When a guy points out your faults.

So guess what. I have a lot of faults. I talk too much. I think too much. I’m messy. I can’t cook. I have a temper. All good topics for introspection and maybe for my therapist.

But guess what ladies? We are well-aware of every imperfection we have. Which means we don’t need a man telling us what they are. Husband, boyfriend, friend with benefits, UPS delivery guy, doesn’t matter.

A lot of guys are good at this, because it lets their shitty behavior off the hook . They know we are so hard on ourselves as it is, and they know that exposing our inner critic means nothing is their fault. And if y’all are like me, you’re so used to that self-loathing of imperfection that you fall right into the trap.

“Yep, he’s right, if I wasn’t so indecisive we would have picked a better vacation spot.”

“I cannot blame him for being annoyed with me bugging him during the football game, he’s had a long week (not as long as mine but I digress), and I’m so bad at nagging.”

Maybe it’s time we revolt against this. Hey, why not even agree with them? “Honey you’re right, this IS all my fault” and then walk away, with peace in the deep truth we don’t cause men’s problems. And then we keep on doing whatever the fuck we were doing to annoy them. Because the other option, and I’ve been there, is to begin to believe their lies. And eventually you are holding yourself responsible for everything that goes wrong. With everyone.

So today I pledge to embrace my flaws, and to pinch that fat on the back of my arm (that shit hurts!) every time I believe the negative shit a man blames me for. I pledge to push out of my mind the things he says every time he convinces me that my imperfections have somehow caused his or the world’s problems. Because let’s be honest, how many women start wars and threaten nuclear bonding?

I should totally open and pay all those bills but I’m not going to

I once checked my credit score with regularity and pride. It was nearly perfect. Then I got divorced. Now I don’t qualify for a loan on Chucky Cheese tokens. And I don’t care. I have two tiers of creditors: those who might get paid and those who ain’t ever getting paid. Medical providers, go ahead and write me off, I doubt you’ll go bankrupt and if you do, hey we may be in the same boat. Credit card companies, I’m trying to catch up, but y’all know how it be. Student loans- well y’all I have no net income right now so I can’t help you out either.

I’ve known women who got nothing from their divorce, women who got a shit-ton, and women who are somewhere in the middle. And we all in the same boat, y’all. But I think back to my college days when I threw away credit card statements without reading them, and I somehow survived with a credit score lower than what I pay my parents to live at their house since my husband kicked me out (zero).

Honestly, the first year of this divorce business is me trying to wear non-pajamas in public on the weekends, me trying to find a waterproof mascara that survives random crying jags, and me trying not to go to jail for punching loud chewers, which I’ve always struggled with but now have lost impulse control.

So in the big scheme of things, this whole owing everyone money thing is not on my top 100 list. Unless you owe the mob, a dealer, or Vegas, just say fuck it, I’m doing the best I can