no. 15, the alchemy of being a Black femme in America
resiliency is so played out
Disclaimer: The content in this post, or any of Rach Junard’s social media channels, is for educational and entertainment purposes only and is not a substitute for therapy.
Like everybody else the past few weeks, I have been enraptured with Love Island Season 6. In the midst of this groundbreaking season, we have also simultaneously dealt with a shift in the Democratic party and the murder of another Black woman by the police. A sense of urgency has washed over me the past few weeks, so bear with me as I take my time with actively pushing back against yt supremacy. In Blackness, there is joy, sadness, and alchemy.
PPG? Back on Top
I’ll be honest, I was never huge into reality tv. I used to pride myself on the fact that I couldn’t name a single Housewife, never cared about Survivor (tbh, I still don’t), and didn’t understand the concept of Big Brother. Then 2020 happened. In the endless days that were filled with worry and anxiety, I realized I had multiple subscriptions to streaming services and years of reality tv to finally catch up with. I quickly fell into Real Housewives of Atlanta, Real Housewives of Potomac, Vanderpump Rules, Love Is Blind, Traitors, and so many more. A lot of these shows have one thing in common: rich, upper class people, who I can’t really relate to so it’s fun to see them on my tiny little screen while I also dream about the lavish vacations they take on a whim.
One thing I would notice on most reality television is that Black women tended to get portrayed in a heinous way. I think this is why I largely have avoided the Bachelor/Bachelorette franchise for so long. I can laugh and kiki at folks on my television that I don’t relate to all day long, but the second I see a Black woman/femme vying for love or daring to even just exist, I get uncomfortable. So many times I’ve gotten my hopes up for Black women, only for us to deal with misogynoir, witness internalized racism, or worse, see our pain be twisted into some comedic relief for the masses. Most recently in the past twelve months, we’ve seen AD from Love Is Blind, Tolu from Perfect Match, Charity from The Bachelorette, and of course, Serena and JaNa from Love Island USA. I hold these women tenderly near my heart. I wonder what the impact of seeing their love lives strewn across our tv screens has done to them. In a time where studies have shown that Black women are having autoimmune disorders due to our silent rage, I worry about this. We have already been told that we cannot act out in public because others might mistake it for rage when we are just hurt or misunderstood.
We live in a time where Black women who express themselves are threatened with execution—both literal and figurative.
In the same week where I’m rejoicing over viewing Black love on Love Island USA with Serena and Kordell, I am viscerally reminded of what it is like to be Black in America. Vice President Kamala Harris has been endorsed by President Joe Biden, and subsequently the Democratic nominee for the upcoming election within the same 24 hours that news is trickled out about Sonya Massey.
Whiplash feels good in a place like this
I’m not sure when I stopped feeling pain so deeply. I, like many other Black women and femmes, have learned to compartmentalize our feelings so we are not viewed as “difficult” or a threat.
There were conflicting responses when VP Harris was announced as the likely pick—and I resonate with them all.
Not all representation is liberation. But wouldn’t it be nice to see someone like us in the highest position of power? Well when you really think about it, her background of being a prosecutor in Oakland is actually complicated and makes me scratch my head. But women in politics, right? Anything better than two old white guys? Right? But wait, what’s her position on Gaza? Is she willing to give AIPAC a middle finger? Ohmygod, what about my weird moderate coworker, what bullshit are they going to say about a mixed race Black-Indian woman. What sexist and racist shit am I gonna hear now? Is that what they really think about her? Is that what they think about me? No matter how hard we try, we’re still drilled down to this. Is voting harm reduction? Could we push her to do what’s right? Holy shit, $81 million dollars in 24 hours? But there are still people sharing gofundme’s to get out of Gaza, to help Flint, to help a Black trans woman pay her medical bills? As much as I want to feel enthusiastic, this isn’t… it. Shit, now they’re telling me that perfection isn’t the answer. Okay, so then what is? Basic human decency should be simple, right?
Above were just a basic stream of thoughts I had when the news dropped. The same day, I saw some posts floating around about Sonya Massey and my capacity to feel any deeper was gone. I had to compartmentalize it and let myself feel it another day. Why does being Black have to be this hard? Yes, it’s joyful, it’s fun, it’s colorful, it’s lively—and it’s hard.
I feel as though I’m going through whiplash. I looked back at my journals during 2020 and felt the same rage, dissatisfaction, and sadness bubble up once again. Is this all this is? Is this what we get? I have mentioned before in my posts about how depression and anxiety show up differently in Black women/femmes. As I read back on my journals of 2020 (and even before), I see all the clinical signs of depression and anxiety. As a therapist in training, I feel empathy for younger me and understand the hole I was trying to fill.
The beauty and burden of my Blackness is how wonderful and vast it is, that someone may try and tear me down—but I still try anyway.
Resiliency where?
I will say this until I’m in my grave—resiliency is played out. 4 years ago I was prancing around stating how brave and resilient Black women/femmes are. How that is our superpower. Now I’m just super tired. When I think about the kind of therapist I am becoming and the modalities I am learning—resiliency can only get us so far. What do you say to the person diagnosed with C-PTSD (complex post traumatic stress disorder) or Prolonged Grief Disorder—wow you are so resilient? That sounds fucked up. How can I grow to resilience when I am simply anticipating trauma unfolding due to my identity? I believe that resilience takes us away from feeling, it desensitizes us so are we not in fact mistaking resilience from numbness? Resilience implies flexibility, elasticity, evolving. How can you “bounce back” from seeing slander, misogynoir, police violence, racist attacks? Fam, we’re numb. I’m numb.
A renowned activist, Brittany Packnett Cunningham, took to Instagram’s Threads to speak on the swirl of emotions we are all feeling and likely repressing simultaneously.
So I’ve had to tuck it away in the places the Black girls do. Until I can cry.
This sentence really broke me. How many times have I held back tears in the face of absolute terror? For what? At what point will we (Black women) allow our emotions a safe place to be? It saddens me to know that resiliency was sold to us as a lie. They put it on t-shirts, mugs, and named it after conferences—all to further repress feelings for the sake of the strong Black woman stereotype.
I’m hanging up my resiliency cape. It has far too many tears and holes in it and somehow has been weighing me down simultaneously. What happens next will not be determined by the outcome of an election or an ongoing genocide. What happens next will be determined entirely up to me, and Black woman, I hope you stand ten toes down in whatever you need.
No need to wrap this up nicely
I’m not tied to the idea that I have to provide a solution for you. If you came here looking for my opinion on Vice President Harris or how to get involved in your community—I don’t have it for you today. I’m constantly battling my relationship with white supremacy and part of that is perfection. I leave you unfinished, messy, not tied up. There is no call in to check in on your strong Black friends in your life. We are not a monolith, but I can imagine we all have some feelings that may be sticky.
I’m leaning deeply into my therapy practice and trying to find a morning routine that I can actually commit to. Not the gimmicky Instagram one that you see, but something that benefits me.
For now I’ll be sifting between reality tv, the news, my books, and my journals. See you on the flip side.
Your ever-evolving, counselor-in-training,
Rach <3