The Woman of My Dreams

Sometimes when I am quiet and still, I close my eyes and I see this woman. She’s confident. She’s poised. She’s articulate. She’s secure, loving and kind. Her words are infused with wisdom and life. She is a mentor and a mother to anyone who shows up needing one. Whatever she touches flourishes and grows. She’s gracious, compassionate, and authentic. 

She carries herself with the natural elegance of a queen, yet she’s humble enough that, if it might help you avoid a pitfall, she’ll talk about her mistakes and show you her scars.

The loveliest thing – the thing that takes my breath away – about her is that she has refused to allow anything or anyone to define her in any terms other than her own. She reserves that right to define herself and she has decided to be warm, peaceful and beautifully feminine regardless of what she’s assumed or expected to be.

I admire her. I envy her. I want to be her.

But me… Well, sometimes I find myself whining and complaining more than I care to admit. I’m more moody than peaceful. I wouldn’t have to point out my scars. They’re clumsily conspicuous – manifesting themselves as fears, spilling out in my words, betraying me in my attitude – and let’s not even talk about my facial expressions! And it convicts me. She convicts me – showing up in my dreams all glowing in her perfection, bearing no resemblance to the hell she’s been through.

Ok, maybe I’m just tripping, but you know what I think? I think she’s me. No – not the me that I see in the mirror every morning. I think she’s my best me – my dream me. She’s the me I would be if I hadn’t hidden the best parts of myself trying to perpetrate a fraud.

Let me explain….

If I say a table is “strong” what does that mean? It means that you can stand on it and it won’t buckle. You can jump up and down on it and it won’t crack. You can pile it with heavy objects and it won’t break. Because it’s “strong” it can be used abnormally – treated in ways it’s Creator neither envisioned nor approved. And the fact that it’s managed to survive all the abuse heaped upon it, leads to the conclusion that there is no reason to protect it nor to confine your use of it to its intended purpose. It’s “strong” and thus impervious to abuse.

Why is “strong” is also a label that we’ve chosen to attach to black women?

It sounds positive, right? Empowering. So we own and repeat it but in doing so we become complicit in propagating the premise that justifies sitting on us, standing on us, and heaping us with heavy loads our Creator did not design us to bear. We trade the privilege of being a woman for the fallacy of the “strong black” woman. Sis, I think we’ve been – how did Malcolm put it? – “hoodwinked”, “bamboozled”.

I don’t want the world to look at me and think that because I’m black I’m a different kind of woman – a strong woman who feels less pain in labor which justifies a lower standard of medical care. I refuse to sign off on the lie that suggests that some innate black woman strength makes me impervious to unsolicited commentary about my hair or my body, to persistent microagressions in the workplace…to seeing my brothers emasculated by the criminal justice system or gunned down in routine traffic stops.

If you continue to stand on me, I will break.

So, sis, let’s start this new decade by calling this a thing a thing. This “strong black woman” label is a myth, a fallacy, a lie. We are no stronger than the next woman. The only difference is that for centuries we’ve faced nightmares that have put the strength of all femininity on full display. You may not know you have it, but if a situation forces you to be, you will be strong too. But for us, the expectation that we should be able to superhumanly thrive in situations of abuse is robbing us of our health, our emotional well-being, and of being women of our dreams.

So I will say it again. A black woman is not any stronger than any other woman. The “Black Girl Magic” that we possess is not mystical or supernatural. Its a signature blend of common sense, grit, confidence, and style that just looks like magic. It’s the dogged dedication and unrelenting determination to “come up” that has made us the most educated demographic in America – not magic, not any extraordinary strength.

I am a woman – no qualifiers. And as I seek to breathe life back into my dreams this year. I’m snatching this one back as well. This is the year that the woman in the mirror is going to become the woman of my dreams.

Who is the woman you dream of being? Maybe we can walk together while we’re becoming. If not now, when?

-Karen xo