My Black Womanhood: Asè, iSlay, Amen

When one of my dearest friends asked me to write about my thoughts, feelings and experiences as a Black woman and what that means to me, I went THU it. Here is live footage of my process:

Stage 1 :[when Teej asked me to write for his site]Stage 2:[trying to figure out where to start because I have a lot of feelings]

Stage 3:[finding the fun in writing and revising til my fingers fall off]

Here we go.

I thank God that He made me Black AND a woman. Sometimes I can't believe I have been so favored. But I didn't always consider all of the components of these identities a privilege. While I adore being Black and thank God every day for trusting me with the gift of melanin, I also acknowledge that we need to confront and unlearn the detrimental mindsets that have also moved through the continuum of Black culture I wrote about previously. As it relates to my Black womanhood, I think there are four major areas that I had to traverse and later make peace with separately: my skin, my hair, my body and my mind.

I remember one summer day when I was 14, I went to my grandparents' house for a cookout with my sister and cousins and we swam (well, I played in the water because you know...) and played in the sun all day. I remember telling my sister before we even left the house that I didn't want to stay outside too long because I didn't want to get too dark. But I did anyway, because it was so much fun. When we came inside and dried off, all of the adults were commenting on how we smelled like outside and how dark we had gotten. And one aunt said to me, "Jazmine, you look dirty!" And we all laughed and piled up our plates with burgers and baked beans and lil huggie juice jugs and headed to the kids table. Then it hit me, and I thought to myself, ".... I knew I shouldn't have been outside that long." Complexionally, I'm a medium, cinnamon-chestnut type of brown. But I feared getting darker so much because of the tag of shame that has been placed on it throughout time. While my aunt meant no harm, that interaction (and many others like it) still watered the seeds of self hatred planted by society.

Colorism is a thing, y’all. A real thing. It’s a term that was coined by Alice Walker, that means "prejudicial or preferential treatment of same-race people based solely on the color of their skin.” It's both explicit and implicit. It’s why phrases like “pretty for a dark skinned girl” exist. It’s why I found myself regretting a fun summer day in the sun with my cousins - all because I didn’t want to get dark. It’s also parallel to the idea of “good hair.”

As I moved through puberty and into my teenage years, I never had a healthy relationship with my hair. I was never really tender-headed when I got my hair done but I guess I was tender-minded. Because while combing through my hair didn't evoke tears, exclaiming "DAMN, your hair is nappy!" low-key did. My stepsister at the time used to braid my hair when we were younger and I distinctly remember one such occasion when she was braiding me up and she said to my other sisters, “Y’all, it’s a perm called Beautiful Beginnings. Jazmine musta got Ugly Endings!” And everybody fell out laughing. Everybody but me. I was 7.And while my mom is everything to me and did nothing but love and provide for and guide my sister and I, “Whewww, you gotta get a perm to tame these naps!” was funny at the time, but in reality it was a seed that grew into contempt for my hair and the belief that ONLY straight hair is pretty and right. So I didn't care much about breakage or damage because I didn’t want anything to do with my own hair anyway. I abused what we now know as protective styles. Back then, I wasn't tryna protect NATHIN. Micros, twisties, ponytails, quick weaves... anything was better than my hair. I wanted to hide it. First, because it didn’t look like my friends’ hair, and also because I had heard these kinds of negative implications about my own hair for years. 

Of course, this isn’t a jab at my aunt, stepsister and certainly not my mommy. But we have to be real and really confront these things in order to overcome them. They meant no harm but what was said was still damaging to my already-vulnerable and wavering self-esteem. Because the reality is a lot of things are perpetuated because of ignorance and oblivion. These “jokes” were lighthearted but they really contributed to over a decade of feelings of inadequacy, low self-esteem and a general poor relationship with the way God made me. My epiphany that my natural hair is beautiful, magical and right is a very recent one - only five years old. I'll never forget July 15, 2011 - the day I found my crown.

My insecurities with my complexion and hair paled in comparison to the way that I simultaneously developed and gained weight through my childhood. I started wearing a training bra when I was 8. I started my period when I was 11. I stepped into perhaps the most complex parts of womanhood before I even knew what a figurative bird or bee was. My body developed waaaay faster than my mind could catch up. This is why I am very sensitive to the narrative of "fast ass girls." Granted, there are some girls who are in a rush to grow up but there are a lot of us who didn't choose this "grown woman body" life; it chose us. Girls can't help how fast - or slow, for that matter - they develop. I was a 36D in middle school. Boys used to call me "Double D's." When I was 17, I had grown ass men in my Facebook inbox telling me I had a "cute innocence" about me. Now mind you, this was long before the era of lashes and bundles. There was no such thing as laid brows. So you can't even chalk it up to men being "led on" by my appearance. All I had was my struggle wrap, my Old Navy trademark tees, my K-Swiss, and these huge breasts. I was totally preyed upon, because of my body. This is the kind of swamp our girls have to navigate.

Not to mention us grown women, who still/also have to navigate unwanted attention from men. And I feel the need to reiterate that this invasive, mysogynistic culture has absolutely nothing to do with the woman herself. It is problematic to perpetuate this idea - as often done in the realm of Christian womanhood -  that "how you carry yourself" dictates how you should and will be treated. Because there's this underlying suggestion that women who are abused or harassed in any way may deserve such treatment, based on what they were wearing or how they were dancing or whatever other ugly standard that is set. And that's TRASH. All women - no really, ALL women deserve and should demand respect from this world and everyone in it. Trying to force all women into this modest, purity box is tired.

We are already taught to take up as little space as possible. This is why we're taught to sit with our legs closed and crossed at the ankle, why the mothers in church will give you a lap scarf if you're wearing a skirt above the knee, why a lot of us subconsciously and self-consciously glance down to make sure our v-neck hasn't exposed too much of our cleavage. And I'm over that. Reclaiming our bodies, our sexuality and our sensuality is both our choice and our right. I will not apologize for the way that I am built and I don't believe any woman should. If my body makes you uncomfortable or distracts you and stirs your loins, you need to take that up with your maker. Why is it always up to us to be modest and cover up and be smaller and shrink ourselves down? It took me years to accept myself and my body and I refuse to have my body policed anymore, in ANY space.

As a Christian woman, I really had to cut the strings of perpetuated expectations and mired religious projections. My standards are mine and mine alone. Whether I give you a turtleneck or a deep v-neck, a long denim skirt with the Sunday School Teacher 13s or some booty shorts that accentuate my amazing calves and some clear stripper heels, the respect that I command when I walk in any room should not waiver or fluctuate. Nobody gets to choose who they will respect and honor, based on whatever stank ass standards are set by whoever thinks they have the juice at the moment. As my Friend Zone faves put it on their podcast a couple weeks back, everyone is entitled to their own opinions, beliefs and standards. But what you WON'T do [and are no longer allowed to do, ON MY WATCH] is project those opinions, beliefs and standards on other people in the name of standing for what you believe in. This ain't that. So if you think along these lines in any capacity, I don't wanna see you, talk to you, kick it wit cha, skate wit cha, NOTHIN. Stay in your lane, worry about your own seat in the Kingdom and I'll worry about cruising on Interstate Jazmine and checking in at the toll booth for the Pearly Gates when EYE am called home.

Finally, I had to come to terms with my mind. I used to feel bad for being smart. I was always the one in gifted and advanced classes. In 8th grade, all of the students were assigned to different teams based on our test scores. All my friends were on Team Advantage or Team Ambition and I was the only one on Team Aspire - the team that allowed students to take freshman algebra and Spanish 1. I always did well and made friends wherever I went, but I just wanted to be with my best friends. Then, I was the only one who moved away and went to a predominately white school in tenth grade. If I had a nickel for every time a Black kid said I "talked white" or a white kid or teacher was visibly surprised at how articulate I am, Sallie Mae and I would have never had to get acquainted. I often found myself in this awkward gray area as a student: not exactly comfortable in the classes with all of the white kids, and feeling left out from my best friends, who were Black. More than fitting in with the whites, I was afraid that my best friends would think that I thought I was better than them. So I often struggled to find that balance.

It wasn't until my senior year in high school that I really owned my truth as a smart black girl. For me, this meant being unafraid to take up space. Like, yeah I was placed here via test scores or my guidance counselor, but you're going to FEEL me here, too! Before this epiphany, I was afraid that having a voice at all, let alone a strong opinion, would perpetuate the stereotype of angry and loud Black girls/women. Giving myself permission to be was monumental. I remember the day I wore my "Caution: Educated Black Woman" tee to my AP Government class - which just so happened to be during the 2008 election season. As a teenager still trying to make sense of the world and articulate her own opinions, this was the first stand that I took, and a major step in my unapologetic blooming as a smart Black girl. I had those white kids shook! When Barack snagged that Democratic nomination, and then of course went on to win the election, I was literally ignited. That victory showed me the importance of representation and it encouraged me to take my place. I think that was my first "ah-ha!" moment that I had as an (almost) adult. It's why I went to Ohio State as a Poli Sci major. I thought I was gonna be the next Carol Moseley Braun or Donna Brazile! I later switched my career aspirations to Oprah, but my confidence in my intelligence never wavered even as my career interests morphed.

It took me years to own my intelligence as a Black woman and to recognize that I am a VITAL force for myself, for us and to the world in general. And I will not apologize or shrink myself down in this arena, either.

So, part of my blooming process is owning my Blackness and my womanhood - and what that means to me is always adjusting my crown. Doing away with all of the racist, sexist notions of what is pretty, appealing, desirable or even acceptable. I cut out the thoughts that anything about me is less than beautiful, perfect and ENOUGH.  Now, don't get me wrong, everyday I still have to decide that I am worth it, that I am a masterpiece. The difference is, now I am no longer defined by anyone's standards of greatness, but my own. Sometimes, that's a beat face, a wig, some Spanx and an outfit that pulls it all UP and together. Other (read: most) days, that's my bare face, my Celie plaits, sweats and converse. But both aesthetics and everything else in between, are everything. I am everything. WE ARE EVERYTHING.

Owning our Black womanhood is realizing that our hair is magical. That we can go from a fade to braids to 30 inches to a bob to an asymmetrical pixie to bantu knots a la Scary Spice to locs to twist outs to buns and always leave everybody like, "How she do that?!" It's realizing that our skin only gets more beautiful the more sun we get (as long as we're using SPF. Enhance that melanin sis, don't cook it.) It's realizing the stunning beauty in all of the shapes, sizes and shades that we come in. We are all delectable. It's also realizing that our identities are like an onion. There are so many layers, nuances and intersections. There is no one way to be a Black woman. It's all right. It's all beautiful. African American women, African women, Afro-Latina women, Black Native American women, Afro-Caribbean women, Afro-Asian women, straight Black women, Black lesbians, Black cisgendered women, Black trans women, fat Black women, skinny Black women, pale Black women, chocolate Black women, Black Christian women, Black athiest women, Black women with relaxed hair, Black women with natural hair, Black women with no hair, Black mothers, Black women who don't want chirren, Black strippers, Black women doctors, Black women teachers, Black women nurses, Black lunch ladies, Black women CEOs, Black hairstylists (shoutout to Y'ALL!), college-educated Black women and Black women who are students of life. We all have a seat at the table.

This (ongoing) journey to self-love is why I’m hellbent on spreading love and confidence to everyone, but especially our Black girls. I always make it my business to refer to us as “Beautiful” or “Pretty" or "Queen" and "sis." And I mean it. This is why movements like #BlackGirlMagic and #BlackGirlsRock and #MyBlackIsBeautiful are VITAL. And of course this goes beyond physical appearance. To me, slaying is about excellence all around, in whatever your lane may be. This is why I follow and consider both Serita Jakes AND Cardi B role models. That's probably one of my favorite things to do: revving up people's cognitive dissonance by being comfortable and content in all of my facets. What if I told you I twerked to an Israel Houghton song - oN PURPOSE? What if I told you I was drinking a Bahama Mama as I caught up on my devotional?

That's the beauty of blooming. I go and grow where I am watered, period. And I encourage all my sisters to do the same. I'm also always intent on always gassing us All of us. Always hitting my friends' pics with the heart eyes and clapping emojis. Always encouraging my sistren to "push THU" and SLAY. Because we need to hear it. We must own it. We must not be afraid to stand in what our Black womanhood means to us. We deserve and we owe it to ourselves to be true to it - as strong and loud and carefree and chill and funny and deep and paradoxical as it may be. We need that affirmation internally - from ourselves and our sisters - so that we can radiate it outward to the world.

Black Womanhood is complex. Black Womanhood is beautiful. Black Womanhood is excellent. Black Womanhood matters. Black Womanhood is a gift from God. 

In a recent post-Oscar press interview, Viola Davis was asked what she loves about being a Black woman. Her succinct, powerful response is the same as mine: EVERYTHING.

Asè (so let it be), iSlay (be excellent), Amen (and it is so).

Check out my dear friend's blog, Asé iSlay Amen, here.