The Three P's of a Black Woman's Life: Plant, Pet, and Post-Ghosting Penis (A Recipe for Rebuilding in Recovery)

Call me a ghost and butter my biscuits! My long-term partner pulled a Houdini-esque disappearance act on July 18, 2024, last year. We were simmering one minute, and then—poof! Lost. similar to a soufflé that bursts as soon as the oven is opened. It felt more like dropping the entire damn book in a puddle than it did like turning a new page. Naturally, the timing was perfect—just before my bachelor's degree final year, which I was completing while working a full-time job at a behavioral health and substance abuse treatment facility.

The Three Ps: From Planter to Dangerous "Pop-Off P"

Now, the golden rule is obvious to anyone who has ever ventured into the murky waters of recovery: before you even consider a penis, get a plant and then a pet. The holy trinity of newly discovered self-care is it. To demonstrate your ability to keep a damn thing alive, you must first cultivate some stability, a small pot of something green. After that, you advance to a furry friend—someone you can cuddle with who won't abruptly disappear. Then, my friends, are you perhaps, just possibly, prepared for the dating rollercoaster?

But let me tell you, planting anything felt ambitious after being abandoned like a forgotten dinner reservation. The soil of my emotional garden was salted with bewilderment and a good helping of "WTF just happened?" It was supposed to be a little less... chaotic during my pet phase. I began with three catfish, two snails, and nine fish. There is currently no way to neuter them, and they are proliferating like bunnies. I ought to start a pet shop now. So, once a month, I've been methodically killing their "fries." What about the third P? The only "P" I cared about, honey, was "peace." At least something is happening in this house.

A Formula for Misfortune, A Guide for Innovation

This leads me to my blueprint. It's a rough, dusty, sometimes burned road map to navigating this strange thing we call life, with a healthy dose of heartache and recuperation. It's not some fancy architectural design. Consider it a recipe that is continuously being modified and that has been infused with a number of dubious ingredients.

He was a crucial component of my life's recipe for many years. He was the consistent, dependable baking powder that, I believed, caused everything to rise. It seemed as though someone had thrown out that ingredient in the middle of baking when he vanished. It all went flat. dense. Without taste. The stench of what once existed left me with a kitchen full of partially mixed batter and a severe case of food poisoning.

The Unseasoned Salt of Grace and Grief

It appeared that the universe had more in store for me. My grandmother unexpectedly died on November 1st, 2024, just a few months later. "I just want you to be okay," she would often say, and she was my rock. I was clinging to the last vestiges of my academic life when the grief threatened to sweep me away like a tidal wave. However, I marked four years clean on November 5th, just four days later. That day served as a clear reminder of the resources I had in my toolbox for recovery. To get through what seemed like an insurmountable period, I relied on them, my network of support, and my commitments. The loneliness of the ghosting and the loss of my grandmother could have easily made me want to give up, but my recovery served as the fulcrum that prevented me from going back to sea.

I persevered through that last year, going to classes, working, and grieving simultaneously. And I eventually received my degree in May 2025. It was a moment of mixed emotions. Although my grandmother wasn't physically present, I know she was there in spirit, witnessing her granddaughter "be okay" at last.

Appreciating the Gritty and the Sweet

So here I am, a Black woman in Kansas City, with a lot of grit and a slightly scorched apron. I'm relearning how to plant, caring for the strong roots of sobriety and the delicate seedlings of self-worth. Even though my "pet" situation is a messy, finned metaphor for the unpredictable nature of life, I'm surrounded by amazing women who provide the kind of steadfast support that no phantom boyfriend could ever provide.

What about the penis? That's still simmering quietly on the back burner while I concentrate on the main course, which is me. Because the purpose of this blueprint is not to find someone else to finish the picture. It's about painting the damn picture myself, with all the clumsy flaws and unanticipated beauty that come with the job, in bold, unrepentant strokes.

Therefore, you are not alone if you have experienced heartbreak, ghosting, or are simply attempting to understand the formula for this crazy thing called life. Along the way, let's accept the burnt edges, chuckle at the culinary mishaps, and perhaps even bake something spectacular. Which of your worst kitchen disasters, to your surprise, worked out okay? Or your unanticipated "ingredients" for overcoming adversity? Let's create some solidarity by sharing in the comments section below.