As you walk to wherever you have to be, do not lower your head to anyone. They are not your God. You are not their children.
You still exist in this world, and that should be a source of pride, not shame, for you. Reject that quiver of fear or intimidation you feel toward someone who society esteems more than you. If this quiver is more like an undulation, you will have to work harder to keep it from infiltrating your mind. This is the daily battle that black women have to face, this centuries-old lie that we are less-than when we have been here and will continue to be here before and after everyone else. If you have not settled with this fact, do it now: you are more than enough. Do you not realize that everyone wants to be you? You have been imitated throughout time and space. You are the arbiter of innovation. When you walk down the street, hold your head high, knowing that what others feign to have, you were organically born with. And they are mad about it because no matter how hard they try, they will never be able to fully consume all that you are. There will always be some part missing, and they recognize this whenever they see you. Regale in this glory.
You are not paranoid. When a nonblack person is complimenting you on your eloquence and presentability only because you adhere to the norm, this is not a compliment at all but a salute to white supremacy. You passed their test, not your own. We imbue all of our interactions with both implicit and explicit biases. You are being complimented because people do not expect that from you. They don’t expect anything from you but a damning statistic. They treat your presence as a cesspool into which they can pour their insecurities because they know their self-doubt cannot be found in your body because the world could not give any less of a damn about you.
You are not paranoid. When a nonblack person reaches to touch your hair before asking, they are participating in a centuries-old tradition of conceiving of you as an object, an outlandish thing in the museum of everyday life. You are a spectacle. Dismiss those foreign hands, protecting yourself and your space. You are not public domain. They want to touch you because they are in awe of you. But do not be fooled: this is not a compliment. This is a learned trait of our environment: to touch what we think will not resist or what we’ve conditioned to not resist.
You are not paranoid. Anytime a person opens the door for him-or herself and closes it when you were right behind them. Anytime a person attempts to cut you in line. Anytime a person interrupts you. Anytime a waiter services white people who have arrived at an establishment many minutes after you. Anytime a person questions what are you doing in a particular neighborhood. Anytime a salesperson does not greet or assist you in a store. Anytime you feel passed up for a promotion. Anytime a person questions your credentials.
You are not paranoid. Anytime a person “mistakenly” sits on you on the train or bus. Anytime a little white child points at you. Anytime someone’s eyes linger enough for you to be uncomfortable. Anytime a woman tightly holds on to her purse when you sit next to her. Anytime a person changes seats from the one next to you. Anytime you talk and the other person refuses to make eye contact. Anytime someone refuses to shake your hand. Anytime someone tells you to calm down. Anytime someone asks you why you’re so angry. Anytime someone asks you why you are so emotional. Anytime someone believes you’re thinking too hard or overanalyzing.
You are not paranoid. When another black person’s body drops to the ground before the earth was ready to take him back and you mourn as if he or she were your sibling. When another black person’s body drops to the ground and you constantly check over your shoulder to see if you will be next. When another black person’s body drops to the ground and you fear for the children you have or the children you have yet to conceive. When another black person’s body drops to the ground and the rage welling in your spirit stifles your ability to articulate much if anything at all.
You are not paranoid. When you need to be silent. When you do not want to talk to anyone out of fear that they will take something away from you that you had yet to identify. When you do not want to be around anyone. When you want to be private. When you protect everything that concerns you, from your mind to your tangible possessions. When your eyes ricochet off the four corners of a given space. When the hairs on the back of your neck and arms stand erect when you enter a place or are around a certain individual.
You are not alone. Whenever you dance with a black woman and the two of you are on beat without any instruction, this is not coincidence. This is solidarity. The rhythm of your bodies is rooted in your shared experience, one in which words are useless and the performance is magic to the untrained eye. You do not need to explain. You do not need to rationalize. You just do.
And together, you became one in perfect synchronicity with time and space.
You are not alone. When you need a moment or several to be in your feelings. When you need to cry. When you are angry at how you have been mistreated. When all you wanted was a thank-you. When all you wanted was someone who cared. There is another who is experiencing this same kind of lack. There is another who is thinking of you even if you do not know who she is and she does not know who you are. There is a cosmic wavelength of our universal spirit. You do not question. You feel whatever it is that you need to feel and remember that someone is rooting for you. You must believe in this with all of your might.
You are not alone. When you are celebrating your successes, however big or small. You are the pride of us all. You are what the ancestors have prayed for.
You do not owe anyone anything. No matter how much someone begs and pleads for you to help. No matter who calls on you at the midnight hour to cast their troubles on you. No matter how urgent the request may seem. You do not owe anyone anything.
Pay attention when you are tired and have nothing to give, not even your ears. Lie down and rest. The world will be waiting for you when you get back.
You are not a mule, despite what others may implicitly tell you. Your back should not be used as a cart within which everyone else stows away their bad news and miscellaneous burdens. That is not your job. You are not to work from sunup until sundown.
If you need to seclude yourself, then do so. If the people around you are worth it, they will be there for you when you get back.
The revolution is ongoing. It always has been and it needs you. But you will be unprepared for the task if you run yourself ragged. Do not shame yourself by thinking that you have to fight constantly with little to no rest. You are not an engine.
You still have a body to take care of. Do not worry. The revolution will be there when you return.
Pay attention to what you take into your eyes and ears, for if you are not careful, you will start to believe that you are going to die sooner rather than later, that Death is at your door, beating away at its surface with a mallet until it has you by the neck. Balance with whimsical and silly content to remind you that the world can be and is a beautiful place in spite of all the grotesquerie.
Blackness is an ongoing experience. You may have known that you were a black woman since before your mind could process identities and labels. You may have always known through your family. You may have learned the hard way through the outside world. Either way, you are arriving. There is no singular person who is the authority of your black womanhood. Your experience enriches what we perceive to be blackness and adds another thread to this incomprehensible tapestry. You are irresolute, as we all are, stretching and evolving towards somewhere. Forget about how much time elapsed before you arrived at the start of the journey that had already been transpiring before you could name it. You’re here now.