We Are Not Angry Women, We’Re Just Tired!: True Rambling Through Relationships

By Pamela P. Mercer

Somewhere in between the glossy, impossibly perfect, laughably romantic fantasy world of a mushy romance novel and the reality of life lies the path to true happiness. But finding the entrance ramp to that elusive path can be an adventure in itself. Whether youre happily single, socially satisfied, or on the prowl for your next great love story, this fun, sassy, and very real guide will keep that journey in perspective.

Being in a relationship shouldnt be such hard work. This fun, flirty, and unabashedly sassy approach will inspire you to embrace the ultimate pleasures of being alive, while laughing at lifes many absurdities. Who says that you cant be happy on your own? We can be happily connected or we can just be happy.

With humor and no small dose of reality, author Pamela P. Mercer shares tips on improving communication and compassion within your relationships, present and future. You dont have to settleand you shouldnt expect your partner to either.

We Are Not Angry Women, Were Just Tired! shows what happens when one tired woman decides to spread the tough loveand shares how you can avoid the many relationship-killing traps out there in the world of love, sex, and the pursuit of happiness.

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Oct 28, 2011
• ISBN: 9781462018826

Pamela P. Mercer

Pamela P. Mercer majored in journalism and has a degree in criminal justice administration. A wonderful sister and dear friend encouraged her to follow her dreams and continue to write. A. Tish Mercer was her older sister; her passing was a devastating blow that inspired Pamela to write this biography. Pamela currently lives in Illinois.

Book preview

Contents

Acknowledgements

Introduction

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Acknowledgements

It was neither the beginning nor the end of the world when we decided that we needed to reach beyond the clubs, clandestine meetings at church, the grocery store, the book store, the coffee house and even an occasional work encounter to let go of the social, emotional passion disguised as stress that has us locked into bad relationships. I owe the decision to write this to so many dear friends and so many bitter relationships, yours, mine and theirs. But most of all I owe it to a group of very special people who listen and talk back. I owe it to people who reflect in retrospect and empty the baggage bundles with an open mind. On the very top of my list of positive inspiration is a darling therapist who reminds me that I’m pulling a little red wagon filled with blessings for everyone I come in contact with. It sounds like a good thing but it was my way of sub lamenting some of the frustration of what brings us to a place where we need to command change. The need to share, the need to give is not being needy but just a caring giving spirit. A friend that I’ve managed to mention on several books who never has anything good to say about men but actually never has anything good to say is warmly remembered. When I say nothing makes her happy, hearing about a new book especially this one made Cookie smile. She loved the title. I hope she finds herself in one of the pages and finds a reason to smile just a little more if not for the possibility of her one day being happy then just for the success of others; even me. For my mom who always encourages me and for all the Mercer siblings who wait patiently to tell a friend my sister has written another book and she’s going to give me a copy. But most of all for my sister Tish who inspires motivates and impacts even our memories. She moved to heaven last year but continues to inspire me as an artist and motivate me as an entrepreneur. She is a strong portion of the life blood that drives me to doing creative things and embracing my creative energy. Her talents are historical in the circle of influence that has empowered so very many people and impacts so many lives.

I didn’t want to do the things she did but I always wanted to impress her and please her with my successes. She never discouraged and always had a compliment or a voice of praise. Unlike envious siblings or even friends she always spoke highly of the work of others especially her siblings. She was proud and was never afraid to admit that someone in the family other than herself had talent. She had a lot and it could be years before I make the kind of impression she has made in the media, as an artist, as a talented writer, producer, human resource director but most of all as a big sister and a very best friend. Tish wasn’t one of a kind she is one of a kind. Even beyond the clouds and the stars her memory continues to provoke positive response and creative work. The tenacity to write and complete We are not Angry Women was so much more than an inkling to write a book. This was an emotional undertaking to continue down the paths that we carved out. It was an energy force that protruded through the passions of temporary satisfaction and moved toward happiness and fulfillment. Tish shared so many interesting stories about us, about herself and about other people that made writing We Are Not Angry Women a fun and exciting project. I’ve had the gracious opportunity to reflect on so many things she said while there are still so many others that remain a confirming glance, a sign. More than anything I can think of at this moment Tish is my inspiration and my very best friend. The other part of the ongoing encouragement to write and write about the truth is my mom and my son.

So for all the world who loves the truth for all the men who have stopped lying to us and for all they women who have stopped being complacent and settling for whatever they can get I give you "We Are Not Angry., But most of all for my big sister. It brings me absolute joy to finish one more book and be thinking of you in the interim. I hope she is smiling down from heaven and guiding my fingers through the stuff we wish we could forget and the stuff we know we better remember. But most of all the stuff that allows us to put our esteem in a pinky ring and wear it around our neck if we desire but not, under any circumstances leave our feelings on our sleeve to blow away in the bad breath of a windy day.

My unwavering thanks and love to each of you.

In spite of all the Bull crap you send us through

We can still feel good about ourselves and can always be

Very beautiful just for us!

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And while I am feeling totally beautiful

You’ve kissed what we had good-by

We are living happily ever after.

Woman to Woman

Woman to Man

Man to woman

People

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You are the flowers in my heart and your fragrance permeates throughout my day. You’re the reason why I smile.

I’ve been telling you that for too long and who wants to believe it?

I wanted to but you made it rather difficult.

But this is far better than complaints about everything including the cool down of boiling water.

Hope these flowers sweeten the day or at least the moment. They are just for you.

These are flowers for the reader from the artist.

Introduction

While I toiled with the title of this book I realized that Angry Black Woman would not work because it was so much deeper than that and Tired not Angry gave a mixed message with far too much negative energy. If no one else would have had mixed emotions on that one I certainly did. My last thought after walking away and returning to the book several hours later was, We Are Not Angry Black Woman! but then I felt like I was defending something that people have said about a culture and a race and it’s not about that either. All the facts were in when I decided that the title was exactly what it is. Don’t even think that this is just another relationship book and we’re about to have a male bashing party because most of us love you guys unconditionally, we’re just fed up with some of the crap we have to deal with on a daily basis just to get your attention for a few minutes. Acknowledgement is too simplistic, we want recognition. We hope that you can recognize something other than tits and ass because you\we are so much more. We want to be recognized for our love, for our commitments, for our dedication and for our perseverance. We want to be recognized for our spiritual values and our love. We want to be recognized because we allow ourselves to be used to please someone and we continue to say it won’t happen again and it does because we allow it. Sacrifice should not always be measured by suffering or self suffocation. You have casually pulled the pillow from beneath our behinds for your personal satisfaction and placed it over our face in such a metaphysical way.

Inspired by a message of I Love You, a word which is abused as much as it is used; a form of emotional sodomy equivalent only to being kicked as a fun gesture. Perhaps a clear explanation will materialize in the pages of this manuscript. Screw up twenty five times and then show up ten minutes early for once in many months is supposed to justify being late, missing in action or the other excuses for the consistent inconsistencies. We allow negative forces to betray our emotions because of need or loneliness not love. We dismiss bad vibrations and self imposed hostility because validation has become so important to us. Change has it benefits and love can be wonderful it it’s really love.

So the real fact in deciding to finish this manuscript by the end of a 30 day period was just like a period. It took closer to thirty months. It’s going to annoy someone but it’s filled with a few facts of life. It’s all part of what nature leaves us with in order to evolve from adolescence to woman-hood and from there to emotional maturity and then they’re gone. For that reasonable portion of reality this is not about Black Woman so We Are Not Angry Black Women! would not hold firm as a title. This anthology of little known facts, basic bad habits and periodic emotional abuse is ubiquitous among many races and many cultures. It is not limited to the Black, African American, Latino, Hispanic, or poverty challenged white woman. It’s happening to so many of us of that we’re getting fed up. It is happening to celebrity status women who are part of the rich and famous. However, we are becoming more emotionally independent. Some have used this as an excuse for alternative life styles promiscuity or the all so dangerous open relationships but then that makes the reward less a reward and more a diversion from the pain which is just the excuse we need to cry in our milk instead of moving forward. Even if it makes the front pages of an international news paper or a four million hit on a cyber blog, it’s not worth your misery to hold on. It may be well worth the alone time to dissect the pain and embarrassment found in these ramblings.

We’re not Angry Women is the emotional manifestation of the menopausal metamorphous that has nothing to do with our bodies changing but has everything to do with changing our minds, changing our decisions remolding our destiny. Have I made menopause sound pleasant? This is about identifying the social and emotional wounds and allowing them to heal by doing a little more than ripping the bandage off and taking the inevitable pain in one quick snap. It does not work like that with us. What we need is time to heal, time to feel, time to grow and time to nurture our evolvement from being bitter to building a healthy foundation for new ventures, new journeys and true relationships. We are not the Cosby show nor are we all destine to be the subject of an Oprah Winfrey or Maury episode. We are people who don’t mind some of the drama in the lives of others because we sometimes have a little drama of our own. Yes, we’ve got baggage but we are willing to return your dirty laundry and your raggedy luggage if you’ll just pick it up at the curb. However we’ve seen the introduction, the plan has gone into overtime and it’s starting to become boring. Flash to black and get to the last scene. If it wasn’t a happy ending we can at least make it a hopeful ending.

Both hope and happiness will play a part in the aftermath. Perhaps we will stop being afraid of being alone, we’ll stop feeling inadequate and our level of self esteem will shoot to the stars. We won’t justify being happy or toss the credit to something temporary. I Love you does not come with a pain kit and it’s not me it’s you this time is apparent. It is you and you’d better know it.

We are not anger women we are just tired of the dumb s&*# that tries to keep us emotionally bound and socially helpless. Even helpless to pursue the part of our destiny that frees us from your nonsense. The masculine poop that sticks to the bottom of our shoes and leaves a foul stench everywhere we go.

This is about not waiting for you to change but finding the change in us or the change in me. At some point we really wanted to wear the image of your personal pleasure on our soul, but that part of me/us is okay too. Get over yourself, I have. The control that our insignificant others have over us even temporarily will not affect us unless we open the window and allow it in. It’s not me, it really is you and a number of sisters are putting their foot down to let you know we’re not angry we just refuse to take any more s on your terms.

We Are not Angry Women, - We’re just tired

Tired of adjusting

Tired of accepting

Tired brushing their foot prints off our asses

Tired of believing

When you’ve being deceiving

Tired of always being last

Tired of defending

Tired of pretending

That it’s okay, for you to be exactly who you are

Tired of shit

You’d need to quit

Accepting my justification of your lies

And I humbly apologize for the s word

***** **** **** *

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We are women, we are wonderful. We are Black, White, Latino, Italian, Polish, African, Puerto Rican, Mexican, Jamaican, Hebrew, Jewish, and even Irish. We are young old, short, tall, fat, skinny, sexy, sensual or even average but we are. We have baggage, issues, tangible items, dreams, emotions and left over tears. We are real, we feel, we know, we seek, we’re tired of your [she-it ] and some of us are walking.

We are professional, we are precautions, we are presumptuous, we are private, we are personal, and we are so much more than that other word that starts with a P so don’t follow us, you probably can’t keep up unless we are still. We are the music and the magic, we are moving on.

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1.

This poet laureate shifting gears

Gearing up

What a positive way to work toward change.

So much time is invested in the utilization of songs, music, greeting cards and even poetry to express the romance in our lives or lack thereof. We share the jubilant ecstasy of new relationships and the devastating crush of broken hearts with a Hallmark moment, an old love song or we sit down and write a poem adding another page to the journal that we call a diary when we were teens. The secrets we only wanted to tell our best friends but hide the most painful portions in the corners of our hearts so that we could be the gutsy, sassy pillars of strengths that we practiced pretending. That was it, we practiced pretending and we pretended that it felt good; we pretended that we were happy. We were the stars of our own personal dramas and daytime soap operas that played on into the night and then into months and years. Who wants to cry today was not the title of a song but the excuse to watch a sad movie and associate with someone else’s watery emotion. Damn it hurts to not hurt out loud. And while I have rambled through this brief spill of nonsense the realization that love is NOT supposed to hurt continues to ring in my central processing unit. A lot of poets have dedicated their work to the painful transitions of relationships. A lot of poets have disguised themselves as songwriters or songwriters and poets and have written the depths of their hearts in such profound ways. Sharing a brief moment of creation with the world and the popularity of their pain because of a symbol that many can identify with. Their hurt becomes a best seller, top of the chart and only because someone else can identify with that emotion.

So this ain’t no poetry book. These ramblings are very real. The poetry that exists in all of us and thrives on the wedding day march, the anniversary memories and the first kiss bliss is tantalizing and amazing but it gets old really quick. Men often talk about how giving caring and complacent women are during the courtship period and then they turn into monsters. Spelling monster with the letter b and not m those same men are caring, punctual considerate and dependable in the beginning. This, of course is too often followed by complaining how much the same wonderful women nag because they forgot, failed to complete put it on hold, lost it, misplaced it, didn’t do it or was too damn busy doing the selfish bull crap that had dissipated during the courtship period. So let’s set the record straight amidst the onset of these ramblings. It is always wonderful in the beginning and then someone who thinks they have the upper hand takes advantage of the kindness that was the love in a relationship. They take advantage of the giving spirit that had nurtured something good and special. The turn from loving friends into butt holes that think you owe them something. Ops, this is not the angry woman this is just a person who is a little fed up with the nonsense and so many other women can certainly identify with it.

We write poetry, we write songs and we create this romantic illusion that becomes a popular fad among throbbing hearts and hopeless romantic. If we really listen to the lyrics it’s more than a notion that we run the same path over and over and over again. We can’t all be like Eryka Badu and dump it out on a CD or drag it through the public eye in the raw but we’d like to. We’d love to dump the trash and leave our baggage at the airport. Unfortunately every time we drop it off some brother or sisters brings their luggage and it has some of our crap in it.

Romance is more than the poetry that makes me/us fall in love over and over again. It is so much more than that song that brought us together or caught us off guard in a secluded restaurant, the candle lit corner in the bar or the bench at the train station where we waited after missing the rush hour traffic. True romance is that part of us that awakens ever so often and brightens a dark room with a word, a whisper or a memory. It’s the special moments that don’t require flowers, candle light dinners or diamonds. It’s that special part of us that wakes up with the sun, cuddles with the stars and relaxes with the moonlight. The poetry that sparks romance in our hearts might not even be read by the one we prepared it for. He hears but doesn’t hear. He agrees but can’t tell you what you said and if it was really important it had to be something he needed or wanted. A quick subject change after a 10 minute dialogue about something that really meant a lot to you can often mean he was already on the subject change. So focused on what he was thinking about he never heard a word you said but now what he has to say is really important. You listen, you respond and like the good little other half, best friend his issue becomes relevant and whatever you were talking about was just blah-blah of nothings and not really. It couldn’t have been important or you would have repeated it. And that’s exactly what he’ll say. I’m sorry is not just a phrase, it’s his middle name.

This Poet Laureate Shifts Gears

Moving in a different direction

From the welcome mats we’ve been

Gearing up to shift directions

A change from the state we’re in

Positive moves with positive motives

Not a question of self esteem

That we could or would be

non-complacent and compliant

Your fantasy was not my dream

Happiness is no doubt an inside job

Something we both can share

Happiness for one can be misery for another

If the obvious is that you just don’t care

Sweet lies was the history of our romance

Pretending you’re the king

A lack of commitment with constant demands

Adds insult to everything

Gearing up to minimize

The luggage either might carry

It wasn’t real friendship

Not enough trust

Thank God we never moved to marry

Take what’s yours’

Please leave what’s mine

We can go our separate way

Still be friends

Our just stay in touch

Friendship never ends

Though that’s not how it began

You needed me

I needed to

But you just happen to be handy

The sparkle that was our unity

Is the dry burn of cotton candy

A shift in gears was a chance and a choice

So we both could find our way

Emotions

What the hell do you know?

Love is one of the games you play

Dangerous

Is what it is

How foolish to go this