I Broke Up With My Boyfriend And A Year Later He Became The Love Of My Life
It was four years after we began dating. I gave him 30 days to leave.
We shared a two-bedroom apartment together with our two dogs and had unofficially but mutually agreed to share our lives together. Only, I was unhappy.
My unhappiness began to grow into resentment. Like every couple, we had been through our share of ups and downs and had plenty of arguments and bruised egos to show for it. This time was different and my decision to leave was sporadic – almost as if I had woke up one morning and my inner conscience said, "Kim, today you have to take control of your life."
That was the day I walked my dog to the leasing office and handed over a 30-Day Notice to Vacate. I cried to my sister near the same oak tree that he and I carved our names when we moved there. I wiped my tears as my sister said, "Rest in your decision Kimberly, be sad, but don't stay there... Pick yourself up and move forward."
And, so I did.
My dog and I walked back to my apartment with dry eyes and a sense of peace that didn't exist in a relationship where I constantly ignored my wants and needs to please the man I was with. Prior to that day, I was in a relationship where the things that made me happy were mocked and ridiculed. "Why should I take you on a date? No man really wants to go on a date," he would say. "Why do you want to celebrate your birthday? You are near 30, grow up," he laughed.
He never kissed me and blamed it on his lack of affection from his mother, but I needed to be kissed. He never told me that he loved me and said that I should know that, but I needed to hear it. It always saddened me to hear my desires mocked. I truly liked the idea of dating the man that I loved for the rest of my life. I truly loved my birthdays even if I was closing in on 30. I loved to be kissed and I needed affirmations. I was good at voicing my wants, but I wasn't so good at moving towards them. Instead, I began to convince myself that they weren't a big deal. "At least I have man that doesn't cheat," or "He loves me, so I can do without those things."
I remember being sad at every family function or social event when I was always seen as the "single" girl even though I was in a relationship. I was too ashamed to tell my family and friends that my man refused to come out with me so I covered for him and, in turn, buried my true feelings under the perception of perfection.
I look back and I see that hurt and infidelity in past relationships triggered my desire to hold on to Mr. Good Enough in fear of subjecting myself to that same hurt and loneliness. He isn't right for me, but he is better than them.
But one day I realized that just because Mr. Right Now isn't as bad as the guys before him does not mean he isn't bad. He didn't cheat on me or curse me out like those other guys, but at the same time, he was not delivering love and affection to me in a way that I could recognize it. He failed at all of the things that I considered necessary in a relationship with a life partner. I decided that I didn't want to waste another second unhappy in this relationship and I convinced myself that the end result would be: one, him evolving enough to open his heart to fulfill my needs or, two, I would find someone else that would be more than happy to have me. I would be happy either way.
So I waited.
Two hours after the submission of my notice to vacate, he came home and I told him, "You have 30 days to pack your things and find another place to live. I love you but I've decided to love me more. You've made it very clear that you are happy with the way things are in the relationship. I've been feeling like a single woman with a roommate and, for me, that is not love. So... you have 30 days before the lease is up and my things will be gone by the end of the week."
And they were.
I moved into a one bedroom apartment with one of the dogs. I found a new job so that I could cover my solo bills. I bought a car and for a while, I endured and ignored his anger voicemails and texts until he eventually stopped calling. Though they hurt and I missed him, I shifted my focus from him to me and began to reconnect with the things that I loved. Family. Friends. Fitness. Fun. I began to meditate and reconnect with my spirituality. I had even opened myself to the idea of starting to date. It was the happiest I had been a very long time. I was alone but not once did I feel lonely.
Nearly a year passed.
I hadn't spoken to him. I needed to completely disassociate myself from him in order to focus on me. I wanted him and me to grow separately. I knew that when the right time presented itself, I would reconnect with him and his growth (or lack of growth) would become apparent and my newfound inner strength would move me toward (or away from) him.
Time continued to move forward.
When the phone calls began to fall off, my desire to reach out to him increased, and I could feel the anger and resentment leave me, but I still kept my distance. Previously, I had always been the fixer of the relationship, the one to initiate conversation or brush off disappointment in an effort to avoid an argument. I knew that if change was going to happen it needed to be as a result of his pursuit of me.
I was always in control of the relationship and this time I wanted to relinquish all control.
When he did call, my voicemail greeted him graciously. If he wrote, my reply was brief and amiable. He even appeared at my home wanting to enter, I declined tactfully. The message I wanted him to receive is I don't hate you, there is no anger, and I wish you a world of happiness, but please allow me space to move on. Silence is so powerful.
Being pleasant paired with that silence is even more powerful but this was no plot to play a game, I simply had no words for him and I was too emotionally connected to him to hold strong to the non-negotiables that I had set for myself so I could not let him in my space. But I knew that one day the words would come and I would have the strength to speak with no remorse or regret.
And, that one day came.
11 months, 47 voicemails, and about 100 missed calls later, I decided to take his call. The very first thing he said to me was, "Will you allow me to take you to dinner?"
That was the start of something new but this wasn't the man I knew. I went to that dinner with an open heart and open ears. I remember looking at him and seeing the man that I fell in love with and if the tears that I held back had a voice, they would scream, “How did we get here?"
That night he talked. I listened. I smiled. He kissed me. He said to me, "I didn't know how to show you love. It made me uncomfortable to be vulnerable. When you left you took a piece of me with you and I can't imagine a life without you."
I exhaled and he continued, “I'm not perfect. I've never been in a relationship this deep but I do know that I want to be the man that you want me to be and over the past few months, I've figured out how to love myself and control my anger so that I can give you the love that you need. All I need is a little help."
That was all I needed to hear.
A desire to do better was a compromise that I was willing to accept. We committed to frequent date nights. We signed up for couple's therapy. We began to pray together. We listened to personal development podcasts together and read books at night. For nearly 16 months, we completely eliminated sex from our relationship.
This was the first time that I realized that growth and personal development have to be intentional. People mistakenly assume that it will just come to you with time but it needs to be a deliberate action.
We were students of each other, willing to communicate and adapt for one another. Even our arguments were different. Before the breakup, he had a bad habit of dismissing my feelings and I had a bad habit of withdrawing or walking away during confrontation, but now he practiced empathy and I vowed to stay through resolution.
Those first months after we rekindled were followed by months of conscious effort to learn one another and he began to deliver love in a way that I could recognize it. He frequently kissed me, touched my face, held my hands, and affirmed his love for me. He was present.
The next 36 months were blissful. There were still ups and downs, but the ride was much smoother with both of us balancing and guiding each other. This time I didn't feel like I was in it alone.
I can honestly say that I learned more about him and him about me during the first year after we rekindled than the first 4 years prior to the breakup.
A relationship of any kind requires one to pour out and into another person, like a vessel of water into a bed of flowers to help it grow. That vessel will eventually become empty if it is not consistently refilled. I was that vessel that had become empty with nothing left to give.
Until now.
He finally began to pour back into me the love and adoration that I had been pouring into him.
We were finally together.
Two broken people found a way to stand strong on their own and became whole individually, which led to a healthier, happier union. Today, we are proud parents of a one year old baby boy and happy in a balanced relationship where we both strive to serve each other.
...All because I shifted my focus to that which made me happy and had the strength to walk away.
Kimberly Fleming is an author, speaker, and self-proclaimed motivator. Her life's mission is to encourage people to be the best versions of themselves while presently choosing happiness at each stage of their journey. Her work lives on her personal writing stage, graylove.com and on Instagram/Twitter @iam_KIMf.
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
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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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It’s been nearly twenty years since India.Arie’s crown anthem, “I am not my hair,” gave Black women an affirmation to live by. What followed was a natural hair revolution that birthed a new level of self-love and acceptance. Concerns around how to better care for our hair birthed an entire new generation of entrepreneurs who benefitted from the power of the Black dollar. Retailers made room for product lines made for us, by us, on their shelves, and we further affirmed that though our hair doesn’t define us, it is part of our unique self-expression.
Today, that movement has turned into a wig uprising where Black women are able to experiment with colors, styles, and more without causing irreparable damage to our hair. It could even be said that we’ve arrived at a new level of acceptance: one that does not equate love of oneself to one’s willingness or lack thereof to wear her hair the way others deem acceptable. Not even other people who look like us.
However, as with Blackness itself, the issue of Black women’s hair is layered.
On the surface, it’s nothing more than a matter of personal preference. However, in a deeper dive, issues of texture, curl pattern, and of course, proximity to social acceptance, as well as other runoff streams from the waters of racism and patriarchy, rear their heads. The natural hair movement, though a wide-reaching and liberating community builder, also gave way to colorism and often upheld mainstream beauty standards.
Sometimes, favoring lighter-skinned influencers/creators with very specific hair textures, the white gaze leaked into our safe space and forced us to reckon with it. Accurate representations of natural hair in various states of being—undefined curls, kinks, and unlaid edges—are still absent from brand marketing. Protective styles, though intended to provide breaks from styling for our sensitive hair, have become a mask to help our hair be more palatable. A figurative straddle of the fence in order to appease the comfort of others in the face of our hair’s power.
And then there’s the issue of length.
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As a woman who has spent much of the last decade voluntarily wearing her hair in many variations of short hairstyles, from a pixie cut to a curly fro and a sleek bob, what I’ve gleaned throughout the years is that there is a glaring difference between how I am treated when wearing my hair short than when I opt for weaves, extensions or even grow it out slightly longer than my chin.
The differential treatment comes from women and men alike and spans professional and personal settings, including friends, coworkers, and industry peers.
What has become abundantly clear is that long hair is often conflated with beauty, softness, and any number of other words we relate to femininity in a way that short hair is not. That perceived marker of the essence of womanhood shows up in how I am received, communicated with, and complimented.
Even more so than texture, length has a way of deciding who among us is deserving of our attention, affection, and adoration. Whether naturally grown or proudly bought, the commentary around someone’s look or image greatly shifts when “inches” are present.
When it comes to long hair, we really, really do care.
In an effort to understand whether I had simply been misinterpreting the energy around my hair, I decided to take my findings to social media. I began with two side-by-side photos of myself. In both pictures, my hair is straightened; however, in one, I am wearing my signature pixie cut, and in the other, I am wearing extensions.
I posited that treatment based on hair length is a real thing, and what followed was confirmation that I was not alone in my feelings. “Long hair, like light skin, button noses, and being thin are all forms of social capital,” one user commented. “Some Black women enforce the status quo too, why wouldn’t we?”
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This also brought to mind the many times celebrity women (like most recently Beyoncé's Cécred hair tutorial) have done big reveals of their own natural tresses in an attempt to silence any doubt that Black women are able to grow their hair beyond a certain length. Of course, we all know that to be true, so why do we still feel the need to prove it so?
The responses continued to pour in from women of all skin tones, who felt that hair length played a role in people’s treatment of them. “When I have short hair I always feel like people don’t treat me like a woman, they treat me like a kid,” another user commented. “When my hair is long I get a lot more respect for some reason.”
From revelations about feeling invisible to admitted shifts in their own perceived beauty, Black woman after Black woman poured out her experience as it relates to hair length. Though affirmed by their shared realities, knowing that reactions to something so trivial have become yet another hair battle for Black women to fight was disheartening. Though we continue to defy gravity and push the bounds of imagination and creativity by way of our strands, will it always be in response to the idea that we are, somehow, falling short?
Unlike more obvious instances of hair discrimination, the glorification of longer length is sneakier in its connection to Eurocentric beauty standards. Hair commercials, beauty ads, and even hip-hop music have long celebrated the idea of gloriously long tresses while holding onto the ignorant notion that it is inaccessible for Black women.
Even as we continue to fight to prove our hair professional, elegant, and worthy in its natural state to the world at large, we’ve also adopted harmful value markers of our own as a community. It’s evident in how we talk about who has the right to start a haircare line and which influencers we easily platform. It’s evident in the language we use to identify those with long hair versus short hair. And it’s painfully obvious in how we treat one another.
It makes me wonder if India.Arie’s brave rallying cry, almost two decades old in its existence, will ever actually hold true for us. Or will we just continue to invent new ways to uphold the harmful status quo?
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Feature image by Willie B. Thomas/ Getty Images