Becoming Someone Else to Survive: The Cost of Doing Whatever It Takes

***Some material may not be suitable for certain audiences ***

Broken glass everywhere. 

Shards of sharp objects mirroring the shattered dreams and promises.

The house looked like a grenade went off. Essentially it did. 

The ticking time bomb of a secret I have been holding onto finally exploded. I carried it in my heart like a wound I had stitched shut myself, knowing that beneath the scar, there was an infection that needed attention.

I’m utterly tired. Tired of being everything for everyone all at once. Tired of carrying this family on my back. I carry everyonefrom my husband to my children, and even my parents and brother. Not to mention the bills, expectations, responsibilities,church ministries and prayers. 

Because if I don’t pray, who will. If I won’t seek, who is going to? If I don’t stand in the gap, to make up the hedge, then whowill?

I’m overloaded with worries, regrets, and grief. My monstrous secret started out as a way to earn money. Just to get us out of the hole. Get the creditors off my back and cut us some slack, even if it was just for a little while.

I know how to stretch money. I know how to make a meal out of basically nothing. It’s become an art; a skill I’m quite proud of. Often becoming the ‘MacGyver’ of meal prep. There’s always the lingering question of: “I wonder what can mama string together tonight to make a meal?”

And I’m a master at playing Russian Roulette with our bills. I know which things can wait and which things cannot. Prayingmoney will somehow multiply before the next bill comes due.

But it doesn't.

So, the debt grows.

And I grow more tired.

I rob Peter to pay Paul, then stick up Paul to pay Peter back. If my husband could consistently contribute, the rent and household bills would be covered. I would still have my car expenses, but there would be room to breathe. Room to tithe.

Room to save.

Room to get my hair done without calculating what bill might suffer because I did. Room to live instead of constantly preparing for the next financial emergency.

But that is not where we are.

My husband contributes; when he can. I mean he fell off a ladder at work two years ago and lost his union job. Not to mention, he missed the deadline to file for benefits, so where did that leave us? 

Utterly screwed! Constantly struggling.

Nothing consistent coming in! Taking side jobs and odds jobs just ain’t enough!

Oh, and the habits that have intensified since his job loss. 

The ones that keep him broke, and when he is broke, the consequences don't stop at his wallet. They land in my lap. Again, I am standing in the gap! Calling and asking for the payment extensions. Basically, panhandling to family andfriends for a couple hundred bucks here and there with a promise to pay next Friday. Only for Friday to get here and now I need an extension from them too.

He can spend himself down and then ask me for money for cigarettes three times a week. Sometimes I want to grab him by the shoulders and say, please! Count the DAMN cost. Not just what it costs you, but what it’s costing us. How it’s taxing our family and robbing our future!

And no, it’s not that I want to be rich or anything. But I do want security, and there’s a hell of a difference.

I want to know that if something happens to me, my family will not immediately collapse. I want to know that my husband can carry the weight too. I want to be his helpmate and right now, I am the breadwinner. 

That is not what I want.

I don’t want to be the safety net and financial rescue plan. I’m tired of being the person who quietly figures out how to make the numbers work after everybody else has stopped counting.

Tired of sleepless nights and tear-soaked pillows from worry.

I want to feel safe with him.

That is the thing I have never really said. I don't feel like my husband can financially take care of our family. And admitting that hurts more than I know how to explain. Because I love him.

He is a good man in many ways.

And I remember a time when he was making pretty good money and carrying most of the household expenses. There was a season when I could breathe because I knew he had it. All I had to do was keep the fridge stocked. He paid for everything else.

I remember that feeling.

Not luxury; Security.

There is a difference.

I don't need a mansion filled with designer clothes or fancy cars. I want money in savings and an emergency fund. I want to stop living like homelessness is always one catastrophe away.

Because I know what homelessness feels like.

It happened twice in our marriage already; early on and again a couple of years ago. So, when I say I am afraid to put something down, I mean it.

What happens if I stop carrying everything? Who will catch us?

What happens if I stop making up the difference? Who’s gonnapay the bills?

What happens if I stop praying? Who will stand in the gap?

What will happen if I stop being the strong one? Who’s gonna hold us up?

All these questions is what led me to my only solution and that is what has been the biggest, darkest, heaviest thing I am carrying. A tiny secret, but the magnitude of the truth is what caused the broken glass.

I don’t need your judgement either!

I’m doing what I gotta do to survive right now! 

I have been making crazy decisions out of desperation pretty much my whole adult life, and this one is no different.

So, what’s the secret?

Well for the past eight months, I have been indulging in making fantasies come true. And before you begin to make assumptions, NO, I am not a ‘Woman of the Night’.

I found a service where I could remain anonymous; for the most part. Never showing my face, only showing parts of my body to people who are willing to pay to see it. I’m not being touched or touching anything I don’t want to

Some will say there’s no difference in what I’m doing from my computer to the chic on the hoe stroll. But I am just capitalizing on my God-given, natural abilities. 

I can see how that sounds a little sluttish, but until you witness your kids sleeping on the floor of a relative’s home because you have nowhere else to go…DON’T JUDGE ME!

When I found this app, I thought it was a joke. But reading the reviews had me thinking; hmmmmmm…maybe I could do this. The money was limitless and really, I only need about $2,000 extra a month to live comfortably enough to be out of the hole.

I went back and forth in my head. Having side conversations with myself. Deep down, I am a church girl at heart with conservative values. But if I’m being honest, I am in a season where I feel like I got myself in a lot of this mess financially, what do I look like asking God to bail me out of it?

I labor in prayer.

I get on my knees and ask God to cover a household that sometimes feels like it is being held together by the strength of my prayers and the thickness of my faith.

And then I get up off my knees and look at the bills with no change.

I know God can do anything, but I also know He can decide not to. And He has that right to say no. 

In the meantime, life keeps happening. 

I WISH faith erased the electric bill and prayers made the rent disappear. But that’s not reality.

I can’t allow my lights to get turned off or another 7-day notice to roll out because we’re late on the rent. And I’m tired of hiding my car in my cousin’s backyard because I’m currently behind two months of car payments.

I need some right now money!

And that’s just where I was; I needed some quick cash, and I was all out of options!

I already work a full-time job with two side hustles, what else could I do? I’m stretched so thin, I feel as if I am going to snap in half!

So, feel how you want to feel and cast your judgement, I don’t care! My back is against the wall and it’s my decision to come out swinging.

And I did….

I clicked on it as a viewer poking around to see what everyone else was advertising. There were all kinds of fetishes being fulfilled. 

People are freaky and let’s be honest, real pleasure rules the world. They don’t call prostitution the oldest profession in the world for nothing!

No strings, no commitment, only for a moment, quick, monetary exchanges. Bing, Bang, BOOM! Pleasure and leave. That’s all this is.

And I’m not breaking any vows by being intimate with anyone. This is total fantasy.

I already knew I wasn’t showing my face, so that wasn’t a problem. Now I had to figure out what I wanted to show.

I used to be this confident, attractive vixen, but life has ‘lifed’ the sexy right out of me and I can’t even begin to channel my old self. I knew I needed to create this object of everyone’s desire. 

I set up my profile with three things in my bio: FREAKY. FANTASY. FIRE.

I wanted them to be intrigued by the bio, but I was stuck on the name. Then it clicked.

When my husband and I began dating, he wrote some of the most beautiful poems. He would say: baby, you are my muse. 

And that was it…

I set up my profile under the alias The MEWS – The Mom Everyone Wanna Screw. And I had a winner.

Within minutes, I had dings with potential subscribers. Everyone had questions for me:

What does MEWS mean?

How freaky am I willing to get?

What fantasies would I be willing to fulfill.

And why fire?

I answered each one, mysteriously, piquing their interest. Letting them know they would get a chance to fully understand once they subscribed. And it worked.

The element of mystery worked. 

My subscriber numbers were off the charts and the money started rolling in.

I didn’t flaunt anything. I didn’t start buying anything extravagant…at first.

I would quietly pay something off without the stress of pressing my husband for money. Then, I began paying the rent a month ahead. Before long, I paid my car note up to date. 

No more late fees or robocalls with the threat of the repo man. 

When I drove it around the corner and parked it in the driveway, my husband asked: “Didn’t you say we were up for repossession?”

I had to lie, so I told him I worked out a payment plan with the finance company, so we’re fine. All the while in the back of my mind I was pissed that he even asked. Especially because he made it clear that since it was MY car, it’s only fair that I take care of the expenses.

Like why are you even worried about it? But whatever.

A part of me felt guilt, but there was a part of me that just didn’t give a damn!

The money kept rolling in and so did the ideas.

Nobody told me this would become so addictive. But also, I was good at it.

I could let my guard down and be a beautiful woman. I could be desired, not needed. I didn't have to solve anything, fix anything, or carry anything. I could simply be the woman someone wanted.

The woman whose softness was enough all by itself; not because of what I could provide, not because of what I could fix, but because for once, someone wanted me for the parts of me I had spent my whole life protecting while everyone else leaned on my strength.

This was a new era for me and I loved it.

It was a sense of control. It didn’t feel like baggage.

But even still, I struggled with my secret and even though my bills were getting paid on time, there was something in the pit of my stomach that I couldn’t shake.

I decided to tell my husband not because I was afraid he would find out, but because I couldn’t carry it any longer.

And just like that, I shattered my family.

The dynasty I built to get us out of debt and help us financially was the same reason my family is fractured, possibly beyond repair.

No explanation was good enough for him either. He just stared at me. 

Maybe he’s ashamed of me, but he should be ashamed of himself because I went to this extreme just to make ends meet. 

I had become so accustomed to fixing everything for everyone. Being the oldest child, the most responsibility always lands on your shoulders. Figuring things out. Learning how to be dependable because somebody had to be. I learned early that love and sacrifice were often spoken in the same sentence.

He knew this about me, and he used it to his advantage. 

If he would come up short, I’d simply say: “don’t worry about it, I got it.”

I guess I screwed myself huh? 

And somehow, I became the bridge between what we have and what we need.

So, I make up the difference. I became a woman who could make do.

Again.

And again.

And again.

Stretching a dollar. Stretching a meal. Stretching a paycheck.

And stretching herself.

I learned how to accept the bare minimum and call it enough because sometimes having something felt better than risking having nothing.

I thought maybe that was what love required.

Carry a little.

Then a little more.

And more. Until finally, the load is too heavy to bear.

Eventually, carrying became so normal that I stopped asking who was supposed to be carrying me.

Maybe it wasn’t the right decision, but what was I supposed to do?

At what point was enough, enough?

But the cost…I wasn’t ready to pay it.

As much as it was taxing me every month to come up with what we needed financially, I wasn’t prepared to pay the hefty price of losing my family.

Nobody told me survival tactics would be so expensive. 

But that’s the cost of trying to carry it all.