Black Women Cry Too

The older I get the more I realize how hard it is to be a woman of color. Of course, I have had my share of problems as a little girl but sometimes there is already a fixed mentality and reality for black women. African American women are told as little girls to never cry and to be strong. Even if black women have a moment of weakness it is either depicted as anger or bitterness. I was always a women who took the punches of the black women around me. I became a bit of an empath because I cared about how my actions and words hindered the existence of the black women I knew. Instead I was bullied, belittled, and bad-mouthed as if I was the one with the problem.

I remember in grade school when a little white girl woud scrape her knee all the teachers would run to her rescue. When little black girls did the same they would just give a long stare and wait for the little black girls reaction. I was always hurt by the neglect of society had instilled in me early on as a little girl. I did not care about what others thought of me because once I felt something I had to communicate those feelings. It was an emotion that was second nature to me. Deep down it was a spiritual calling that I knew was God-given but no one wanted to believe me.

In the back of my mind after I took the pain of my black sisters I realized that I would one day do something about it. I would become the best writer in my field and finally humanize the black woman’s experience. I wanted the world to see how mortal black women really were in private and in public. I lost support in the process because many of the women around me were not ready to show the world that certain things got to them. I was tired of living in a society and in a a community where no one cared how the affect of slavery and the civil rights movement had on women of color. The percentages of out of wed-lock marriages had ascended and it caused black women to have to be the bread winners in their homes. It bothered me that no one realized how much this would affect the woman’s movement in the black community.

Most black girls I knew who grew up without fathers were considered promiscuous and deemed to be failures in life. It anguished me that there was not a chance for women like me to grow and become successful. Teachers would spend less time helping me in the classroom and my classmates with two parent homes all believed there was something wrong with me. It was always a constant battle to be taken seriously. I had to remember I was not allowed to cry. If I cried I was the unstable and weird black girl that no one wanted to be around. To me I was just reacting to a terrible human experience but no wanted to see the black girl in tears.

Finally, in my adult life I opened up about the depression I faced growing up in my youth and adulthood because I had hid so much pain. A black woman’s emotional health would always be disregarded. Some of my readers ridiculed me and called me crazy because I was the first around them to tell them black women have the highest rate of depression then any women in society. Again it was a strategy to silence me in a world where no one was ready to hear the ugly truth and the reality of how black women really felt. Again, I was never going to be stopped. It was my duty as a the writer to humanize the black woman’s experience.

To all the little black girls who were told to not cry and be strong: I’m sorry. No person on this Earth should ever have to hide their emotions just because society is not ready to hear them. Black Women are HUMAN. Black women have the same emotions as any other woman on this planet. Black women should not have to be forgotten emotionally because of the color of their skin. It is insulting to have to feel like we have to shrink back because people are not ready to hear our authentic emotions. The affect of police brutality killing our children and men have caused many sleepless nights. We worry about if the world will ever see us as more than indignant and disruptive. It is time the work force start paying us equally as the non-black women in civilization. Enough is enough. Black women’s mental health should matter. It is time our nation start taking the ownership of how this country set up a system for black women to fail emotionally and economically.

I do not want to be compared to my man counterparts in America. I have no interest in harboring my sentiments. I want to encourage my beliefs so those around me can be inspired to do the same. It is okay to react to the pain and to be nurtured by strength. It is not okay to pretend as if this pain does not exist. I am a proud black woman. I feel everything. I am a black woman with dignity and integrity. And guess what? I cry too.