The Messy Girl Chronicles: Tara Crawford

By Guest Blogger: Jai Green

My name is Tara Crawford and I am a mess. I haven’t always been a mess. From the outside looking in you wouldn’t know it at all. Here I stand 5″7, lean, with a body full of melanin. I am the epitome of confidence at 29 years of age running my own media company. I innovate, I create, and I am dating a radio personality. I have done well for myself you might say. I just launched a non-profit helping young girls to love themselves. I educate young women on loving the skin (including body image) that they are in, how to properly manage hygiene, and relationships. I support women and really work hard at being a good role model. As a graduate from an HBCU I use my platform as well to help the #BlackLivesMatter movement. Some would say I am perfect. Some have expressed they would trade places with me so fast. So why am I a mess?

I met him a little over a year ago. Arrogant, full of life, social, and a grade A a-hole. A bad boy in his own right and I loved it. Like a moth to a flame as cliche as that sounds I was drawn to his fire. I was consumed by his talent, his ability to make me love and hate him at the same time, and his charm. Once we officially started dating the Facebook, Twitter, and Instagram post came. Heck, our #MelaninMondays would “Break The Internet” every monday. I was his #WCE (woman crush everyday) and he was my #MCE (Man Crush Everyday) A woman who ran a media company and a radio personality. People called us all sorts of things from power couple to the ’15 Bonnie & Clyde. “You have the perfect man Tara”. “Omg I would kill to have a Queen like yours”. But I knew the truth. The truth was he was dismissive, distant, and barely touched me when we were alone. I was lonely, craving companionship, and sad all the time. But I played my part. I played my part because I figured hey, whats the alternative? Be alone? Be by myself? It hurt just to think of it. So I stomached him. I stayed. I craved whatever little attention he gave, whatever little touch he gave me (which were mostly sexual). I just needed him. Then it hit me. I didn’t need him at all. I needed my father. This whole time I was searching for his love, his touch, his approval, his attention.

I am my father’s only child by my mother. They weren’t even married a year before she found out about Karla, Jenny, Kesha, and Brenda. I could never blame my mother for trying to fight for her marriage. She gave it all she had for another year before they called it quits. I remember him coming by often when I was younger, he’d bounce me on his lap, stay for a good hour then leave. We never bonded. The only thing I truly remember about him is that he loves Bluebell Ice Cream, Grape Soda, and card games. I was never a Daddy’s girl, I don’t even remember a time where I sat on his shoulders for a better view of anything. To make matters worst he too was dismissive and distant when I got older. The last time I saw him I was 21 years old and I told him: “I did all of this, graduated (with honors) with my bachelors early without you”. He looked at me smiled and never came around again. Now here I am dating a man who treats me just like my father did.

Daddy Issues are real. We tend to focus on little boys who miss their father and how it sometimes emasculate them or birth other harmful tendencies. But what about little girls? Just like they need their mother they need their father too. They need to grow up knowing what a REAL MAN looks like. They need that male attention, love, compassion that only a father can give. Little girls need to know they matter to their dad because little girls grow up to date their dads. Not in a sadistic incest kinda of way, but in a “I was shown how a woman is supposed to be treated by a man of a certain caliber” kind of way. With this new found knowledge I know what I need to do. I need to find my father.