In my middle age, I realize I have wasted too much time making others feel comfortable. Comfortable with my brain: Ivy League undergrad then law school; my appearance: striking exterior and beautiful soul; and my talents: cooking, singing, and even creative wordcraft. This combination of qualities is both a blessing and a curse, a double-edged sword. I am not bragging, but stating who I am and what I have achieved.
It takes effort to downplay who I am. Seeming “normal” (whatever that means) is, at best, a draining, very temporary magic trick. The more I succeed at keeping up appearances of being less, the more others are comfortable with me to my detriment. Unfortunately, I have become good at the game. So much so that others forget that I, too, struggle at times and enjoy a mix of good times and, no matter how seldom, also suffer bad times.
And yet they talk about their gratitude. My accomplishments and personal qualities are perceived as having a higher, socially-rated value. This instantly turns their external gratitude into their internal discomfort. Everything they measure makes comfort, by comparison, a constantly fluctuating series of points on a spectrum whose dots don’t connect.
How, if at all, should I quell their dissatisfaction with dignity? I am judged as disrespecting them by just being myself. I am regular-sized, quietly confident, modest, and easy-going. I am happy with who I am and hopeful of what I could become.
To them, this is a threat. Women do this to each other. Black women do it to their “sistas”, critical of the other for what they, as observers, don’t have. They see the other is thriving before, in, or after arriving at a place they have not yet been elevated to.
In no way is dimming my light to appease another’s silent request for me to be less than my best a fair option. It leaves us both in darkness. Without being one’s self-advocate on a journey to kind or necessary self-expression, all of us can be lost. Without a lighted pathway to freedom from other acceptance, it can cost us all our self-esteem.
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Carving into one another is murder by the tongue. It doesn’t stop until someone is so hurt there is no reply to salvage this battle. There is no clear way to win.
If the object of meanness can, she ignores others and rises above it. I prefer to step away from conflict and confrontation that is grounded in shallow values and practice self-affirmation. Either can be a lonely place and it doesn’t stop the wounds from coming.
Psycho-therapy is there for when we are not alright with our default interpersonal interactions within or outside of the race or gender. Taking the world’s faults and problems as personal burdens is a huge block to thriving unapologetically.
Without a strong collective force, surface harm can strike deep and divide us, then easily conquer us. This occurs in many ways: by media images; by earning less income than others who in all other ways are equal; by colorist comments, despite our diverse skin tones and range of hair textures; by being negative in the way we talk and are talked about; and by choosing to spend more and own less. And it is for this that we suffer, separate and ashamed, with psycho-therapy as a last resort after a series of failed hit-or-miss relationships; (un)happy hours; a baker’s dozen of cupcakes, a pint of your favorite gourmet ice cream; and not budgeted, credit card-funded, quadruple-digit, retail therapy don’t do the trick.
Despite this social history version of the twenty-first century Black woman’s have it all and be all things manifesto, I thrive. Will too much stress and too short of a health span be our legacy? I have too many scars from vulnerabilities laid bare. Once shared, if followed by pain, I regret the new wounds afterward.
Yet I do see myself as a Black woman thriving unapologetically. But for how long? Is that she in me in danger of becoming extinct? Will I run out of redefined second lives needed for being a cultural chameleon? I am confident, not proud. I am intelligent, not arrogant. I am educated, not trying to be White. I am talented, not a token. I declare that I will not settle for surviving for all these reasons and as many others go unspoken yet understood. I am who I am, for better and for worse, without apology for my story, my truth, or my definition of success and my version of excellence.
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