I LEARNED LONG AGO TO BE BRAVE

I learned long ago to be brave. The tide of oppressed women has passed and the really strong women are rising from the ashes of women before them. I was raised by a woman who rose from the ash. She never cried, of course she complained but she got things done. My mother made things happen and showed me that a man wasn’t a requirement for success. I learned well. I never saw my mother cry but in the same vein, I never saw her laugh. I saw her chuckle, I saw her grin, I saw her giggle politely when someone cracked a joke but that was her being polite, that was her being right because that is what women do, they are right. I can count the number of times I saw her really laugh, you know that selfish impolite laugh that comes from the belly and forces tears out of the eyes. I miss that laugh; I haven’t seen it in ages.

What if being really happy means being really sad once or twice? What if strong isn’t the point of this whole life thing? What if brave isn’t the full picture? What if it is okay to be wrong?

That is what vulnerability is to me. It isn’t letting someone hurt me. Vulnerability has become the simple act of accepting me even when I am not perfect.

I am an ugly crier. Beneath my really joyful exterior I am really emotional. I feel things deeply and in a really complex way. Some experiences lay forgotten but they have left their emotional fingerprints all over the person I am today. I literally have to tell myself, “Not now Kandi, now is a time to be strong.” Because I learned a long time ago to be brave. I exist in the same millennium as Michelle Obama’s biceps, how can I be anything but strong??

My annoyance really is in how people claim they want you to open up and be vulnerable but they don’t mean it. They will come to you and offer their pseudo shoulder to cry on and then when you are done venting, they won’t know what to do with your loosed self. People want you like their tissue rolls, organized and rolling out as much as they want you to; notice how nobody wants tissue once it is off the roll? They just don’t know what to do with it. They never know what to do with me when I come undone; they want me strong and organized.  I am human, it doesn’t work that way. I am an untamed, fragile, brilliant mess.

Vulnerability is for me. It is okay to own all my emotions and thoughts, not just the good ones.  It is okay to label all the boxes of my emotions as mine even what is inside isn’t shiny and new. It is okay to be angry, depressed, insecure and scared. When all that is in my soul is labeled as mine, then I am not ashamed, then I am free to do what I please with it. Vulnerability is strength, it isn’t weakness. So while I was I was being vulnerable I realized that perhaps I am a strong black woman after all.

This post is part of Write Your Ass Off April, a 10-day writing challenge to create your most naked, brave, and no holds barred writing.

#WYAOApril.