#blackexpression

ON THE BLACK-HAND SIDE — SAMPLER A small dose has a lasting effect.

I recall a time, while performing oral sex, that my head was held down firmly. I pushed back with might once, then twice, and still the pressure did not ease. This wasn’t in the way that one would see in adult videos, erotically with consent; I had actually pushed back. I moved their hands from behind my head. ‘We are dating’, I said to myself. I swallowed my feelings, then continued until finish.

Though I felt violated, it wasn’t the situation that insighted our separation. There were other things.

I would cry sometimes, alone to myself. I wanted this relationship so badly, yet, this gift seems to be putting me down constantly.

For those of us who consider ourselves as ‘doing work’ within the Black community, we expect that other woke folk won’t manipulate us, or even that they have our best interest at heart.

What ensues is the battle and the after effect of trying to convince yourself of the illusion. I pushed my feelings aside, doubted my reality and fought the label of victim.

I pushed beyond my threshold to save this Black love. I found myself accepting apologies that were hollow in nature. In fact, they often sounded more like debates in trauma informed practices. ‘I’ statements being key.

You’re not self reflective enough, I was told. But, why did I listen?

I listened because high-income Black men feel like a rarity, even more so, meeting one that wants to settle down can seem impossible. While this may not be in actuality, the images sure are powerful and meeting one can feel like an actual blessing.

I recall the passion of letting my guard down, sharing my experiences of racial trauma, stories of Black rearing within the home, tokenism and even the ways in which we have traversed the LGBTQ+ community. In my case, we also shared the experience of being Black in law enforcement environments, which can sometimes involve a lot of explaining to outsiders. The passion of Black love is unlike any other.

The hardest part for me, has been squashing the feelings of being used, manipulated or violated in the midst of collectively fighting against whiteness.

How can I think so negatively about one of my own?

But we do hurt each other, and our level of blackness does not render us immune from each other.

What I have learned is that the current state of Black dating, these conditions, are toxic. I’ve grown to believe that not speaking out against Black men with reputable labels saves us as a people. But, does it?

So, does this mean the higher the profile, the more ‘he’ can get away with.

This is absolutely not a call to action, rather, I am sharing my awareness of why some Black spaces are not safe for Black women.

That it is also true, that some of our men have preyed upon us, while leading and facilitating our discussions about community empowerment and Black solidarity.

I was once so happy to have been chosen and in the end disgusted by this brazen attitude and freedom at the helm of my silence.

I confess that I didn’t believe the experiences of prior sisters; for that, I failed you sister.

Feigning remorse, they know we, Black women, wouldn’t dare put our community on the line while all this focus is upon us. In sharing this last dating experience, I know I am not the first, nor will I be the last person, if I don’t say my name, their name.

Understanding all these implications, I am too scared to say my name, that is just the fact. These are just my opinions, my experiences, and totally from my perspective.

Oh other.

You are pain.

You are weak,

And fickle.

Highly irrational.

Oh other.

Perhaps it’s the warmth you seek,

From fathers, mothers & others more.

Oh other.

They never told you,

But you are fire in all it’s glory,

Bright, beautiful and filled with stories.