Blackness, identity and being undefinable.
I can't remember the first time I became aware of my blackness. I'm sure it happened as early as primary school though. One particular experience that I remember is how the word "ghetto" would be used to describe mannerisms like being loud, or having a heavy African accent, or certain words or phrases that are used by black people. Obviously then, this would automatically mean that black people were "ghetto". So my black friends would be described as "ghetto" while my white friends would be described as "cool" or "part black" with it being a compliment rather than a critique. Of course, there were some of us that figured this out and decided to try and bypass this critique by forcing ourselves to behave differently. To be reserved and quiet, which in my case eventually led to becoming afraid who we are and denying our true selves.
To make matters worse, there are, to this day, environments that either accept or quietly deny black bodies. I fell in love with one of them without knowing the consequences. I only felt the pressures of fitting in as a black girl in a ballet class when I had gone through puberty and gained some weight. What was interesting was, the more voluptuous I was (a physical feature that is now conditionally favoured by the media and society (I say conditionally because it is only a certain kind of curvy that is embraced by these i.e. a narrow waist, large breasts, wide hips, a toned bum and a pretty face)), the less feminine I felt.
I was scared of being sexualized without my consent or of being called fat. I wanted to retain a childlike innocence that I thought came with being flat chested and having narrow hips. I wanted to be lighter instead of always having to apply foundation to the straps of a tutu and for that to be an "inconvenience" for the white girl(s) I shared that tutu with. I became obsessed with myself and my physical appearance, stopping at nothing to achieve what was fed to me as the right body; the body that will make me happy. Obviously, my efforts backfired, and they will always backfire because the intention for change was extremely destructive and rooted in the lack of acceptance of myself.
What am I getting at though? What conclusion am I getting to? To be honest with both you, the reader, and myself, I have no idea. I would have liked to come to the conclusion that my experience of discomfort with my blackness and my body type has made me a "stronger" person, or that I now embrace both, or that being uncomfortable with both hasn't affected my relationships and self-esteem. I am still figuring out how to navigate this world where being a black girl and being a black womxn means so much, yet hardly any of those designated definitions were created by black womxn/girls themselves. I guess then, this is simply a telling of my journey through the complexities of finding my identity. So, I don't know who I am or what box I belong in. Maybe that's alright?
Side notes: womxn, spelt with an "x" is to include transwomxn and to separate my identity as womxn being dependent on a man; word in quotation marks are concepts I find problematic and that represent stereotypes associated with black people and black womxn in particular
To make matters worse, there are, to this day, environments that either accept or quietly deny black bodies. I fell in love with one of them without knowing the consequences. I only felt the pressures of fitting in as a black girl in a ballet class when I had gone through puberty and gained some weight. What was interesting was, the more voluptuous I was (a physical feature that is now conditionally favoured by the media and society (I say conditionally because it is only a certain kind of curvy that is embraced by these i.e. a narrow waist, large breasts, wide hips, a toned bum and a pretty face)), the less feminine I felt.
I was scared of being sexualized without my consent or of being called fat. I wanted to retain a childlike innocence that I thought came with being flat chested and having narrow hips. I wanted to be lighter instead of always having to apply foundation to the straps of a tutu and for that to be an "inconvenience" for the white girl(s) I shared that tutu with. I became obsessed with myself and my physical appearance, stopping at nothing to achieve what was fed to me as the right body; the body that will make me happy. Obviously, my efforts backfired, and they will always backfire because the intention for change was extremely destructive and rooted in the lack of acceptance of myself.
What am I getting at though? What conclusion am I getting to? To be honest with both you, the reader, and myself, I have no idea. I would have liked to come to the conclusion that my experience of discomfort with my blackness and my body type has made me a "stronger" person, or that I now embrace both, or that being uncomfortable with both hasn't affected my relationships and self-esteem. I am still figuring out how to navigate this world where being a black girl and being a black womxn means so much, yet hardly any of those designated definitions were created by black womxn/girls themselves. I guess then, this is simply a telling of my journey through the complexities of finding my identity. So, I don't know who I am or what box I belong in. Maybe that's alright?
Side notes: womxn, spelt with an "x" is to include transwomxn and to separate my identity as womxn being dependent on a man; word in quotation marks are concepts I find problematic and that represent stereotypes associated with black people and black womxn in particular
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