No Longer Here for Your Amusement.

It had come to my attention not too long ago, that my voice as a black woman, my value as a human being and divinity was being taken advantage of—not by strangers but some that were close to me. The news was startling, but not surprising. I have struggled as an adult to set proper boundaries, and I know the reason. There was no structure or supportive coping mechanisms taught in my household growing up, and my need to mold an identity was met with harsh criticism.

I have always attempted to fill the gap that my biological family has never filled, by making myself unconditionally available to friends. Now, I don’t know what it’s like to have an actual family—as in people you share DNA with, who provide unconditional love, challenge you in healthy ways and support you however they can. But I know that I have both consciously and unconsciously given too much to several friends with receiving very little in return, at least emotionally. And often, even in the balanced friendships, at some point an unconscious bias, which we all suffer from unfortunately, told them to stop appreciating what I provided.

It always started out as small things. First, it would be a quip that I was unfit or unskilled to do something, and it could be anything. Or it would be a snarky comment hidden behind the phrase "I’m just giving you feedback." Immediately, I would freeze and panic. I'd go over and over in my head what I did wrong, and what I had to do to change about myself to fix it.

It would be years and the span of one pandemic that I would realize I was doing nothing wrong. Was I making mistakes? Absolutely, who doesn't? But most of the time? I was just being who I was mean to be minus the child abuse and minus the trauma of living as a black woman in America.

After many epiphanies, I realized that any facet of my personality that appeared anything besides docile and submissive, was interpreted by critics as the stereotyped “angry black woman” motif. Then, I would be witness to these same critics as they'd praise the same personality traits they' critiqued in someone who was not me—as in not a black woman. There were few exceptions to this.

What it boils down to is that so many friends have gaslit me many times within this year alone, or straight up disappeared when I have asked for help. This is about race, and the forgotten black women who are never given the empathy or support they need—especially in the wake of trauma. There is more than enough evidence to support this, and I will not write about it all—at least in this blog. I have concluded that there is this idea that: black women are strong, therefore they have to suffer alone.

I have also watched many people go out to protest, only to dismiss my opinion on pretty much anything because deep down they do not believe I can be an expert let alone have an informed opinion on anything. These same people were quick to post obituary's to civil rights legend John Lewis after his passing.  

And there are those who still think that they do not need to ask me how much living in this country for 34 years has been a mental dumpster-fire. Just because you have unfortunately suffered, does not mean you should not ask others about their pain.

We should not ignore the pain that black women suffer.

From an early age, we are educated via propaganda and told that this country is something it still is not. While we witness black people whom are still terrorized, as an individual you develop a fear that instills anxiety so intense, that it cannot be resolved with one pill or even one-month of solid therapy. 

There is no excuse for not speaking out. 

If you have a legitimate fear of speaking out against hate, this still should not stop you from asking people of color how they are handling everything. Because if you do not, it is not fear that is keeping you back—it is selfishness.

If this year has taught me anything, those allies who claim to be "pro-black" wouldn’t take my pro-black advice if given—because they have already told me that the truth I speak is "too judgmental" and that I "worry too much". I am not a black bear that juggles various objects for your amusement.

I won’t be around to teach you what you choose not to learn, I won’t be here to have you tell me I’m too opinionated, strong-willed or “emotional” and I won’t be here to teach you any longer how to be a decent human being. My place and my voice won’t be silenced by toxicity or anti-blackness—regardless of the pro-black posts you advertise on social media. 

If you sincerely believe that nothing is wrong in America, then there is no reason for you not to appreciate black people—they built the place you find so extravagant. All black people deserve the unconditional love and patience that you have extended to your white friends who voted for hate.

If it's still not clear: Black Lives Matter.