I Was The Other Woman: Why I Didn't Want Him To Leave Her For Me
I felt empty inside. I always felt empty inside after we had been together, but this time the emptiness pooled into my heart like a black cascade of smoke before he even left the bed. Maybe I didn't love myself as much as I thought I did. Maybe it was all just a front to hide the afraid, disturbed little person that really lived inside of me.
He once told me I was like his little piano; dark and brooding, overdosed with sad, elegant beauty that kept him lost in the melodies I so often performed for him. He said my low, sultry, daunting chords haunted him. I took it as a compliment.
I knew I didn't love him. I was curious about him. I never quite understood how or why he always managed to worm his way into my most intimate places, but I knew it wasn't out of love. I did care about him deeply. I wanted the best for him. I wanted to see him prosper, fulfill all of his wild and crazy dreams no matter how extreme or silly they seemed to be.
I wanted him to be happy, and although it cost me my own sanity, I knew that in some way I brought him happiness; because I too was just as wild and crazy as he and his dreams.
He needed our long nights lost in too many glasses of wine and pillow whispers that should never have been said. He craved my attention, my ideas. He was captivated by my imagination and the imagery I provided with every word I spoke. I could make him see beyond the veil with the things I would say, and, although he'd never admit it, it was me who sparked the fire fueling him forward.
He needed that. He needed what he wasn't getting, and I was always willing to give it to him.
I was not the woman that texted his phone every hour on the hour. I never made him dinner. I wasn't checking his whereabouts or planning date nights every Friday. I never complained when we went weeks on end without seeing one another let alone speaking. I didn't need to know his friends, even though I'm sure they all knew me. I didn't expect anything from him. I was not the woman to ever curse his name and call him an asshole because he kept me up at night wondering about his secrets.
We weren't skipping down Broadway holding hands in the sunlight. We didn't get all dolled up to go to fancy dinners with overpriced menus and sommelier service. We didn't dance until the sun came up at sweaty dancehall clubs. We weren't planning baecations or visiting relatives in distant states. There were no gift exchanges on holidays. I don't think we've ever even wished each other a Merry Christmas.
We didn't do any of that, because I wasn't the woman he was supposed to do that with. I was the other woman, and I knew my place, despite however it made me feel on the inside. I was fun and as carefree as a warm California breeze in the middle of December. That's why he always came back to me. He could be himself with me.
There were no standards. No questions. It was all be and let be with me, and he needed that.
He told me he loved me once. I didn't believe him though. No one ever really loved the second option, or else they would have picked it first.
But hearing him say it entranced the she-devil that resided deep within me. Being with him only highlighted the darkness that had suffocated my innocence so many years ago, and how could that ever be love? Torture would have been a more appropriate description of what we both felt for each other.
Pure, cold, bloody torture.
I didn't want him to leave her for me. We'd never work as a real couple, and I knew that. Canoodling between the sheets at godforsaken hours of the night, we did that well. Laughing, playing, behaving as reckless as we wanted to, we excelled. But dating, being together exclusively... Well that was nothing more than a funny thought to me.
Although it crushed my pride and left me feeling deserted in a wasteland of wretchedness at times, I knew he made the right choice when he chose her. She was a quaint, demure, sweet girl. Tame. That was the perfect type of girl for him to spend the end of his days with. We never talked about her, but if we ever did, I would tell him she'd make a darling bride. I could tell that she loved him, and she would stick by his side no matter what. She believed in him, probably more than I ever could. And even if she did ever know about me, she knew that he'd never actually let her go to keep me.
I couldn't be kept.
For nearly a year, I allowed him to use up my body as his own personal little toy. I enjoyed the release. He was a stellar lover, and there were times I would have been willing to quit my day job just to f-ck him from sunrise to sunset. Climbing on top of him, feeling myself slide down on his sturdy, thick shaft and slowly rocking back and forth until the both of us exploded made me feel like a conqueror. The way he would pant and groan and squint his eyes every time he pounded deep into my womanhood, with my legs, smooth as silk, wrapped tightly around his body, made me feel like the giver of the Earth.
And every time he came, with beads of sweat falling from his forehead hotly piercing my skin, letting out that long sigh of aching absolution, I felt like a breaker of chains, a ruler, a god.
But as I lay there next to him in my bed, sex heavy in the air and sheets moist with our fluids, the shallow, sullen, gloominess would always start to creep in. He would stay the night, cuddle me even. But even that couldn't combat the hollow abyss filling me up as he wrapped his arms around me. I always snuggled up closer, as if I could unzip his skin and climb into his body, but that wouldn't get me any warmer. It never did.
A rational person would probably wonder why I didn't just stop, end things for once and for all, go about my life, and find someone who would value and recognize my worth. But I've never been a rational person. And sadly, for a long time the emptiness he left me with every time we were together felt better than the nothingness I often felt when we were apart.
Eventually, I walked away from our secret love affair. Not just because I knew it was wrong playing in the shadows of another woman's happily ever after, but because I could no longer stomach the vacancies I created in my own heart simply by entertaining him.
Despite the glamour I find in keeping secrets, I finally recognized that it was never really him that caused the emptiness. It was me allowing myself to be his second option, because I was already treating myself like the second option.
That's the interesting thing you learn about yourself when you're playing the other woman. No matter how much fun you're having or how enjoyable the ease and simplicity of a no-strings-attached relationship can be, there always comes a point when a woman is forced to think about what makes a man choose her for seconds when he already belongs to someone else. It forces you to take an internal look at yourself and ask the question:
Why am I even okay with this?
Why don't I want more?
Do I even deserve more?
My answers to that question left me feeling a lot more unfulfilled and confused than being with him ever did, and I started to realize that our story was never about what he wasn't getting that I knew I could provide. It was about what I wasn't providing for myself. It was about me being cool with tossing my feelings and emotions in the backseat all in the name of a good time and mean-girl giggles with the homies. It was all about me not putting in the time to patch up the holes in my heart left from my own past.
It was about me foolishly thinking that if I filled them with someone void of the same morals and self-respect, I wouldn't feel as bad.
When I finally stopped avoiding the root of the issue -- my behavior powered by resentment, insecurity and fear -- and took the time to investigate myself, my thoughts and my feelings, that's when I was finally able to break free from the emptiness that made me feel okay with being the other woman.
And that's the day I stopped being her.
He played his role and I played mine. I can't say what, if any, lasting impression I've made on him. But I do know the clarity and growth our time together imparted on my spirit. And for that alone I am grateful.
xoNecole is always looking for new voices and empowering stories to add to our platform. If you have an interesting story or personal essay that you'd love to share, we'd love to hear from you. Contact us at submissons@xonecole.com.
Featured image via Being Mary Jane/BET
ItGirl 100 Honors Black Women Who Create Culture & Put On For Their Cities
As they say, create the change you want to see in this world, besties. That’s why xoNecole linked up with Hyundai for the inaugural ItGirl 100 List, a celebration of 100 Genzennial women who aren’t afraid to pull up their own seats to the table. Across regions and industries, these women embody the essence of discovering self-value through purpose, honey! They're fierce, they’re ultra-creative, and we know they make their cities proud.
VIEW THE FULL ITGIRL 100 LIST HERE.
Don’t forget to also check out the ItGirl Directory, featuring 50 Black-woman-owned marketing and branding agencies, photographers and videographers, publicists, and more.
THE ITGIRL MEMO
I. An ItGirl puts on for her city and masters her self-worth through purpose.
II. An ItGirl celebrates all the things that make her unique.
III. An ItGirl empowers others to become the best versions of themselves.
IV. An ItGirl leads by example, inspiring others through her actions and integrity.
V. An ItGirl paves the way for authenticity and diversity in all aspects of life.
VI. An ItGirl uses the power of her voice to advocate for positive change in the world.
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What These Beauty Editors And Writers Learned About Beauty From Their Moms
Beauty editors are the heart of the industry. They work endlessly to provide us with inspiring stories and keep us up to date on beauty trends that help remind us we are that girl. However, before they were the trailblazers of the beauty industry, they were little girls inspired by their mothers’ beauty routines.
Watching them every morning as they put on their favorite lipstick and got ready for the day. Dreaming of the moment when they, too, could play in their mother's makeup bag and discover the secret behind the captivating beauty world.
Asia Milia Ware, Kayla Greaves, and Shauna Beni are three masterminds behind some of your favorite digital publications. They have pushed beauty trends and started groundbreaking conversations in the industry. Not only are they some of the most talented beauty writers and editors, but they are fabulous women who get it from their mamas!
We chatted with each of them to learn more about how their mothers have influenced their love for beauty.
Asia Milia Ware
Beauty and Fashion Writer, The Cut
Asia Milia Ware is a beauty and fashion force to be reckoned with. You can catch her on somebody's island in the latest fashion or at an occasional function with friends and a bold red lip. Ware’s infectious love for beauty and fashion started as a young girl watching her mom’s simple yet profound beauty routine. “My mom’s beauty routine was simple. She had her go-to Revlon red lipstick that doubled as a blush, followed by Amber Rose perfume oil, and she would do her nails,” says Ware. As Ware gained an admiration for beauty, she would turn her mother's sweet red lipstick kisses into blush. A mother’s love would soon birth the trajectory of Ware’s successful career in the beauty industry.
“It impacted me as a young girl because I saw how it made her feel. I saw the instant mood booster it was to apply her lipstick, and I saw how special she felt when she would go to the hair salon and be pampered instead of doing it herself,” she says. Seeing her mother’s confidence and happiness made Ware crave a similar feeling. Sneaking into her mother’s makeup bag and putting on lipstick became a thrill. That thrill soon turned into Ware tagging along to the nail salon with her aunts. “I saw Black women unapologetically indulging in themselves through beauty, and it was a community I couldn’t wait to be part of.”
Seeing women pour into themselves was pivotal for the way Ware would view self-love, but Ware’s most important lesson in beauty would be self-acceptance. “I was a rebel; if she [her mother] told me I didn't need certain makeup or weave, I would still want it. But, in hindsight, she was teaching me to love everything about myself without the enhancements,” says Ware. Living in a world where beauty can seem more important than who we are, learning to love our core can help enhance our self-confidence and view beauty as an accessory, not a necessity.
Kayla Greaves
Award-winning Beauty Journalist and former Beauty Editor at InStyle
“My mother was very big on beauty. I can’t remember when she ever went out without glam and a fit to match,” says Greaves. The apple doesn’t fall too far from the tree. Greaves is an award-winning journalist who challenges beauty norms while looking effortless in glam. Like her mother, she has a wash and roller set and well-manicured nails. “She had her weekly wash days, followed by doing her own roller set, and while under the dryer, she would be doing her mani/pedi. Many of my memories of her have become fuzzy, but as a little girl, I remember looking up to her and thinking she was the most beautiful woman on the planet,” says Greaves.
Like most little girls, Greaves enjoyed playing in her mother's closet and makeup. She fell into beauty as she tried on her mother's clothes and indulged in her makeup bag. “I always wanted my nails painted, my hair done, and begged her to put a little blush on my cheeks before we went out,” says Greaves. Her mother's passion for beauty was soon embedded in her daughter, who couldn’t wait to define beauty for herself.
As Greaves grew up, she unfortunately couldn’t bask in conversation about beauty with her mother. However, she’s adopted what she remembers of her mom into her routine. “she always had a simple makeup routine, and I've adopted that. My go-to look is a combo of mascara, a little highlighter, and a well-lined red or nude lip. Ironically, I have my mother's lips—maybe that's why they're my favorite feature.” Greaves' mother's love for beauty will forever be remembered and carried through her daughter's spirit.
Shauna Beni-Haynes
Shopping Editor, Teen Vogue
Shauna Beni-Haynes' beauty routines are filled with so much life. From pink hair to vibrant makeup and fashion looks, Haynes' love for beauty knows no bounds. Although Haynes’ relationship with beauty is larger than life, her mom always kept things simple. “All she needed was a classic red lip, red nails, and a big, voluminous blowout. That was her go-to beauty routine, and I love looking back at her pictures and seeing how beautiful she looked,” says Haynes.
Similar to Haynes, her mother created her own rules when it came to beauty. A bold red lip and voluminous hair deeply impacted Haynes at a time when most were doing the opposite. “In a time when the beauty standard was focused on long, straight, silky hair, I could rock my natural curls loud and proud, thanks to the confidence instilled from my mom's beauty routine,” says Haynes. Her mother’s courage became rooted in a lesson for Haynes to use the beauty features she already had, allowing her to embrace her full self.
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Featured image by Asia Milia Ware/Instagram