apologizing now if, coincidentally, there really IS a local firefighter named Kevin who actually did any of the crap I'm about to describe below..."sorry bruh."
Anyway, I remember meeting him in some mall. And my, my, my that man was FINE! He was so "foyn" he could've been the ONLY man in the firefighter's calendar, holding that waterhose from January to December. Not to mention, he was very handsome and had a killer smile with twinkling eyes and the most beautiful, smooth deep brown skin.
So, we dated for a little while and I was still living at home with my parents. And I remember not always being comfortable with him because he would always try to get me to do things I didn't want to do. Mostly, he wanted to have sex in the house while my parents were home. Or he wanted to have sex in the parking lot when we'd make late-night runs to Whataburger. I never did oblige him and always managed to shrug him off of me, but I knew it wasn't supposed to be this way in a relationship.
But then his temper started to show. He'd get mad because I would stick to my guns and not have sex with him in inappropriate places. He'd call me names like "punk" and tell me I wasn't a "real woman" and then try to play it off like he was just teasing me. It crossed my mind VERY quickly that if my own father didn't show me that kind of anger, then this man had no right to bare his teeth at me for ANYTHING he believed I'd done wrong.
The bottom line was this: I had to get out of this so-called relationship.
God was talking to me on this one, but I didn't know it back then. I thought I just had a feeling. But now I know it was Divine Intervention. Something in my gut was telling me to let this man break up with me and to let him think it was HIS idea that we shouldn't be together anymore. Something inside of me said that if I broke it off with Kevin, it wouldn't be pretty and somehow...I'd pay.
So, I stopped answering all of his phone calls. Or, I cut our calls short. I showed up late to the movies. I didn't have much to say on the phone. I didn't compliment him and always managed to talk about myself. And eventually, I made him feel like I got too busy to be with him. And finally, it happened. Kevin broke it off with me.
I remember when he did it: It was on a Thursday night when "New York Undercover" was on. And lo and behold, this fool called during a commercial break. (Now that I think about it, maybe he was watching it, too!) He mumbled around for a moment, trying to justify what he was about to say to me. And all I could think was, "Please hurry up before my show comes back on." And he did! He was done by the time Malik Yoba's handsome, yet ashy lipped face was back on my television screen.
I never looked back.
And then one day, Kevin "came up" in conversation. A co-worker's new boyfriend had come to the office to pick her up. He, too, was a local firefighter. She then recalled that I'd dated a firefighter named Kevin. I corrected her to let her know we'd broken it off months ago. But her new beau knew exactly who she was talking about. The next words out of his mouth I will NEVER forget:
"Oh, you dated him a few months ago? Well, you're lucky because his last girlfriend just caught hell! They got in a fight and he tore up everything in her house! From what I hear, he hit her and she's pregnant. That fool's got an anger problem. But he's always been like that. You're lucky."
"No, I'm blessed," are the words that resonated in my 20-something mind.
Back then, all I knew in my naiveté was that being with Kevin didn't make me feel good or happy. It made me uncomfortable and I didn't look forward to seeing him at all. And I was so wet-behind-the-ears that I didn't even realize this man was an abuser. He'd started by trying to get me to do things I didn't want to do. Had I stayed with Kevin any longer, he would've abandoned taking hits to my ego and begun hitting my face. I'm sure of it.
(Note to readers: I respect that some of you LIKE to have sex in parking lots and while your parents/friends are in the next room. Honey, do what you do! Get yo freak on!! The point here is I DIDN'T WANT TO and the standards I established for myself were not respected.)
There's no room for abuse in love, or in life. I've never been spoken to that way again, and I've never been a psychologically or physically abused woman. Nor will I ever be. I'm really happy with the way God arranged my face and my body -- none of it needs rearranging, thank you!
I really do love and respect myself too much for that bull.
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