So I got a chance to watch the final episode of VH1’s “T.I. & Tiny: The Family Hustle,” where viewers have watched Clifford “T.I.” and Tameka “Tiny” Harris end their six-year marriage. If you follow me on social, you already know my thoughts on Clifford, the woman-hating mack from way back so I won’t get into that here.

What I will get into is the noticeable difference in Tiny, once regaled as Queen Ride-or-Die over the course of their 15-year relationship. Now seven kids, two T.I. jail stints, her flourishing career halted, and a notorious mugshot later, it seems as though Tiny slapped herself back to reality following years of blatant disrespect (Though I am not certain the split is permanent, but hey, not my portion). Watching the episode, I felt the unfortunate ending of a relationship but also the official ending of the ride-or-die chick era as it were.

So who IS the the ride-or-die chick exactly?

She is a celebrated fixture in hip-hop who sits on the passenger side next to the man she loves as he out runs the police in a chase. She has taken prison hits (think Keisha from Belly) and stashed bags (think every Jay-Z love song), but nevertheless she loves her man unyieldingly.

In present day, she raises your children (both biologic and “break babies”), forgives you every time you cheat, waits eons for you to marry or commit, turns a blind eye to your most destructive flaws, conceals your addictions and so on. She is a ride-or-die chick (RDC let’s say)--a badge that at one time stood as the ultimate honor for women and young girls in her relationship.

However, all things come to an end and in this case, praise Little Baby Jesus.

While relationships are undoubtedly a series of life's ups and downs, there is a line between loving your man through hard times and dying to self following repeated transgressions. The painful truth is RDCs are glamorized reincarnates of what has been modeled in our families and communities for generations--a martyr that stands by her man’s ongoing brokenness and consistently raggedy ways at the cost of her own silent mental, professional, and sometimes physical demise. She is nothing more than a sexy means of veiling the dysfunctional behavior that has been killing women's self esteem and ripping through families for centuries.

At one point many of us believed in the RDC fantasy growing up. I know I did, but thank goodness I have been DELIVERT. I know I am not alone. There is a collective feeling that women, particularly black women, have no interest in riding along the painful, bumpy road to nowhere but heartbreak and disloyalty.

Ya’ll see even Beyonce went from :

To:

I'm just saying.

Now the RDC has stopped riding shotgun and instead grabs the wheel, speeding off into the night with just the kids in the back seat into the next phase in her life. Or at least that is my hope for her. In my head she finds a new boo, the one with his own business that has had a crush on her for years and treats her like fresh Krispy Kreme doughnuts. Although, I know in real life it's a more complicated process, yet one that is very much attainable once the RDC mentality is finally put in its final resting place.

I, for one, will not mourn the loss.

The Ride-or-Die Chick Finally Offed Herself and It’s About Damn Time