As I get older—perhaps I should say as I mature (though I still believe there’s a distinction between the two)—I’ve begun to recognize something important. Some people argue that age and maturity are separate concepts. It's possible to grow older without developing emotional maturity, and I've observed this in others. I've also experienced it myself. Anyway, what I do know is that I’m growing. And part of that growth means seeing how often what we perceive as reality is actually a carefully crafted story we tell ourselves—one shaped by past experiences, trauma, our upbringing, our values, and whatever silent wounds we haven’t yet faced.
It’s wild how the human mind works. We don’t just see—we interpret. We don’t just feel—we filter. And sometimes, that filtering is more harmful than helpful.
Reacting vs. Responding
One of the biggest lessons I’m still learning is the difference between reacting and responding.
Reacting happens right away—no space, no breath, no pause. You feel a thing, and you let it spill over. It’s raw. Emotional. Often impulsive.
Responding? That takes awareness. It’s that sacred beat between the trigger and the choice. It’s when you stop, think, maybe even pray, and then decide what your energy is going to do next.
And in my relationship with Mr. Bigs, this difference has become crystal clear.
The Toothbrush Incident(s)
Let’s take something as simple as a toothbrush. Yes—a damn toothbrush.
It’s happened twice now. The first time, I was away from him after our very first disagreement—something I take full accountability for. After two long weeks of what I’ll call “distance discipline,” I went back to his place… and my toothbrush was gone. It had always been in the bathroom cabinet above the sink, right next to his. But now? Poof. No trace.
I asked about it. He didn’t flinch—just gave me a new one.
That should’ve been sweet. But my mind started spiraling. Where is it? Who replaced it? Who stayed here while I was gone?
Then, it happened again. I had been away, and when I asked for my toothbrush, he went into his closet—not the bathroom—and handed me my familiar green one.
But when I opened the bathroom cabinet to grab toothpaste, I saw a yellow toothbrush… sitting beside his.
Now, here’s where growth showed up. I paused. Could it be an extra brush? Or was it… hers?
The imaginary lover my mind has designed—a version of his ex—who still lingers in the shadows of my insecurities. She’s not just any woman. She’s the woman. The one who had him before I did. The one who, in the back of my mind, might still be making herself available to him, slipping into places I can’t see.
I stood there brushing my teeth, brushing off the chaos in my head, wondering which story was true—his, mine, or neither.
The Office Drive-By
The next situation was less subtle.
It was a Saturday. I had just finished grocery shopping and happened to drive past his office. And there she was—his ex—pulling up to his building. No sign of his car, but hers was undeniable.
My stomach did a thing. My car did a U-turn. I passed by to catch one more look. She was just getting into her car and driving off.
What the hell was she doing there on a weekend? Was she hoping to catch him? Were they meeting?
And the irony of it all? I had once shown up at his place unexpectedly, too. The pot was calling the kettle black—but I was still boiling.
Truth, Slipped In Over Breakfast
Days passed. I sat with the questions, even planned how I might casually bring it up. But something told me—don’t. Not yet.
Then one morning, over coffee and casual conversation, Mr. Bigs dropped her name. No hesitation. No secrecy.
“She’s my Accountant & Auditor.”
That simple. Everything made sense. The way he once mentioned that she seemed to miss him… The meetings. The sightings. The vibe. It all had context now.
And instead of feeling relief, I felt… exposed. Silly. Ashamed.
When the Mind Makes Movies
That’s what happens when you live in the land of overthinking. You direct whole dramas based on half a glance, a missing item, or a slow reply.
I remembered the time I told him I’d drop something off at his office. He showed up at my place instead, almost too quickly. At the time, I didn’t think much of it. But now… it plays differently in my mind.
Especially because she still hasn’t replied to the message I sent weeks ago. And that silence? It cuts deeper than I expected.
We weren’t strangers, she and I. Before I even knew about their history, we had our own intimate connection—light but undeniable. A few private moments, flirtations that blurred into more. Soft laughter tucked inside secrets, a kind of closeness that lingers on the skin. The kind of intimacy that makes silence feel heavier when it suddenly arrives.
But now? Nothing. Not a word. Not even a read receipt.
So I’m left wondering… Did he tell her about me? Or did she figure it out on her own? Maybe my name slipped out in conversation, the way hers once did over breakfast. Maybe she connected the dots and decided silence was safer than honesty.
Either way, something’s changed. And I can’t tell if it’s distance… or quiet disapproval.
But Then There’s… Us
Here’s the thing, though. When I’m with Mr. Bigs—when we’re just in our space—none of that matters. The questions fade. The insecurities dissolve. We laugh. We play. We connect. There’s a calm, magnetic, sensual rightness that silences the noise. No one else exists there—not without permission.
And maybe that’s what keeps me holding on… Even when the toothbrushes don’t add up. Even when drive-bys ignite doubt. Even when the silence feels louder than words.
Because those stolen, indescribable moments we share? They're real. They're ours. And in them, I feel found.
💭 Reflect With Me…
Do you jump to conclusions when your heart feels vulnerable?
Are you reacting… or responding?
Is your intuition whispering, or is your fear screaming?
We’re all just trying to trust what we feel without letting fear rewrite the script. But sometimes… it’s okay to pause and rewrite our own stories first.
