The words of Chaka and Whitney are indeed iconic, but today I reject the notion of everlasting and selfless resiliency in a melanated shade of Studio Fix NC45.
Respectfully.
From a young age, singing this decades old ode to feminine dynamism that embodies the notion of doing all, being all, and giving all has aided greatly in my complete indoctrination into strong, black womanhood. Now don’t get me wrong; I am a strong black woman, but I grew up believing that that was the only kind of black woman there was.
I mean, after my parents separated and later divorced, my mother worked two jobs, raised a pair of adolescent daughters, found a way to ALWAYS be at church throughout the week (much to my sister’s and my chagrin), kept us in ballet and Spanish lessons, and never so much as buckled under the weight of her super human, single-parent responsibilities. Which ultimately meant that as I grew into a young woman, I did the same. I studied fiercely. Worked exhaustively. Emoted non-existent-ly. Calculated the risks convincingly. Grinned and bared it indifferently.
Of course, in and of themselves, those were all fine traits to have as a black woman existing in a world that tolerates more than loves her, but with their embodiment, no space was ever really made for me to be delicate, vulnerable, broken, or needy. Instead, I became the oracle to everyone; my shell tougher than those four sewer turtles from Manhattan.
And sure, subjective success found me after many years of turning this practice in rigidity into principled discipline and hard work, but so did the need to unlearn the very toxic trait of being strong at all costs. I found out the hard way (aka a mid-career crisis) that I deserved dependability, to be upset without being labeled an ABW, to cry tears that were validated, to not have to have all the answers, and to be handled with care.
So, forgive me if I no longer see the intrigue in being magical.
If setting myself on fire to keep others warm has lost its selfless appeal.
If I no longer desire the standard issue cape.
Instead, I think I’ll try my hand at being a black woman that is hardly interested in carrying her own burdens, much less anyone else’s. Oh, the possibilities.
