The Other Woman

Her name was Erica. She was the bane of my existence. Someone I never even met ruled my universe. She had him. So was what my mind would repeat as I lay awake well past 4:00 AM. The grapefruit in my throat was swelling into a melon. Lodged. Deep. Heavy. It had been hard to breathe for seconds turned into minutes turned into hours into days into weeks into months into what I had no idea would be several years.. 6 years to be exact. It took 6 precious years for me not to cringe every time I heard or read or witnessed an Erica. Even my adoration for Erykah Badu was in question (but her music helped me through… how convenient!). The blood rushed north to my brain and stayed past its welcome, a refugee of cells storming into the smallest of cities cramming it past what any fire department would declare the maximum capacity. It was a one way street to torture. My eyes were dry, lifeless and wide awake. My heart sprinting what felt a never ending marathon. I'm so tired. Exhausted. When will this pain end? There has to be an end to this… right? I lay awake on my metal framed bed that squeaked with every shortened breath, toss or turn... It squeaked a lot. Ouch. The large fruit in my throat has spread like cancer into my chest and has turned into stone. 5:54 AM. I haven't had a decent night’s sleep in... I can't even remember. I got up to go to the bathroom for the umpteenth time and then to the kitchen for anything to satiate this gaping hole in my existence. I open the fridge and there's nothing that jumps out. I close it. I reopen it. Still nothing. I do this habitually several more times and realize I haven't had a decent appetite since... I can't even remember. Who am I? I hardly recognize myself in any reflective surface I pass, what's wrong with me? I don't recognize these thoughts or feelings. I haven't been myself in... I can't even remember.

This was my first true experience with “the other woman”. I was 16. I felt jealousy and possessiveness like never before. It dominated my body and most of my mind… thankfully I still had my spine. I clung to my pride desperately in attempts to make it through. My survival fed solely on the mirage of a fact that way deep down within I honest to God knew my worth to be more than a teenage love affair through all the dark insecure thoughts I secretly housed inside.

I understood why some women get knocked up on purpose to lock “him” down. This thought scared the living shit out of me. Was I capable of this? Holy shit. But I knew better. Why would I allow myself to become a pregnant 16 year old statistic over a teenage infatuation? Because I honest to God loved him. All I knew was him. He was my world for 2 years. And in teenage years, 2 years is everything.

Fast forward 10 years, at 26 years old I can reflect on that experience as one of many pinnacle transformations I’ve been through. There were many “Erica’s” since then. “Erica” had turned into:
Esther
Jennifer
Apolonia
Maria
Gina
Dianna
Kali
Lissette
And now… Cristina.

Hi Cristina: I’m sure if we were acquainted on another completely neutral term we’d get along well because I think he has great taste in women. If I cared about you I’d tell you to run, but since I don’t know you from a hole in the wall good luck and best wishes! Cheers, Ria


From Jersey to NYC to Philly to Greece to all the way in Spain, there resides an “Erica”. I’ve been an “Erica” (i.e. the other woman) myself to a few that I can recall and surely to others I have no idea about. At the end of the day, I simply pray and count my blessings. My journey involves true happiness and unconditional love that my girl Dove so eloquently put “Being truly loved should never be confusing or questioned, it’s without a doubt; anyone worth loving will make sure of that.” – Ameena Dove

RY