Proudly Reflecting on Feminism

I watched  Makers:  Women who make America on PBS last night.  I stayed up as long as I possibly could because it was that good.  While watching it I found myself asking why couldn’t I have been born about  -when women would band together to fight injustice through dialogue, magazines geared towards  years before all of that started so I could take part in changing the face of marriage and of women’s rights.  I witness women talking about how they shed their traditional roles and why it was important.

I always felt really strong when it came to women’s rights and fair play.  In fact most the men I dated could see it in me and always commented on my thoughts and behavior.   At times I just thought I was a control freak.  I carry the proverbial black leather glove and in my mind I put it on and ball my fist and thrust it into the air when I feel a sense of power.    Although I do this I still haven’t found my “fight”.  I think about the women who came before me and who sacrificed their families, friends and careers to stand up for what they believed in.  I believe there is something for me to fight and this feeling has remained with me for many years.  I'm a rebel and wear my suit of armor proudly.  I stand up to the thought that I should be invisible or put in a box but I never made that my fight.

This documentary was so awesome.  I literally wanted to get out of bed and climb into the television so I could be a part of the movement of women rallying against those who felt that they could tell women what to do with their bodies.  I wanted yell and shout while they were yelling and shouting but I would obviously wake my 94yr old neighbor.  During the viewing of this show something was evoked in me that caused excitement.  Were women really like this back in the day?  Yes they were.  Are there women this radical now?  Where are they? Women stood on podiums and welcomed dialogue about women’s rights and those who wanted to take them away.  Women shouted that they wouldn’t stand for the foolishness of the lawmakers.  Women stopped taking their husbands plate to the kitchen after dinner was finished as a show of rebellion from the old ways that kept women at home in the kitchen, barefoot and pregnant.  There is nothing wrong with being pregnant and in the kitchen whether at the same time or at different times.  In our times now though here in America there is something not right, at least in my world, with expecting a women to stay at home unless that is something she truly wants to do.  Now, to be told that this is the life of a man’s wife or a woman’s wife  is completely not palatable to me but I do understand that in some cultures the women stays home while the man works and ensures that the bills are paid.

Perhaps all of this is why I am single.  I rebelled from the moment I met my ex-husband and I wasn’t shy about it.  I was raised to be me no matter what.  I was raised to not take any crap from anyone let alone a man I lay with.  Let it be known, laying with me does not allow anyone to tell me how I should dress, spend my money and what I should do with my body.  If it were up to my ex-husband I would have one or two children right now.  Knowing I was never fit to be a mother would have been a travesty to those kids.  A strong woman needs a strong man.  In my world I work, make my own money, pay my bills, shop when I want to shop, cook when I want to cook and clean when I need to clean.  In my world I don’t take everyone’s advice.  In my world the person I commit to will understand that an opinion does not always need to make itself known.  In my world the person I commit to will be willing to take the remaining 50% of the load.  There will be times I need to take up a little extra slack and there will be times when he will have to do the same.  But with love and commitment things are sure to work out.

Customer Service

Just call me the unofficial customer service advocate. I want to know that the customer service I'm getting is what I deserve. My trainer totally mucked his chance to bite the bullet and provide me with really good customer service. Well I'm here to say that a master trainer doesn't make him the shiznit all around. Maybe his training didn't go over that part or maybe he zoned out when customer service and how to sell his training services was covered!

Peeking out of one eye . . .

We tell ourselves that "we only live once".  It's true then we challenge ourselves to do something we have never done, never thought of until now or have been scared to do for a long time.  I challenged myself to find my "happy" and to live fearlessly without rushing life like I usually do.  I am finding my happiness now that I live on the east coast.  I still have let things get in the way of me living fearlessly and it is because I don't know what is on the other side.  I rush life along a lot less now.  I drive slower which keeps me from being neurotic in the mornings.

With all of that I still hope that I find love.  I sometime think of being courted and that feeling when you discover that someone likes you and you like them.  It sounds juvenile and maybe it is but the glory in love is all those little nuances in beginning.  The looks, batting the eyelashes, pounding of the heart, conversations about nothing but yet about everything.  There are days when you welcome thoughts of this person and where your interactions may lead.  You  make time to fantasize about this person coming to your romance rescue.  It's seems like all fantasy but there is nothing wrong with fantasy when reality is non existent.  I have always heard that Love comes when aren't looking for it.  I swear I'm not looking for it but I'm actually peeking out of one eye to see if Love is coming.  Ha Ha Ha I haven't changed a bit.

Black On Black Race Relations

I relate to having a caramel and butterscotch hue.  I relate to having visible freckles on my cheeks and nose but I don’t relate to feeling anything other than how I feel.  I don’t relate to a small percentage of Indian blood running through my veins.  I don’t relate to those that believe because I speak with good English that it is impossible for me to be interested in dating men of color.  I don’t identify with those that believe I must speak broken English to secure my blackness.  I don’t identify with those who believe that education and traveling the world makes me better than they are, it does however make me a better, more well-rounded person.  I don’t identify with those people of other races who feel the need to comment  when meeting me that they in fact have black friends or used to live next to a black person.  I don’t identify with those who believe that a black woman should not wear an afro but instead wear her tresses straight so that she fits into society’s view of looking “polished” in the corporate environment.

I identify with being black in America.  I identify with my strengths and weaknesses and how they have shaped who I am but not the color of my skin.  I didn’t choose my hue but I do choose to address the ignorant comments and questions I have heard or been asked over the years.  Today I choose to tell the select group of black men out there that it’s okay to court, date and marry who you choose.  I speak for those you seek to put down.  We are smart and beautiful and we are not all gold-diggers.  You must know that we as a race of women are just as powerful, just as intelligent, just as equipped at prospering, just as capable of courting, dating and marrying and just as driven to help hold a family life together as any other race of women. We don’t deserve to be compared to women of other races who don’t walk in our shoes.  We too have high FICO scores.  We don’t all desire to lie on our backs and spit out children while waiting for a Sugar-Daddy and collecting food stamps as some of you have so gallantly expressed.  We are mayors, doctors, lawyers, mothers, coaches, CEOs, breast cancer survivors, pioneers, entrepreneurs.  We run HR departments for fortune 500 companies.  We are actresses, mentors, designers, choreographers and chefs. We have and do work in the White House.  We have served as an advisor to the President of the United States.  We have and do serve this great country helping to secure your freedom to speak your ignorance.  See, it is only ignorance when you generalize, categorize and marginalize women of color to prove your point of why women of color don’t hold a candle in your heart to other races of women.


It’s certainly no ones business that you love who you love but it is not okay to group all black women based on your experiences.  By all means love who you love but do not blame all women of color because your alarm didn't sound while you were making poor choices in your relationships.  It was you who chose to get involved with women that didn’t share your same values and beliefs and whom you couldn’t trust.  No one made you sleep with a woman that you didn’t really want to wake up to.  This was all YOU, you and you alone.  Own your own mistakes and stop blaming all women of color because you couldn’t communicate your needs to the one that seemingly turned you against the rest of us women of color.

To all the women of color out there, stop turning your nose up at others who are lighter or darker than you.  Skin color is just that, skin color.  It in no way depicts that a woman lighter or darker than you is any better.  You and your dated beliefs hinder the process of growth and poison the circle of life.  You reject a sense of togetherness and invite hatred within our own race.  Your preconceived notions about ones skin tone ruin any chance of broadening your race perspective.  It seems you have forgotten the trials and tribulations of black on black race relations.   So check yourself the next time you decide it is okay to act like you don’t know any better. 

I love men of color in all their different hues of glory and I don't think that all men act and speak so heinously.  I also believe that all women of color are beautiful whether dark chocolate, mocha or caramel, beautiful is beautiful.  Let no one use the color of your skin to tear you down.

That Familiar Feeling

I'm getting that familiar feeling as if it is time for me clean out my life.  Clean everything from top to bottom isn't ideal for me because some of my things hold sentimental value.  My cookbooks are my pride and joy.  My Kangol hats are my pride and joy.  My music CD's are my pride and joy.  My family pictures are my pride and joy.  Everything else is a blur.

Black hair and its natural beauty

Last year I decided to "go natural".  This meant that I would stop relaxing my hair and cut it if needed.  I decided to do this for several reasons. One is that my hair started falling out. I was told that traumatic experiences can cause that.  In 2010 I had a really painful breakup with a man I was in love with. Actually I broke up with him but I felt I had to.  He became resentful that I wasn't going through the mortgage crisis and the employment crisis like he was.  I got tired of all the bull crap so I ended it.  In the wake of all that my hair began to fall out and I became scared to comb it.  Many days I wore a hat to work to avoid having to do anything with my hair.  The lab results revealed absolutely nothing.

The second reason for going natural was because all of my non-black friends would react favorably when I wore my hair straight but when I let my hair air dry resulting in curls and waves they reacted negatively.   To them light skinned women with straight hair were prettier than those of other shades of brown with kinky or curly hair.  I also got tired of seeing commercials where dark skinned parents had light skinned long haired little girls that clearly did not look like them.  To me the media was and still is making their statement as to who is prettier and why or who is more accepted and why.  I want to see dark skinned parents with dark skinned little kids.  I wish the media would stop the madness!

I also became exhausted trying to figure out which hair care products were best.  My hair product stash had grown to encompass 7 or 8 bottled products.  I grew annoyed that I was spending money every three to four months on a relaxer that would only damage my hair in the long run.  I started relaxing my hair when I was a teenager and that's when the madness began.

The third reason for deciding not to relax my hair anymore was because I saw how beautiful my grandmother's hair is now in her late seventies.   My grandmother is in a nursing home and unable to do much because of her dementia.  She only gets it cut to keep it from matting up.  No color or dye's.

The final reason I decided to kick relaxers to the curb was because I realized that I couldn't be my authentic self if I was walking around, or should I say sashaying around, with this relaxer pretense.  Truth is I wanted to kick the relaxers a long time ago but I was scared.  One day I took the plunge.  I sat down in my beautician's chair and told her to cut "it".  She asked me several times if I was sure and I answered several times that yes I was sure.  She cut about six inches.  I could still see that there were relaxed ends when I got home.  So several weeks later I went back and asked her to finish the job. I figured it would be easier to transition if I cut as much as possible and worked with it from a short natural stage and transitioned to a long natural stage.  In the end she cut two more inches off and I was happy.

When all was said and done, it was freeing.  No more ponytail holders. No more goop and creams to put in my hair.  However I did wonder how I was going to get through the transition over the coming days, weeks and months.  It was easier than I thought.  If I want to wear it straight I add CHI Silk Serum or Mizani Silkening and Curling Wax coupled with a CHI flat iron and I am good to go.

To this day I still wonder how could I have continued to relax my hair while destroying the beautiful tresses I was born with.  I am proud to be black and I am proud that my hair is what it is without chemicals and without feeling like a relaxer fraud.  I feel immense pride when I see women who have gone natural and who wear afros and styles that suggest that they are proud of who they are.

I actually thought I was in shape

Last week I decided to take my training to the next level by hiring a personal trainer to train me in kickboxing and boxing (thanks Lucia Rijker!).  I figured why not.  I have the hand wraps, boxing gloves, mma gloves, focus pads. I have everything I need to get started.  Right? Wrong! I need cardio endurance!  The trainer took me through some kicking drills and I just about died!  Okay not literally but I was doubled over, gasping for air and feeling very very faintish.  Need I say more?  How unlike me to be out of shape.  Well apparently it is just like me. 

I'm 40 and out of shape.  You know what they say, "never count your chickens before they are hatched."  Basically I took for granted that because I once was a personal trainer and I currently work out 4-5 days a week that I had everything all figured out. To my embarrassment I didn't.

Starting tomorrow I am on a 1500 calorie diet.  Wait! The word "diet" shall not be in my word bank.  Instead I will use "eating regimen". See I shrink when I think of severely restricting my food intake.  Even though I know there is a way to get what I need but with few calories I still get scared.  Reason is, in case I haven't already mentioned this, I love food.  I believe I was a big girl in my previous life. and if I ever come back as anything else I am coming back as a piece of pie or a huge piece of red velvet cake!  I remember when a prior training client of mine told me that his father, who lives in Ireland, ate cake sandwiches(cake sandwiched between two pieces of white bread) I immediately wanted to know where I could find one.  I should note that not only was there a piece of cake between those slices of bread but there were fries (chips) as well. Now that's my kind of sandwich!

To get this whole personal training thing kicked off I purchased three sessions.  I just have to see how it goes.  As for now I am clearly out of shape and I can't afford to keep lying to myself.