

All I hear about these days is how glorified being a "ride or die" is. She is considered a top shelf standard partner that every woman should strive to be. No matter what happens, how much she has to sacrifice, or how much she is put through, her continuing to ride is the gold standard.
But the thing about being a ride or die is a part of you will actually die. Even if the rest of you rides.
Essentially, I am the same woman I was when I started out, however, I am definitely a different woman on the inside. The human being that I was, is gone forever. Somewhere between the call I received from another woman from his phone number, and the child he had outside of our marriage with a totally different woman six years later, I lost myself.
The woman that I was, is buried with the son that I lost.
Hindsight is always 20/20. You're always going to look back and chastise yourself for the mistakes you made and every time you were weak. Hell, there were so many weak moments that I lost count.
There were the times I saw other women driving my car. Then, of course, all of the calls, emails, and pictures that were sent to me by other women that showed him smiling and happy with them, even though I couldn't get him to pose in a picture with me. By the end, I was out of tears. I was used to the disrespect, the lies, and the loneliness. I had stopped being the woman I once was, and he had stopped being the man I fell in love with. The two of us were mere shadows of ourselves, broken bones in human skin. We were hopelessly entangled in something we called love, but at the bare minimum, was tolerance.
When I think back, I can count all of the opportunities that I chose to forfeit. I met men who were willing to risk it all for a taste of me. Men who wanted to make me part of their lives and who they were willing to take me home to their mothers. I wasn't a secret to them, I was a prize being squandered by a fool.
Turning them down felt like a knife I was turning into my own stomach, even if it was the "right" thing to do. After all, I was married and wanted it to work. Then I'd log on to Facebook a few months later and see that same man happily boo'd up with a woman who was smart enough to say yes. A woman who I knew benefitted from the fact that I said no. His heart was ready to love me, but because I wasn't ready to be loved, it instead was poured into someone else. I'd tell myself that I was happy for him, as I looked at the once again empty space in the bed next to me. "Happy." Sure.
I held on for the sake of holding. Where else was I going to go? I'd ask myself. I became a paragon of virtue: the patron saint of riding and dying. Women in my life, from best friends to acquaintances, would text me, DM me, email me, pull me to the side and say, "Teach me how to stay. You are such a good wife, you value your marriage and stand by your husband no matter what. Teach me your way."
And I'd wince as if they'd slapped me. It was as though they were telling me to stick my head into a tank full of snakes. I'd swallow hard, take a deep breath, smile, and then honor their request. I would teach them to be quiet and turn their heads the other way for the sake of not being photographed together. I'd tell them how I knew in my gut that I was doing the right thing and because I loved him so much, there was nothing he could do that would make me leave.
But I felt like I was betraying them. Lying to them. Putting them up to be fools like me: riding and dying until the wheels fell off, and then running the rest of the way. I wanted to tell them to run in the other direction as fast as they could, that he was never going to change, and that the only result of this would be crashing and burning. I knew this because I had the scars to prove it.
Still, I told them to stay, and most of them did. I envied the ones who found the courage to move on, that was until I ended up becoming one of them.
It took 12 years until I finally decided I was done riding. Done dying.
That shit wasn't cute as a teenager or in my 20's, but by my 30's, it was intolerable. Love was no longer enough. I realized that love is not all we need to get by.
As the mother of two daughters, it took seeing them shaking their heads in pity at me for me to finally wake up and say no, this is it. What kind of example am I setting by letting someone, even if it is their father, even if it is someone I tried to ride for, even if it was the man I was with since I was 19, make me look and feel like a damn fool whenever he felt like it? What does love have to do with self-respect, self-worth, and setting examples for those looking to us for guidance? Nothing.
I try to remind myself that this is in the past. I know I cannot live there. Did I make mistakes? Yes. I still do. Life is all about making mistakes, but growth means not making the same ones repeatedly. You know what they say about hard heads? They make soft asses.
I've gotten my bruises and moved forward. What I did or why I did it is no longer important. I am here today, and know that it could all be gone tomorrow. I'm learning to value life and time, starting with my own.
You have to be willing to learn from the past so that you don't repeat it. Learn to establish boundaries. Love and value yourself so that you're not putting yourself on sale for the next man that window shops in your direction.
You are top shelf. If he's not willing to reach up there and get to you, then tell him to keep it moving. You don't have the time. Own your time, heart, and mind. Your inner peace is more important than merely existing to be loved by someone who doesn't know your worth.
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Adrian Marcel On Purpose, Sacrifice, And The 'Signs Of Life'
In this week's episode of xoMAN, host Kiara Walker talked with R&B artist Adrian Marcel, who opened up, full of heart and authenticity, about his personal evolution. He discussed his days transitioning from a young Bay Area singer on the come-up to becoming a grounded husband and father of four.
With honesty and introspection, Marcel reflected on how life, love, and loss have shaped the man he is today.
On ‘Life’s Subtle Signals’
Much of the conversation centered around purpose, sacrifice, and listening to life’s subtle signals. “I think that you really have to pay attention to the signs of life,” Marcel said. “Because as much as we need to make money, we are not necessarily on this Earth for that sole purpose, you know what I mean?” While he acknowledged his ambitions, adding, “that is not me saying at all I’m not trying to ball out,” he emphasized that fulfillment goes deeper.
“We are here to be happy. We are here [to] fulfill a purpose that we are put on here for.”
On Passion vs. Survival
Adrian spoke candidly about the tension between passion and survival, describing how hardship can sometimes point us away from misaligned paths. “If you find it’s constantly hurting you… that’s telling you something. That’s telling you that you’re going outside of your purpose.”
Marcel’s path hasn’t been without detours. A promising athlete in his youth, he recalled, “Early on in my career, I was still doing sports… I was good… I had a scholarship.” An injury changed everything. “My femur broke. Hence why I always say, you know, I’m gonna keep you hip like a femur.” After the injury, he pivoted to explore other careers, including teaching and corporate jobs.
“It just did not get me—even with any success that happened in anything—those times, back then, I was so unhappy. And you know, to a different degree. Like not just like, ‘I really want to be a singer so that’s why I’m unhappy.’ Nah, it was like, it was not fulfilling me in any form or fashion.”
On Connection Between Pursuing Music & Fatherhood
He recalled performing old-school songs at age 12 to impress girls, then his father challenged him: “You can lie to these girls all you want, but you're really just lying to yourself. You ain't growing.” That push led him to the piano—and eventually, to his truth. “Music is my love,” Marcel affirmed. “I wouldn’t be a happy husband if I was here trying to do anything else just to appease her [his wife].”
Want more real talk from xoMAN? Catch the full audio episodes every Tuesday on Spotify and Apple Podcasts, and don’t miss the full video drops every Wednesday on YouTube. Hit follow, subscribe, and stay tapped in.
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You Don’t Have To Choose: How Black Women Can Care For Others Without Self-Sacrifice
One of the primary instructions we receive before a flight takes off is to prioritize putting on your life vest first if there’s an emergency, even before assisting others. It’s funny how this rule rarely translates to the daily routine of women.
As women we are taught, directly and indirectly, to put others first. Whether it’s our romantic partners, kids, parents, friends, or even our jobs. Mental health survivor and founder of Sista Afya Community Care, Camesha Jones-Brandon is challenging that narrative by using her platform to advocate for Black women and their right to self-care.
Camesha created the organization after her struggles with mental health and the lack of community she experienced. The Chicago native explains how she created Sista Afya to be rooted in “culturally grounded care.”
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“So at my organization, Sista Afya Community Care, we focus on providing mental health care through a cultural and gender lens,” she tells xoNecole. “So when we think about the term intersectionality, coined by Kimberlé Crenshaw, we think about the multiple identities that lead to certain experiences and outcomes as it relates to Black women.
“So in the context of culturally grounded care, being aware of the cultural history, the cultural values, and then also the current issues that impact mental health outcomes.”
Words like “strong” and “independent” have long been associated with Black women for some time and many of us have begun to embrace the soft life and are using rest as a form of resistance. However, some of us still struggle with putting ourselves first and overall shedding the tainted image of the “strong, Black woman” that had been forced on us.
Camesha shares that while there’s more and more communities being created around empowerment and shared interests like running, she still questions, “are Black women really comfortable with being vulnerable about sharing their experiences?”
Being vulnerable with ourselves and others play an important role in healing the instinctive nature of always being “on” for everyone. “I'm currently facilitating a group on high functioning depression, and yesterday, we talked about how when Black women may be struggling or have shared their concerns with other people. They may be minimized, or they're told to just be strong, or it's not so bad, or I went through something worse back in Jim Crow era, so you should be thankful,” she explains.
“So I think there's a challenge with Black women being able to be honest, to be vulnerable and to receive the support that they need in the same capacity as how much they give support to other people. So that is probably a very common theme. I think we've made a lot of progress when we talk about the superwoman syndrome, the mammy stereotype, the working hard stereotype, the nurturing stereotype. I think we're beginning to unpack those things, but I still see that we have definitely a long way to go in that area.”
I think there's a challenge with Black women being able to be honest, to be vulnerable and to receive the support that they need in the same capacity as how much they give support to other people.
Roman Samborskyi/ Shutterstock
While we’re unpacking those things, we know that we’re still women at the end of the day. So as we continue to serve in various roles like mothers, daughters, sisters, and caretakers, we have to make caring for ourselves a priority. Camesha reveals four ways we can still care for others without abandoning ourselves.
Trust
First things first, trust. Camesha explains, “Some of the burdens that Black women have can be linked to not feeling like you can trust people to carry the load with you.
“It's hard because people experience trauma or being let down or different experiences, but one of the things that I found personally is the more that I'm able to practice trust, the more I'm able to get my needs met. Then, to also show up as my best to care for other Black women.”
Know Your Limitations
Another thing Camesha highlighted is Black women knowing their limitations. “The other thing that I would like to bring up in terms of a way to care for yourself is to really know your limitations, or know how much you can give and what you need to receive,” she says.
“So often, what I see with Black women is giving, giving, giving, giving, giving to the point that you're not feeling well, and then not receiving what you need in return to be able to feel well and whole individually. So I really think it's important to know your limitations and know your capacity and to identify what it is that you need to be well.”
Don’t Take On A Lot Of Responsibilities
Next on the list is not taking on so many responsibilities, sharing herself as an example. “The other thing is taking on too much responsibility, especially in a time of vulnerability.
“One thing that I personally struggled with was being so passionate about community mental health for Black women, and saying yes to everything and taking on so much responsibility,” she reveals. “That affected me to do well in serving Black women and then also impacting my own well being.”
Practice Self-Care
Lastly, she notes the importance of practicing self-care. “The last thing is really practicing regular self care, regular community care, so that it's embedded into your daily life. So for me, having prepared meals, going to the gym, getting eight hours of sleep, spending time with friends and family, all of those things are part of my self care that keep me at my best,” she explains.
“Then community care, leaning into social networks or social groups, or spending time with other interests or hobbies. That's a part of my community care that keeps me going, so that I can take care of my needs, but also to be able to show up best in care for others.”
Find out more about Camesha and Sista Afya Community Care at communitycare.sistaafya.com.
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