This blog entry is partially written in response to someone who recently said to me, “See that’s what is wrong with you black women.” With a cowardly text, and out of nowhere, this man – a black man who has claimed to love me – spewed his contempt and hate toward me and toward black women by saying, “Something is wrong with you black women.” Needless to say, I was infuriated by his hateful rant, yet it was one that helped me to see him for who he really is: a misogynist – one who hates women; one who holds women in contempt. It was a painful realization that I did not want to face because he is a black man, born of a black woman and raised by his black sisters. His misogyny is something that I did not want to acknowledge or admit. I wanted to believe that he was better than the man that he kept proving himself to be (despite all of his best apologies) – after two years of knowing him, intimately. But, finally, getting that text, a cowardly act from behind his telephone screen where he was hiding out thinking that he was unseen, jolted me out of my denial and caused me to recognize him for who he is, and for the awfully abusive man that he obviously wants to be, since he too knows and admits that he has “issues” with black women, yet he refuses to address those issues. Instead, he keeps getting involved with black women and, tragically, the contempt and hate he feels for black women comes out, sabotaging his relationships with black women, including the ones he has with the women in his family. He repeatedly hurts himself and others, and then he runs, hides, and blames all the “black b*tches” that he chooses to be with. Of course, later, he apologizes, he claims to take “full responsibility” for the undoing of his relationships, but because he is not getting help for his pain (nor do I believe at this point that he is willing or able to stop doing what he is doing on his own – because he has made it clear that he is who he wants to be, end of story, end of life) he cycles right back into a mound of abuse and disappointment with yet another black woman.
Yes, this is the very definition of insanity; it is also a description of a man who is emotionally incompetent and sick and he will make others (especially black women) eventually sick (of his bullsh*t) if they, in turn, choose to be with him. In addition, he is a ragefull man because, to make matters worse, he becomes angry (on top of the anger he already feels from childhood trauma) and dismissive with the women who walk and sometimes run out of his life. He resents them for leaving him. Go figure. Unfortunately, he hasn’t figured it out: no good woman wants (or needs) to be with a man – no matter what color he is – who is not in control of his emotions and who refuses to gain control. And, no woman, black, white, red, or yellow, has to, under any circumstances, put up with any abuse, and definitely not from such a troubled man who is choosing to stay in that condition. Indeed, as one of my friends so accurately said: he is a walking dead man. And the last time I checked, I am so very much alive.
Turning the corner. For those of you who might be wondering, writing is cathartic to me. I write, first and foremost, for myself. It helps me to process my feelings, and it is my way of being heard; my way of standing up for myself and for my feelings. My relationship to writing began when I was a child/adolescent and I would be sent to my room on punishment. In response to that punishment, I would tape notes to my bedroom door (which would be closed); with those notes I expressed my feelings, and most of all, it was my reaction to being silenced and unseen. Who knew that the practice of posting notes to my bedroom door would turn into a passion and an ability to write?
That said, I do not write to “get paid,” although getting paid for my writing is not something that I would turn away. I write because I can; it is something that I am good at; and, the act of writing for me is what I do to heal myself from pain and from the hatefulness, dismissal, or the harmfulness of others who do not want to see me or hear me because of their own issues. Writing helps me to express and free myself in a world that is compromised by pain, past and present. And, since I have been writing on public platforms, such as Facebook and WordPress, I have been contacted and told by many that I have helped them to do the same. You cannot imagine how it feels to me to know that my writing and thus my work has helped others to find their voices. That is what freedom is all about: for self and for others.
If you would like to republish my work in a larger platform or in a book, please contact me. I would be more than happy to discuss how that could be done and what it would cost. And now, today’s blog, inspired by the crap that I went through with the man I just told you about:
WE BLACK WOMEN
We black women are
Mamas, sisters, friends, lovers, teachers, warriors, and sometimes enemies of those who hate us and who want to exploit and use us, mostly for sex and company,
We black women have stood strong and proud in the face of hate and rejection by those who do not see us, who do not love us,
Because of their own pain and their own fears.
But we black women
We are like Maya Angelou
And Fannie Lou Hamer
And Nina Simone
And Angela Davis
And Elaine Brown
And Billie Holiday
And Alice Walker
And Abbey Lincoln
And Shirley Horn
And Bessie Smith
And June Jordan
And Marimba Ani
And Toni Morrison
And Anita Hill
And bell hooks
And many, many more black women – like my own mother and sister.
We are black, and we are women
We have changed our worlds and this world for the better and the world sees us and knows what we have done.
The world knows who we are.
Not all black women do good, not all black women are good
There are some black women have done irreparable harm to their children and to their families,
But most of all they have abandoned themselves.
There are black women who have given up on living their own lives
Maybe they did and do not know how to live for themselves
Maybe the fear of life and others has overcome and overpowered them
Maybe they have believed what others said about them, so therefore they lived the lies of others.
But there are many of us, black women, who have turned other peoples’ lies upside down
We black women have told and written our own stories
We black women are remembered as the authors and finishers of our own fates
And, we black women have survived the unthinkable, the unimaginable when we could have been dead and gone.
We black women.
And, we women.
We black women are proudly black and we will be seen, heard, for indeed, we are very, very beautiful.
© 2017 annalise fonza, Ph.D.