I imagined that the windows would stretch from the perimeter of my plush, dove gray carpeting to the edge of the crown molding of some office, in some major city, for some Fortune 500 company.  I was going to be Robin Givens from Boomerang: designer suits, company credit card, and a dope office.  Becoming a mother, however, made me more like Halle Berry: living n the suburbs, looking out of a dirty window onto my tiny deck, trying to tap into my creativity.  I traded in my briefcase for a diaper bag and dedicated my life to raising my kids.  Being a mom was my life; my company became my side-hustle.

I brought my type A personality to motherhood: I was the volunteer of the year at the kids’ schools, coach of the year at YMCA basketball (for real — they were desperate); and cook of the year at home.  Don’t get me wrong, I still was me.  I still got my nails done and hung out with my friends now and then (even if we were simply doing tacos at home); but I definitely had to curb my social life.  I was cool with the trade-off though: being a good mother was the most important thing in the world to me.

Similarly, for a long time, I was the most important thing in the world to my two sons.  Every day starting with kindergarten, I’d pick them up after school and we’d eat a snack together while watching Curious George.  Then one day, it seemed quite suddenly, instead of coming into our home with me, they both ran to our cul-de-sac where others were playing basketball—leaving me with their super hero backpacks and a punctured heart.  The backpacks have changed – from brightly-colored to simply black; but what has remained is their continued and growing independence from me.  I understand that this growth is normal.

I also understand that while their growth away from me stings a bit; it also opens up more time for me to focus on my growth, my life.  As my boys have created their own lives without me in the center, I’ve been busy ensuring that I am building my own life without them at the center (which is healthy for all involved).  I have reenergized efforts towards my business and started traveling more (which is my real passion).  My family has supported my efforts; but I’ve been surprised by how some peers have made unsupportive comments.  What about your kids?  Girl, are you having some sort f mid-life crisis?  What does your man say?  Can you really afford that? Girl, I’m grown, I don’t have time for all that foolishness. 

Similarly, I’ve learned that if I post a picture of me sun-bathing in Jamaica, I will get 1/10th of the likes compared to when I post a picture being a mom (attending a game, visiting a college, etc.).  People love when I am doing what I guess many of them figure I should be doing –serving and caring for anyone …but myself.

It would be easy to dismiss this behavior and words as hateration; but the cause is not that simple.  The Black woman as a strong, reliable, serious (angry) character isn’t just a stereotype; it has seeped its way into being a part of our culture.  It’s the strong slave mother who doesn’t shed a tear when her children are ripped out of her arms and sold to another plantation; it’s Rosa Parks and Fannie Lou Hammer; it’s the grandmas who raise multiple children of different generations with little money; it’s the women who maintain the house, church and office. 

We Black women get together when we can and then complain about how tired we are, to describe our tightly packed calendars and ungrateful partners.  We have found a sense of comfort and safety in struggling.

Many of us weren’t trained by our mommas and grandmas about the great attributes our men should have; but rather just how we should be happy that “at least he got a job.”  We were never directed to get a job that fulfilled us but rather “somethin’ with benefits.”  We were taught to expect good friends but were also told “not to trust no women.”  Our bar for what and who was good enough for us was placed on an artificially low rung.  Unconsciously we don’t believe that happiness is for us, for Black women generally.  So when we aren’t supported by loved ones for indulging; it’s not about them being jealous or hating, it comes from a historical norm that is so ingrained that it has become instinctual to expect for Black women to be serving, rallying, organizing, and to keep pushing, pushing, pushing.

Just like with any other false mindset, we must engage in conscious decision-making to expect and to want happiness for ourselves and each other.  When we see a Black woman who is strong enough to put herself on her to-do-list (because it takes courage for a Black woman to revolt and go against what is expected); we should encourage her and congratulate her.  And those of us who are chasing happy should only surround ourselves with people who encourage and congratulate us.  It is time for us to march for our own revolution; for us; for our happiness.

3 Responses

  1. Thank you for speaking my current narrative. I am 49 and my youngest of 4 children is 14. I spent most of their lives pouring into them and a loveless husband and, now that I’m focused on my own visions and dreams, I felt a twinge of guilt that I no longer wanted to sew holes, pick out eye boogers, stand over a hot stove or be a track-mom. I “need” me — the whole me; not just the mom- and (former) wife-me, not just the minister- and employee-me; but the creative, dynamic, traveling, freely-dating-and-loving-it-me.

    Thank you for being you. And thank you for doing it in front of us.

  2. Brava!
    I love the photo of you jumping for joy almost as much as I love the animated Auntie Randi.
    Thank you for encouraging self care and insisting that we surround ourselves with the squad that embraces that too. Somehow we think the flight instructions only apply to the plane: we must secure our own masks first–first, before we can assist others. Even the others we love to the moon and back.

    And next time you post a photo sunbathing on an island anywhere, Ima ask you to order my drink as I head to the airport to join you! BTW–ya gotta post here or send an e-mail. That’s a “social” as my media presence gets! X)

  3. I have found myself becoming like my mom,not that it’s a bad thing but she always put her self last. She would babysit during the day and sew for people during the night and take care of me and my siblings while daddy worked two jobs and was hardly home. She wouldn’t go get her hair or nails done. She wouldn’t go and buy clothes or really anything for herself. She wouldn’t go out with girlfriends . She would put off going to the doctor’s . She only took care of everybody else but herself. This is not the path I want to continue on . I am still going to be there and do for my kids. I am trying to learn that it’s ok to buy me something, it’s ok to go out with girlfriends sometimes,it’s ok if I have to make a doctor appointment for myself it’s ok for me to try and better my health, It’s ok for me to try and love myself without feeling guilty, It’s ok

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