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Lyrix
My therapist said I should “date myself” for a year. She called it a journey of self-love and reflection. I call it an accidental celibacy sentence with no conjugal visits. It started peaceful and fulfilling—candles, bubble baths, journaling affirmations about worthiness. By month three, I was writing grocery lists in the “gratitude” section of my planner. By month six, I was having full-blown arguments with my stove while cooking. And by month nine, my vibrator needed a well-deserved break.
Thanksgiving was my breaking point. Every year, we go around the table and say what we’re thankful for. I’d been dreading it since my aunt texted, “Bring dessert and an open heart.” Aunt Sandra started first, holding her husband’s hand like they were the last two people on Noah’s Ark.
“I’m just thankful for my husband, my rock, my protector,” she said, smiling like her marriage was sponsored by God himself.
Then my cousin, who just got engaged, said, “I’m thankful for my fiancé. He’s shown me what real love looks like.”
Everyone wentawwwin unison. By the time it got to me, I was the only one at the table without a plus-one or a pending baby. My mama was looking at me with that mix of pity and prayer like she could summon me a man through eye contact alone.
So I cleared my throat and said, “I’m thankful that I can sleep peacefully at night knowing I’m not getting cheated on.”
I laughed because I thought it was funny, but nobody else did. They all looked concerned, like I’d just confessed to hearing voices. Aunt Sandra tried to smooth it over with a weak chuckle and a, “Well, self-love is important too, baby.” I sat there eating her dry turkey with my unbothered spirit, thinking,it’s okay—somebody's gotta represent peace of mind.
Christmas was worse. Every post on my feed had matching pajamas, engagements, and captions like “my forever gift.” I watchedThe Best Man Holidaywith a glass of cheap wine and some peppermint bark I didn’t even like. Even my ex posted a picture with his new girl in my old bonnet.NIGGAS.
Then came New Year’s Eve. The clock hit midnight, fireworks went off, and I kissed… absolutely no damn body. My phone lit up with texts like “Happy New Year, sis!” and “This is your year. God’s timing!” I turned off my phone and whispered, “God better hurry up, because I’m about to lose it.”
That’s when I promised myself I wasn’t going through another holiday alone. Especially not Valentine’s Day. Not one more “you’re your own soulmate” pep talk. This year, I was going to have fun, even if I had to create the damn memories myself.
Dr. Moreno called the next morning for our “progress check-in.”
“So, Lyrix,” she said, in that soft therapist tone that made everything sound like a guided meditation. “How do you feel after your year of solitude and reflection?”
I took a deep breath. “Honestly? Peaceful. Balanced. Spiritually renewed.”
She smiled. “That’s wonderful to hear.”
I nodded. “And also, horny. Like, deeply, spiritually horny. I’m starting to think inner peace is just what you feel when you’ve given up hope.”
She blinked slowly. “Lyrix…”
“No, I’m serious. I’ve been patient, reflective, celibate, and all it’s gotten me is cold sheets and hallucinations of Denzel Washington inTraining Day.I think I might be allergic to patience.”
Dr. Moreno scribbled something in her notebook. “Maybe what you’re feeling is restlessness. That’s a sign that you’re ready for the next phase of your healing.”
“So… sex?”
“Not necessarily. Maybe connection. Spontaneity.”
“Connection sounds like a scam, but spontaneity? I could work with that.”
She smiled faintly. “Remember, the goal isn’t to find love, but to be open to it.”
“Okay, but what if I’m open to… chaos?” She sighed in that long-suffering therapist way.
“As long as it’s healthy chaos, Lyrix.”
“Define healthy.”
“It doesn’t leave you emotionally dehydrated.”
“So… no men from my hometown then.” She didn’t laugh, but I did, mostly to keep from spiraling. Therapists rarely laugh when you need them to.
That night, I was folding laundry and scrolling through TikTok when I stumbled across one of my favorite podcasts, The HeauxBible. Two women from New Orleans with thick accents, big laughs, and energy loud enough to make you feel seen through the screen. They were talking about how every woman deserves a Heaux Phase before settling down, and they’d just launched their “Heaux Phase Vision Board 2026.”
