When “Calling the Lady” Stops Being a Promise

In Black culture, “calling the Lady” is something some Black men say when a relationship is on the brink of ending. It’s presented as an attempt to save the relationship—a promise of growth, change, or accountability. But more often than not, it remains just that: a promise. One that isn’t always followed by real action or sustained effort.

Among Black women, “the Lady” has become an inside joke. Not because therapy itself is humorous, but because we’ve seen how easily it’s offered as a last resort instead of chosen with intention. It’s something said in crisis, not commitment.

That context matters. It inspired my title, but more importantly, it frames what makes this different.

Because I actually called the Lady. For myself.

I’ve been in therapy since November, and what it’s shown me most is that wisdom isn’t just about awareness; it’s about being teachable. Therapy has consistently shifted things back to me, how I communicate, how I interpret situations, how I project, and how often my thoughts turn into assumptions. It’s reminded me that I’m responsible for myself: my reactions, my patterns, and my follow-through.

My instinct was to blame someone else or point to my past. This is why I’m the way I am because of my upbringing. Or I’d respond with a rebuttal: Well, you said this, so I reacted like that. It was my way of protecting myself from feeling seen or being honest about my part.

Therapy helped me see that acknowledging the root of my behavior doesn’t excuse it, it simply helps me recognize my triggers. Initially, I struggled to identify what was actually causing those triggers, which kept me from truly processing my emotions.

The truth is, I haven’t fully healed from past trauma, and it’s shown up in ways I didn’t want to admit. I thought I could “self-care” my way through it by journaling, stating affirmations, staying positive. Those things helped, but they weren’t enough. There was deeper work that needed to be done.

I’ve also had to confront the reality that I can be selfish and inconsiderate. When I feel unseen or unheard, my survival response is to shut down. And when I shut down, I shut down for a long time, sometimes long enough that the issue gets swept under the rug and resentment quietly replaces resolution. I used to tell myself I processed it, but really, I was just burying it.

Now, when I feel myself pulling away, I allow space to process but I don’t leave it there. I go back to it. Because if I wait too long, I convince myself I already handled it, and I never truly do.

What made this click for me was the idea of repetition as care. For me, repetition is choosing to revisit the same patterns without shame, because avoidance kept me stuck longer than honesty ever did.

When we’re trying to change, we don’t just need awareness, we need reinforcement. We need reminders. We need structure.

That perspective changed how I’ve been reading the book of Proverbs.

Proverbs keeps circling back to the same themes: wisdom, correction, self-control, humility, and responsibility. At first, it can feel redundant. But now I see the repetition differently. Proverbs doesn’t repeat itself because we’re incapable, it repeats because we’re human. We forget. We resist. We drift. Repetition is an act of care.

Therapy has mirrored that same rhythm. Many conversations circle back to familiar patterns, not because I’m failing, but because growth requires reinforcement. Awareness without application doesn’t lead to change.

This has also reframed how I look at last year. Instead of seeing it as a season where things were simply happening to me, I’ve started asking harder questions:

Where was my hand in this?

What role did I play?

Did I do what I said I would do?

Did I follow through?

Did I show up for myself?

My desire to grow hasn’t left, it’s a requirement for me. What has changed is my approach. I’ve decided not to overprepare anymore. Instead of waiting to feel ready, healed, or certain, I chose to start where I was and let consistency do the work.

Last year was one of the most challenging years I’ve had in a long time, and truthfully, I made it that way. Poor decisions come at a cost, and I felt that cost mentally, emotionally, financially, and physically.

A quote from Why Did I Get Married? has stayed with me. Janet Jackson’s character, Patricia, a psychologist, says, “Perfect Patty messed up.” That line resonated deeply. I struggle with perfectionism. I grew up in a household where I was placed on a pedestal, treated as if I were incapable of failure. So when I do mess up, I take it extremely hard. Failure feels like exposure instead of information.

Therapy has helped me recognize how my inner child shows up in those moments, how shame, avoidance, and defensiveness step in when things don’t go as planned. I’m learning that emotional maturity isn’t about never messing up; it’s about how quickly and honestly you take responsibility when you do.

What I really want is to become a better woman. A grown woman. One who doesn’t confuse preparation with progress or intention with follow-through. One who allows herself to be corrected, redirected, and refined without spiraling.

This post is about that shift. About recognizing that real change doesn’t come from promises, it comes from accountability. From repetition. From choosing discomfort over denial.

Calling the Lady wasn’t performative. It wasn’t a last resort. It was intentional.

I didn’t call her to save a relationship, an image, or a version of myself I’ve outgrown. I called her to finally choose myself and to show up consistently for the woman I’m becoming.