“You may shoot me with your words, you may cut me with your eyes, you may kill me with your hatefulness but still, like air, I’ll rise. . .” (Maya Angelou). What is the first thing you think of when you think of a Black woman? According to Google, the first thoughts that are associated with Black women are angry and strong. When I think of a Black woman, I think unstoppable, powerful, astonishing, and beautiful except I do not see that when I look in the mirror. When I see myself, I see battles of my past. I see how worn down my body feels and how broken my heart and mind are. When I was younger, I used to read ‘And Still I Rise’ by Maya Angelou. In the piece she would talk about the beauty of being a Black woman and how they will still stand no matter the endeavor. I wanted to be the caricature that Angelou promoted in her piece. A woman who is proud of her figure and can stand back up no matter how many times she is knocked down. I would soon realize with age that is not me as a person. I fall and I cry. Not saying that if you cry you are not strong. My weeping does not empower me. Each cry was replaced with pain and suffering with every exhale. I learned that I am not a strong Black woman and sometimes I feel I am the only one.
To begin with a vivid memory, ever since I was young, I always felt disconnected from my peers. I was always bullied for talking weirdly and liking odd things. I was ostracized by people who looked just like me. I remember in fourth grade it was a normal school day, and as usual I ate lunch alone. My peers laughed and snickered at me as I read through the lunch period.
I then continued to recess and watched people who used to be my closest friends descend away from me because “I acted too white” and something cracked in me. I cried on the playground that day, and I could not stop. I wept until the pit in me felt full. While this occurred, a girl walked up to me and laughed. She told me how weak I was and how I would never be accepted. This has always stayed with me. The idea that the true me was nothing but weak when I wanted to be strong Black women tore me apart. When I explained these events to my mom, she expressed how I needed to be strong and never allow my emotions to be worn on my sleeve but instead hold them deep. She told me the next time that girl made fun of me, I should slap her and show her my true strength. This conversation would shape the next few years of my life. I learned not to cry and hide who I truly was. I would soon get into fights in the schools I transferred to. Fighting was the way to show I was strong. The way I could show my peers I was just like them. This caused me to always believe I was a fraud. I always felt like I was hiding a part of me the part of me that was not this powerful façade I put on. I would soon break again. I became depressed. Pretending to be someone else is exhausting.
In my days of pretending to be someone else it started to weigh on me. I started to hate who I was. I hated how I looked. I hated how I talked. I hated everyone. I was angry and, in this anger, I felt connected to my Blackness in a way. I saw the angry Black women in media, and I thought everyone felt that way. Seeing Black women always at edge just like me gave me comfort in a way. I see people treated the same as me start to hate their blackness. People like Candace Owens, so outcasted by the Black community she starts to hate herself and others like her. I did not want that to become me. I did not want to feel a hatred for another part of me. I still felt uncanny in myself. My soul always felt heavy with the true me hiding inside. Then my saving grace came to me on YouTube. Issa Rae posted a series about being an awkward Black girl and it was a hit. The trend went virial, and I started to see women around like me. Black women who
were strange and liked niche things. These Black girls were not afraid of who they were but
instead, proud of being different. I soon started to accept that my interest had no correlation to my Blackness. I would not have to hide things that made me happy. I would not have to hide that I am not cool. I would not have to put on a character I thought was more palatable for others. This was an enriching moment of my life. A part of me felt free again. I felt like I could smile again.
This feeling of acceptance lasted for a while until it hit me, I am not strong. Years down the line in my senior year of high school I realized; I am not the women I always wished to be. I was not that assertive and powerful women that I always read about in I Still Rise. I felt like a hypocrite. During my senior year on my debate team my speech was in honor of Maya Angelou. I dedicated my piece to Still I Rise. I was lucky enough to win first place with the piece. After the shock of the win came the imposter syndrome. My speech was about being this sexy, confident, and assertive Black woman and that was not me. I lied and it caused me to take a win from others that deserved it. On that bus ride home, I cried for three hours. I thought about how disappointed the younger me would be. I was a phony who could not get into an altercation without tears. How did I have the audacity to preach about being strong and comfortable in my Blackness? I would soon fight this battle constantly, until a specific memory occurred. I was accused of horrible false accusations by people I loved. In that situation it showed me that people I trusted with the real me still saw me as an aggressive Black woman. In that moment I could either choose to stay with people who lied about me or stand up for myself and lose a lot of people I loved. I chose myself. I stood up for myself and in that moment, I realized the strength I had. Did I cry after and regret the decision? Yes, but I stuck to my choice. I stood up for myself even though it made me seem even angrier in their eyes. I decided I would rather be alone than around frauds, and that is one of the most powerful choices a person can make.
In conclusion I am still growing and accepting the person I am becoming. I am still finding out who I truly am. What I know so far is that I am not the strong Black women I thought I would be, and that’s okay. I am stronger now than I ever thought I would be, but I’m not as strong as I wanted to be. It is a battle, I had to fight with myself for a while but then I looked back at the piece that started it all. “You may shoot me with your words, you may cut me with your eyes, you may kill me with your hatefulness, but still, I’ll rise. Does my sexiness upset you? Does it come as a surprise that I dance as if I have diamonds at the meeting of my thighs” (Angelo)? I have still raised when I was shot down with hatefulness. I have still raised when people gave me glares and put shame on my name. I still dance like there are diamonds in between my thighs. I might not be the Black women that I always wished to be, but maybe I’m becoming the black women that I need to be.
