Side note on the current topic of Rachel:
Do I have to scream
from the rooftops that I am/continue to aim to be an ally? Apparently so if I
am to be taken seriously. But I’d rather not. If my actions—which are small and
do not involve the spotlight—do not speak for themselves then I have work to
do, obviously. Being a black woman in this day and age unfortunately has meant
a controlled state of pain and rage are part of my many undercurrents. I wish I
could be at peace and happy on the regular. Seeing and knowing that we/I still
do not qualify for many of the things lighter/white skinned folks take for
granted makes it hard as hell. I long for the day when I do not have to wonder
about being taken seriously; makes me wonder if I can ever really succeed in
life. I ache for a reality where being treated with respect and dignity without
justification is a norm. As such I am a work in progress. I put up with what I
have to. My refusal to put up with anything more shouldn’t disqualify me from
being treated like you would want to be treated. Being in such negative thought
spaces is tiresome. Yet acceptance continues to be hard to come by, so imagine
what it must be like internally. I long to no longer have to wonder, what is it
about me that makes me so undesirable in their scrutiny of me? The fact that I
must continue to be hyper-aware of my every action makes it hard to live simply
sometimes. Of course I am no angel—I was
disqualified the moment I was born, but because I have to over-analyze
everything I do, I am pretty sure of myself when I find myself asking What did
I do to you to deserve this? Usually it’s some kind of refusal I’ve engaged in:
not holding my tongue, not agreeing with your argument, wanting to assert my
confidence in certain matters, stubborn pride—all my fault to be sure. This is
my experience with black womanhood at the moment.
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