Rest, Sis...

Rest, Sis...

The myth of the strong. black woman is stereotype that I have to admit I wear as a badge of honor while actively complaining about the weight of that moniker. The strong, black woman title is both a crown and a noose that I and many of my friends wear both consciously and unconsciously.   

Let's be honest - being strong is not a bad thing but as mama often said too much of a good thing can quickly morph into a bad one.  I love being considered strong, I really do.  Being strong means that I can conquer the world.  The strong black woman survived slavery and Jim Crow.  The strong black woman has the strength of Coretta, Betty, Nikki, Angela, Kathleen, and so many others whose names we don't know.  Strong black woman means that I can bring home the bacon and fry it up too.  I can work 50+ hours at a day job, blog at night, still serve in the community, love my hubs, make sure the kids are taken care of, and put in an hour at the gym.  (Well, maybe not the gym part.)  I can do it all on little to no sleep, living on coke and chicken nuggets left over from a child's plate.  I have the "S" on my chest and a cape on my back.  But...

What about when the cape strangles you?  What about when you realize you are only seen as strong?  What about when people start leaning on you to be their savior but never offering you any assistance?  When you become a caricature instead of a whole person?  When all people see is the granite but never the silk, the softness?  When after you've saved everyone else, you look around and wonder "who is going to save me"?  

Even as all of those thoughts run through my head and I mentally scream for help, when asked "are you ok?"  my answer is always "yea, I got it, just pray for me."  People would see me struggling and offer to help and I would arrogantly refuse their assistance with an "I'm good." 

Truth is this strong black woman isn't always doing so hot.  Recently someone looked past my arrogance and right through my facade and said "Rest, sis, I got you."  For once I believed them.  For once I said "thank you."  In that moment I threw up my hands in resignation and in that surrender I found restoration.  

What Are You Going To Do Differently When You Get Back Up?

What Are You Going To Do Differently When You Get Back Up?

New Skins, New Perspective

New Skins, New Perspective

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