I have always been a book worm. Actually that is an understatement. I
have always devoured the written word, like I have a craving I can't satisfy.
As a child and teenager I always had my eyes glued to a page in some form. This
led to me having interest in an array of topics including forbidden ones I
could not necessarily discuss with friends or my parents. I also have always
loved journalism and listened to NPR religiously. When I was eight years old I
had my ears glued to the radio and there was all this talk about sex,
specifically oral sex. People were angry at the president and all the magazines
and newspapers at the store checkout stands were covering the story. I didn't
at the time know what the definition of sex let alone oral sex was or why this
story was gaining so much traction. So I first asked my parents. They were
HORRIFIED. Okay maybe not, but looking back on it the expressions on their
faces was quite comical. My mom finally sputtered out " Well you're
turning nine soon, come back and ask me after your birthday." Um yeah.
That was not going to work so I did the next best thing. Good thing the
internet was not really a thing then! (not in our house anyway neither was Television or movies) I pulled out my Noah Webster to find the
answers I sought. I found it to be vague and inconclusive (I actually wrote
this down in my notes at the age of eight after reading it.) I recalled that my
mom had a few copies of Red Book magazine lying around and I went in search of
those. I asked her for a copy and told her that I wanted to cut out some
pictures for a project. But Alas! She knew me too well and had removed (or
hidden) all copies because of the "mature content." The only other
magazines around the house were Good Housekeeping and Woman's Day so I knew all
of my immediate resources were exhausted. I did the only thing I could do. I
went to the library.
I actually happened to be in luck that specific day
because there were some teenage girls there looking for “My Last Body
Book." They did not find the specific book but they left plenty of
material for me to peruse and I hit the jackpot. I can't recall the title of
the book but there were Lots of definitions and cartoon illustrations. A few months
later when my mother sat me down and gave a text book version of the definition
(not too far from the dictionary) I didn't tell her I already knew. Yet at
the time my only remaining question was “what is all the fuss about?" I
learned an important lesson. If I had future questions/interests which might
prove to be controversial I would have to be discrete and conduct my own
personal and private research.
Fast forward about nine years later I was once again
spending my free time in the library and I came across Ms. Magazine. I sat for
hours reading various issues and hid a few after checking them out.
Unfortunately I did not hide them well enough. My mom upon discovering an issue
hidden under some folders in my room asked me “what are you doing with this
lesbian magazine?" I attempted to explain, I lied said I had no idea that
there were any lesbians featured and that I checked it out because there were
all of these amazing stories about work women were doing in the U.S. as well as
internationally (which was actually true). I continued to read the magazines at
the library only and I found another publication "Bitch" magazine at
a bookstore and I wanted to read everything I could about Women organizing and
activism and yes feminism. I desperately yearned for a space in where
women could have an active and amplified voice. I wanted that space for my own
voice. I felt at the time boxed in many ways. I was raised in church (something
I may discuss in further detail in the future) and in that space I knew I was
limited in what I could say, do and who I could become as a woman.
As a
teenager I was very active and did literally everything I was allowed to do:
choir, youth choir, Sunday school bus ministry, sign-language team, youth
outreach, girls club, before church musicians, before church singers, after
church clean up, regular church clean up, and other things not organized I did
on my own such as cooking/cleaning and helping an elderly couple I loved very
much with their grocery shopping. I also held bible studies in my parent’s home (sometimes to guys who would get my number and thought they were going to
get with me). The church was my community, my home, and as I saw it then, my only
future. So it seemed best that I embrace it in its entirety. Or at least almost.
There were many issues I swallowed, ignored or pretended to be ok with and/or
understand. However the issue of women was one I constantly questioned. When I
graduated high school and was preparing for college I went to talk with the
pastor about my lifelong dream of becoming a journalist (I had been infatuated
with Michele Norris as a child) he told me I had to find a different career
path as I am a woman and couldn’t be in any “delicate or questionable”
situations such as going into a bar for a story or horror of horrors riding in
a car alone with a man! I was heartbroken and I spent weeks crying, praying, fasting and thinking about the situation. I knew in order to have a life God was pleased
with I had to do whatever the pastor instructed.
After that situation I became acutely aware of the sexism and
power dynamic related to how women could lead their lives but I pretended it
didn’t matter and I threw myself into prayer, the Bible and wrote for the
church newsletter as my outlet. I would
speak in youth service, the only time women were allowed to speak in the pulpit
and even then for only about fifteen maybe twenty minutes. I would often be
told that I had the touch of God on my life, that I was a leader and that I had
much potential to be used mightily by God. At the time I would silently respond
“to do what?” Women were not even leading the church clean-up teams (even
though they were making up at least 90% of the teams. The one exception was the
first pastor’s wife leading the church for a year after her husband’s death. I
talked to her a few times about my desire to do more, to become something or
someone leading people. She told me “it’s hard as a woman, being a woman alone (with regards to ministry) in the church is almost impossible.” The only other times women were being
“used” at least in the sense that I understood at the time, was when they were
married to or related to a preacher. The majority of those instances they were
either singing, playing an instrument and nearly always cooking, cleaning, and
raising children for them. I wanted no parts.
I didn’t even necessarily want to be married. I talked to the
pastor at the time about this as well. I told him the only ways I saw women
being used were in these contexts and people always told me that I would marry
a preacher. He of course patronized me, told me I could do many things and proceeded to list everything I was already doing. I quickly lost any illusions I had
that the change I would make to my world would be in that space. There is a lot
more to that portion of this story but as I mentioned previously I may delve
into more details in a future post.
The point is I have for a long time desired
to see women and be a woman who can be active and mobilize people. When I was
five years old I wanted to be a missionary doctor. I wasn’t sure what that
entailed but I knew I wanted to go to less fortunate communities and provide resources
and safe spaces for people who would not otherwise have access to them. My
mother told me “you can marry a man and help him.” When I asked her why she
said women could not lead men or preach/teach them. I didn’t exactly want to
preach, but I knew even then I didn’t want to play second fiddle to a future
husband I might not even like sometimes. Yes I was a weird child I know. One
day I was looking through photo album we had at the church of missionaries and
I found one missionary who was a woman! I was so excited! I dragged my mom to
the shelf where the book was housed and showed her. She conceded but also told
me “well she has never been married and you don’t to be single all of your life
do you?” I told her I wasn’t sure and she told me it would be very lonely. I
was only five but that conversation shaped my perspective and my aspirations as
a young woman in the church for years to come.
Disclaimer: My mom meant well, in fact much of my inspiration for
a woman being assertive in a positive light was garnered by her example, but
that is another post for another time.
While I no longer have any desire to lead in any church of any
sort I still believe in missions work and uplifting people specifically women
in various capacities and I have met some dynamic organizers here in Atlanta
who are doing just that. There have been many challenging moments since my
relocation here. Such as finding work in or related to my field of study (something
I am still working to accomplish) navigating the city using public
transportation, creating a social life, networking and lastly dating. I have
never been an outgoing/perky person. I prefer a small setting with only a few people
I share common interests with and I have rarely been aggressive in any social
aspect. That however is rapidly changing since I have moved here. This is a
place where for all intents and purposes introversion does not serve me well
and I have had to break out of this part of myself to survive. It is scary and
uncomfortable yet also quite liberating. I am still on a mission to determine
what my purpose is/will be in this city at this specific stage in my life, but
I know for sure that I no longer am required to be quiet or shy about anything
I want in life or anything I desire to do. I have to chase and grasp it without
any reservations. I have met reproductive justice organizers, students who are
fighting to increase minimum wage, people organizing against racial injustice
and law enforcement, educators, every-day blue collar workers desperate for
someone to listen when they speak and many others. As I am a private person,
opening up and embracing all of my selves on a multi-dimensional level can be
quite exhausting but I know if I don’t I will never grow.
Recently I was in search of
a space to find Wi-fi and coffee and after an hour long bus ride to East
Atlanta I found myself in the middle of a festival filled with music, art, food
and people enjoying themselves. I sat and looked out of the window of Joe’s
East Atlanta Coffee shop, I pondered as I watched people dance in the rain and
bob their heads to the music I began to mentally compare myself to them. I
started with attire. Them: flannel checkered shirts, fedoras, distressed
jeans/ripped tights, boots and converse, floral dresses, tattoos, brightly
colored hair cut into asymmetrical styles. They looked so… free. Me: red
jeggings, stretched polyester top, brown knitted shawl, tan calve length boots.
Hair in a large afro puff and gold hoop earrings. I began to wonder to myself,
how can I feel so at home in this place yet feel like such an outsider at the
same time? (ironically the same feeling I held when growing up in church)
I decided my only ammo to combat this feeling was to get out and
explore the festivities so I did just that. Upon doing so I met a guy wearing a
dashiki, an afro, and a backpack full of canvases. He offered me art for
donation but I was not working at the time and was unable to purchase anything.
We began to talk and somehow he knew many of the things I was struggling with
internally, as well as my zodiac sign, that I am a writer and that I was
feeling under-accomplished. He offered me a painting for free and encouraged me
to pursue my passion. After we parted ways, I realized that I was right to
trust my gut about moving to Atlanta and this indeed is exactly for this moment
and time where I belong.
