You know, there’s a common misconception that artists exist on glitter and good vibes.
While I certainly try to sprinkle a little of both around, the reality is, a girl’s gotta eat. And pay rent. And, most importantly, continue the work that sets my soul on fire and, I hope, sparks a little something in yours too.
“Commit to yourself the way you commit to me.” My partner shared this sentiment with me yesterday when I was expressing my anxiety to her. I couldn’t quite pinpoint the exact nature of what I was feeling – for the sake of brevity, we’ll call it anxiety – and I struggled to understand why. I truly could not be more proud of the work I have accomplished thus far on Labor Pains. For the past eight months, I have labored tirelessly to create something healing and progressive. I worked without compensation to develop a project that would not only benefit Black women but also illuminate the intricate connection between Black women and the economy.
My ambition is to contribute to Black feminist thought and critical social theory, and I envision the Labor Pains project as my introduction to this endeavor. For eight months, I have steadfastly pursued that objective, unpaid, undirected, relying solely on wit, grit, and every other resource I could muster. So yes, I’ll admit, I am profoundly proud to have met the goals I set, to have achieved what I have at this point, and to have truly come into my own – not only as an artist but also as an entrepreneur.
I feel genuinely good about myself. I feel good about myself as a partner, as a collaborator. I feel good about myself as someone capable of working effectively with others to achieve tangible outcomes. And in the current climate, that’s a truly valuable position to be in. I appreciate that I can determine the structure of my days; I have every right to dictate what each moment yields. I recognize this as an immense privilege, one not afforded to everyone – in fact, most people in our American capitalist system currently cannot claim such autonomy. So, I am deeply aware of my fortunate position, and I am grateful and fulfilled by this ability. Soon, I will even be able to pay myself for this work, having successfully met my fundraising objectives. I am truly excited about all of this.
And then came that moment. I won’t label it imposter syndrome, because I don’t feel like an imposter. I cannot pretend that I haven’t been working relentlessly or that there isn’t more to do. I won’t feign otherwise. Yet, simultaneously, I felt anxious yesterday and couldn’t quite identify the source. So, I experienced a day of melancholy, grappling internally to realign my perspective, unable to comprehend why my heart felt so heavy.
Then I spoke with my partner, and she reminded me of my core motivation. She reminded me that I had been working so intensely that I neglected to prioritize my own well-being. She reminded me that I felt such immense pressure to create stability for our family that I forgot to care for myself.
This, of course, is deeply ironic given that the Labor Pains project itself is dedicated to supporting Black women on their self-care journey.
The workbooks I am currently writing, the curriculum I am developing, are specifically designed to provide Black women with the tools and resources to sustain their self-care journeys in their individual lives, enabling them to embody the freedom they seek.
My goal is precisely this through these workshops. I have absolutely no intention of merely collecting stories for my own artistic endeavors. I want women to heal. I want Black women to heal, because we have borne the brunt of so much in this country. What more profound way to honor a group to which I belong than to collect and showcase our stories, in our words, in our way?
It is a beautiful vision. A beautiful vision in which I lost myself. I completely forgot what I, the individual, needed because the work is so fulfilling, so captivating, that I too became engrossed in this world and forgot my own humanity. I had a performance this past weekend, and both my mother and my partner had to constantly remind me to eat. I am no exception when it comes to this, and I am profoundly grateful to have a partner to remind me that at the heart of all this work, is me.
Perhaps this is why these blogs have become more personal over the past few weeks. This shift is an acknowledgment that I am actively engaging in the very practice I hope to facilitate for others.
Become a Partner in This Purpose
And that’s where you come in.
I’m not simply asking for your applause (though that is always deeply appreciated!). Instead, I am extending a personal invitation to become a true partner in this journey. Your support, irrespective of its form, serves as the vital oxygen that keeps these projects alive and thriving. It is what empowers me to commit to myself, even as I commit to this essential work.
Here’s the understanding: Every single donation, every instance you spread the word about a workshop to a Black woman in your life, every “like,” comment, and share on my posts, and every time you attend a performance – all of it creates a profound ripple effect. It demonstrates to foundations and granting organizations that this work possesses tangible impact, genuine community engagement, and undeniable value.
And that, my friends, directly translates into the funding that allows me to continue creating, continue sharing, and yes, continue eating. Because as much as I adore my art, it turns out passion alone doesn’t quite cover the bills. (Who knew, right?)
So, if you resonate with the power of art to heal, to transform, and to connect, please consider lending your support to what we are building. Let’s create something truly impactful, and ensure we can sustain the efforts while we do it.
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