Thinking… what does it mean to be Black, Woman and a Black Woman in America?

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My head 24/7/365 and every other four years, 24/7/366.


I think I make things a lot harder than I need to but am aware that some part of me is addicted to expecting things to go wrong in order not to get my hopes up about it going right. Yes, fucked up I know, but habits are hard to kill with kindness, patience and all that good stuff when your mind registers everything under nerves, doubts and worries.

The title of my blog and the purpose of this blog has been for me to immerse in my truth. Yet, I swear I get anxiety every time I have to think about telling my truth. All sorts of questions pops into my mind as I begin a battle with myself about what the hell that looks like. What is it about my truth that I want to share and why? There are so many factors that contribute to this energy of nerves… but I want to start with an obvious one.

1. I’m Black. I’m Woman. I’m a Black Woman. Living in America, where there is a strong Anti-Black sentiment. 

I have been thinking a lot, I mean A LOT about what it means to Black in America. Another factor to add, I’m a Black Woman in America. I was born and raised in Boston, MA. (Now allow your mind to take you back to the history of Boston, MA… OK, done? Cool. Let me continue.) This city has a rich history with regards to racism and discrimination among other issues. Every since I was 20, the information I have discovered about race, gender and class (among other things) does not make me feel comfortable at all. No wonder I learned all that information once I went to college. The only question that I keep asking myself is: What change actually happened? What does that change look like today? (and please spare me with the “we have a Black president”, “racism not longer exists because of that” “reverse racism is the new face of racism”… blah blah blah). There are still covert ways that people operate under that is still very much embedded in racism and sexism and ___________________ (you can fill in the blank).  The illusion of inclusion is real. The delusion is what trips me up. I can’t help thinking about what shit I bought into and now the work I have to do to save my mental and spiritual health. Now, here’s Merriam Webster’s definition of delusion:

a persistent false psychotic belief regarding the self or persons or objects outside the                                                                         self that is maintained despite indisputable evidence to the contrary;

And Illusion: 

something that looks or seems different from what it is:                                                                                                       something that is false or not real but that seems to be true or real

These two definitions definitely make my gears grind when I think about being who I am in a country that I was born and raised in but somehow feel like an outsider. And only am beginning to know how much on the outside I truly am. It would be delusional of me to think that things are “equal?” and I have an “equal?” chance of obtaining what I want in my life if only I just work hard and apply myself. The truth is I must work my hardest and work harder some more and that may show that I am applying myself but I must constantly be working in order to prove that I am a valuable asset to American society. As a Black woman, I don’t get a chance to rest and be in that moment without the fear of feeling like I am wasting time and I am not being productive. (I am working on this) I know that’s a illusion and I have delusions to work through but unfortunately, when it comes to the inclusion part of the pie, this illusion is what keeps food on my table and clothes on my back. The history of being Black in America has proven that no matter how hard you work, no matter how educated you are, you are still not good enough and never will be. This has been a message that circulated throughout this country and is starting to come back even harder although more subtly and subliminally.

Have you watched the media lately? 

I can’t help but feel discouraged. Being a part of a group that is the most hated, the most imitated, the least rehabilitated (every since slavery with NO support from this country) and easily blamed for it all. Like, ALL OF IT! Like there are no other factors to think about. No other people to include in that conversation. And of course, there are no stories left out of this wonderful topic called American history.

There is only so much I can express before my blood starts boiling and yes, my ass become fucking angry. If one more person tells me or even thinks that I do not have a right to feel angry, then you my fucking friend is DELUSIONAL. 

It’s hard expressing this type of shit. I feel like I’ve been having the same conversation among people who look like and a few white allies but clearly the issue of racism is a conversation that I am waiting for white people to have among themselves. And NO not the fake ass scholarly conversations happening in places where the community is not invited. But of course all that information in those conversations get dictated to the community as an afterthought and right before something big like…elections.

I know this is not my first time blogging in spurts about this topic. And I have been battling with addressing how I feel more deeply and consistently because of the boxes I constantly have to shift through.

But all I can end with is:

#BlackGirlsMatter #SayHerName #SandraBland #Race #America #Sexism #ImmersingInTruth

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