Task Complete: How I Pushed Through When All I Wanted to Do Was Walk Away and Crawl Under the Covers

I did it! Yep, I’m done. You know how you sign up for something and quickly realize it is a bad idea? Well this is what happened to me. I was in a women’s service organization for about 4.5 or 5.5 years (I lost count after about month 8th). I decided to take a leadership position, because I thought that would make my experience better than it had been. I was wrong. It made it worse! I was annoyed, frustrated and angry from the onset. But that part of the story isn’t as important as this one- I finished! As of this past Wednesday, June 1st, I finished my task and honored my commitment. The organization’s schedule runs from June to May essentially and so last week marked the end. I had resigned my membership in February. I had a few loose ends to tie up before being completely done. On Tuesday and Wednesday of last week, I took time out to e-mail the participants of the committee I oversaw and thanked them, collected my year-end survey results, reached out to the head of my council and scheduled a transition meeting with the two women who will be taking over after me. (Yes, it was realized that this should not be a one person job.) When I tell you I felt accomplished, honey, listen!

It was during my very own transition meeting conference call last year, that I knew this was going to be a long assignment. With me working by myself, I only had my friends, both in and outside of the organization to vent to. I spent a lot of time trying to figure things out on my own or to good friends who would instruct me to “not send that letter”. I have had e-mails proofed and heavily edited by friends at work to keep from unleashing my condescending tone to someone I thought deserved it. But I made it. Through all of the many micro-aggressions, the rude comments and the long-ass meetings, I made it. The back and forth e-mails to answer questions I deemed obvious, I made it. I am proud of myself for holding my tongue, when my mind wanted to let loose. I pat myself on the back for staying gracious in the face of constant second-guessing. 

I learned a lot about leadership in this particular role. The title does not make people instantly respect you, it’s your actions and how you handle yourself. Then there are some people who still won’t. But I marched on. When I had low attendance to the events I hosted, I did not take it personally, I just thanked those who showed. I started choosing dates and times that worked best for me, instead of trying to please the entire group at large. I started supporting my own decisions. Even if it meant not showing up to every single meeting I was invited to, in order to show favoritism to my priorities and things I actually enjoyed. I sent out holiday cards instead of pouting. I ended every e-mail with an “Enjoy your day!” or “I hope everyone has a great holiday!”, instead of rolling my eyes. I kept things positive. I responded to requests on time. I apologized for oversights or mistakes, taking full responsibility for things that were by no means a big deal. I helped out when I could. And I made it. I did well. I spent so much time thinking I was in over my head, but the truth is, sometimes that’s what leadership feels like. It is not always easy. It just simply is. I am glad I pushed myself. And most importantly, I finished. I completed the task!

Can You See Me?

Hello, I'm MJ.  I am a Black woman with naturally kinky-curly hair.  What that means for me is, I can do all kinds of badass things with my hair:  braid it (with or without extensions), straighten it (with or without chemicals), wear a weave (long or short), lock it, fro, twist or coil it out amongst other things.  What that means for you, and when I say 'you' I mean White people, is you get to not say a gotdamn thing about it.  The problem is, a great deal of you have somehow missed this memo and feel you must comment on EVERY fucking thing I do with MY hair.  If it was coming from a place of genuine respect and admiration, fine.  But if you're asking or commenting based on your own personal feelings or (lacking) knowledge of the curious nature of Black folk, I'm not with it.  Confused?  Let me help you out.

Example 1

Try saying:  Hey MJ, your hair looks nice.

Instead of:  OH MY GOD!  Look at your hair!!  You changed it.  Every day you change your hair.  I can't keep up.  Now what's this?  (coming close to inspect my hair) I like this.  The other way you wear it, is okay, but this, I like this.  You should keep it like this.  THIS is cute.

My mental commentary:  bitch I didn't ask you!

Example 2

Try saying:  Hey MJ, your hair looks nice.

Instead of:  You really wear that well.  See I can't do that with my hair.  You're lucky.  You have cool hair.  I just have this hair.

My mental commentary:  you're being patronizing.  Get out my face.

Example 3

Try saying:  Hey MJ, your hair looks nice.

Instead of:  Now, how did you do that?  Did you do it yourself, or did someone else do that for you? That's interesting.

My mental commentary:  No my hair is not "interesting", my hair is wonderful.

Example 4

Try saying:  Hey MJ, your hair looks nice.

Instead of:  Oh, you changed your hair.  Do you like it?

OR

Instead of:  Now which hairstyle do you like the best?

My mental commentary:  bitch, yes I like my hair, that's why I'm wearing it this way!  I like ALL of my hairstyles, that's why I wear them!

Example 5

Try saying:  Hey MJ, your hair looks nice.

Instead of:  Is that all your hair?

My mental commentary:  that's rude as hell, and it's none of your damn business, you uncouth son of a bitch.  Furthermore, yes it is!  

These are real conversations, that tend to happen to me at work (a lot).  There are people who I can pass on the street or smile and wave to at the nearest Starbucks, who will look at me strange, divert their eyes without speaking and then ask me to do something in the office 15 minutes later.  I have worked with people who will pass my desk several times in a week, but see them outside the office and they look surprised when I tell them where I work.  "Oh, you're the one with the hair."  Yeah bitch, that's me.  Last night I went to a party and a girl who I was on a committee with for an entire year, re-introduced herself (as always) like she had never seen me before.  I chuckled and told her, "yes, I know, you have introduced yourself to me a THOUSAND times.  Every time I see you, you introduce yourself."  She awkwardly laughed it off and was like, "well I only came to like, four meetings."  I'm thinking, and I came to all but one, so again, we've met.  I sometimes get the, "I didn't recognize you, you changed your hair."  Yes, the hair may be different, but the face is still the same.  Are you just looking at me, instead of SEEING me?  Seeing the person I am.  As opposed to the caricature you have in your head.

It may sound like I'm overreaching, but the truth is, this is how racism and stereotypes are perpetuated.  The reason some cops are regularly harassing and KILLING young black men, is because they don't SEE these men.  They can't imagine they have mothers, or wives, family or friends.  They can't fathom they could be upstanding citizens or that someone would care about whether they live or died.  It's the reason people get upset to see brothas burn down a local drugstore, but don't understand that the anger resulted from the fact that a young man's spine was damn-near detached.  As a culture, you don't know anything about us.  Why are you so curious with Black hair?  You don't have any Black friends?  You have never been close enough to a Black woman to ask curious, yet thoughtful questions about the history of our styling and hair regimens?  If that's the case, it's fine, but don't embarrass me by shouting over the filing cabinet, a stupid question or comment.  Don't bring your friends over to comment on my hair, like I'm not standing/sitting right here.  I'm not a museum exhibit or a zoo animal.  Utilize Big Sister Google and investigate on your on time.

Scientists have traced the entire human race back to one Black woman in Africa.  We, Black people - Black women, have shared this planet with you all since the beginning of time.  Why are you still so intrigued by us?  My advice is to get off your high horse and stop looking and start seeing.  

Censor-y Deprivation

I do not like to be censored!  But, I also do not like offending and isolating others.  I have been advised by my best friend and beau that everything that comes to mind, does not need to be divulged.  All those constant thoughts that run through my mind at all times of the day and night, need not be expressed in my writing.  If I take this into account and my already self-imposed stern rule of not using real names without permission, not telling stories that involve the personal business of others and tying any stories about others into my own personal growth and revelations to avoid being a gossip blog.  I rarely discuss celebrities.  I do not touch upon politics.  I skirt around race issues.  And with the exception of my monthlong daily blogging challenge I took earlier this year, I make a point of writing when I feel I really have something to say. 

A recent post was the catalyst of the advice given.  Although everything in the post was how I truly felt and I did not exaggerate the situation to make the story more enticing, I was told it was unnecessary.  That if by chance the parties involved were to decide out of the blue, 'hey, I want to read MJ's blog today...for the first time...in my life' and read it, they would instantly recognize themselves.  Did I feel a pang in my side as I made the decision to write and publish it?  Yes.  Did I purposely only share the link on my Facebook fan page, not my home, where I am friends with that individual?  Yes.  And yet I wanted, and did, post it anyway.  The Gift, never said anything, so I thought I was in the clear.  My bestie, who casually, but usually never reads my posts (I tell him everything anyway, so he already knows the stories) gave me the 'shame on you' humph.  He told me I was "stirring the pot" unnecessarily.  So in a phone conversation with the Gift during a lunch break, he confirmed that he did indeed read it and that it embarrassed him.  He said he did not want to tell me what to do, instead he instructed, "do what you want to do."  Which I am wise enough to know is guy-speak for, "take that shit down."  So I did.  And told him that I did.  To which he thanked me. 

That is the only post I have ever removed after publishing.  The rebel in me proclaims, 'you can't tell me what to do!'  But my mature self, who has no desire to embarrass my guy, overrides this thought.  Is it worth it?  I want my blog to be free and open.  I started writing it as a journal.  The bestie says there are some topics that need to just be written down privately in an actual journal and not broadcast on the worldwide web.  Or he suggested that I just tell him, if I need to get something off my chest.  I have always taken pride in my writing and the platform I have built with my blog.  But the thought of having to be so particular about what I say and how I say it, left me feeling conflicted.  This is such a good outlet, but it's not worth any damage my words can cause.  As I sit here, hoping my best friend Antoine hurries up and calls so I can tell him the latest nagging thought that has popped into my mind, I do feel restless.  But I also know it is what's best.  I think what had me worrying was that I already limit my posts due to my previously mentioned guidelines, and now I have even less to write!  At least now, I can return the focus to me and stay away from magnifying, for the world, or in my case that's the 20-50 average readers, what I consider to be other people's "issues".

"There is no greater agony than bearing an untold story inside of you." -Maya Angelou