- Share This Post
- Pin It
- 1
- 3
-
Sparkle (0)
Tonight I am going to kill the strong, Black, superwoman inside of me.
This was the opening line of a journal entry that I wrote about twenty years ago. It was one of the wisest decisions that I have made regarding my sense of self and well being.
On the night that I scripted that particular entry I had come to a point of realization. That female identity was doing me more harm than good. We weren't working like one person. She were working against my best interests in life. Only I didn't realize this until I was almost completely drained. Being that woman was the primary reason for that feeling.
There I was, curled up in my bed. Wrapped up in heavy covers feeling tired, stressed, and unable to get sufficient rest. I was having an inner debate with the superwoman inside of me. She was insisting that I get up and go do something that would indicate that things were normal. After all, I was known for being a productive working mother. A single woman who could do so much during the hours that I was wide awake. Even though I couldn't sleep, the urge to move from my bed was not stirring me from under the covers. I was tired of being that woman. She had more expectations on her shoulders than mine wanted to carry.
I began to realize that being a strong Black superwoman was more mythical than realistic. Those women were not as flexible as I needed to be. They were the byproducts of a generational hype. Created to make sense of my womanhood and ambitions in life. I had a point to prove. At least this is what I believed at that time. I could be a woman, work a job, be a wife and a mother, and accomplish these life choices in a style that indicated that I was capable. That was important back then. I was being a liberated woman. Doing what other women were doing to prove to the naysayers that we could be all that.
The strong Black woman inside of me tried to remind me that I couldn't let her go. If I did that who would I be? I would be lost without that identity. I countered that point with the reality of the moment. I was lost within that identity. It was obvious that my brand of strength wasn't tough enough to sustain me. Or anyone who depended on me at the time.Because when you're strong people don't allow you to be weak. Nor are you gracious enough to let your weakness surface. This was a matter of fact that had the power to break me down. I was experiencing weakness and I found that the coping mechanism to counter that wasn't working.
I was sick and tired of hearing about what strong women did not do. They didn't cry or if they did no one ever saw those tears. They didn't allow anyone to do anything that was counter their plans or notions of self. They presented a neat well packaged individual who had nerves of steele. With a teflon surface that would just let anything roll off that wasn't desirable.
That wasn't me. I had moments of doubt. Moments when I just wanted my time free of doing something to prove a point. It was obvious that if I continued to let those female identities exist within me, I'd be the one to pay the price for not removing them. I made it up in my mind that it was time to off those two images. That was the beginning of their end.
It wasn't easy and it did not happen over night. That entry was just the beginning of a long journey into myself. I had to put up a major resistance to those moments when those identities tried to take over my thoughts and actions. I wasn't always successful in my attempts. I had to work on ways that kept their tendencies under nourished. Eventually they died. Which was not a bad thing in my mind. It was the beginning that I needed to be the woman that I am.
