The duality of black womanhood is rooted in the foundation of history. The vibrancy of womanhood and the richness of blackness are in bed with the oppression and cruelty we experience as a result of our gender and race. Our bodies are glorified and sexualized. Our ideas are celebrated, but only after they have been hijacked. Our love is seen as steadfast while it is taken advantage of. Our bodies and minds are abused. Our race leads to our dehumanization. Our womanhood leads to our objectification. We were enslaved by a white system. We were forced into bed by their men. We were exploited by their women. We are forced onto a mental and emotional battlefield by our men. Told to compete by some of our women. The racism and sexism that has been internalized is taught to us and then enforced by our indoctrinated mothers and fathers. 

We were taught that our worth is a direct reflection of the roles we play in the lives of others. Be an obedient, dutiful wife means that we must always defer to our husbands. We must make space for their egos by making ourselves small. Be a selfless mother means we must suckle our babies until our identities (and breasts) run dry. We must not talk about the difficulties of motherhood because our realness means that we don’t love our children. Be a sex symbol means we must act out pornographic pleasure in real life. We must remain skinny and thick at the same time. Butts are welcome, but stomachs are shunned. The callouses we receive throughout life must be buffed away. We must protest the devaluation of the black, male body. Even if we have been hurt by one. Or two. Or three. Or four. 

We were taught that the pigment in our skin makes us dirty and unworthy. Being dark means you are ugly and far from the standard of beauty. Having kinky hair means that your lineage is stained and contaminated. The media tells us we will always be subpar because we are not exotic or blond. We are always expected to carry the burdens of others and be strong and this expectation stifles our healing.  We are assumed to be moronic. Our words are belittled. The only emotion we are said to experience is anger. We are known to have attitudes the size of an ocean. 

The world tells us: Make yourself smaller. Smaller. Smaller. Smaller.

But our energy is too big. Even when we try to play by your rules, our souls scream for freedom. When we are disenfranchised, we still show up. When our bodies are commoditized, we still walk in our regality. When our minds are leached and preyed on, we still create. When accurate information is withheld, we write our own stories. When our voices are silenced, we still send out powerful messages through the music we create, the movement we make with our bodies, the food we cook, the care we give, the children we raise, the tears we cry, and the prayers we send up to heaven. 

We birth stars, we heal profound wounds, and we part seas when necessary. Our voices roar like thunder demanding respect, we walk into rooms and shine, and when we leave the vibrations always flow differently. All hail the black woman. 

If the world doesn’t figure out how to treat us, they will be in for a rude awakening. If they earn the chance to walk through heaven’s gates without learning this lesson, I hope they are ready to feel uneasiness because God really might be a black woman.

So girl: Make yourself bigger. Bigger. Bigger. Bigger.

The world should make itself ready for you, and if it doesn’t, step on it as you ascend to higher heights. Make your own world and invite me to it. I would love to visit. 

A universe filled with worlds created for and by black women. Glory.