To Remove and Rebirth the Woman

By T.T. McClendon

Welcome to hell, the place every woman is condemned to when they've given up hope. One of these women is Mrsunderstood, the narrator at the center of T.T. McClendon's heart-wrenching but ultimately uplifting story of self-reflection and self-evolution.

As Mrsunderstood awakens in a dark, forbidding realm that threatens to ensnare her forever, a place full of distinctly personal demons, she struggles to understand why she cannot detach from a past that haunts and taints her soul. The only way she will ever be free is by removing the mask and exposing her truth, but is that possible?

Written for the modern woman, "To Remove and Rebirth the Woman"promises to do just that for its characters and readers. Full of romance and tears, this novel asks hard questions while offering you insight into the unspoken world of truth.

• Language: English
• Publisher: McWood Publishing
• Release date: Jan 6, 2015
• ISBN: 9780989108225

T.T. McClendon

T.T. McClendon is a mother, writer, and blogging. She volunteers religiously, loves books, writing, and being ofassistance.Recently, McClendon spoke to a group of woman at the Cincinnati Federation for Colored Women’s “FallLuncheon” regarding following your dreams and making a difference. This pass October 25th McClendon was the featured guest speaker at McWood’s 2nd Annual Ladies Social Event.Currently, McClendon is focused on walking the path of purpose and leaving behind a thought-provoking lastingimpression.

Book preview

Chapter 1: Mrsunderstood

Late October 2013

Let me say this, I would’ve never and I do mean never, would have thought things would’ve played out like this. Here I am sitting in my car watching him with her; watching him touching her as if she were me. Huh, I guess only a fool will allow their self to believe that the union between a man and woman can never be broken simply because they both said, I do.

Daddy…daddy, a little boy screams as he runs out of the two-story house and jumps into….

Wait, did he…just call my husband daddy? I think to myself as I watch the three of them mindlessly wander up the steps and into the house.

To finally see him with her...I shake my head, unable to finish the thought as my heart sinks into the pit of my stomach, my body goes completely numb, and what’s left of my consciousness dissipates. Even though I’m not surprised by his act of betrayal, because in truth I always knew; yet, knowing doesn’t lessen the clawing pain I feel. Because at the end of the day, there will always be pieces of me that will forever love him seeing as the emotional attachment we share, goes just as deep as the hell he’s put me through.

Now I would be lying if I don’t admit that a part of me wants to run away and forget about how only seconds ago another woman passionately fell into my husband’s arms, and how he wrapped his love around her. I remember how he held me exactly the same way, but that was years ago. That was before life, children, and careers happened.

After some time I acknowledge my blurry vision as well as the snot running from my nose and with jittery hands I attempt to wipe away the tears. But there’s no stopping the waterfalls as I’m finally face to face with his truth…my truth.

Unlike before the accident, I didn’t come here to hurt me…no, not this time. This time I was going to confront my denial and let go of the final piece of the mask I’ve allowed myself to hide behind. So with that mission at hand I inhale, open the car door, step out, and set aside my fears. See, one way or the other I have to confront our secrets: his infidelity, and my pretending that everything in my life is just fine. So as I step out into the autumn wind that brushes against my face reminding me that I’m still alive, there’s a hollowness within me that is filling up with worry and uncertainty.

The voice inside my head reminds me to breathe as the faint scent of leaves tickles my nose, but I can’t. I can’t because breathing requires that I experience as well as acknowledge my emotions and there is still a piece of me that doesn’t want to feel. Because although I stand here across the street from her house geared for war, underneath this armor is a fragile, frightened, and indecisive woman who fears being alone, made a fool of, and falling apart. And I can’t allow that to happen…not just yet. So I pull the neck of my jacket closed to keep the cold air from reviving me, and quickly wipe away my tears while heading toward the house where I’d just seen my husband of ten years with an unknown woman and her child.

As I start across the street it feels as if I’ve been walking forever, and the clicking sound of my heels reminds me of my internal ticking bomb that is due to explode at any moment. I tightly grip the brass banister in fear that I might faint while climbing the eight steps. Breathe girl, the voice inside my head says, but I can’t…I don’t want to. My legs feel like heavy logs as I hike up the mountainous steps. And for whatever reason the only thing I can truly focus on is how he passionately cradled her in his arms and kissed her as if he loved her. Does he love her? Does he even still love me?

Once I reach the top of the cement steps I look over my shoulder across the street at my car. I can still leave. I can forget everything I just saw, I remind myself just as the scent of his cologne entangled with the passing wind reminds me that I have unfinished business to handle. So instead of running or pushing this shit up under the rug I breathe deeply with my eyes closed, I count to five to ready myself, exhale, and then press the bell. I’d expected Gary to answer or maybe even the woman; it threw me off when the little boy greeted me.

Can I help you, he asks.

So taken by his eyes I hadn’t heard him, nor can I hear the drumming of my heart. It is as if time has stopped and for a brief second everything around me freezes as I look into the boy’s eyes. His eyes are Gary’s, his eyes remind me of my son and daughter. And the only thing I can think is, this can’t be Gary’s son, he wouldn’t hurt me like this.

Can I help you, the tender voice asks again.

I sniffle as the sound of his voice sends an electrical wave that jumpstarts my heart. I wipe the teardrop from my cheek and attempt to clear the frog in my throat before the power of his voice takes hold of me and I lose it. With quivering lips I force a smile upon my face and say, Yes, is your father or mother home?

Without a second thought he yells for his mother. As I wait to see her face my ears clog. I swear I’m having an out-of-body experience, because I don’t feel anything; not my arms, legs, hands…nothing, except now I hear the rhythmic gushing sound of my heart beating in my ears. I take in small, quick breaths as I wait for the great reveal of this woman, the woman he apparently cares so much about that he is willing to love her and not me. The woman he is willing to risk all we’ve accomplished together including our family.

I’ve heard women say that there’s nothing like looking into the eyes of the woman who has intimately experienced your husband whether it was physically, emotionally, or mentally. Facing the other woman that you’ve subconsciously compared yourself to because in your mind she has to be doing something that you’re not; she has to look better than you, why else would he cheat? So I stand here waiting to size her up, to tear her down in order that I can rebuild me. Yet, when Gary’s mistress appears in the doorway eyeing me oddly, I simply stare at her waiting for my misplaced anger to storm through me, but it doesn’t. Instead I’m in awe of her. Not because she’s beautiful or prettier than me; I guess it finally resonates in my head that she too is human.

Now don’t get me wrong, I would be lying if I were to say that I hadn’t always wondered what she looked like. If she’s tall, short, fat, skinny, curvy, white or black. Yet, at this moment all I care to do is look into the eyes of the woman who is fucking and evidently shacking up with my husband. I want to see if there’s any guilt, remorse, or perhaps cluelessness in her eyes. And the longer I stand here peering through the screen door my rage boils, because honestly she had to have known that I existed.

Ten, nine, eight, seven…I hear my internal bomb counting down as my eyes are glued on this blonde haired, hazel eyed, petite white woman. I would be lying if I’d said some part of me wasn’t offended by the fact that he hadn’t chosen a black woman to betray me with. However, the longer I look into her eyes I realize my being here has nothing to do with the color of her skin, she could’ve been lime green and I still would feel betrayed by my husband.

Glued to the step I open my mouth to speak but before I can to my surprise she starts screaming, Oh my god! It’s you. I’ve wanted to meet you for years…oh my God! She opens the screen door and ushers me in. And like the snap of a finger my internal bomb stops. I stumble through the door, not sure what the hell is going on and then she says, Gary has told me so much about you. I knew you were sick in the hospital, and he just told me you were doing better. I would’ve never thought you were doing this well.

Do you know me? I ask her with a slight tilt of my head.

Of course silly, you’re Gary’s sister. He’s told me so much about you. How you were fighting for your life and how the cancer was eating away at you. Gary is such a terrific man. He told me he’d never leave your side and that’s why he spends most of his days with you.

Hold up, did I detect a little jealousy or frustration in her voice? Nah, I couldn’t have. Especially seeing as she’s in a relationship with my husband.

To say that I’m confused by her behavior is an understatement. Her jolly-ass greeting took me completely off my A game. The entire ride over here I’d readied myself for countless situations: If she’s a bitch and gives me attitude I’m gonna whoop her ass, because there ain’t nothing like a mouthy-ass mistress. If Gary pretends as if he’s not married to me, then I’m going to speak my peace right after I beat both of their asses, and if they both lie about their relationship I’ll show them the certified letter. But never, and I do mean never, did I imagine that this woman would embrace me with such excitement and then pull me into her house acting as if we were high school friends.

As the two of us stand inside the living room my eyes wander around the spacious area.

Can I…? I motion with my hands, asking for permission to look around.

Sure thing, she answers and continues chattering.

While she speaks, I wander around her living room. There are pictures of her and Gary smiling as if the two of them are in love. There are even photos of him in a hospital gown holding a newborn baby. I stand before the picture with my fists balled so tightly that my nails pierce the palms of my hands. A part of me wants to snatch the photo off the damn wall and throw it into the burning fireplace. Hell, a part of me wants to burn the entire house down.

Huh, that low down mothera…? I mutter behind quenched teeth as my left eye starts to pulsate.

You say something? She asks in that annoying, ‘too damn happy for me’ voice.

And like a wolf dressed in sheep’s clothing I turn, face her, and with the fakest smile chiseled on my face I shake my head no. For years, I’ve been pretending to be happy, pretending to overlook things that were right in front of my face. Therefore, putting on this act for her is as easy as blinking my eyes, except I can’t control my flaring nostrils.

Being present in Gary’s other life…being immersed in what appears to be were his real happiness dwells is a bit overwhelming. It’s hard for me to explain it, but him cheating with women physically is one thing and that’s what I thought I was walking into. Yet, this woman has his mind and heart. She has experienced him in ways that I haven’t and I can’t understand why he remained married to me. It’s obvious from the photos that he has an undeniable love for this woman. So why stay with me? Did he stay because it’s cheaper to keep-her? Did he stay because he pitied me, I ask myself as unknown emotions being to flutter within me.

Allow yourself to identify those feelings, I hear my inner-voice advising me, and I do as the voice directs. I allow myself to feel the confusion, the betrayal, the abandonment, along with the suppressed anger…that is until my eyes fall upon the framed picture of my daughter and son positioned on the woman’s coffee table.

Ugh, the wind escapes me and my mind stills and silences. My stomach ties into knots and it feels as if Mike Tyson just jabbed me several times to the body. As I focus on the smiles plastered on my babies’ faces another punch is thrown in my direction. The longer I stare at the photo looking into their eyes, I know that at any moment the knockout punch will be hurled and I will be out for the count.

You see, what I’m experiencing right now…this is a different kind of pain, because I’m not the victim of this feeling I’ve been subjected to. See before, I’d allowed myself to believe I was a victim thrown into this ring of hurt, but seeing my babies I see something else. I see that I threw them into the ring…my ring of dysfunction.

As I hold the frame in my hands, I stare down at my sweet, innocent babies and I can barely hold the frame as my hands go ice cold. Exhaling, the air rattles in my nostrils as I fight to keep the tears at bay. I can’t let this woman see me break.

For the first time I truly comprehend how my being here…my confronting this SHIT! How it will forever alter the dynamics of my children’s lives, but in truth me staying married to a man that doesn’t love me has already done that. I allowed myself to believe that if I had to endure infidelity, emotional neglect, and abuse to keep our family together then I would do it for my babies because they deserved to have both parents. But instead what I’ve done was forced them to witness and suffer through all…my…shit! I now know that I hadn’t stayed for them, I had stayed for me. And this truth hurts like hell.

It takes me standing in front of this woman to realize that I’m not here for Gary, for her, or for my kids…I’m here for me. Over the years I’ve had ninety-nine reasons to stay, but only one reason to leave, and that reason was me. I’m worthy of happiness and my kids are worthy of experiencing a life in which their mother is whole and not pretending to be. Does that make any sense? Freeing me shows my babies what true happiness is, instead of the dysfunction and falsified joy and peace.

As I fall deeper into this space of acceptance the fog clears and I realize that the old me had always loved Gary. I yearned to nurture back to health that innocent side of him that used to be the man I thought would rescue me. I’d hoped that through a change in him that my lack of love for myself, my fear of abandonment, my self-neglect, and my pain would be resolved through his commitment and him loving me. I unconsciously wanted him to choose me because I hadn’t chosen myself. And that’s my truth.

I didn’t nor could I admit it before, that my staying with him was a selfish behavior, not a selfless one. I wanted someone to love me…just me. So I stayed with Gary hoping that I would be rewarded for enduring all the drama. That I would receive merits for withstanding all the heartache, because I thought it would one day make me feel better…feel accomplished…make me feel valued…when in essence, I had broken me. But now I know better.

I guess from my silence the woman knows something is wrong. Or maybe it is the way I’m standing in the middle of their love nest hunched over on wobbly legs admitting the truth to myself.

Is everything okay? Her voice is full of concern.

I hold the picture up and she smiles. Gary just loves your children. He said they were the best niece and nephew a man could ask for.

My heart skips a few beats. Had I heard her right? Had Gary referred to our children as his niece and nephew? Of course he had.

Gary! she yells, Your sister’s here.

His sister, I repeat. Oh yeah I’m a sister, but not his.

Chapter 2

Early April 2013

I’ve been married for ten years; I have two children, a dog, a house, and a brown picketed fence. I work for this company that pays me really well, but lawd knows I hate my job. It was never a dream of mine to be an auditor for Province National Bank. But things happen, and my desire of one day being a famous ballet dancer…well long story short…dreams don’t always become reality. So as I sit here in my tiny cubicle reading over the reports my boss had stacked on my desk, I decide to take a mental break.

I stand up, stretch, and glance around at all the busy men and women who like me put in ten or more hours a day just to maintain the American Dream. Sam, a slender, well put together brunette waves at me and mouths, Are you okay? I nod my head ‘Yes’ and offer her my award-winning fake smile. To most, and that includes Sam, it appears that I have it all. From the framed portraits of my family on my desk and all the arts and crafts made by my kids that are pinned to the gray fabric cubical walls; I have a happy and problem-free family. But honey, please don’t let the money or pictures fool you.

She has it going on, is a phrase I hear often. And to be honest I loathe the implication that I have everything I need or that I got it all figured out. Because in truth I’m a hot-ass mess, but I just mask it well.

Unlike other married women, I’d be damned if I were to sit around complaining about all the crap I’ve been through. Then again, part of me wish people would just look into my eyes and not focus on the material things I’ve obtained or how I’ve structured my life. I wish those same individuals could see that although my world appears perfect, there are chunks of my heart missing, past memories that I’d never allow myself to remember, and feelings I refuse to experience.

The truth is, I’m dead inside. I’ve literally detached from any emotional feelings and pretend to experience only the good ones just to save face. However, as I’m standing here dressed impeccably staring down at the cluster of diamonds on my ring finger I silently applaud myself for all the hurdles I’ve overcome and how I’ve handled every obstacle, but this façade of mine is becoming transparent. The person everyone sees is dissolving and the real me is ascending to the surface. And she ain’t pretty.

To be quite frank, the real me…the one hiding behind the person who’s always smiling, pretending to be this happy-go-lucky, walking word of encouragement, is really a discarded and lonely woman. If you ask me I got the tail end of life. My parents abandoned me, my uncle raped me, and as a child I got teased. I just never seemed to fit in anywhere. I always worked so hard at blending in, that pretending to be me ended up becoming me. Does that make any sense? When you try so hard to be liked or accepted, to be loved and remembered, that you lose your identity trying to be the person people like as opposed to being yourself.

For whatever reason when I showed people the real me, no one seemed to like or even notice that person. So I chameleon myself to fit in; that is to say, I learned to speak and do all the right things in order to be noticed. However, being fake and not showing the real me is isolating and damaging. For years, I yearned to be loved unconditionally, without any strings attached. And that’s when this heaven-sent man came along and made everything alright. He bandaged all the sores, loved what others despised, rescued the wounded me, and promised to right all the wrongs I’d suffered, because he loved me.

I plop back down into my seat as my mind travels back to the day Gary proposed to me. He had taken me to this beautiful winery…I can’t remember the name of it, but what I do recall is that there wasn’t a cloud in the sky. The sun was beaming so brightly as if it had been wiped clean. Everyone around us seemed to be happily experiencing life as they knew it. And Gary and I, humph, we were in love.

When we reached the winery I felt this serene and magical contentment drench me. Maybe it was the winery’s landscaping or how peaceful everything seemed to be, but whatever it was it felt so magical.

After he and I had taken a tour with a small group of twenty people, one of the workers approached us.

Sir could you both follow me?

I looked up at Gary and whispered in his ear, What did we do?

Instead of hushing me like he does now, he simply kissed my forehead and said, We haven’t done anything. He offered me a bright smile and pulled me closer toward him as we followed the young man.

The two of us were being led out the back door of the winery and down a spiral staircase that led to an open field. There was a white tent and an arrangement of chairs, all occupied by people. I was so darn nervous I didn’t even care to try and recognize the people who were staring at us. The closer we got to the tent, the tighter I held Gary’s hand, because I didn’t know where in the heck we were going.

Please stand, I heard someone say. And the entire party stood to their feet just as a violinist began to play the most romantic and seductive piece of music I’d ever heard.

I squinted my eyes and saw my mother. What is my mother doing…? Before I could finish my question Gary stopped walking and turned and faced me.

You’re special, he told me.

But what is my mother doing here? I asked. I was so busy looking around seeing all the familiar faces.

Baby, did you hear me?

Huh? I said and then faced him, only to find him on one knee. Little ol’ me was ecstatic; I couldn’t contain my joy. I had finally found someone that I could be me around, he was my knight of refuge, my protector, and he would never hurt me like the world had. But turns out my husband became the opposite of what I believed him to be. To speak frankly, Gary is a cheating, lying, and manipulative con-artist; a two-timing dirty dog, to put it mildly, the voice inside my head reminds me, dissolving the memory of my marital bliss.

Funny, when you’re experiencing a small piece of joy your reality swoops right in and steals it away.

So why do I remain married to my husband? I write the question on one of the reports I was reviewing before I decided to take a mental break. To be honest, I’ve asked myself this question countless times and the only answer that sounds acceptable involves the kids. Despite all the mess Gary has put me through he is a great father and my babies need their dad. However, I’m not sure how much longer I can keep sacrificing myself for their happiness. There’s a part of me that knows a rift is about to take place and I’ve even tried to explain this transition to my best friend Liz, but she claims I’m just complaining.

You ain’t gonna leave Gary. Besides girl, you would be a fool to leave that man. Now Travis, he ain’t worth a pot of piss! And just like that, she went on ranting about her on-again off-again love life and dismissed mine.

What Liz and so many others fail to realize is, they have no clue the cost I endure for being married to Gary. Yes, my husband is a great provider, but like I said before, he cheats, lies, manipulates, deceives, and tears me down. He even hit me a few times, can you believe that? A woman of my caliber who appears to have it all figured out; this assertive, goal-driven, strong individual that the world sees is really someone’s punching bag. Humph, like I said, I mask it well.

I look at my computer’s clock and it reads April 5th at 4:56 p.m. It was almost time for me to leave this hellhole and return to my own hellhole…I mean my house. I dread going home, but only I know that; and while so much about my life is forged, I’ve mastered the role as the perfect wife, mother, and worker, until recently.

I start to gather my things and I’m putting a few of the files into my briefcase when my cell rings.

Hello.

Hi mommy.

I smile instantly after hearing my son’s voice. Hi baby.

Mommy, I’m not a baby. I’m seven now.

Oh yeah that’s right you’re my big baby.

He and I giggle. Wait, wait, wait, Jr. says trying to halt my laughter. Mommy I got a good idea, he says using his manipulative voice.

Jr.’s oval-shaped head, full pink lips, and hazel raccoon eyes, which would be as wide as he could make them, his way of showing excitement, pops into my mind’s eye. I’m sure he has removed all of his clothes except for his underwear showing off his slinky arms and legs.

Mommy did you hear me? I said I have a good idea, this time he was whispering which only means his sister had walked into the room.

Oh lawd not one of Jr.’s good ideas, I think to myself. Whenever he has a good idea it usually includes me doing something that only benefits him and is supposed to be beneficial to me too.

Oh really, and what’s that honey? I finally answer him, dreading what is going to come out of his mouth next.

I think you should come home and get me, and then take me to the game store to buy a new game, and then take me to Josh’s house, and then you can go home and rest. Isn’t that a good idea?

You have it all planned out don’t you.

Mommy ain’t it a good idea?

Well no, it’s not really a good idea seeing as you have school tomorrow and Molly’s mom is on her way to pick you and your sister up for practice. I knew he wouldn’t like me raining on his parade, but in truth I had more work at home to get done than I did at the office. And not to mention I didn’t get paid to be a mother or wife. So while I would’ve loved to take Jr. to Josh’s house and go home and rest, that wouldn’t work today.

But Mommy, what if I only stay until bed time, he whines.

I have an idea. What if you go over there this weekend?

There was silence. I knew my son was mentally calculating my suggestion in his head, because that’s the kind of kid he is. My idea had to be better than his or he would continue to persist on visiting Josh today, which would make my evening a living hell.

Can I stay over there for one hundred hours? He squeals with excitement.

Yes baby you can stay over there for one hundred hours. Jr. screams so loudly that I have to move the phone away from my ear.

Now before anyone tries to judge me or my parenting. One hundred hours is Jr.’s way of saying all weekend. He has a lot of creative and clever sayings that he uses to express himself. And while some people, like my