Welcome to Let It Be Friday!, where I say hello (and TGIF), and round up the lifestyle, career and business news that inspired, excited, made me smile (or laugh out loud).
In great diversity news, Black Enterprise reveals Javicia Leslie is set to be the first Black woman to play Batwoman;
Got an interview coming up? The Glassdoor Blog recommends 5 COVID-19 questions you should ask;
Dear Working Mom is our weekly love letter to working moms everywhere, where we talk about motherhood, life, work and everything in between…
Dear Working Mom,
You’ve taken on a lot over time. A lot of responsibilities, a lot of pressure, a lot of care, and a lot of weight, some mental, some spiritual, and some even physical over time…As time goes, you’re taking on more, doing more, being more, as there are more demands on your time, energy, and life…
You’ve been tirelessly juggling all the balls of your life and work, keeping as many of them as possible in the air at all times, not allowing yourself to drop any. From supporting your family, to acing your career, to maintaining age-old friendships, you’ve been trying to do it all, for way too long…And it’s cost you a lot, too much even, for way too long, from neglecting yourself to being taken for granted, to depleting the last of your very resources…
Yet, did anyone tell you it was OK to let go of some of the balls you’ve been juggling for so long? That not everything on your to-do list has to get done? That the kids will be ok if left to care for themselves for a bit? That your family could actually benefit from you letting go of all this pressure and weight? That the world will still go on, even if you don’t prepare organic meals or miss two appointments in a row…
You’re allowed to let go of the responsibilities that are not adding value to you, your purpose, and your life…
You’re allowed to let go of the beliefs and mindsets that no longer serve you…
You’re allowed to let go of the people who keep asking more and more of you without giving anything in exchange…
You’re allowed to let go of the places that keep swallowing you in their complacency and destructive patterns…
Most importantly, you’re allowed to let go of the guilt of choosing you over anything or anyone threatening your wholeness, your integrity and your purpose…The guilt of caring for yourself, of not being everything to everyone, and of making space for others to grow and learn on their own…
Not only are you allowed to let go, you must learn to do so with the grace, honesty and power you will need to evolve, and forgive yourself for treading new paths and creating new avenues…
There’s a pressure that comes with being the only Black woman in the room. It’s a pressure that is not often talked about, or even known for that matter. Too often, being the only Black woman in the room is equated with such privilege, honor and opportunity, that the weight of it escapes most. It may even initially escape the woman who’s seemingly been granted a position of historical importance, or simply the chance at a peek into some of the rooms reserved for only a fortunate few.
Yet, the reality is what is often seen as an incredible opportunity also bears its weight in unspoken pressure and wrenching duty. The pressure to be worthy, to not just meet but exceed expectations, to set a standard against all standards. But most importantly, the pressure to not FAIL. Because failure is a privilege that is not bestowed upon the Black woman, especially when she stands somewhere, anywhere, as the “only one”, the first, the sole, lone representative of an entire race and gender now leaning over her head like a weighty Damocles sword threatening to fall and destroy her at any moment. It’s an indulgence that no carrier of legacy, especially a legacy as heavy, as costly, as fragile as the Black legacy, can afford.
As a Black woman, you don’t fail in order to learn. You learn in order not to fail. You understand that when you fail, you fail all those who came before you, and all those who are coming after you, looking to step through the same doors you just did. When you fail, it’s as if you denied the sacrifices made on your behalf by generations who could not walk your path. Now that is pressure, a pressure that some, consciously or unconsciously, block out of their already heavy minds, more out of a sense of self-preservation than a desire to shield themselves.
That’s not what we think about as we watch the glamorous photos of these women breaking barriers, going further than their peers have ever been, sitting at the table, building their own tables. We don’t think about the cost, the unfathomable cost, of being the only Black woman in the room…
There is no single way, no best antidote to dealing with it, to paying the high price of opportunity knocking at the Black woman’s door. As complex as the tapestry of humanity, filled with steep contrasts and flat similarities, is the conundrum of lone success for the Black woman. A mix of heightened gratitude and deep guilt. A wave of enthusiasm matched with high winds of discouragement. A proud sense of duty undercut by blades of sharp debt disguised as communal responsibility.
One cannot prepare to being the “only one” in the room. There is no amount of mental preparedness that can really get anyone ready to the level of responsibility and isolation that also come along. What there is, is the renew wed commitment to show up day after day, raising the already impossible bar to higher and higher levels.
What there is, is the will to outwork, outperform, and out-challenge, just in order to survive. The indomitable, often self-destructive, will to keep on going, despite all odds. It’s the same iron will that turns challenges into opportunities, small beginnings into gigantic endings, and lessons into massive improvement. It’s the will that creates diamonds from pressure, extracts precious oil from painful crushing, and leaves a bright trail for all to see..
“That man over there says that women need to be helped into carriages, and lifted over ditches, and to have the best place everywhere. Nobody ever helps me into carriages, or over mud-puddles, or gives me any best place! And ain’t I a woman? Look at me! Look at my arm! I have ploughed and planted, and gathered into barns, and no man could head me! And ain’t I a woman? I could work as much and eat as much as a man – when I could get it – and bear the lash as well! And ain’t I a woman? I have borne thirteen children, and seen most all sold off to slavery, and when I cried out with my mother’s grief, none but Jesus heard me! And ain’t I a woman?“
In the words of Sojourner Truth, known for her historical speech at an Ohio Women’s Rights Convention in 1851, what’s it really about being a Black woman? As I read her words, what does it really mean to stand at the intersection of being Black and female? What does it mean in the workplace, on the streets, at home? What does it mean to live in the body and the mind of a Black woman?
Being a Black woman means being at the intersection of race and gender. It also means being stuck in a professional and personal double bind, that of race and gender. The powerful, feared and harsh combination of two minority statuses rolled into the same individual and exposed for all to see, against the brutal misconceptions of society and oneself. It is the mix of negative messaging, insecurities and stereotypes channeled from one inequitable position to another, fused in a confusing cloud of misperception and misalignment. It is the conundrum of belonging in a partial way, which really is synonymous with not belonging at all. Stuck between a rock and a hard place…
As a woman, you feel like you are to join hands with all women. As a Black woman, you may be very well on your own, at tables where you may be the “only one”, in discussions where your voice may either sound like an empty echo or a gritting scream, or just a resounding silence… On paper, you may be deemed worthy, but in numbers, your value may be discounted. On paper, you may be read as “strong”, “invincible”,yet as the likes of powerful athlete Serena Williams and talented comedian and actress Leslie Jones, too “masculine-looking”. Or even as an “ape in heels”, as First Lady Michelle Obama was once insultingly portrayed.
Being at the intersection of anything also means residing at the periphery of everything. It’s an uncomfortable, trying place where one constantly has to prove their worth, even to themselves. A place of guilty, both conscious and unconscious, betrayal at the hands of oneself and society. A place where every step is on the lava floor of racial and gendered identity, and the pain, confusion and saving grace of growth that come with it…It’s a place no one really chooses to be in, for no one really picks the in-between, unless there is the threat of fire on both sides..
Being a Black woman is asking the question: “Ain’t I a woman?”, over and over again, at the meeting table, in the family conversations, in the mothering of our children, in the soothing of our own souls…It’s also getting multiple, sometimes conflicting answers to the same heartbreaking query, and often settling for only a fraction of the right ones. Settling for a fraction of the right salary…Settling for a fraction of the credit, a fraction of the peace, a fraction of the life…
Yet, navigating both realities of being woman and Black does not necessarily equate settling for the eternal dance between identities, codes and communities. One can take a stand and cut the pie in the middle. One can choose both, and have both. Yet, as for all progress, taking a stand, especially taking a middle, all-encompassing, stand comes at a price. It’s the price of embracing all of who we are, the multiple reflections of growth and evolution, as well as the entrenched images of self in a larger-than-life picture of what it truly means to be human. For being human is being a well of complexity, a receptacle of harsh contrasts and soft similarities, a deep pit of conflict and peace, of oneness and uniqueness. Being human is messy. And so is being a Black woman, at the intersection of race, gender and all of humanity…
It means letting of the lethal ideology of comfort and apparent belonging, to embrace the fearful uncertainty of the redeeming human difference. There is no comfort in progress and advancement. And isn’t that what we’re after, as a people, as a human race? Isn’t the fruit of struggle coming out of the seed of discomfort and difference? Neither is there belonging in the very concept of expansion, as an individual, as a society, as a world. Birth, from that of a human being to that of an organization, is synonymous with the very expansion that creates the same belonging that it negates later on through the necessity of emancipation and growth.
It means replacing the short-sightedness of immediate results, with the long vision of impact. How is our stance, at the corner of race and gender, creating the needed impact to open doors at all the levels we’re playing a role in? How is representation being increased, instead of limited and selective, by the sheer impact of our presence, the resonating weight of our voices, the long reach of our hands lifting and raising across lines of gender and race?
Last but not least, it ultimately means creating the support we need to serve those who don’t yet know they need it too. For it is when we recognize the needs of others, that we touch our own needs, minister to our own hearts, and heal our own wounds. Support is healing, and healing knows no boundaries. It expands across lines of identities and conceptions, to encompass the heart of humanity at the intersection of being human and being well,… human.
“Ain’t I a woman”, said Sojourner Truth. For at the intersection of race and gender, is the infinite view of what it means to be beautifully human, complex and boundary-breaking.
Dear Working Mom is our weekly love letter to working moms everywhere, where we talk about motherhood, life, work and everything in between…
Dear Working Mom,
You’ve been holding on for a long time now, doing your absolute best, going above and beyond for everyone else…except yourself! You’ve been maintaining this façade, however successfully, of the strong woman who’s got it…Just like you’ve been taught by generations of strong women before you, whose tears no one saw, who only got half the credit for their full work, who kept plowing through the challenges and still made it happen, whatever “it” was, from a holiday mean on a shoestring budget, to “magically” paying tuition and rent every month…
Yet, the reality is, you’re crumbling…You have been for some time, without letting anyone know, not even yourself. It’s been hard, at times unbearably hard, so hard you could not even find the tears to cry or the words to explain…Prayers and affirmations are not even comforting anymore, as you look through your phone for someone to call before finally resigning yourself to handle your business alone…
This whole time, you’ve not given yourself permission to fall apart. After all, ain’t nobody got time for that! You’ve got way too much on your plate, way too many people counting on you, and way too many people expecting you to fail…So you’ve been soldiering on, not allowing yourself to feel your feelings, explore your emotions, or simply take a break…You’ve bottled it all in, the pain, the exhaustion, the trauma, the incessant worries, in the name of stoic resilience and superhuman courage, at the cost of your own sanity and mental health…Yet, instead of making things better, it’s made it all so much worse…
You’ve been taught falling apart is a bad look. Admitting you’re vulnerable is a sign of weakness and incompetence. That women can and should do it all, at the same time, whatever the cost. Yet, what if it had been the wrong message all along? What if feeling the emotions, putting down the façade, and taking a breath were actually necessary? Not to stay there and wallow in self-pity, but to observe a pause, to allow yourself to fall apart so you can pick yourself back up and rebuild afterwards, instead of endlessly running on fumes?
In this season, give yourself permission to fall apart, to feel all the “feels”, to take a break, and replenish yourself before starting over again. Because it takes courage to open up and be vulnerable. It takes compassion, for oneself and for others, to share one’s struggles so others can see they’re not alone.
Because falling apart is not weak, it’s necessary, as long as you don’t stay there…
Being vulnerable is not “not handling your business”…
Seeking help and support is not being fragile, but showing strength and courage…
Give yourself permission to fall apart…and then get back up!
