I won't bore or excite you with the details of the last two plus years yet. Some was totally ridiculously awesome and some was totally ridiculously awful. Of course there are some funny stories too which may find their way on here somehow. No helicopters though. That was a one time thing methinks...
Anyway, today in the shower I was inspired to dust off this old url and say a few things, about a thought and idea and feeling that's been marinating for a really long time, since high school. That makes decades by now since I just celebrated 20 years since that particular graduation. I'm hoping I will have the opportunity to do something about it because you know, "Don't talk about it, be about it."
So. Here is what is on my mind. And it is so appropriate that my last post, in Dec 2009, was about a superhero. Because that is exactly what I am not. What we are NOT. I'm talking about the myth of the Black Superwoman. The Strong Black Woman. The Angry Black Woman. Who and where on earth are the people we are talking about? I rebuke these expressions.
or maybe....
Trust me, I am an expert. I can speak with authority on this matter because 1) I am a black woman; 2) I am from DC and went to public school so I know lots of other black women; 3) I went to a black women's college so I know even MORE black women; 4) I pledged DST so I know a whole other gaggle of black women. I know us. And lemme tell you: we are not superheroes. So stop piling stuff on our plate!
Where did this mythology commence? During slavery I suppose. The colonizers and traders had Africans all messed up in the game and because the men were physically stronger, they had to break them down and literally physically restrain them from a natural born uprising so we women had to take up the slack. We had to endure the transgressions of curious capturers who snuck into our huts and shacks at night, uninvited (even if on the rare occasion, welcome) and head our families because we stayed with the children more often than the men were allowed to, and we basically just had to hold it down. And I am not blaming the men. This is about women so brothers don't get defensive just listen. What happened to the brothers was equally messed up but that's not what I'm talking about right this second.
Over time this reality created a set of behaviors and ways of relating to the outside world that required us to develop a tough exterior and then, interior. Sort of. We embraced God collectively, and Food. Over time. Because both of these things are powerful medications. Maybe even better than Klonopin.
Fast forward to now. At least here in the US, we don't have to pick cotton or endure any of the horrors of our foremothers. But what we endure can be torturous nonetheless. On a relative basis of course.
What am I talking about? I am talking about articles that exalt black women eschewing relationships for their careers and piling themselves like a coven into houses with a bunch of cats and Cheese Whiz and giving up on romantic love. I am talking about our own PR machine that screams at the world that we are fine, just fine, with our Ivy League degrees and Jimmy Choo shoes, when really, the kids are not fine. At all.
What I know about that from anecdotal evidence and personal experience, is that careers are far more reliable and easy to achieve for those of us who can become educated, than relationships. The media, courtesy of us and maybe, guilt, has that causal relationship all backwards. And so do we, because we are the biggest perpetuators of this myth. It is really twisted that we can't be honest with ourselves much less the outside world, about the toll it takes on us, to go to work every day and experience new age racism and sexism in HD technicolor and then go home alone or to a phone that didn't ring because our man was off galavanting in Anguilla behind our back with a yoga instructor...who looks white, which really is ok but really is not.
I prolly won't be going to this beach, ever. Jus sayin'.
I am talking about an undiagnosed and untreated epidemic of depression and dysthymia (Google it) that is self medicated with Food (seriously, we need to do something about that) and Church on Wednesday, Friday and Sunday. Sometimes alcohol or drugs or reckless irresponsible humping and babies by the absolutely positively wrong Negro(es) because he/they happened to be there. Not criticizing Church, just challenging the notion that it keeps you warm at night. Night after night. After night. For like, a reallllllly long time.
Keep the faith! Nothing wrong with it.
I am talking about delusions projected outward that we don't need what we desperately crave, which is to be loved by a partner as every human being was designed to be, but the outlook is bleak so we say we don't want it. "I don't need a man to justify my existence." <= That is one of my personal quotes from back in the day before I knew what it felt like to be mutually in love with someone. And that statement represents an existential misunderstanding of what is really going on.
I am talking about feeling unwanted and uneverythinggoodwhatsoever and that turning into a bit of an attitude from time to time...but really who wouldn't be a bit pissed off about that? Did you know only 9% of black women marry outside their race compared to about 18-20% of black men? Beyond that statistic black women are the least married group of folks in this country. Go to match.com and see how many white/Asian/Hispanic men check every single race but "Black" when describing their ideal match. Numbers don't lie. Google it!
Ok so um, what was my point? My point is that I am here to debunk this myth. Black women don't have the luxury of vulnerability. We don't even allow it to our own selves. To cry when injured is to sin. To have to take a knee because you got the wind knocked out of you, to act a little bit crazy, to consider suicide when the rainbow is enuf...is to be crazy. Other women get away with this by the way. But lose your cool and you're fired, or you are dealing with 5-0.
Because 1) Angry Black Women are REALLY REALLY scary and people feel threatened. We're combative. We make people feel uncomfortable. We just might kill you. Right? (uh, wrong) And 2) Strong Black Women are normal. When we are weak, when we cry, when we say we can't take another moment we are crazy, unlovable, unacceptable, unstable, and inexcusable. God forbid we should get our feelings hurt and show it. We need "help" and that puts us in the reject pile. Because our role is to be strong and keep together and help everyone else like Oprah or Michelle Obama or Maya Angelou. Not that I don't love them, but man do they perpetuate this stereotype. I feel a bit conflicted about them as much as I love them all, to be honest.
Newsflash: black women are just like white women but we don't go to therapy or take Prozac. Or Cymbalta, nowadays, in the 21st century. We are not allowed. We don't allow ourselves and no one else allows us to either without the shame shame shame of failure and inadequacy. We must change this because WE need a break. Stop doing whatever you feel like, saying whatever you think no matter what, stop trying our patience, stop doing things that would make lesser (whatever the heck that means) women break and expecting us to shake it off, keep it moving or pray on it. Just be NICE to us dammit. Stick around. Let us cry on your shoulder. Call. Stop cheating. Stop getting incarcerated. Stop treating us like we don't deserve a seat at the table. Stop acting like we're dumb when we are smarter than you. We may appear strong but we all have an Achilles Heel, a crazy button, whatever. We break. We DO! Don't push it please. We'd appreciate it, thank you. (Yes I am speaking for the collective.)
Ok whew. I had to get this off my chest because it's been there for like, ever, but today I got a moment of inspiration to speak on it.
I plan to tell another funny story soon if I can get the releases signed by the parties involved. ;-) Now I'm off to live my life like it's Golden or some other such bullsh*t.
Good to be back! Stay tuned. xo
Black Swan
