I often write about my life as a woman of color. It’s not because I constantly want to write about the challenges I, and so many women, face. I write as a form of resistance. I write to help unmask what so many try to mask—inequalities. Black women for centuries have fought to have their voices heard. Not to make others feel guilt, but to simply be free.
But sometimes it’s just hard. It’s hard to always pick yourself up, dust yourself off and build community in the process.
Some days I feel myself wanting to scream in response to the micro-aggressions I face.
Some days I find myself wondering is it me.
Some days I find myself wondering can I go on.
Some days I find myself wondering is there an alternative
An alternative to a force that seems to want to strip me to the core
An alternative to the force that seems to want me to forget who I am
An alternative to the force that seems to want to rob me of my basic instinct to love.
I search my Bible for wisdom
I search the words of my Black women warriors who have left a blue print on how to survive
I search for a pray of wisdom, strength and forgiveness
I resist the urge to eat cheesecake
I resist the urge to drink a can a coke
I resist the urge to hate
I resist the urge to become bitter
I resist the urge to walk away from it all
I resist the darkness
But you see, my resistance gets worn down with time
Each time I’m told that my experience is not “real”
Each time I’m told that my voice doesn’t matter
Each time that I’m told that gendered-racism doesn’t exist
My resistance gets worn down.
The voice of Fannie Lou Hamer rings in my ear.
Like her “I’m sick and tired of being sick and tired”
I’m simply sick and tired of being sick and tired!
This is the seventh post of my 31-day blogging challenge. You can tweet me at Dr_JZ using hastag #31dbc to share your thoughts.