Just like during the 45th administration, during this 47th each day brings a fresh hell to survive.
The first time around I purchased the shirt “A Girl Has No President” because we were still captivated by GOT and Arya had my heart from the start. I didn’t think I’d pull it out after 2020. Alas…
I was less sure of myself in this space of artist and researcher. I wanted to write but I didn’t believe I had anything to say that would keep the attention of an audience. My opinions, thoughts, and ideas remained scribbled across notepads, journals, and walls. Occasionally the most intense or most neutral ones made it to a blog article or social media post. I wanted to share me but/and I didn’t want to offend and I wanted to respect these school age young people in my house. My insecurity kept me frozen and hidden from myself for years.
Then there were the distractions. Some I pursued (like weed, women, and vodka). Others I invited in (like male friends that actually wanted sex). The constant that remained was an insecure relationship with my body and other people. I literally did not know how to exist in the world! I used crass humor and rampant promiscuity to reconcile the Black woman archetype of seductress with my own sexuality. I had to first allow my understanding of my own sexuality to evolve in order for me to fully step into who I really was. I couldn’t connect with anyone until then. My lack of connection to self kept me disconnected from others. The disconnect kept me disappointed in my relationships and I think other people. This spiral of mental and physical energy drained my creative capacity. How could I find purpose if I’m always seeking resolution with the people and in the places I need peace?
I have notebooks, Google Docs, and Word doc drafts and outlines and notes for blogs that went unpublished. (There is a rather well researched exceptional article linking school disciplinary action toward bullying to 2nd amendment advocacy).
Truth is, I didn’t think I was good enough.
That was five years ago.
That is no longer an affliction I suffer from.
This year I’ve managed to design, coordinate, and launch a brand new creative project completely on my own. I’m doing the research. Making the connections. Writing the grants. Writing, revising, and executing the planning. And fundraising like I’ve never fundraiser before. All for a concept that came out of my head.
I know I am completely capable.
In the midst of settling my family almost three thousand miles away from the home they knew, completely uprooting and replanting my life, all for the sake of thier growth and mine, I’ve also managed to blog about my work and what I am learning for sixteen weeks straight.
After four months of weekly blogs I’m realizing that it’s not enough. Me, the woman worried about being able to say something substantial once week, is gaining momentum, not losing it.
Every day there is something new. There is some affirmation. Some occurance or revelation that legitimizes some or multiple aspects of this project.
The American economy is on everyone’s mind.
Health and well-being is on everyone’s mind.
Arts, education, religion, immigration, childcare, and so many other things are flooding our nervous systems these days.
I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, I can’t speak on everything. Everything isn’t for me. Some things require my attention and my ears. Others require my words and my action. Maturity and faith has given me discernment to determine which is which.
It is clear to me though that I have so much more to say. There is so much more happening each day that catches and keeps my attention and too much at the end of the week for me to connect.
So much of what we see connects to the Labor Pains Project.
An example from last week
Trump pardoned individuals convicted of tax evasion and tax fraud. I’m not here to judge anyone’s case, I want to talk about impact.
One of those pardoned was convicted of taking payroll taxes intended to pay into Social Security for employees of a nursing home. Black women are disproportionately represented in these types of underpaid healthcare roles.
The wealth of a white man, and by extention his white family, was enriched at the direct cost of future assets and wealth accumulation for Black women employed at that nursing home. While Black women are not the only group working in nursing homes, they are the most impacted by crimes of this nature as they tend to depend on social security later in life. The wages accumulated during thier participation in the workforce at places like a nursing home do not make the accumulation of wealth possible for many of these women because of the cost of living and thier financial responsibilities to thier families.
The children whose lives are enriched by thier father’s crime will continue to benefit through access and opportunity. The world will attribute thier achievements and success to thier hardwork. Any failure will be quickly forgiven and seen as a necessary part of development.
The children of the Black women whose money was literally stolen from them will continue to be punished for circumstances with which they had no control. The world will attribute any success to resilience and helpful hands along the way and all failure to thier mother’s inability to provide a stable life.
I couldn’t include that in this week’s project update, but I wanted to talk about my take on that particular story.
We read it, hear it, or watch reels about it. But how often do we think beyond the headline to the real lives impacted?
I don’t know if this means I’m writing twice a week or three times a week from now on, but I know I need to keep writing. I need to process as much as I can as I quickly as I can to keep up. It’s all relevant for me.
Slavery and capitalism are foul stains on American sheets and we just keep hanging it out to dry.
Thank you for exploring this with me 🫶🏿
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