Lifestyle
When I was just five years old, a classmate in kindergarten told me I could not be the princess in our game because black girls didn’t fit that role. Fast forward to third grade, and a teacher acted surprised by how “articulate” I was. In fourth grade, I learned my crush wasn’t interested in me simply because I was black. In sixth grade, another crush remarked that I was pretty — for a black girl. By seventh grade, my mostly black suburban neighborhood was mockingly referred to as “Spring Ghettos,” a far cry from its real name, Spring Meadows. Eighth grade brought its own challenges when I was called an Oreo, as if that was something to be proud of, and told I “wasn’t really black.”
As a freshman in high school, after switching schools, a boy told me my beauty must come from being mixed. In tenth grade, my friends and I were questioned in the principal’s office about whether we were part of a gang and if we had father figures at home. My eleventh-grade AP English teacher doubted I could write like a future college student, despite my later perfect score on the exam. My summer volunteering in Costa Rica exposed me to being whistled at and called “Negrita.” When I confronted my host father about whether that was akin to the racial slur “nigger,” he claimed it was a compliment, suggesting that black women have a particular reputation.
Witnessing injustice was a regular occurrence. I remember sitting in the bleachers while my brother was wrongfully denied entry into a football game by a school resource officer who mistook him for another black boy, leading to him being maced. I faced suspension for asserting that the officer didn’t deserve my respect. My senior year boyfriend uttered the racial slur “nigger.”
In college, I was one of only two black girls in my freshman class. During discussions on attracting more black students, someone suggested that perhaps black individuals weren’t drawn to the college’s sustainable living focus. My college boyfriend jokingly referred to me as a “fiery negress” when ordering for me at a restaurant. The next boyfriend ended our relationship because I pointed out his privilege. Returning to my hometown often meant being stopped by police, and when I got married, assumptions about my pregnancy were made. People referred to my husband as my “baby daddy,” undermining the significance of our partnership.
My pregnancy was overshadowed by the constant barrage of videos depicting the fatal violence against black lives. The reality hit me hard when I realized that my son would face the same prejudices I did. Strangers believed they could touch my son without asking, as if we were here for their amusement, disregarding our boundaries.
I recall my nephew expressing that he couldn’t be Spider-Man because the character was white. At just four years old, he wished to be white so he could experience adventures like those depicted on television. This pain is compounded by the anxiety I feel whenever I see law enforcement. I worry for my husband when he leaves home at night, fearing he might be targeted. The thought that, like the 64,000 other missing black women in this country, I could vanish and receive little attention is terrifying.
Society often dismisses my anger as self-victimization. The murders of black individuals are recorded yet often justified. Simple actions that my white peers engage in without consequence — like wearing a hoodie or playing music loudly — could cost me my life. I feel trapped in a world where white supremacy looms large.
Despite these struggles, I love my skin and my identity as a woman. However, embracing this love is often seen as radical. The fight for acknowledgment of black women’s experiences continues. Our pain is often overlooked, while major protests focus predominantly on cis black men. The struggle is exhausting, and the fight for justice feels never-ending.
I strive for more; I deserve better. For those navigating similar journeys, resources such as Healthline offer valuable information on pregnancy and home insemination. Additionally, if you’re looking to boost fertility, check out this article. For those seeking further insights, Modern Family Blog is a reputable source on these topics.
Summary:
In this heartfelt piece, the author shares her experiences as a black woman navigating a world rife with prejudice and stereotypes. From childhood to motherhood, she reflects on the systemic issues that perpetuate discrimination, the struggles of identity, and the relentless pursuit of acknowledgment and justice. Despite the challenges, she emphasizes the importance of self-love and the fight for better treatment.