Often, black women are seen as powerful, unshakable creatures, who are not allowed to cry or show a moment of weakness.
And yes, we are powerful, unshakable creatures but we are also women who want to be soft, express our emotions, not be shoved into flat stereotypes but feel free to show our range, and be able to fall apart without being called angry or bitter or have our complaints heard without being crumpled up in one single breath of “you’re overreacting”.
As I transitioned into becoming a woman there were so many experiences that shaped the way I thought about myself most of my white friends could never relate to. See, I grew up in a diverse school system but often found myself somewhere in the awkward in-between of not black enough yet not white enough either. I couldn’t see myself anywhere, even in my own culture I felt left out of the narrative because everything black and mainstream at the time was whitewashed too.
So I had to figure out how to exist in a world that felt stacked against me.
Here is my shame:
When I was 12 years old I wanted to be white
My idols were Christina Aguilera and Britney Spears
I worshiped them
With their long blonde hair
White flawless skin
Small noses
To me to be them was to be right
To be white was to be loved
Because all the characters in rom coms and sitcoms found love in their white and beige worlds of hair highlights and coffee dates
I remember watching my white girl friends brush their hair with ease
Put makeup on their skin
Thinking, I wish I were pretty like them
I wish the boys that liked them liked me
But knew because of the deep complexion of my skin
I was too dark
Too nappy
Too ugly
Too black
Because that is what the mainstream culture of America taught me
Even as I plowed through magazines made for black women
The complexions and hair textures of their white washed interpretation of black made me feel all too familiar
Too dark
Too nappy
Too ugly
Too black
So I struggled
Repulsed by my dark skin
Annoyed with my curves
Hating my lips
Depressed about my wide nose
Saddened that girls who looked like me did not fall in love on tv and in movies and in books
But were only video hoes
That girls who looked like me were too dumb to be educated
Too ugly to be likeable
And too quick to act “ghetto”
That girls who looked like me were disposable
While white girls were precious and pretty and lovable
Growing up I didn’t have
Kerry Washington’s
Viola Davis’s
Issa Rae’s
Michelle Obama’s
Amanda Seales’
I didn’t have stories of black women’s depth and struggle of pain and reconciliation
I had stereotypes of black women who were Mammies, Jezebels, Welfare Queens, and Angry
I rarely saw examples of myself represented and appreciated
During school I was made fun of for my features even by kids in the same color family as me
And not fully embraced by those who looked different than me
But college gave me the worst reality check
An uppercut so hard I felt my teeth bleed
I was subjected to blatant racism as a young black woman in a majority all white school
In hallways, white men with donation records far surpassing my private college tuition
Mistook me for other black students they heard about
“Are you that little Jamaican girl here on scholarship?”
“Are you the girl from Africa?”
“Are you on the track team?”
“What country are you from”
And when I explained I was none of the above they quickly dismissed me
They wanted to know where their money was going
As if I were an investment to be looked over like we were at an auction block
I imagine none of the white students were subjected to this type of torture
But the students were the worst offenders
Truth is I was terrified
For the first time I truly alone
I walked the halls in combat boots and a body suit of armor to protect myself because I knew it was coming
They were the first ones to call me the N word
They asked me questions with straight faces like
“Do they make deodorant for black people?”
“Is your pubic and leg hair the same as the hair on your head?”
“And do you actually tan?”
“Why is your hair so different?”
“I heard black girls are freaks in bed”
“You’re pretty….for a black girl”
“I could never take you home to my parents”
And my favorite “She’s a black chicken and I probably couldn’t find her dark hole anyway”
White boys who secretly showed interest in me suddenly had issues me in public
Because I was black
Once I cut myself shaving
The pink and white flesh underneath my thin layer of black skin frightened them
Their frail minds could not comprehend how underneath I was biologically the same
But I was not the same
Because since I was a little girl I’ve been repeatedly told who I am by all sides
That I am too loud
I am too aggressive
I have too much attitude
I need to tone it down
My butt is too big
My hair is bad
My skin is too dark
I am too intimidating
I am too strong
I am too wild
I am not soft
All boiled down to mean I am a black woman and that is wrong
I’ve been plagued with racism, colorism, beauty standards that don’t even include me
Struggling to be desirable in a white landscape
Struggling to be desirable amongst my own people
Sexualized since puberty
Reminded of my place in my community and in this country
Constantly told my black body is not my own but for men and boys within my culture and that’s the only thing that makes me desirable by white America. But only in the dark. All of this reinforcing that majority of people only see my skin color and assign my place for me but do not see my mind and my heart.
I once had a white man tap me on the shoulder when I was out with friends to ask me directly:
“Why do black people like to be victims?”
I should have known it was a trap
He went on to tell me how the “Irish were slaves too but he did not see them complaining.”
A white guy I dated told me he thought black women were supposed to be strong and independent when I showed too much emotion for him. He mistook the fire behind my eyes fueled by emotion as weakness. He told me he wanted to trade me in for someone who was stronger.
I’ve had several white women tell me they were afraid of me
That I scared them
They thought I was mean before ever having a conversation with me
I constantly get questions about my hair and random people fondling it as if I’m a petting zoo
And have become a magnet for white women who’ve adopted black girls from Africa
They come up to me at work and in the grocery store
They express how difficult our hair is
How hard it is to manage
They ask me how I manage my own hair as if it were the most difficult, awful task
Never sharing positive adjectives
Just
Difficult
Nappy, too thick
Hard to manage
A lot to take care of
Otherwise, not white
I’ve been called a black bitch, but oh it was just a joke
Told to go back to Africa countless times
Had my hair compared to pubes and bushes
Scared that white men only want to date me for the experience of being with a black woman because they heard we were wild in bed and want a taste of my being
I’ve been described as white washed
Had my blackness questioned as if the way I speak and carry myself prevents me from being really black
I’ve been spit on
Told I couldn’t hang out with friends because their parents didn’t like black people
Dumped because his parents wouldn’t allow him to bring me home
I’ve been verbally assaulted and reduced to less than human
And yet, friends and people tell me to ignore it
As if it is not going to plague me the next day or week
That those people are ignorant
But I’ve been going through this my entire life
It’s not ignorance
It’s not “old people”
It’s not stupidity
It’s not he or she doesn’t know any better
It’s not “I didn’t mean it that way”
Its racism and prejudice
Racism and prejudice are not just the KKK or burning crosses in people’s yards
It’s not the distinct separation of bathrooms and water fountains and public transportation. It’s so subtle you don’t realize that what is being said and done is hurtful and hateful because you still think of racism as Jim Crow and slavery.
But it has been transformed into something almost unidentifiable, undetectable even. Something transmitted through all cultures and ages. In the year of Obama and pop culture the mainstream presented a false sense that racism did not exist anymore.
I also wanted to believe a change was coming.
We believed having a black man in the white house proved we were no longer a country built on the systematic enslavement and destruction of generations of people purely based on their skin color all the while trying to remove them from the storyline except for the occasional slave movie.
Then we started to see black bodies murdered through viral videos shared on Facebook while pop culture appropriated the same black bodies to make money.
I watch all the things I had been criticized for; big asses and big lips, braids, weaves and corn rows, darkened skin, dreadlocks, and curvy bodies popularized by white women when black women have been rocking most of these since the beginning of our existence.
I have seen black women trivialized and criticized for being themselves, labeled as
Ghetto
Ratchet
Hoodrat
While white girls who mimic the same are thought of as innovative, funny, and trendy
But nevertheless, I persist
Then during the 2016 election I was constantly told to stand with her. That Hillary Rodham Clinton just like Obama was the change I needed.
After all she is a feminist. And to vote for her was the feminist thing to do
But did everyone forget feminism was created and has been to the full benefit of white, straight women since its creation? Did she forget feminism historically has disenfranchised black women?
Why did she constantly tell this narrative of a woman struggling to make a difference to women who actually struggled just to exist?
And then she lost.
And everyone who was with her suddenly felt devastated because perhaps for the first time white feminists got a taste of living in a world where there was blatant discrimination against their bodies and against their existence by the future leader of our country but the American people disregarded their lives for the sake of tax breaks.
“Welcome to the club,” I wanted to say. But living an existence where you have to constantly fight for a seat at the table is exhausting and I do not wish it on anyone.
See the opposite of white is not black
Just like the opposite of straight is not gay
And sadly the opposite to 45 was not Hillary Clinton
In the minds of many she represented all women but just like the movement – feminism has become this blanket term we use but who does it represent?
It’s never represented me. It hasn’t looked out for my best interests. It has not made me feel included.
It has not provided me with the tools to become a spokeswoman because I’m missing one pre-requisite.
I’m not white.
So if you want to know us, know we are created out of a place that is unknown to you
As a perceived straight, white woman, you grew up seeing yourself on TV
You grew up subconsciously knowing you were represented
You had authors who wrote about girls and women who looked like you
You saw white girls and white women in strong female lead roles and as leaders
You watched them fall in love with cute boys and men
You heard stories of them fighting against male dominance and patriarchy
You had simple things like hair products that were widely available in every store
Magazines where you could find yourself
The freedom to seek therapy and self-care without criticism
You never had fears that you did not get a job because you were white
You may have had insecurities about your body and yourself
But you were not also tormented for being too dark or tried to bleach your skin to be prettier
Or constantly reminded that you were not the majority or that your ancestor's country of origin is a vile place
As a perceived straight, white woman you are born into an American society who is trained to see you first before black women and women of color and trans women
To believe you before us
To trust you before us
To hold you on a pedestal
To choose you
To desire you
To want you
To praise you
You are actually the biggest recipients of affirmative action
And while you have these white privileges none of this is to make you feel small
It is to make you feel discomfort to help you understand why representation matters
Without it, I’ve had to do a lot of soul searching
To love myself
To love my dark, beautiful skin
Take pride in the many ways I could naturally style my hair
Be emboldened by my strength and not shy away from it even when it scares people especially men
To find works of art that feel specifically made for me
Allow myself to fall apart and find comfort in healing
Work through my traumas so I could be free
And ask for help when doing it on my own feels like suffocating
I’ve learned to undo the whitewashing and like the words of Maya Angelou, Still I Rise