I once dated a man who did not like me. When I tell you that this man did not like anything about me, I mean that he didn’t like one single thing about me. He didn’t like that I watched Matlock every night while eating my popcorn. He did not like that I wore pants to church. He did not like that sometimes I ate pizza several days in a row (pizza is still in my top 10 list of favorite foods).
At the time, I was in my 20s, and I was, to put it lightly, a hot mess express. But somehow, I had enough sense to know that he was not a Kimberly fan. As such, one day I handed him his clothes in a brown paper bag on the front steps of my townhouse and told him to get to getting.
What ensued was mind-boggling to me. He was crestfallen, heartbroken and devastated—or so it seemed. He began to rally our entire circle to get me back. It was, to put it mildly, very strange. Eventually, he bought an engagement ring. Y’all, we were in the no-est of contacts. I mean, not speaking in public, no contact, yet this man purchased a ring that signals a lifetime of commitment. He decided to present said engagement ring to me at one of the biggest parties of the year until he consulted one of my closest sorors, who told him that was the worst idea she’d ever heard and that he would surely be embarrassed.
It wasn’t until years later that I figured out what had gone on. He didn’t start loving me or even liking me. Upon our long-overdue breakup, he immediately lost a great deal of social capital in our community because—not to make too much of 20-something-year-old Kimberly—I was a catch, and while I didn’t have a roster, I most certainly had a waiting list.
‘Black-Lady Cape’
I’ve been thinking about that relationship a lot recently. As many people protest and resist fascism, hate and bigotry, a noticeable number of Black women have stepped back from the front lines, and it’s making a lot of folks very, very angry. Many of these folks don’t necessarily like women, and many certainly don’t like Black women.
On any given day, you’ll see someone on social media asking, “Where is (insert famous powerful Black woman)?” as if she’ll swoop down in her super Black-lady cape and save communities that have rejected the entirety of who she is time and time again.
Social commentary, voting data on both sides of the aisle, and just being a Black woman day in and day out has shown me that America doesn’t particularly like Black women. Nevertheless, this country needs our labor and care so much that it has spent centuries attempting to squash our spirit so that they, like my ex-boyfriend, can benefit from our existence—but not the wholeness of our being.
Black women’s ease, confidence and joy will likely continue to make people uncomfortable in my lifetime. Right now, that anger appears to be growing because, for once, it feels like we truly mean it when we say we’re sitting this one out. Like, I truly meant it when I handed that boy his brown paper bag.
As my mama used to say when she was utterly done with my brother and me, “I’m going to let y’all have it,” meaning I’m going to let y’all see what it’s like to live without my wisdom, my intuition and my care for a little or a long time. We are in the “I’m going to let y’all have it” era, or Black lady life, and frankly, I like it.
Society has imposed a very harmful narrative on Black women that suggests we must always be self-sacrificing, strong and resilient—no matter what happens. The idea that we’ll keep going, keep moving and keep doing, no matter how we’re treated or what personal challenges we face, is startling. This narrative not only harms us, but it also harms society as a whole.
Masking Our Full Selves
If we are not entirely ourselves, we cannot fully help our communities solve systemic challenges, because we are always on guard for showing a crack in the armor that we didn’t design but must always wear. The fact that Black women still save not only other Black folks and everyone else while presenting only parts of ourselves is astonishing.
What would happen to this country and this world, which both seem on the precipice of coming apart at the seams, if you let us bring our whole selves to the table, the relationship or the friendship?
I don’t know how long Black ladies are going to sit this one out, but if you are a friend and ally of a Black woman, ask yourself: Is she sharing her entire self with you, or is she presenting enough of herself to make you and yours comfortable? The answer is probably that your Black lady in the faded cape isn’t being her entire self in your presence. The next step is, how are you going to fix it? I don’t have the answer, but I will tell you it usually starts with more listening and less talking.
Good luck. I’m off to convene some Black ladies with a little extra time on their hands.
This MFP Voices opinion essay reflects the personal opinion of its author(s). The column does not necessarily represent the views of the Mississippi Free Press, its staff or board members. To submit an opinion for the MFP Voices section, send up to 1,200 words and sources fact-checking the included information to voices@mississippifreepress.org. We welcome a wide variety of viewpoints.