i’m working on this

Standard

I had a minor epiphany / remembrance / rediscovery last night about why I don’t speak up for myself. It’s something I’ve been thinking about a lot this year and also my whole life.

Yesterday I was out eating sushi with ladybae, and some grown crusty white woman was standing between us and the next table having a very long, very animated conversation with the most extra woman I have ever met in my life*. And in the heat of their conversation, she was essentially putting her ass on my elbow. Literal physical contact. And no matter how much I moved my elbow, she was moving deeper and deeper into my personal space.

And I didn’t say anything. I didn’t do anything, except to make increasingly gif-worthy faces to ladybae about the casual privilege that white people continue to exert into my space throughout my entire existence – until she politely spoke up and asked the woman to move.

So we deconstructed this a little bit later, and I told ladybae that I don’t know how to regulate my tone the way that she was able to. And I realized that, as sweet and kind and bend-over-backwards people-pleasing as I can appear when I put on my impersonal public self, it is mostly because I can never modulate between that and Absolute No Chill Next Level when I’m upset. I had a conscious thought in the restaurant that if I opened my mouth, something crazy and 100% Too Much would come out (like seriously just mid-thought screaming, when you think you’re saying something acceptable but everyone in the room cocks an eyebrow), so I didn’t say anything.

I have memories of being very young and deeply regretting misspoken words and off-kilter tone for months and years with deep shame and eventually making the conscious decision to always think before I speak. Working at it for a long time. Developing a pause.

So now I’m stuck at the other end of the spectrum, constantly holding my breath.

*Mrs. Extra later interrupted our conversation to ask ladybae – regarding her ginger – “You’re don’t eat it?!!”, and then, after hesitant assent from my buddy, proceeded to grab it wasabi-and-all off lb’s plate with a full fist and it was actually INSANE??????

Standard

curvellas:

Ngl I truly love invading white spaces since moving to
Minnesota I am often the only black person where I go and then to also be dark skinned and also be big it’s very important to me to take up space among them. I love not smiling back when they give me that fake ass nervous half smile. I love meeting their eyes dead on when they’re staring at me and thinking I won’t look back. I love refusing to fucking move out the way when we’re walking towards each other. I love squaring my shoulders and taking up space and refusing to contort my face and body into expressions of submission or compliance or even friendliness. I love changing the energy in the room and refusing to budge unless they say excuse me. I love breaking into a puddle of love and happiness when I speak to fellow black people and compliment black women on their hair or lashes and then stoning up when interacting with white women. I love treating them how they treat me: as different, as the other, as the problem. It brings me great comfort and joy to be unapologetic in their spaces.