notes on how to be a Black woman
for Guilaine
Embracing vulnerability
Embracing vulnerabilityFor Black women, embracing vulnerability is an act of radical defiance and gentle beauty; Dionne St. Hill travels beyond the tired trope of the angry Black woman and explores the too often unseen and unvalued quiet strength found in Black women’s softness and reticence.
Author: Dionne St.Hill
Read time: 9 mins
I lost my voice in a team meeting recently, I had so much to say, but my voice suddenly lost the power to amplify; reduced and awkward, it felt super tricky just placing the words I wanted to say in the required order.
I wanted to speak, I needed to speak; I felt compelled to convey my professional discomfort, to advocate, ask questions and offer solidarity and care by speaking up and out.
I could not stay silent; I had been activated for a while and this was my first chance to go beyond sharing my concerns with colleagues and trusted seniors to saying something in a space that could effect change. Anything less, felt like cowardice.
I felt a pressure, of my own making, to speak up, speak out and be the first in that room to do so.
slow drip trauma
Despite my fear and concerns around the consequences of being so transparent, I wanted to speak my truth to the power in the room, but for the first time in a long time, I found myself stuttering in a swell of self-consciousness.
I developed a reputation in former workplaces for challenging authority, particularly as I was often either the only Black woman in the room, or one of only a handful of Black and Brown people in the team. I reflect now, that my activism became a much relied upon coping mechanism. A slow-drip trauma response if you will – fight over freeze, faun or flight.
Fully aware of my reputation to always be the first to bring examples of oppressive and anti-oppressive practice into the room; I would find ways to anticipate the apparent weariness of colleagues when I spoke; I became adept – after unmuting myself or positioning myself in readiness to contribute an opinion – at finding ways to dismiss the side-eye or half-heartedly camouflaged yawns from my White peers.
disentangle this messy mix
But today, as I listened in silence to members of the leadership team sharing their beliefs, I could feel the slow creep of this stultifying mix of fear and trepidation rising in me. Yet, I still, as soon as the first opportunity to speak arose, jumped in with my critical reflections on what had been shared.
But much like a singer that starts her big number in the wrong key, my pitch was off. I failed to take a breath before I began to speak, and I could feel myself running out of air, saliva and confidence as words tumbled out of my mouth.
I wished I could press a pause button, but all eyes were on me, no magical buttons were available, they were listening in real time. I needed to find a way to disentangle this messy mix of emotions, ideas and concerns and turn what was I was saying into a comprehensible message that was honest, strong, courageous, and courteous.
self-diagnosed imposter’s syndrome
However, the liberation of thought required to manage this balance of feelings and presentation seemed unavailable to me.
The emotions that I have been holding for so long, suppressed, compartmentalised, finally caught up with me, inferiority, insecurity, symptoms of my long self-diagnosed imposter’s syndrome took control, swallowing every part of me that had power and volume.
Pushed by an invisible momentum, all I could hear as I moved my mouth was the faint hum of over-investment and weakness as I shared what felt like difficult reflections with the ‘powers that be’. My verbal flow was disrupted, I had finally become affected and intimidated, by the absence of assured agreement and solidarity.
I did say most of what I hoped to say, albeit high-pitched and nervy, however, I spent days after that, rerunning what I said in my head, editing, critiquing, and wondering, why I didn’t do and say things differently.
uninvited questions squatting in my mind
My relationship with my vulnerability is a tricky one, whilst my emotional connection, intuitive approach, compassion, and empathy are part of my personal package of therapeutic superpowers, they also can feel like my kryptonite in some collective work settings.
When I am working with those that engage in therapy, be it one-to-one or in group, these qualities lead to intimate, healing and powerful connection.
But in a place where I sat subordinately around a long table rather than part of a circle of equity, I felt weak and less than, rather than equal.
The flat structure of therapy suddenly gave way to the weight and power of hierarchical corporate structures I am not a part of, and my head filled with uninvited questions squatting in my mind.
muting your own voice
Writer and Psychologist Guilaine Kinouani explores the dilemma of losing one’s voice in workspaces in her groundbreaking book Living While Black: “There is a constant tension between using your voice to call out injustices and the risk of being perceived as the ‘angry Black person.’ To survive, you often find yourself muting your own voice, holding back your truth. But in silencing yourself, you risk losing yourself.”
My beloved father, who transitioned from this physical realm into a spiritual one two years ago, would often lament my sensitivity, he feared being ‘soft’ as he often described me, would lead me to spaces where I would languish in my vulnerability.
invincibility and resistance
My father too was sensitive, but he was also the strongest man I have ever known; He needed me to be strong too, and feared my sensitivity would dilute my ability to be so. So, he became determined to protect me from my emotional inheritance. Take his strength, he insisted but reject the sensitivity.
He pushed his strength forward with an anxious wish that I too would reject public displays of vulnerability in exchange for invincibility and resistance.
Part of his paternalistic commitment to me was protection from the exploitation of others, an inevitable byproduct of softness and vulnerability, he believed. He needed me to reject weakness, forsake tears, embrace stoicism, cease and desist being led by my emotions, and most importantly master the art of not giving a damn.
a born pugilist
My beautiful father feared my inheritance of his sensitivity would leave me languishing in vulnerability, and he would, upon his passing, be unable to protect me from the exploitation of others.
These introjects from my father were designed to protect and sustain me; but the irony that I have found in my grief since he joined our ancestors, is the knowledge that it was during those shared quiet, teary moments of sensitivity and vulnerability that I felt closest to him.
A born pugilist, as he took on the cancer that left him with months left to live in this realm, I connected with his strength through his beautiful vulnerability. It was scary, but it was still and sacred.
strength is often weaponised against us
Black men, much like Black women are often boxed into stereotypes that deny us, our full humanity. Tired tropes that paint us as aggressive instead of assertive, strong to the point of being unbreakable, and lacking the space to be vulnerable or sensitive are killing us.
“Our strength is often weaponized against us, used to strip us of the right to feel, to be soft, to be seen as whole beings,” reflects Guilaine Kinouani.
Cultural demands and self-preservation methods entangle us in an impossible standard – powerful yet without the permission to be vulnerable.
As my father drew closer to his transition, he allowed himself to be seen as softer, gently exploring his relationship with life, love, death, faith, and spirituality.
Oppressive and colonial concepts
With his powerful blend of strength and vulnerability he modelled a profound power that revealed so much to me.
When we reclaim our narratives, reject these limiting stereotypes, and assert our right to be sensitive, vulnerable and complex we are acting in radical defiance against the limits of oppressive and colonial concepts.
Black women have long been burdened by stereotypes that misrepresent our strength and silence and reject our vulnerability. These tropes deny us the full range of our humanity, forcing us into narrow roles that stifle our true identities. Pushing away our ancestral knowing, that multiple truths can coexist.
‘personal immortality’
As my father approached the end of this human earth experience, he found a way to reject some of the stereotypes that held him so tightly and returned to his spiritual being to embrace the spectrum of his experiences, emotional and remembered spaces where strength and vulnerability live.
So many visceral memories of my father are woven into the tapestry of his ‘personal immortality’. They come alive as I say his name, light candles, pour libations and of course reflect on my love for him through the written word.
My father prized me as his daughter. He taught me and tried to teach me so much over the 52 years we were blessed to share together on this plane.
Yet, I know, it was in his most fragile of moments that my father offered me the most valuable of teachings – paradox is the path to wisdom.
So, with this philosophical muse, forever captive in my heart, I say –
‘I am Emerson’s daughter,
a soft and sensitive Black woman,
with a gift for holding power,
and vulnerability
simultaneously’
In memory of my beloved father and protective ancestor,
Emerson St. Hill
September 7, 1939 – March 27, 2022
On rotation:
The Light (featuring Vanessa Freeman), Reel People