It’s finally happening. Sean Combs—Puff Daddy, P. Diddy, Puffy, Diddy, Love, or whatever monogrammed personality he’s using these days—is on trial. And y’all, I’m just sitting here like… well, it’s about time.
Now, I know how this circus works. His defense team will argue. His accusers will testify. Some folks will stretch the truth like a pair of cheap leggings at a buffet. Others will flat-out lie. But babe, that video—you know the one—is doing all the talking we really need. You cannot tell me that’s a one-off incident. No sir. No ma’am. No way. That kind of behavior doesn’t just pop up like a bad rash. That’s learned. That’s practiced. And worse? That’s controlled.
And his lawyer—actually stood there with a straight face and called it “simple domestic abuse.” I’m sorry, is that on the new Dollar Menu at McTrauma? Because I don’t recall seeing “simple” and “abuse” ever sharing space in a sentence like that before. Abuse—whether it’s physical, verbal, emotional, or all wrapped up in a toxic little combo pack—is never simple. And just because you’ve got a shared address or some rings involved doesn’t somehow make it less violent or less wrong. If he’d done that to a stranger out in public? Oh, he’d be locked up before he could even finish his “Do you know who I am?” speech.
But here’s the thing that really gets me. People ask all the time, “Why didn’t she leave?” Why didn’t she press charges?” And I have to stop myself from getting too high and mighty, because I know the answer. I’ve asked that same question. Then I turn right back around and say, “I know exactly why.”
Sometimes it’s just easier to stay with the devil you know. But y’all… if you’re referring to the person you share a home with as “the devil,” it’s probably time to go. Scratch that—it’s absolutely time to go.
And back to Mr. Combs. It’s sad, but not shocking. It’s Hollywood. That place has been a pit of well-dressed depravity long before I was born, long before my momma and daddy were born. Y’all ever heard of the “casting couch”? That wasn’t just a rumor—that was a whole business model.
The difference now? People—real people—are standing up. Women aren’t as afraid to come forward. Men either. But with that comes a whole other mess, doesn’t it? The folks who see a moment of fame and jump right on that train with a lie in their back pocket. And that’s where it gets complicated.
There’s a fine line between a harmless flirtation and real harassment. And if someone crosses it? Speak up. Say it made you uncomfortable. That should be the end of it. But too often, it’s not. And too often, people wait years to say something. And sometimes, honestly, I think, “Why now?” But then I check myself because I remember—I didn’t speak up either.
I didn’t speak up about the abuse I went through as a child until I was grown. And let me just say, and the silencing shaped me. I’ll never forget the first time I told a family member. You know what I heard? “We’re just not going to discuss that.”
Well, lucky for me, I got tired of staying quiet. Eventually, that silence nearly broke me. But that’s a blog for another day.
Back to this trial—what do you think? Is he going down? And who else should be sitting right there beside him in that courtroom? People we think are angels with perfect PR teams—are they really? Or are they just better at hiding it?
XOXO, Jani
Journeys With Jani 