A couple of years ago I went on a One Love Women's Retreat to Jamaica with about nine dynamic sisters. We stayed five days in St. Ann Parish. Daily, reggae music and the smell of Jamaican cuisine wafted through the air. The lush, expansive grounds of the beautiful, rustic and simply adorned retreat lodge was soothing to the soul, the local food, prepared by two Jamaican women who knew their way around a stove, was to live for. We were in heaven.
Every day we ventured out for a taste of Jamaica. One day we jet skied on the beach. Another day we climbed Dunn's River Falls. I did it barefooted. Yeah, I was showing off. Plus, I wanted to see what I was made of, to see if all the exercising I do was paying dividends.
It was, however, our trek all the way across the island to St. Mary Parish that inspired this blog. Partially inspired it, since I have more observations like this. Uh, well, we didn't actually trek, but were driven by Fredrick of Fred Juta Tours Jamaica. There we were in more mountains, staying in the sweetest little, pastel pink walled hotel built right on top of a rushing river, scrumptious delicious food, and a throng of Jamaican men waiting outside to serve us. Yep, the closest thing to heaven that I can think of...at least in those moments.
A tiny bit of back story. I'd been working on my second book about breakups. Just as significantly, I'd been self-examining, to see where I was getting in my own way re: my intimate relationships with men. One or two men told me I sometimes talk too much and thus listen too little. I'd been told I can be argumentative and difficult. Yep, too often I needed to have the last word. Though I embrace my strength, there have been times when I wanted nothing more than to be soft and sweet and let my man be the strong one. But thanks to my well-meaning mother, who told her daughters to "never let 'em ('em being men) see you cry," most often I'd act like a man when inside I was feeling like a baby. A baby that needed to cry and be consoled and comforted by her man.
Thank goodness, I'm learning some things...and unlearning other stuff.
Well, let's get on back to Jamaica. So, there we were the next morning, refreshed, in our bikinis and bathing suits, towels in hands, ready to be escorted up the mountain so we could get ourselves a proper massage in the amazing hot springs of Jamaica. Like I said, we were in heaven. I say "proper" because allegedly the hotel offered massages and hot spring baths in their sterile, concrete stalls. But if you ever venture on down yonder there to St. Mary Parish, Jamaica get on out there with the Mountain Men. They give you the works, properly, and never once touch you inappropriately. Enough said about that.
The "chief," a bearded yet dignified older Jamaican man, matched each woman up with a man. I was blessed to get the sweetest little (as in tall and lean) Bob Marley look-a-like. Another sister got John Legend's twin. The brothers extended and raised their right hand, an invitation for us to place ours into theirs. I did so happily. Bob, er, I mean Ronald held my hand high, like I was royalty, as he ever so gingerly led me up the rough mountains. Wait! Is there trouble in paradise? Well, yeah. Some of the sisters refused the extended hands of their men. Just turned their noses up at the brothers. So, alone, unsupported, and unaided they stumbled up the rough, unfamiliar terrain. One almost fell on her face. Then she had a change in mind. She gave up her "I don't need your help" posturing and let "her" man help her. She got smart.
This scenario, and many others like it, got me pondering these questions:
- Are sisters too strong for our own good?
- Does being strong require that we also be independent to a fault?
- Is our strength driving a wedge between us and black men?
Trust me, I have lots more question like these but I'll stop here. At least until the next blog.
Listen, we got history. That is, black women were forced to be "strong, independent" folks because too often our men abandoned us and their children. Babies gotta eat! Everybody needs some place to lay their heads at night. Sisters step up to the doggone plate and Get 'er Done! Still, are brothers asking too much to hope that more sisters will reclaim our softer, sweeter, surrendering selves? I'm just asking.
Back in March I did a Sweet & Juicy Woman Seminar at the Women's Expo. After the seminar, a sister came up to me. She'd been married for twenty years. She said she knew she was "hard" but she didn't know how not to be. I understood. If you can relate, read my blog, The Secret to Charming and Enchanting Men. That's a good start. And stay tuned as I share more on this and similar topics.
Let's get juicy!
DeBora
DeBora M. Ricks, Speaker, Attorney and Author of the upcoming book,
Why Did He Break Up With Me? Lessons in Love, Loss & Letting Go. Read an excerpt
WDHBUWM?
