I Am, Who I Say I Am

As a Black woman in America there is actual pressure to be Every Woman (insert Chaka Khan high note). It is almost seen as a badge of honor. I mean we sing the song (both Chaka and Whitney’s version) and tik tok dance to the music #classy #bougie #ratchet! However, when the music stops, and the fun is gone, we are still left with the weight of actually being everything to everybody. Subsequently, no matter what we do, or what we accomplish, we are left with the conundrum of never being enough for some and being too much for others.

Furthermore, as I discussed in my Dissertation, because racism and sexism are embedded within the fabric of our society, we are relegated to daily interactions that attack our Black selves, our woman selves, and our Black women selves. Unfortunately, the perceptions of who we are as Black women have been reduced to caricatures that were created during slavery to signal perpetual inferiority, and the ish just won’t go away. In a recent interview with Level magazine I talk about the legacy of slavery and the messages that have continued as a result. These images of Mammy, usually a heavyset woman who sacrifices her own well-being to care for others, Jezebel, the hypersexualized Black woman, and of course Sapphire, the angry Black woman, have permeated our society and our psyche, resulting in lose-lose interactions.

So, something happened to me a few months ago. It had such an impact that it dominated my thoughts and therefore my emotions for days until I journaled about it. Why did I wait to journal? Because I was so affected, and dysregulated, that I was unable to think clearly enough to put pen to paper. Even now, I remain impacted, which for me, is part of the problem.

I have a friend, T, who happens to be white. I went to breakfast with her and her boyfriend, who happens to be Black, to an eatery that did not appear to be frequented by non-white folks, although some were employed there. I am informing you of their race because it is relevant to the story. At the end of our breakfast (that my friend T paid for - no jokes please), our waiter realized he charged us (really her) for the incorrect amount and had to swipe her card again. I urged her to ensure she was not charged twice. As she checked, our waiter stood next to her to ensure everything was copacetic.

The owner, a white middle-aged male, likely noticed something afoot. So he sauntered over to our table, and to my astonishment, pointed his finger at me and said loudly, “who made her angry?” Before he said that I was literally sitting in my oak finished chair, looking out the window, drinking my still water, oh - minding my damn business. However, this stranger, decided that I was angry. So then I began the questioning process often associated when confronted with a microaggression, “what about me would make him think I was angry?” It took me .5 seconds to know exactly what it was and respond to his question by asking him the question I asked myself, “what about me makes you think I’m angry?” Now of course this led to him back peddling, denying he said that, then saying he says that to everybody, then making a point of asking a Black employee why a Latino employee was angry because that obviously makes it better. He came back and apologized, and came back again to give me a $10 gift card to his restaurant as if I would return.

The thing that stuck with me from that interaction is this: no matter how much education I obtain, or money I earn, or how well I dress, or even how much I smile, due to my beautiful blackness-the psyche is conditioned to only see me in predetermined ways, which are never, ever positive. This realization, this knowledge, although I already knew it - to feel it… actually sucks. So, I decided to seek help within the only group that truly understands my experience: Black women. The great ancestor Audre Lorde reminded me that regardless of how others see me, I define me for me. I.AM.WHO.I.SAY.I.AM #periodt

“If I didn't define myself for myself, I would be crunched into other people's fantasies for me and eaten alive.” - Audre Lorde

P.S. To my sisters in the struggle- I love you. You are beautiful, you are strong, you are absolutely magical. You get to feel everything, even anger, and that does not diminish who you are. If you have experienced similar situations, know that you are not crazy, they are. You… are sane. If you want to hear more about this topic tune into my podcast EbTheCeleb, where I address these issues and more. Until next time…