I Am Not Your Perfect Black Woman
<p>As a middle-aged, queer, neurodivergent Black woman, everyone projects their assumptions about me, many of them negative. For most of my life, to be deemed worthy, I tried to either disprove those assumptions or align myself with them, depending on the person doing the assuming. My age has given me the ability to care less about what others think about me, but I still have moments that I do. I’m only human, though there are people who don’t regard me as such. I declare my humanity now, in all its glory and messiness.</p>
<p>Let it be said that I am not your perfect Black woman.</p>
<p><strong>A perfect Black woman is strong and resilient</strong>. She doesn’t show vulnerability. She needs to be mindful of her anger lest she threaten her oppressors.</p>
<p>For years, I didn’t feel I was Black enough because my walls weren’t strong enough to contain the cacophony of emotions that swirled within me. I cry at movies. I rage at the indignities I’m subjected to every day. The sight of a cat delights me.</p>
<p>Yet, I am not allowed the latitude to display my full humanity because my very existence angers or frightens my oppressors. My refusal to mute my feelings marks me as weak and less of a Black woman. I’ve stopped giving a damn. If revealing my feelings is enough to lose my Black card, it speaks to how oppression has damaged my people to the point that we’re emotionally stunted.</p>
<p><a href="https://medium.com/afrosapiophile/i-am-not-your-perfect-black-woman-b9fce0e04602">Read More</a></p>