Black Girl, you are enough!

When I was in Elementary school I was smart and shy. So quiet and shy. The teachers wanted me to skip a grade, but I was super tiny and momma wasn't having any of that. However, in the middle of third grade I was sent to Isely Magnet School, where they felt like I could be challenged more. There were a lot more white kids at this school, and for the first time in my childhood I felt different. At the time I had a jerry curl and it was popping. I loved it, but after seeing all those girls with long straight hair I begged my momma to straighten my hair in fourth grade. In fourth grade smh. My momma said no, but she could see it was wearing me down. I just wanted to fit in….This was the start of me feeling like I was not enough, that I needed to look more like them. Looking back at it, I feel sorry for my momma because she tried her best to get me to understand how beautiful I was, but I didn't understand. I didn't understand how much power there was in just being me. Plus she wore straight hair and that was what I was exposed to on television, and I wanted to look like them. She wanted me to be comfortable with myself, so I got my first perm in fourth grade. It was nice, my hair wasn’t magically down my back like I thought it would be, but it made me happy. Needless to say, I made a lot of friends of all races at Isely and really enjoyed going to school there. I didn’t quite come out of my shell, but I started to unconsciously change to fit in with the others around me.

In middle school I was sent to Mayberry Middle Magnet, I was devastated because they changed the district zoning and I would be bused all the way across town. I would not get to go to Brooks with most of my friends. Chile I cried a river, again poor momma had to put up with my dramatics. I think I owe her money or something. She got me together though. On the first day of school I met this beautiful black girl at the bus stop and thought this might just work out. However, I was in honors classes and there was not one other black person in those classes. Not one, again I was confronted with my onliness. I tried to make the best of it. I had some cool friends in those classes; Asian, Indian (like the country not Indigenous), and White. I was invited to a few of their houses and it was then I realized I was not at all like them. Not even close. I had a sleep over with one of them and to this day I don't think I’ve ever seen a child’s bedroom that big. I’m sure it was because I was small and my point of view was skewed, but it felt humongous. In fact their entire house did. It was more than anything I could imagine. We lived in a small two bedroom house that was always clean and was enough. I had never thought that we needed more, until I realized that some people lived differently. I was a young naive shy girl completely in her bubble. I was again confronted with the fact that I was different, so different from these people. I remember when I had enough of trying to fit in. Finally it was time for me to have a sleepover and their moms wouldn't allow them to come over because of the “neighborhood we lived in.” I was already fragile, but that broke me. I begged my momma to drop the honors classes so that I could be in regular classes and make black friends. I wanted to be exposed to people that looked like me. People that lived like me. People that could come to my house. Again, I backed my momma into a corner and against her best wishes for me, she allowed me to drop the honors classes. All of this is so sad to remember. This is my truth though, I was struggling so hard to find people that I could relate to.

I finally did though, I can’t remember how it happened, but I finally got to sit with all the black girls at lunch. This was so huge for me. I ended up making tons of new friends. We had a crew, we were so deep. These girls were so dope. We danced and stomped at recess. They wore braids and ponytails like mine. Most of them had single mothers too. My people! I was happy, sort of. Even with them though I felt the need to change. I had to find some slang because who knew I was proper. I began to question my appearance because these girls had flavor. I did too, but you know how it goes. These girls were beautiful and we were all so different, but bound by common threads of blackness. They lived near my neighborhood, I was able to go to their house and they could come to mine. Their houses were not intimidating. We pretty much lived the same and I didn't feel like they were looking down on me. However, by the time I got to eighth grade I was tired. Unfortunately with black girls comes so many demons. There was pettiness and jealousy, because of this silly world we live in. We couldn't just be friends, oh no there was an underlying level of competitiveness. Apparently, if you were brown skinned you must think you were all that. You must be stuck up, it couldn’t be that you were just shy. A few little ugly boys like you instead of them, and it caused strife. I want you to understand that I felt this way with my own tribe. We (black girls) have been conditioned to fight for attention, validation and if someone seems to be in the way of that they are the problem.

As we headed into high school most of us were heading to different schools, as we had been bused way out there from all over the north side. I stayed in touch with very few of my black friends because middle school was tiring. I ended up attending Northeast Magnet High School. I was out of my shell, but I really didn’t try hard to make friends. I had about 2 friends I hung out with. I was not here for all the drama that more friends entailed. At 14, I had finally realized that I was enough. My family was enough and I could take or leave friends. The headache was too much. After a year, I decided I wanted to go to a regular high school. I transferred to Heights, so that I could attend pep rallies and all the sport activities that made up High School. Things got interesting because these black kids had money. They lived in Beacon Hill, Bel Aire, and those nice houses across from the college. Most of them had 2 parent households. They were getting their hair and nails done almost weekly. I had not been exposed to that before. Again, I felt different…but I was okay with it this time. I was old enough and more aware that those differences made me who I was. I didn’t make any real friends at Heights. I was fine just having associates. Focusing on school and helping people with their homework at lunch. I was smart, loved to read, dance, and getting good grades was a must. I don’t have one friend that I am connected to from High School, besides my ex husband and we don’t have that kind of time. This is a brief description of how I navigated school as a black girl. How it affected me and caused me to question my worthiness.

I have THE BEST mother. She is amazing, but there was nothing she could say to make me understand how dope I really was. That my differences truly did make me special. Little black girls struggle to find their worth because America does not love us. We have been made to feel like we aren’t good enough to be friends with “other” children. We have been taught to hate our features, but to embrace those same features on women that are not black. We are forced to be divisive because we are constantly fighting to be seen. When a black woman goes missing or is killed the uproar is minimal. Even compared to the black man. We are the LAST people on the totem pole. Sweet Breonna Taylor had been dead for 2 months before George Floyd was murdered, but the world only found out about her death through his. Let that sink in, where were the marches for Breonna before that? I wish I could say I was surprised that they chose not to press charges against those cops, but I am not. The handling of this case showed that they clearly were going to do everything they could to avoid accountability. My heart breaks because this is yet another instance of the world attempting to tell us we don’t matter. We are not enough. Our lives are disposable. Laws were changed AFTER her death, which means many of their actions were justified. However, there was so much negligence. Too much negligence with their actions after knowing she was shot. The way they filed the police report that conveniently didn’t mention her as a victim and their sorry attempt to blame her boyfriend. Yet no charges? We all know if Breonna was white, negligence would have been found. They would have felt compelled on their own, without the push of the world to get justice for her. It's sad. This hurts. Black women, black people are hurting and we have no choice but to keep going.

My plea from anyone reading this is to vote. We have to get these corrupt candidates out. My plea to black women is to love and respect yourself. To know that you are enough, and that you matter! You bring so much love and flavor to the world. I say this all the time, but BLACK PEOPLE the biggest flex is to love and support one another. To repair the black family. To do a better job spending money in the black community. To use our platforms at work and on social media to shine the light on positive images of black people. We have been fighting for so long, the fight must continue because we are worthy. Our children are worthy! Stay the course and do NOT let your voice be silenced.