Black Sheep Don't Peep

Black Sheep Don’t Peep

By H. Leigh

It stings a soul to examine their roots of security. How one’s response to judgement was built into their foundation. Growing up, I faced judgement and destructive criticisms for: how I spoke, dressed, the music I liked, and how I was growing into my body and character.

Though my family may have seen their daily commentary as harmless love-taps, I perceived their criticisms as my own flaws. Moreover, I wanted to be loved and understood by my family. This began my habit of conforming to norms to avoid rejection and ridicule.

At school, I didn’t smile fully enough to where all my teeth could be shown. I feared the next person, out of many, who’d make fun of my overbite and crooked bottom row. Along with comments about my body and my mother’s lack of yearly income.

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My need to be liked by my bullies was my biggest academic distraction. I experimented with utilizing the mannerisms, styles, and attitudes of my bullies to be liked. Air Force 1s and baggy t-shirts was my most out of character look. Sometimes I laughed at the people my bullies made fun of, happy for my day off from rejection.

Compulsions to be liked without judgement would either put me in a state of perfectionism or isolation. The trouble then was being teased for things I had no control over or the many parts of me that were in development. Sadly, I didn’t see it that way during the time. I was still allowing others to define my flaws and perceptions.

Since I received no consistent form of acceptance from neither my home or school, I decided there was nowhere I belonged. If I couldn’t be myself, I had to hide. That included: my voice, talents, ideas, emotions, and dreams.

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Grade school trauma memory number 28; I entered a talent show with five of my bullies. One of whom was my cousin. It was my first-time doing step and performing on stage, in front of a peer audience. My desperation to be embraced by my peers allowed me to ignore the whispered discussions, snickers, and noting eyes of negative energy.

The day of the performance, I remember people laughing at me before I got on stage. Yet, I practiced and secretly, I felt confident. With my baggy t-shirt and Air Force 1s, I stepped through my anxiety. It would be comforting to say I was being paranoid, but even my dance mates were laughing at me during the performance. Of course, I was confused and hurt. I stepped well, but not enough to be liked.

Teenage me didn’t know how to walk away from souls operating in malicious energies or to override my fear of not being accepted with my love for myself. The more I look back at my journey with judgement, I see the many energy blockages my repression created.

A core nurture response to protect my inner child was triggered. Shields of impenetrable wonder were needed to defend my ego from words that made it bleed. Excessive sunlight was required to coax my cowering psyche out of darkness.

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As I gracefully aged, I developed more confidence and love for myself. However, I still compensated to avoid judgement from others. In my places of work, I would jokingly tell my coworkers that I was operating at ten percent of my true self. This was a sad truth and a conditioned childhood response to uncertain social interactions.

Navigating workplace dynamics was even more challenging as a black woman. Social studies class never prepared me for that reality. Psychologically, I was bending a thousand ways at once. It was exhausting and it reinforced my habit of hiding my light in order to protect myself. I highlight my time in the workplace, because that’s what grade school evolved into.

I've had colleagues: micro, macro, discriminate, harass, belittle, and treat me like master’s third bastard child. The times when I gained favorability was: when I performed beyond my workload, assisted colleagues when I didn’t have the mental or physical capacity, and sacrificed my wellbeing to uplift an organization that was not structured for equality. It felt as though someone cut half of the board game, but was still expecting me to win.

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In my 20s, friendships were healthier and genuine. Yet, I still acted out of character to gain acceptance. That meant binge drinking, trying drugs, putting myself in dangerous situations, and even doing hood-rat shit with my white, suburbia-bred friends.

Eventually, my soul tired of the self-sabotage and I found myself having less friends around me, which forced me into periods of solitude. In such healing states of incubation, I unraveled layered distortions, fears, and rejection despairs. The revival of my security helped me become more comfortable with my true self.

Each time I performed my music on stage, I wanted to do well, but for my own growth. Written works I published became less about reader reactions and more about the catharsis of expressing and releasing emotions. I didn’t realize it in those moments of putting myself out there that I was rewiring my fear of judgement and not being accepted. Furthermore, I was learning that others judged me in the ways they judged themselves. So, there was nothing to take personal. Any tomatoes thrown could always be washed off.

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I’m at a pivotal point in my artistic career. I must leap to yet another state of fearlessness I didn’t know my soul could reach. Every story and song I share exposes all those parts of me I learned to hide, in order to survive.

More than ever, my voice can be heard now. Exposure enlivens as it chills the skin with truth. Notable to everyone is my blackness and blessings.

This is what it means to be a queen. To rule over one’s reality. Judgement is inevitable. Battles require strategic and diplomatic approaches. All will see my spiritual wealth, divinity, and flaws of individuality. What will keep my crown steady and poise?

An unconditional acceptance of myself.