The Miseducation of Monique Ross

By Monique R. Ross Ph.D.

The Miseducation of Monique Ross, like Ms. Lauryn Hill’s debut album, is a love story: unapologetically in a league of its own with no other author ever utilizing its concept. Each chapter in the book is named after a track from the album. Monique likes to think if Lauryn Hill’s album were a book, it would be this one and vice versa.

It's a controversial feminist memoir that reads like fiction. It's unconventional, touching, strong, immersive, authentic, thought provoking, complex, emotional, powerful, intelligent, uncomfortably bold, direct, daring, unapologetic, inspiring, empowering, uplifting, raw, uncut, erotic and full of emotion and vulnerability. And its word play would leave the late great Maya Angelou proud to know she inspired it. If it could be summed up in one word, it would be self-liberating. There is something in this book for everyone, all told from Monique’s perspective.

To the author that's what sets it apart from anything else because like her, The Miseducation of Monique Ross says all the things that everyone else is afraid to say. It gives out those inner thoughts – the ones you think to yourself and maybe would share with only your closest friends or family members and sometimes simply keep to yourself because they’re that inappropriate. It touches on everything from women's issues, mental health issues, abortion, miscarriages, divorce, dating, parenting, marital issues, family, and most importantly love and other drugs.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Austin Macauley Publishers
• Release date: Mar 31, 2022
• ISBN: 9781528902373

Monique R. Ross Ph.D.

Monique R. Ross Ph.D. was born and raised in St Louis, Missouri, where she is currently residing with her two boys, Jeremiah, who is 22 and Daniel, who is 14, and their four-year-old black Labrador Retriever, Juelz. In addition, Monique is currently expecting a daughter (May 2022) with her partner. When she is not out promoting her book series, The Miseducation of Monique Ross, or speaking at women empowerment seminars, Monique spends her time at home and loves taking Juelz on long walks in nature. Monique’s son, Jeremiah, is an entrepreneur who loves music, basketball and video games. Her younger son, Daniel, is finishing up his 8th grade year and is passionate about Math and Science. He plays football and basketball and, like his brother, loves music and video games. Monique is also a philanthropist, working to uplift and empower women. She teaches part-time at various colleges and universities on a variety of subjects. A veteran human resource professional by trade and a certified life coach, she is the owner of MRC Consulting Services, a human resources constant service that caters to small businesses and individuals. She is also the founder of The Glass Ceiling, a non-profit organisation that works to empower women after divorce, loss of spouse or significant other, partnering with other professional women to ensure a seamless transition back into the workforce, assisting with interview techniques, resume' writing and critiquing, dress for success, and job readiness. Last, but not the least, by night, Dr Ross is your favourite Dr Bae and host of Pure Phuckery, The Podcast. A raw, uncut, unfiltered, and unscripted podcast about the bullshit and phuckery of this crazy, beautiful thing called life.

Book preview

About the Author

Monique R. Ross Ph.D. was born and raised in St Louis, Missouri, where she is currently residing with her two boys, Jeremiah, who is 22 and Daniel, who is 14, and their four-year-old black Labrador Retriever, Juelz. In addition, Monique is currently expecting a daughter (May 2022) with her partner.

When she is not out promoting her book series, The Miseducation of Monique Ross, or speaking at women empowerment seminars, Monique spends her time at home and loves taking Juelz on long walks in nature. Monique’s son, Jeremiah, is an entrepreneur who loves music, basketball and video games. Her younger son, Daniel, is finishing up his 8th grade year and is passionate about Math and Science. He plays football and basketball and, like his brother, loves music and video games.

Monique is also a philanthropist, working to uplift and empower women. She teaches part-time at various colleges and universities on a variety of subjects. A veteran human resource professional by trade and a certified life coach, she is the owner of MRC Consulting Services, a human resources constant service that caters to small businesses and individuals. She is also the founder of The Glass Ceiling, a non-profit organisation that works to empower women after divorce, loss of spouse or significant other, partnering with other professional women to ensure a seamless transition back into the workforce, assisting with interview techniques, resume' writing and critiquing, dress for success, and job readiness.

Last, but not the least, by night, Dr Ross is your favourite Dr Bae and host of Pure Phuckery, The Podcast. A raw, uncut, unfiltered, and unscripted podcast about the bullshit and phuckery of this crazy, beautiful thing called life.

Dedication

Dedicated to Sheri Ann Ross, and my two boys, Jeremiah and Daniel.

Copyright Information ©

Monique R. Ross Ph.D. 2022

The right of Monique R. Ross Ph.D. to be identified as author of this work has been asserted by the author in accordance with section 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publishers.

Any person who commits any unauthorised act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.

All of the events in this memoir are true to the best of author’s memory. The views expressed in this memoir are solely those of the author.

A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library.

ISBN 9781528917278 (Paperback)

ISBN 9781528902373 (ePub e-book)

www.austinmacauley.com

First Published 2022

Austin Macauley Publishers Ltd®

1 Canada Square

Canary Wharf

London

E14 5AA

Part I

Track 1

Intro: Mic Check

Standing on the ledge of a cliff with the entire world visible before me, in the distance a number of national monuments appeared closer than they actually were—The Arch, The Statue of Liberty, The Giza Pyramids, The Eiffel Tower and Christ the Redeemer. There were faces in the crowd—some past, some present—my mother, my maternal and paternal grandparents, Banks’ face was in the crowd as well as his mother, father and aunt. My twin cousin who had passed away in a horrific car accident was there in the crowd, standing side by side with my aunt, along with a number of other relatives that had transitioned to the afterlife. Looking further into the distance, I could see my two boys but something was different, their usual happy faces were not so happy. In fact, their mouths appeared to be missing from their faces altogether. Lance and Davis were both standing on either side of the boys, staring in my direction, both pairs of eyes piercing through my soul. Taking my attention away from the vivid images before me, I leant over to see just how far of a fall it would be as I contemplated jumping. In the exact moment that I could feel my body about to take flight, I jerked out of my sleep.

Shaking that ongoing nightmare out of my system, I rolled over to my husband’s side of the rented bed, reaching for his morning wood, only to find him gone and my backside now damp from the wet spot I had cautiously avoided since consummating our marriage just hours before. My vision still hazy from the alcohol and other remnants of last night’s celebration, I glanced around as the room came into focus. My wedding gown was sprawled across the armoire, the once-perfect white Egyptian cotton sheets were ruffled and hanging to the floor and the European goose-down pillows were smeared with my wedding day makeup. Turning my attention to the noise coming from the restroom, my husband’s silhouette came into focus, his voice muffled by the sound of running water; I smiled at the sight of him.

I heard the water from the faucet turn off, as his baritone overshadowed the room. All of me loves all of you, he sang, walking in my direction. I’m sorry, Moe, I didn’t mean to wake you, he said, kissing my lips and wishing me a good morning at the same time. Before I could respond, he was back to his rendition of John Legend’s All of Me as he climbed back into bed. Pulling me into his arms, he continued singing in my ear as he kissed the back of my neck, slowly making his way down my frame, he kissed every crevice of my backside before inserting himself inside me from behind. Letting out a soft moan, we found our rhythm. Looking back at my husband as he stroked me from behind, I moaned and said, I love you.

I love you too, he replied as he released his sextrations off into my Lucy. We both collapsed onto the bed. Right on cue, there was a tap on the door followed by room service. Damn, he said, pulling himself from the bed. I forgot I called down for breakfast. Scurrying off to the restroom, I heard the sound of running water then he re-emerged from the restroom once more. This time wrapped in the oversized terry cloth robe, compliments of the four seasons. There was another knock. I’m coming, he called out, nearly yanking the door off its hinges. I apologise, we were still sleep…in bed, he said, catching himself from telling that lie. He offered a tip while thanking her for the room service and as quickly as we had just come…she was gone.

I watched as he uncovered ten different trays filled with all things breakfast—sausage, bacon, hash browns, waffles, pancakes, muffins, fresh fruit, grits, oatmeal, toast and eggs—and I didn’t even eat eggs! Babe, what’d you do—order the whole menu? I asked sarcastically.

Yes, he replied, laughing, as a matter fact, I did. I know how much you love yo’ breakfast. I chuckled because he was right, breakfast was my most favourite meal of the day, but today was a different story. As the aroma from the food filled the room, my stomach took on a life of its own, the excessive amount of alcohol we had consumed the night before was back with a vengeance. I tried forcing a smile as my husband handed me a plate. Eat up, he said. We got to get to the airport.

The sight of the food caused my gag reflexes to kick in. I hopped up from the bed, butt ass naked, and ran to the porcelain throne just in time for it to catch the contents of my insides. Moe, you good? my husband asked, rushing to my side.

Yea, I’m good, I said in between blowing chunks; he held my hair back from my face while I finished exorcising my demons.

Soaking a fresh towel in cold water and placing it on my forehead, he escorted me back to the bed. You good? he asked again.

Yea, I said agitated. Just take the food and cover it up; the smell is making me sick.

Lightweight, he replied, joking as he placed the covers back on all of the food.

I’m sorry, I apologised.

For what? he asked. It’s cool, baby girl, I know you can’t handle yo liquor, he replied. I seductively flipped him the bird and pulled the covers back over me. Gimme a second, he said, stroking Johnny Drama with one hand while he used the other to cover the food. Watching in amusement, I shook my head as I situated myself back in the king-sized bed. I figured I would sleep it off and get up with just enough time to head to the airport in a few hours for our flight to our honeymoon destination. No soon as I had laid back down, that eerie feeling crept back up in my throat and I was making a dash for the restroom again. Damn Moe, you sure you alright? he asked, following me into the restroom.

I don’t know what’s wrong with me, I replied.

Yo ass probably preg— Before he could finish his sentence, I cut my eyes at him, upset because why would he joke like that? He knew damn well that the chances of that happening were slim to none. What, it’s possible, he said. Moe, anything is possible, ain’t that what you always tell me?

Yea, but you know what the doctor said.

So what, doctors don’t know everything. What’s today? he asked.

Nigga, really? I replied. We just got married yesterday and you already forgot our wedding date?

Naw, I’m just asking because… he replied, …when’s the last time you had your period?

I don’t know, I said, blowing him off. It wasn’t possible, he knew it, I knew it, so why get our hopes up.

Moe, c’mon, for real, he said. When’s the last time you had a period, because if I recall, it’s been almost three months, he added.

I paused, trying to recall but with the last six months of planning this wedding, nothing jogged my memory. I went back out to the bedroom and located my phone, pulling up the calendar and going back to the last day that I had marked as the first day of my period; sure as shit, it had been closed to three months. Damn! I said.

What? he exclaimed. I showed him my phone. See, I told you, he said, looking at the calendar. You need to take a test.

Annoyed, I asked, How? Where the hell am I gonna get a test from?

I got it, he said, throwing on a pair of sweats and a t-shirt. My husband slipped into his dress shoes and was out the door.

Shaking my head at the sight of him as he hurried out on a wild goose chase, I lay there lost in my thoughts. Thinking of the possibilities, the what ifs. I said a quick prayer to God, asking him not to toy with our emotions like this. If it wasn’t the real thing, I didn’t want to get my hopes up. But if it was real then every single moment that had led to this one moment would all be worth it. I lay there, reflecting on the past few years—the good, the bad and the not so pretty. To be honest, none of it mattered, this was our shit and we owned it. Time felt as if it was on pause, I still had butterflies in my stomach, those same butterflies from the first time I had laid eyes on him. He was my end and my beginning and I his, even when he loses, he’s winning. He was my yin, I his yang. Perhaps the saddest thing about it all was that we both knew it since that first encounter but because life tends to happen while we’re all busy making other plans, the process was hindered. But who wanted the perfect love story anyway? Plus, we all know the saying: what is meant to be, will be.

Nonetheless, here we were, one day after officially becoming his Mrs and now possibly the mother of his child. I couldn’t help but let my mind wonder, Could I really be pregnant? I mean, it was a possibility; any woman that engaged in sexual activity could get pregnant. We hadn’t been trying or planning but we sure as hell hadn’t been doing anything to prevent it either. After everything that had transpired, I honestly hadn’t thought this could ever happen for us. Against all odds and a little bit of faith, hope, love…everything I’d wanted from the moment I uttered the three most overused and undervalued words known to man—I love you. Those three words were the game changer of all game changers. What the fuck was I doing? What the fuck was he doing? What the fuck were we doing? The two of us had agreed as consenting adults and most importantly, as friends, that this would be a one-time thing, ya know, to kill the curiosity and sexual tension between us. I’d like to haunt down the motherfucker that came up with the notion that you can engage in such a beautiful act and not catch feelings, if that wasn’t the bullshit of all bullshit to end all bullshit.

Trust me when I say that our shit hadn’t always been rainbows, marshmallows and four-leaf clovers, the fuckery had been at an all-time high for some time, and if you’ve got a maximum of 30 days or in between a week or two, I’ll tell you the whole story.

But be forewarned, this one here is a page turner like a motherfucker!

Track 2

Lost Ones

It was the summer of 2011, June to be exact. I had just resigned from my position at the airport and was on a plane flying out to Cali for new hire orientation to spend my first week of employment with Orbitz as the new Senior Human Resources Business Partner, aka HBIC, for the St Louis region. Sounded real promising for a little black girl from the ill streets of St Louis, huh? Here I was, making the most game-changing move of my career, most would say; instead, it became the most defining move of my life. I was 30-year-old Monique Ross, born, bred and raised in one of the worst hoods St Louis had to offer; my first child was born the day before my 19th birthday and most would’ve assumed I’d end up being another statistic with four or five kids, different daddies to each child, raising them in the same hood I grew up in, but we all know what happens when you assume? You tend to make an ass out of yourself.

I arrived in Sacramento late that Sunday evening. After checking into my room, I unpacked my suitcase, trying to decide on what to wear for my first day. I settled on a pair of black slacks, a fuchsia-coloured cami and a black suit jacket, laying everything out for the morning and then climbing into bed. Not sure when I fell asleep but my alarm glared in my ear the second the clock struck 6 am PST. I pulled myself away from the queen-sized bed and went to relieve my bladder. My stomach bubbled, letting me know that my nerves were on ten, so I sat on the throne a moment longer to see if my bowels would give in; they didn’t so I wiped myself front to back, washed my hands, then brushed my teeth. I went back into the living area of my rented room and pulled the window treatments back, only to discover a private balcony right outside the sliding doors. I located my pack of Newport and lighter then stepped out into the Sacramento sun. I stood gazing at the palm trees, lost in my thoughts until my phone alerts sounded. I ashed my Newport and went back into the room to check my phone. It was a text from Illene, one of my new colleagues, letting me know to meet her in the hotel lobby at 7:30 am to head to the office. I replied okay, placed my phone back on the charger and started my morning ritual. Popping my teeth whitening trays in, I then smeared St Ive’s apricot scrub on my face and started the shower. After scrubbing my body clean, I dried off, oiled my skin then dressed. I finished my makeup and hair, brushed my teeth a second time; glancing at the clock, I still had twenty minutes to spare. I decided to calm my nerves once more by stepping back out on the balcony and having another cigarette. In the name of multitasking, I called home to check on my husband and kids. They were spending the day at Six Flags, so neither one of them had any interest in a conversation with me. After making sure they were all alive and in one piece, I said my I love you’s and ended the call.

Back in my room, I gathered up my purse and belongings that I would need for the day and headed down to the hotel lobby. Complimentary breakfast was being served so I grabbed a muffin, banana and a glass of apple juice, then took a seat in one of the oversized accent chairs while I waited on my colleague. Monique, I heard a soft voice call out.

Illene, I said, looking up from my phone.

Yes, she said, walking in my direction. I stood, extending my hand for her to shake. Nice to meet you, I said.

Likewise, she said, shaking my hand. St Louis? she asked.

Yes, I replied. Denver, right?

She nodded in agreement. Her pale skin definitely said she was from the Colorado Mountains. A moment of awkward silence filled our space before Illene announced that we were waiting on one more person then we would head over to office. Okay, I said, taking my seat as she stepped away to grab a cup of coffee. I kept the busty, blonde-haired, blue-eyed woman in my peripheral to make sure she didn’t leave without me. A few seconds later, a tall, slender black woman took a seat in the chair across from me. Astounded by her beauty, I couldn’t help but stare as I played the guessing game of what her occupation was while I waited for Illene. I concluded that she was definitely a model or an actress; the discreet eyeglasses she wore along with her subtle ensemble, her California sun-kissed skin and her long, black mane gave it away. Illene approached, pulling me from my thoughts. Anissa? she said.

No, I’m Monique, I said while the beautiful lady across from me declared that she was Anissa and standing to her feet, said, You must be Illene.

Yes, she said, shaking her hand. Anissa, this is Monique, Monique, Anissa. I stood smiling and extending my hand for her to shake as well. St Louis? she asked.

Yes, I replied again.

Chino, she said. Chino, California.

Nice to meet you, we both said. Alright, we’re all here, Illene exclaimed, let’s do this. The three of us headed out into the beautiful sunshine with Illene leading the way. We situated ourselves in a rented Toyota Camry, Illene in the driver’s seat. Anissa was taller so I gave her the front seat while I climbed in the back. Illene Google-mapped our destination and we were on our way.

The three of us arrived at the Orbitz West Region Headquarters at 7:53 am. Heidi, our boss, met us at the front entrance. She was biracial, mixed black and white, with the prettiest hair that she wore straight hanging down her back. Her skin was that of an almond colour; she was my height, very busty, size 16 maybe, but still very pretty. The only flaw was the scar that was prominently across her left cheek. Welcome, welcome, welcome! she exclaimed. Glad to see you all made it here in one piece, how was the hotel?

Great, we all replied, following her into the entrance. She used her badge to buzz us in and led us down a narrow hallway, pointing out the restroom, the employee break room, as well as her office along the way to the oversized, high-tech conference room where we would spend the entire week being orientated on all things Orbitz Human Resources-related.

Friday came quicker than a 16-year-old boy receiving his first-hand job, and Anissa, Illene and I were headed our separate ways back to our hometowns. Once I returned to the STL, Heidi had enlisted my Memphis counterpart, Rachel, to train me. When I arrived at the plant bright and early Monday morning, Rachel was there, ready to teach me the ropes. Once the shift started, she took me out to the plant to formally introduce me to the employees in the building; at first glance, they seemed normal enough but I was one who didn’t assume so I would wait for them to reveal their true colours in their own time. After a brief introduction, Rachel and I retreated to the conference room where we spent the week learning different processes and procedures, company policies and politics and exchanging stories about our personal lives. Rachel was the epitome of your southern belle—bred in Mississippi, she was a daddy’s girl, cute and petite. Her family had money; apparently, her great-grandfather had accumulated the family’s wealth digging for oil. Rachel was a year older than me and was soon to be married. By the time Friday rolled around, I’d received an invite to her wedding, I knew her entire life, friends and family’s names, her upbringing and everything having to do with her wedding and soon-to-be husband, and I was now semi-trained and confident in my decision to take on this role.

In the following weeks, I continued to familiarise myself with the employees around the plant; one in particular was Luka, the administrative assistant. He came off as a bit of an asshole with some sort of an axe to grind; I let it slide, wanting to keep him close just in case and besides, he seemed to be the only person that seemed to know anything about what the fuck was going on. So I did just that, kept him close. Luka was 5'8" tall and lean, yet toned, he had the palest white skin with the iciest blue eyes. He rocked an Ellen DeGeneres cut—sometimes spiked, sometimes flat on his head—he was quite an attractive guy; his facial features were flawless. If he were to put you in the mind of anyone, it would be a young Noah Wyle, except that he was openly and happily gay. As Luka and I bonded, I continued to learn every aspect of the building, making myself visible to the employees as much as possible. I spent some time decorating my office—a fresh coat of paint had been plastered on the wall and new furniture had been ordered and delivered. I even hung up a few paintings, everything seemed to be coming together. While the days got longer by the week, Luka and I became more and more acquainted, comfortable in our arrangement; we were talking and sharing stories and bouncing ideas off one another about the direction in which we saw our region headed. Once Luka realised that I wasn’t the enemy, he was able to let his guard down and opened up and shared personal things about himself as well as a few skeletons lurking behind the walls of our building. The building manager was