Thy Queendom Come

Hey guys! Its me again, coming to you live from the bottom of my Crown Royal Apple glass. I feel that I should share my anxiety reaching a solid 9, my anger reaching a peak of 12, and that fix-a-flat couldn’t even revive my patience. This week has been questionable at very best; but I made it to Friday, which also doesn’t mean much when you have work on Saturday.

I am just having one of those “is it just me?” moments of reflection and it is becoming increasingly difficult to just let things slide, or to not take them personally. We Black women are a strange and interesting subset.

Let me frame this for you: I got fussed at while I was at work for something I have limited control over, and instead of letting my superior rant, I returned his energy right back to him, safe and sound. You know, typical Mo things. What? He sent for me! I can’t tell you whether I turned green or red, but by the end of the day my stove was still at a level 9 simmer. I hate that though. I have become the problem child in every department of every company I have worked in since 2017, and I don’t know how. I feel like Target should pay me for marketing, as it seems like I have their logo painted on my forehead. I am not sure. But one thing I know, two things fa sho: ain’t nobody else dealing with what I have to deal with. I don’t know if it is because of my skin, my sex, because I look like a 14 year old, or a combination of the three.

As a woman, and as a Black person in general, I feel the need to over assert myself in situations where I feel an “aggressor” may think they can take advantage of me. Little do they know; I am not the one or the two, boo. Or maybe I AM the one. That is up for interpretation. The issue is that people become too comfortable with disrespecting me. This can come in the form of general aggression (mostly from management) or sexual aggression in the workplace. It is really wild watching the change of tone when speaking to other races or men, as compared to with me. 

I once began a job where I was met with complete attitude by other Black women, which has always been a topic that confuses me. I can walk into any room and tell whether or not the Black women there will be a problem. A concept I will never understand. 

I was also met with daily microaggressions, which has been happening since literally as far back as I can remember as a baby girl. It’s all fun, games, and conversations about how weaves and/or plaits are installed and that my Grecian twists made me look like Baby Bop, until the microaggressor mentions something about ethnic Black names being extra and “unprofessional”. What is professionalism, anyway? Making White people comfortable in the workplace setting? Is it slicking your hair back into a tight bun ball to hide your fro, whereas every other race is allowed to wear theirs the way it grows out their scalp? Is it turning on your customer service “Sorry to Bother You” voice, so not to turn off the people interviewing you? For all my non-Black friends reading this, the term for that is called code switching. All Black people do it to some degree. Take note of how they talk to you versus around their family. 

But like, how is an unsought name unprofessional? She straight up told me that if she saw a name come across her desk as HR that was a little too ethnic, she would reconsider giving them the time of day, to which I responded with, “I hope you’re never in HR because you’re the reason why people that look like me don’t have the same opportunities. Good thing I have a white name.” Okay, I didn’t add that last part in there during that part of my soap box speech, but are you so proud of me for not going off on her like I do everyone else at work? I am. 

Aside from feeling unprotected and undesired by our own Black men, being categorized by the shade of our skin, being portrayed and provoked into being stereotypically angry, labeled unprofessional because we exist, being hypersexualized, and assumed to have a higher pain and suffering tolerance than that of anyone else on the planet, being a Black woman is LIT. We are some of the most educated, beautiful, graceful, tough, charismatic people you’ll ever meet. I’ll take all that, and whatever else comes with it to keep this cool.