The Angry Black Woman

I was she. She was me. She is a product of struggle that dates back to her ancestors. Her growing self hate instituted by her oppressors. 

Her anger is worsened when she is told to”get over it”, but “never forget”. The decision to stand up for her own is often filled with immense self regret. 

Her black culture, heritage and history stripped only to remain in constant speculation. Her dark skin is a reminder of social, historical and physical degradation. 

She is strong only because she has to be. She is conditioned to carry her burdens within so the world can not see.

She was taught to hate her curves so she starves herself to fit in. She despises her darkness and therefore hates the rich melanin in her skin. 

Ridiculed for her choice to educate herself in lieu of starting a family. She is no longer an option and often alone left standing. 

When she does not choose to stand in the midst of negative racial norms and expectations, she is marginalized because she does not fulfill her “cultural” obligation. 

If her hair is too coarse, she is accused of being “too black”. If her bundles don’t reach down to her full backside, she is not considered a “favorable” catch. 

She is often confused as to what is expected of her to ensure that she is unconditionally accepted. When she ignores the “norms” and chooses to be herself she is often rejected.

Her anger often boils over as she is actively aware of the many hurdles that she has to jump over to be included. She tries tirelessly to play her role of subserviency while somehow simultaneously remaining deeply rooted. 

The angry black woman understands her history as well as recognizes the need for resilience in her choices. Because she is often ignored, when she speaks up, her actions and voice are often times considered too boisterous. 

In spite of systematic adversity, she works relentlessly to find happiness wherever that may be. In the midst of self actualization, she realizes that her anger is detrimental to her reaching her “God” given full capabilities. She welcomes change from every direction she is able to physically and emotionally see. The angry black woman, I am no longer her and she is no longer me. ~Written by Z. Reed

   
So stop. 

   
Staright from the impoverished streets of Trinity Garden, Tx. 

Change is uncomfortable. Change forces us to look at the ugly within ourselves before we can point out what we don’t like in others. ~Z. Reed