When I Found Out I Was Black

When I found out I was a Black woman…..

It wasn’t until about two years ago that I found out I was a Black woman. I mean, if you look at me at face value, you will see all the beautiful features of a Black woman i.e. soft cocoa skin, rounded lips, profound nose and I can go on forever but you get the point. However, I did not identify as a Black woman, like I said until about two years ago. My very fair-skinned daughter, fed up with me, tells me, “Mom, I’m Black, you’re Black, watch this”. She gave me a documentary on the Black culture in Latin America specifically discussing the Dominican Republic and Haiti. I finally listened and watched it.

I like to think of myself as a progressive; however, the information I received through the documentary showed me otherwise. The documentary planted a seed that needed to be watered and cared for. I realized that the life I had been living and how I was presenting myself to the world was a lie. The documentary explored how the Dominican Republic was not accepting of their African roots versus Haiti who fully embraced it. I learned from my predecessors to see myself as a Latina and neglect my obvious African roots. I learned that Latin people were superior to Black people although we shared many commonalities. My family lived in the Dominican Republic at a time when the country was under a dictator president that only subscribed to his Eastern European lineage and caste out anyone who even resembled an African. It makes sense that they will carry these ideals onto future generations and that it will spill over into their value system. This all sounds insane; however, this is what I knew and it highly influenced my life choices. Then I found out I was a Black woman…..

I am the first generation born in the United States from both sides of my family. On my father’s side, there are about five generations born in the Dominican Republic then they go back to Antigua, the British Isles. My mother’s side have about five generations born in the Dominican Republic then go back to Spain. Then again, this is information collected at family gatherings where there was too much liquor involved and stories got lost in translation; however, I felt there had to be some relevance since I heard it repeatedly from different sources. My life was infused with the Dominican culture despite being born and raised in NYC. I learned English when I was three. I grew up on a comedy variety show called “Chespirito” and Iris Chacon, singer/dancer extraordinaire. Walter Mercado was a household staple and Frankie Ruiz’ “La Rueda” was on auto play on the record player. I woke up to the smell of fresh Bustelo coffee brewing with toasted grilled ham and cheese sandwiches. My immediate family involved generations of family members living together that included maternal grandparents and great parents along with a school bus of sibling-cousins all growing up together. This was my first micro experience of the world that awaited me. My very early experiences with discrimination were within my own family and community. I was exposed to ways of thinking that were both conservative and oppressive in nature. As I reflect on my childhood, I vividly remember the micro aggressive messages I received about Dominicans being better than Black people. I also learned about where I fit within the Dominican colorism chart. The insane irony of this was that while I was learning that Black people were less than I was; I was simultaneously being caste into an unfavorable category within the Dominican community. I was “better” than Black people were yet I was not of value or the favored beauty within my own people. I was too dark or my hair was not quite right. I received the most oppression from my own family, my own people. The ones that had tortured me about my appearance and made me feel less than were the ones that colored me with negative messages about my Black people. I need to marry well (lighter) in order to fix the race. Ridiculous, yet I subscribed to it. The first characteristics noticed in a newborn is color, hair texture and eye color. Not only was I a darker Dominican but now I needed to see where I fit within the color spectrum. I did not fare well with dark skin and thick curly hair within the Dominican community yet searched for acceptance. I became educated, independent and successful; however, because I am not married then there must be something wrong with me. Then I found out I was a Black woman and my world was changed forever.

I hated combing my hair ever since I was a little girl. My mom would comb my hair in the fire escape of our apartment to drown out my yelling. She had the best of intentions when caring for my hair; however, I suspect she had little to no training on how to manage thick rich curly hair. I believe she wanted me to feel beautiful; however, I was not making it easy. One time it was so serious; she took me to the barbershop and had them cut my hair into a tiny weenie afro- I LOVED IT! That was my last memory of what my natural hair looked like. When I was thirteen, my mother’s friend, without my mother’s permission, chemically permed my hair. I loved it! My thick hearty curls were no longer and now I had this long wavy hair. After sitting in the dryer with huge curl rollers for what felt like forever, the result was magic. I kept perming my hair through my adult years until about two years ago when I found out I was a Black woman.

So fast forward, I watched the documentary that planted a seed. I am now growing more and more accepting of my “Blackness”. I am making conscious choices that are more in alignment with this new information despite feeling anxious about what this means in my circles. I have ended many relationships and have left places of employment as a direct result of oppression because of the way I looked or what I represented. My big chop was in the middle of an identity crisis while being employed by a very conservative organization. I had grown tired of accommodating others while I suffered. My hair loss was increasing and relaxers were thinning out my hair. I was becoming increasingly anxious which directly affected my sleep and eating patterns. I was slowly dying inside. Until one day, I just chopped it all off. The inspiration came from a picture of one of my birthday parties where I was sporting the most beautiful tiny afro. I could not live this lie anymore. My little girl was screaming to get out. The seed planted inside of me was growing and thriving and I planned to care for it until eternity. My inside did not reflect whom I was becoming. I was becoming increasingly angry but not at others, mostly at myself for not expressing my right to be whomever I want to be. This urge needed an outlet. This need to be free would not self-regulate and needed to come out. I cut my hair exactly the same way I had as a little girl on my birthday. I felt free. I felt joy. I felt me. I never knew I had the most beautiful curls! I never knew that my natural self could look so beautiful! This was a new beginning where I vowed to embrace the inner me and accept my appearance regardless of the world’s view. I felt brand new and it was addictive.

As I took control over the way I presented and became more attuned to what my inner self needed; the journey became harder. I have become more hyper-vigilant of micro aggressive behavior. I speak up more than before and have become less apologetic about how I am seen. I no longer carry a hairstyle that is demure, “put together”, and have taken more risks with my hair than before i.e. wigs, braids, and permanent color. This transformation truly reflected the growth within. Cutting my hair helped me let go of the crap given to me from the world about who I am. How could you tell me who I am if I am still figuring that out? The big chop gave me the opportunity to grow out new roots on a solid foundation based on my ever-growing true sense of self. I know I have a ways to go. I still find subtle ways I continue to subscribe to oppressive values. The difference now is that I am choosing to investigate rather than be ignorant to my oppressive upbringing and work towards a value system that is demonstrative of my inner self and not a bank of education based on antiquated, old world views. Even if this education came from family I hold dear and close to my heart.

I walk a little taller now. I feel proud and love who I am becoming moment to moment. However, this journey manifests, all I know is that I am worth it just because I am- regardless of the color of my skin, regardless of where I come from, and especially regardless of how I wear my hair. Even though my hair is looking fabulous these days, if I do say so myself. Crowns Up, Queens!

Back in the days…..

Pre Big-Chop

Post Big-Chop

Inspiration

2020 & Not looking back!