A Journey of Refusal (Jeanine’s Truth)
Conversations with my boss about my “attitude” and facial expressions. Being called out for looking at a friend–the only other Black woman in the room–during a really tense meeting. Being pushed to the edge emotionally, then treated like the villain when I speak up for myself. Being told that other colleagues are “afraid” of me and that I need to be more warm and welcoming. Anything I say being misconstrued as adversarial. My ideas being dismissed by my superiors and then slightly repackaged and presented as their own. Being denied promotions and growth opportunities because I am “not a good fit” or they were concerned about the “personality dynamics”. Being ranked low on performance evaluation because although I work really hard and get everything done they want to see me “be more of a team player”. Being looked at as combative when I challenge their marginalization of me. Always–every day and in so many instances–having to assert my humanity. Never allowed to be at peace. Never allowed any ease. Never allowed to be soft. Never allowed to be free. Never allowed to just be.
This is what it is like being a Black Woman in professional spaces–especially in working with White women. It is a trap–an emotional and psychological landmine–where you are damned if you do and damned if you don’t. If I submit and fall in line with the expectations, the pressure, the marginalization, the oppression, I compromise my hope, my light, my humanity. They force me to dim my light and then they punish me for not shining brightly. If I resist and assert myself, if I show up authentically and unapologetically, if I challenge the marginalization and the oppression, if I walk in confidence, if I let my light shine bright, then I am deemed toxic, combative, an angry Black woman, and uncollegial. The truth is that enough will never be enough for them. I will always be an outsider, a threat, something that needs to be tamed and tested and tried.
“The challenge is that this adversarial relationship between Black and White women runs deep. It is embedded in our history and it flows through our veins as blood memory. It is just like the air we breathe–invisible, instinctual and unquestioned. The only way forward is to face it head on–to acknowledge it, study it, and call it out. To do so requires community with White women.”
So, you know what, I just might as well be me–fully, freely, and fearlessly. Living under the white gaze is a trap, a distraction, a rigged game. So I simply refuse to do it any longer. My humanity is an immutable reality. My worthiness is inherent. Whether or not it is acknowledged by whiteness, my humanity and my worthiness remains. No one gave me these things–they just are, so no one has the power to take them away. And there is no way that I will relinquish my humanity and worthiness to anyone–especially to folks who are hell-bent on misunderstanding me, misconstruing me, and marginalizing me.
This lesson of refusal took me years to learn. It started in my early twenties and was a slow evolution, until I reached my late thirties and hit a bit of a revolution. And now that I am into my forties, there is no turning back. I have hit my stride and being authentic and unapologetic has become my nature. And part of that nature is also to reach back and lead other Black women to this place of freedom–especially those younger than me who are just now encountering the realities of Black womanhood in professional spaces. I feel compelled to give them a crash course in White Woman 101–shedding light on the trap that is set before them and helping them negotiate those spaces without questioning or losing who they are–their humanity, their worthiness.
Lately, I am noticing a new phase in my journey–a deeper emancipation, if you will, and that is the drive to understand and dismantle this trap. I don’t want to have to give another rendition of White Woman 101. I want things to be different. The challenge is that this adversarial relationship between Black and White women runs deep. It is embedded in our history and it flows through our veins as blood memory. It is just like the air we breathe–invisible, instinctual and unquestioned. The only way forward is to face it head on–to acknowledge it, study it, and call it out. To do so requires community with White women.To do so requires vulnerability and radical honesty. It requires cultivating a safe space where we give ourselves and White women permission to be real, and raw, and relentless. It requires something so foreign to both of us that it is hard to know even where and how to begin, yet we must find a way.
