So, by my thirties I had to accept that a “difficult” Black woman was either going to be single or going to settle for a remnant a piece of man; his body, perhaps or his wallet. But not his heart, his strong back, his fully attentive mind. In other words, a man who didn’t really love me so wasn’t fully present. I’d said no to the broom, the welfare line, the jail cell and the coffin that world had in Store for Black girls like me, but I am most proud of my refusal to consent to a remnant of a marriage.

Positively Purging-I welcome your feedbacks in the comments and your likes and passing the real life wisdom on to others as I embark on this new venture of “positively purging“, as I know each of these pieces represents something…