“the thing you are most afraid to write. write that.”
― Nayyirah Waheed, advice to young writers
Last night I woke up at 4am thinking about it. The agony plaguing my mind… But I still feel unsure how to express it. Well, how to say it without dropping, losing everything I ever thought I needed socially. If that makes sense. Basically what I’m about to say, I must say with apologies to the kindergartener or whatever is still left of her within me. Which actually, I guess when I put it that way, can be viewed as a positive sign of growth… However difficult.
I’m sorry kindergarten me who wanted to turn her nappy braids and fluffy twists into one long, sleek, simple ponytail. Whose favorite name was Caroline. Who scratched her so-called best-friend Ginny (obviously a white girl; with pigtails), for some playground micro-aggression I’ve long since forgotten.
Sorry, but it’s time to grow up. Hard as it is. Left turn.
Not only do I way no longer want to be something I’m not — a white girl — I don’t want anything more from white girls, white feminists, white women, so-called “allies” not in the bodies of women of color, at all.
I’m not saying we can’t be friends. But I am saying, to white women, and white people in general, I can’t depend on you. I know it, whether or not you’ll admit it, and in truth, looking back on my entire life, I never could.
I cannot and will not depend or rely on white people. For anything (if I can help it; so help me Goddess!). Let alone emotional or psychological support; let alone any form of validation or affirmation that my life — or any other Black lives — matters.
“sometimes i want to say it. and there is nothing in english. that will say it.”
― Nayyirah Waheed
It’s almost too painful to delineate, the stream of events that leads me to such a drastic conclusion still too fresh. Also for starters, there is history. History in my…