Invisible
I recently watched Little Fires Everywhere, and was moved, nearly to tears, by a poem read during the final scene:
“Was I the bird or was I the cage?
Was I safe or was I suffocating?
The bird is in a cage and the cage is in a town.
The town is made of blinding white flour and beautiful lies.
If we can finally see the lies and the town - and the cage we’re inside of, we can see so many other things too. We can see the door. A way out. And we can fly away.”
I grew up in a predominately white town in Connecticut. Everyone talked, thought, and dressed the same. Because you were automatically the other if you had any type of individuality or uniqueness, I conformed. I copied. It was a cage—one that I’ve carried with me.
My family is filled with strong Black women. For years, the only place I ever felt comfortable was at home with my family. In the outside world, I made myself smaller to make other people more comfortable. It was exhausting.
It’s heartbreaking to grow up in a world that does not value your life—a world that does not see you. It’s heartbreaking to grow up in a world that makes you believe there is something wrong with you and that your features are ghetto, ratchet, animal-like, or ugly. So, you become invisible. You retreat so far into yourself and you try to become someone else.
There are people you cross paths with in life that are so strong and powerful, they unlock the strength and power that is buried deep within you. They see you when you can’t see yourself. That’s what it’s like with Sean. He shows us how to be better versions of ourselves. He lets us out of our cages.
I wrote the below piece, Invisible, after talking with Sean a few months ago, after the murder of George Floyd. I realized that while I had left that town in Connecticut, I was still hiding and conforming. I was still being quiet and likeable, so much so that I could barely think for myself. Even during this conversation with someone that I trust so deeply, I was still overfiltering. I realized that it’s not just the town, it’s our world. This world does not love Black women, but we need to love ourselves.
It’s been a blessing to have someone like Sean in my life. To remind me what authenticity and power looks like. To show me what self-love and self-worth looks like. To help me find my voice and my power.
If you, as a Black woman, feel invisible, unloved, unappreciated, misunderstood, uncomfortable - I see you. I hear you. I love you. I hope you learn to love yourself. We are not invisible.
::
Invisible
Growing up as a Black girl in white spaces, I stood out, which made me want to blend in even more. I was uncomfortable with my own Blackness. I overfiltered everything I said. I didn’t speak until someone else spoke first. I straightened my hair and let my white friends choose the music. I talked “like a white girl”. And I never, ever, spoke my mind.
Over time I conditioned myself to believe that it was safer to blend in, to keep quiet, don’t raise my hand, laugh quietly to myself, don’t make a joke, don’t be the smartest in the room.
I’ve long held the impression that it’s acceptable for Black people to be good, but not great, and certainly not the best. For years, I suppressed my power, my abilities, my Black girl magic, to make my white counterparts more comfortable. In high school, I always said I got a lower score on tests than I did. In college, I would pretend I had gone to the beach instead of the library. And I rarely ever talked about getting a job in finance.
As a Black girl in white spaces, I thought the only option was to blend in. I was kidding myself, because a Black person can never blend in in a white space - nor should we.
I have been silent in the face of blatant and subtle racism. I have been silent full stop. I was uncomfortable with my own Blackness. No longer.
I was so afraid of attracting attention, it was as if I had snuck into a place that I didn’t belong, and if they noticed me, they would make me leave.
I am not out of place. And it makes me angry that to this day I have still not shed all my insecurities.
My friends and colleagues know me as the quiet / shy girl. I am not quiet. I am not shy, but I’ve spent a lifetime trying not to be noticed. I’ve spent my lifetime trying to retreat inside of myself and become small and insignificant. I am so sorry to all of the Black girls that have had to make themselves smaller. We deserve to take up space.
Sent from my iPhone (6/12/2020)
“The only thing that was ever wrong with me was my belief that there was something wrong with me.” ~ Glennon Doyle, Untamed