Black Femme Fashion

I anticipated making this post the day that this blog came into being. There is… rather a lot to unpack here for myself and many others. So please forgive me if I approach this topic piece by piece.

I have been an observer and acutely attuned to the social dynamics carrying on around me all my life. I am from a line of women who entered long-term relationships that were unfulfilling and varying degrees of abuse. They were the type of relationships that were so traumatizing and hope shattering that it was not only easier, but safer to remain alone once they were finally over.

“That must be so confusing for a little girl.”

Growing up, it was maddening to watch highly romantic scenarios on television. From Disney princesses to the down-to-earth sitcom heroines. Knowing that the likelihood of experiencing similar scenarios yourself is improbable can feel like disenfranchisement. Being the chubby Black girl in a predominantly white school and having unreliable, sometimes downright unlikable, men around the home will do that to you.

The dichotomy of television’s grandiose depictions of love against the petty scraps of love’s remains that my mother and aunts were greedily scavenging left me at a stalemate.

Early on in my spiritual journey, it became apparent that part of my healing work was to stop this cycle in my family. A cycle so malignant that it was revealed to extend beyond my living relatives and is present on both my paternal and maternal sides.

That is why I created the What is Love Series on the blog. I have watched every woman I have ever loved break themselves down, thinking it was an essential component of relationships. Family and friends, young and old, I’ve seen it all. And I’ve lived it alongside them.

Pivotal Love

I was 18 years old, walking through the shadow of the valley of death for someone’s sorry a** son. I’m sorry, but there’s no other way to describe him. He’s my living breathing trauma. Trust me, even my therapist was scared of him. But, I haven’t entertained the thought of dating since then because I realized I was content being miserable if I had his “love” and attention. No different than what I watched my maternal figures accept and what I told my friends to avoid.

That couldn’t slide. I am holding myself accountable for this work. One of the last remnants of memory I have from that relationship keeps me determined to stay the course. There was one day where I genuinely wept, as if I was mourning, at the thought of my daughter one day experiencing a fraction of the pain that I felt while trying to love that man. To this day, I choke up at the thought.

My decision to repaint my vision of love with rigid boundaries of what is not allowed onto the canvas has as much to do with loving myself as it does loving those who will come from me. It’s a journey that I implore you to join me on.