JULES #4
"My speech is about the moment I realized my mama wasn't just my mama, she was a person.
And not just any person, a strong one. For a long time, I thought parents were just parents.
Like they were supposed to have all the answers, supposed to fix everything, supposed to make life feel normal no matter what was going on.
I never really thought about what it took for them to do that.
Or what it costs. The moment I realized that was when everything in my family changed.
Things stopped being how they used to be.
The house felt different. Conversations got shorter.
Some things just went quiet. And I didn't understand it.
I was angry. I blamed my mama for a lot of things I didn't even fully understand.
I thought she was the reason everything felt broken.
I thought she was the reason things didn't go back to normal.
But I wasn't paying attention to what she was actually doing.
I wasn't paying attention to how she was still waking up every morning, making sure we were good, making sure we had what we needed, even when she was going through things I didn't even know about.
I wasn't paying attention to how she never stopped being there, even when I was pushing her away.
And I did push her away a lot. I had an attitude.
I said things I shouldn't have said. I acted like she was the problem when really, she was the one holding everything together.
The moment it clicked for me wasn't loud.
It was quiet. I remember watching her one day, just doing regular stuff.
Cooking. Cleaning. Checking on us. And I realized she looked tired.
Not just physically, but like deeply tired.
And she still showed up anyway. That's when I realized my mama wasn't weak.
She was choosing to keep going. She was choosing us.
Over and over again. Even when it probably would've been easier not to.
And that's when I started to understand, love doesn't always look like what you think it's supposed to look like.
Sometimes it's not loud. Sometimes it's not perfect.
Sometimes it's not even happy. Sometimes love looks like sacrifice.
Like choosing your kids even when your own life feels like it's falling apart.
Like letting go of things that hurt you, so you can be better for the people you love.
My mama made many sacrifices for us. Some I see now.
Some I probably still don't even know about.
But I know this: she never stopped loving us through any of it.
And that made me realize something about myself, too.
I had to take accountability for how I was acting.
I had to realize that just because I was hurting, it didn't mean I could hurt her back.
And I had to learn how to appreciate her while she's still here.
Not later. Not when I'm grown. Now. So my significant moment wasn't just realizing my mama is strong.
It was realizing she's human. And loving her for both.
That changed how I see her. Because now I don't just see my mama as somebody who's supposed to hold everything together.
I see her as the reason I know what strength actually looks like. "
I felt tears rolling down my face as I stood up and clapped with the rest of the auditorium.
This whole time I had no idea she was writing her speech about me.
A mother's love was like no other. I was glad to see that she was growing and had a newfound sense of understanding; she was becoming a young lady.
I wiped the tears from my chin before blowing kisses at her.
For a long time, I wondered how the kids would look at me after the divorce, but I was glad to know that she at least saw me.
And not just saw me as her mama, but saw me for who I really was.
For years... I didn't even see myself like that.
I saw survival. I saw responsibility. I saw everything I had to do, but not everything I had become.
It took everything falling apart for me to finally look at myself and recognize the woman I had been all along.
I eased back down into my seat, still clapping, still watching her.
She didn't smile big. Didn't get emotional.
She just sat there like she had said what she needed to say.
Like she understood something now that she couldn't unlearn.
After the speeches at the school, we had a big crawfish boil out in the yard and allowed Julise to invite some of her friends over.
The music was playing, and the kids were running around outside.
I watched from a kitchen window, where I sat laughing and sneaking in margaritas with Chiana, Amina, and Ayida.
The house felt full. Voices bouncing off the walls, laughter spilling through the open back door, music blending into it all.
For a second, I let myself stand still and just take it in.
This was the kind of moment I used to fight for.
Back then, it always felt like something could slip through my fingers at any moment.
Now it felt like something I had built. Different foundation. Same love. Stronger structure.
"Y’all up in here giggling and sipping, you need to be out here chaperoning your daughter and her friends. You know them kids like to drink liquor." Evie said, busting through the door, making us laugh.
"Aint no alcohol out there, crazy lady," I said to her.
"You don’t know what the hell they snuck to your house. Hell, they snuck it in the school," she said, putting her hands on her hips.
"Her daddy is out there and is alert, trust me," I said, looking at him sitting at a table with his brothers.
He looked good. His hair had grown out on his face, and he looked thicker, like he'd been working out.
I didn't stare long or let my thoughts wander too far down that road.
But I saw him. The way he sat and watched everything around him.
More present. Less restless. Like life had slowed him down in a way he couldn't outrun anymore.
I didn't feel responsible for that version of him anymore.
That was his work now. His growth. His healing.
That separation didn't feel cold. It felt right.
After a while of talking and drinking a couple of more drinks, we headed out to the yard.
I stood off to the side, smiling as I watched Julise interact with her friends.
She laughed loud, throwing her head back the way she used to when she was younger.
There was no heaviness in her shoulders anymore.
No quiet anger sitting behind her eyes. She looked like a girl her age again. That alone made everything worth it.
"She’s different," Amina said beside me, nudging my arm lightly. I glanced at her.
"Yeah," I said softly.
"That therapy did her good," Chiana spoke.
"It did," I nodded.
"But you did too." She finished
I shook my head slightly. "I just showed up."
Amina looked at me like she didn't believe that.
"You did more than that," she said. I didn't argue with her.
Not because I fully agreed, but because I no longer felt the need to explain myself.
That was something new, too. Not needing to prove anything and be understood by everybody.
Just knowing where I stood, and standing there.
Chiana came up on my other side, handing me another drink. "You deserve this," she said.
I looked down at the cup before taking it.
"I know," I said, simply no longer hard for me to admit.
Across the yard, Jules stood up from the table and walked over to where Julise and her friends were gathered.
I watched him greet them, dapping up a couple of the boys, speaking to the girls respectfully, but still with that presence about him that let you know exactly who he was.
Julise rolled her eyes at something he said, but I saw the small smile she tried to hide.
That moment.. That balance. It mattered.
Because even though we weren't together, we still showed up for them together.
In a way that made sense. In a way that didn't confuse them.
In a way that didn't force anything that no longer belonged.
I sipped from my drink, letting the taste settle on my tongue. The sun sat low in the sky now, casting a soft glow over everything. The music slowed down a bit. The energy shifted. Full day energy settling into evening peace. That’s how my life felt now.
I smelt him before I looked over and saw him. Jules was standing next to me now with a cup in his hand, watching the kids in the yard. “We did right by them, huh?" He questioned. I looked over at him and smiled.
"Yeah we did," I said. I let my eyes drift back out into the yard. The kids were everywhere.
Running.
Laughing.
Arguing.
Living.
Julise stood in the middle of it all, talking with her friends like she didn't carry the same weight she used to.
Jezel was chasing after one of the girls, her laugh high and bright, cutting through the music.
Juelz stood off to the side, trying to act too grown, but still checking in on everything like he always did.
They were okay. That used to be my biggest fear.
Not the divorce. Not what people would say.
It was always them. How they would come out of all of this.
How they would look at me. How they would carry it.
I watched them now, really watched them, and realized they weren't carrying it the way I thought they would.
They weren't broken. They weren't confused. They weren't lost.
They had adjusted.
They had grown.
They had found their footing just like I had. And somewhere in that, I realized something I hadn't said out loud before. I did what I was supposed to do. Not perfect. Not without mistakes. Not without hurting. But I showed up. And that was enough.
Beside me, Jules shifted his weight slightly.
I could feel his presence without looking at him.
It didn't make me tense anymore. It didn't make me question myself.
It didn't make me feel pulled in two directions.
It just existed. Like a chapter I had already read.
Important. Necessary but no longer where I was.
"I ain't think it would look like this," he said after a while, his voice low.
I glanced over at him. “Like what?"
He let out a breath through his nose, shaking his head slightly. "Peaceful."
It wasn't something we had known how to do together. Not back then. Back then, everything was loud. Love was loud. Arguments were loud. Passion was loud. Even the silence had weight to it. Now, everything felt different. It was quieter and steady. "It took time," I said.
He nodded. “I know. I be thinking about that sometimes," he added. "How we used to be.” I did too. Not in a way that made me want to go back. Just in a way that acknowledged what it was.
"We were young," I said finally.
He huffed out a small laugh. "Yeah... we was."
I looked back out into the yard again. For a long time, I thought love meant holding on.
Fighting for something, no matter how much it hurts. Giving pieces of yourself until there was nothing left to give. That's what I thought it meant to be bound to someone. Tied to them in a way that couldn't be undone.
No matter what.
No matter how it felt.
No matter what it costs.
But standing here now, watching him, watching our kids, watching the life we had built and then rebuilt in a different way, I understood something different.
Being bound to someone didn't always mean staying.
It didn't always mean holding on. Sometimes, it meant honoring what was, without forcing it to be what it wasn't anymore.
We were still bound. Just not in the way I used to think.
Not as husband and wife. Not as something that had to last forever in one form.
But as something that shaped us. Something that gave us these kids.
Something that taught us who we were and who we needed to become.
That kind of bond didn't break. It just changed. "I'm proud of you," he said suddenly.
I turned to look at him. “For what?"
He shrugged slightly, his eyes still on the yard. “For figuring it out. For them. For yourself. “I studied him for a second. That wasn't something he would've said before. Not like that. Not without ego attached to it. Not without trying to claim some part of it. Now it felt genuine.
"I'm proud of you, too," I said. And I meant it. Not for who he used to be. Not for what we had. But for who he was choosing to become now. As a father. As a man. Separate from me. That mattered.
We stood there for a little while longer, side by side, watching the kids. No unfinished conversations lingered between us. Just understanding. Eventually, he nodded toward the yard. “I’m gon go check on them boys," he said.
"Alright."
He walked off, blending back into the scene as he belonged there, just not beside me anymore.
That didn't feel like a loss. It felt like acceptance. I stayed where I was, leaning slightly against the side of the house, my fingers wrapped loosely around my cup. The sun dipped lower, painting everything in warm tones. I took a deep breath. And let it out slow.
I thought about everything it took to get here.
The girl I used to be. The woman I had to become.
The things I held on to. The things I had to let go of.
The love I gave. The love I lost. The love I found again in myself.
somewhere in that reflection. something settled in me for good.
I wasn't waiting anymore. I wasn't hoping things would go back.
I wasn't holding space for a version of life that no longer existed.
I was living fully. As myself. For myself.
For my children. And that was enough. More than enough.
I lifted my eyes one last time, taking in everything in front of me. The laughter. The movement. The life we built out of everything we went through. And quietly, without needing to say it out loud, I understood.
I was never broken.
I was just becoming into the woman I was always meant to be.