The report commentary was clear about the pros and cons of this data. But, some news outlets ran with the “breadwinner” trope while glossing over the inherent racial, educational, and economic gaps between those “breadwinners” and the single mothers who have no other partner in the household contributing to the bottom line. Only 37% of the 4 in 10 households were what one would traditionally refer to as bread-winning. These were married women who were out-earning their husbands in the workplace. But, the other 63% were single mothers. This latter group nearly tripled from 1960 to 2011.

The real truth is single-motherhood is becoming more and more common. And, these single moms tend to be black or Hispanic with no college education. Conversely, married women outpacing their husbands in wages tend to be white and college educated. The truth is single mothers have no choice but to be breadwinners. With no other adult in the household, they have been relegated to entry-level jobs with no promise of equal pay.

Women in the workplace are credited with things like the “disintegration of marriage” and broken families. All the while, changes in the economic environment have all but required that these women abandon the Leave it to Beaver ideals of June Cleaver cleaning scraped knees and baking meatloaves and American apple pies each day of the week. The negative opinions of working women seem to be in direct discord with the lighthearted breadwinner trope assigned just this past week.

Women are not usually breadwinners. And, they are definitely not really winning in the workplace. But, it is worth noting that major news sources, research centers, and mainstream commentators are willing to look at these issues women face in the workplace with at least a slight bit of attention toward the realities they face. The real question is: what are we going to do about it?

To start, a recommendation might be to ditch the happy-go-lucky labels like “breadwinner” and “out-earning.” Being honest about inequality for women workers is a healthy step toward a long-term solution. Hopefully, this new report will move dialogue in that direction in the very near future.

So, where is the silver-lining here? Well, frankly, I don’t see one. While it is impressive that more women have entered the workplace, it is still incredibly apparent that economic pressures, traditional standards regarding gender roles and the difficulty of balancing motherhood with professionalism result in undue stress on women regardless of their personal successes. Simultaneously, vast gaps in pay between the genders and races further elucidate a systemic problem which this country has yet to address and solve.

It also helps black women be wise when knowing when and how to pick their battles or allies. ESPECIALLY when confronted with a would-be ally or another individual who pulls rank.

What do I mean by “pull rank”? I mean that the person uses their position of privilege in a way that suggests:

- They are better than you

- They and their concerns are more important than you and your concerns

- You are obligated to follow them because of where they stand in a particular hierarchy

- You are to sacrifice your best interests and roll under the bus willingly

This thought came about thanks to the  recent discussion on Jason Collins. I do not know whether or not he personally intended to pull rank, but that’s pretty much what happened.

That’s why his ex-gf was thrown under the bus. That’s why so many openly gay women athletes were thrown under the bus. In the hierarchy, man trumps gay and it trumps woman. So people thinking GLBT rights is a completely united front where everyone’s best interest are given equal weight might want to keep that nugget at the back of their mind. This is often the case with movements that claim to be about everyone, but are really about who has the highest rank and how to expand their privileges moreso than everyone else’s.

Black women experience this from various movements and individuals thanks to intersectionality. It may be overt and direct, like a conversation with your boss. It could be subtle or indirect as well. In fact, many attempts to pull rank on black women are just that: Subtle and indirect.

Someone is always looking to tell black women how to think and feel about themselves, and if black women think and feel too much about themselves, here comes the rank-pull.

There are two situations where this happens.

The Sacrificial Lamb

There is a reason I do not like the “victim narrative” when it comes to certain ostracized and discriminated groups seeking rights (or just expanding what privileges they have that others don’t). It is a narrative that often requires sacrifice to get what is wanted. And what is often sacrificed is the image, happiness, and finances of black women.

Despite the fact that black women have marched, picketed, and paid dues on behalf of various groups, you will be hard pressed to find one where a black woman is the face of that group.

When you are giving so much to a cause that will not acknowledge you as an equal partner, you have been made the sacrificial lamb.

Or, if there is a situation where someone has a chance to garner positive attention for themselves or their cause and they can’t risk looking bad or getting hurt, they will stick the sacrificial lamb out front to take the hits. In Chess, the least important piece is the pawn. Yes, a pawn can win a Chess game, but not before so many of them have been sacrificed for victory.

A willing pawn is someone who accepts their lack of worth as it relates to someone who out-ranks them. These willing pawns offer themselves up as sacrifices so that the other person or group may benefit. And the hilarious part? The person benefitting a lot of the time won’t even acknowledge or thank the willing pawn.  Their privileged point of view tells them that it’s the natural course of action that the lesser lay down for their better.

Black women, so long as you have options and a functioning brain, it should be clear for you to see why you don’t want to be the sacrificial lamb for anyone else. Get as far way from individuals and groups looking to use you rather than try and better you.

It’s not Easter and you aren’t Jesus: Let somebody else pay it all!

The Ego-Boost

There is a lot of push-back from different people regarding an increasing number of black women realizing their worth and getting their life: They are losing a means of inflating their sad little ego.

For the insecure nobodies of the world, black women have often served as a quick way of feeling good about themselves. You will often find people eager to discuss why black women are undesirable, uneducated, etc. because it gives them a chance to ignore how lacking they are as individuals. It doesn’t matter what the race or gender is: People are ALWAYS looking to throw salt in the game of people they feel better than (INTERSECTIONALITY IS A HELL OF A DRUG). Which is why you have to pay close attention to the individual, what their motives are, and whether their actions say that they are for you or against you.

Many people who get an ego-boost through holding you back will try and pull-rank to remind you and others that they have something over you. This ego-boost is about them and not you. Just the same, you have to be careful because some people are so insecure that a failure to gain the appropriate response or a response that crushes their limited ego will lead to them trying to hurt or undermine you in anyway that they can. Which is why you need to STOP worrying about people who aren’t for you and limit your contact with such persons. The less is better and no, trying to put out feelers and build bridges isn’t going to work. You’re wasting valuable time.

People who pull rank to boost their egos are not looking to be your friend and ally: They are looking to ASSERT THEIR DOMINANCE OVER YOU.

When it comes to these people, you have to look at the situation, who they are, how they impact your life and what your options are. And move forward with the amount of care relevant to the impact this person can have on you. Try and judge your response according to your best interest, make a mental note of the type of person you are dealing with, and then simply limit your interaction with that person as much as possible if not entirely. Because they aren’t going to change and their opinion of your relevance to their ego isn’t going to change either. So why should you care? Worry about yourself and your best interests and do what you can to protect yourself from any fallout.

Situations where rank is pulled on black women vary. What are some appropriate responses to dealing with people who “pull rank”? And bear in mind that there ARE situations where a black woman can’t just walk away…

I think in order to  better understand why black men as a topic come up in BW-centric and BWE spaces, you must understand why they do not come up.

Black men do not come up because anyone wants to hear more about black men’s problems, excuses, justifications, or rationalizations.

When black men come up, it’s because they are part of a black woman-centric problem. And it’s already been accepted by a number of black women that the solution lies in getting away from black men. Some may mistakenly think this means merely advocating interracial relationships. No, this means divorcing one’s self emotionally, mentally, and financially from the black community. The black community has made being African American synonymous with being a black man. Even worse is the coddling and deification of black manhood, despite nothing relevant to show for all the praise. It’s gotten to the point where black men are expected to show up and be black, and that be enough to be deemed “a good man”. Meanwhile, black women are expected to be a compliant workhorse and ignore all of their black woman-centric issues. This is unacceptable, so it’s rational to expect women who want to maintain their happiness and sanity to leave such a demented structure behind. Often discussing an exit strategy or dealing with the PTSD means bringing up black men.  Some black women have no reason to discuss or bring up black men because they are not a part of their reality. But they are sympathetic to those women trying to work a lot of poison out of their systems.

Black men may feel uncomfortable hearing that they as a group are largely responsible for the suffering of black women, but it’s not like this conversation is happening in a space they can’t navigate away from. Why do black men stick around and try and coerce black women into excusing them or adjusting their tone to something they personally find more acceptable? I think it’s because they don’t understand the next point.

Black men do not come up because the black women are looking for them to tell them what to think

As stated in the other point, the black women discussing their thoughts aren’t looking for black men to explain anything. Because we’ve heard all the explanations. From slavery to mind-control, many black men who enter these conversations do so to convince us that they are not responsible for their own thoughts and actions. And they try and do this by forcing their way into the conversation and then trying to tone police the black women having their discussion. It’s not always black men, sometimes it’s their coddlers.

What these people don’t know is that a safe-space is meant to be free of such attempts to shut down down conversation and sharing of emotions and experiences. Black women participants are not tone policed because some black women as I said are working a lot of poison out of their system. Some women are very hurt, others angry. And they arrive to spaces like this at different stages of grief. Some have already accepted that black men will not change as a group for the better and have moved on. Others are not able to start moving to the acceptance stage because they are angry or in some ways still bargaining.

But whatever the case, no one is looking for black men to tell them what to think about their own experiences. Because-

Black women in these spaces would be more impressed with ANYTHING black men had to say if these black men ever showed up in conversations where black women were being mistreated and disrespected. Or if they were genuinely concerned about our unique problems without some sort of self-serving catch.

The above, which I suggest some people read several times for comprehension purposes, is why I simply do not care about the existence of so-called good black men. If someone brings it up again, I may scream at this point. Because what I highlighted above simply does not happen. Ralph Richard Banks attempting to get black women to ask about why they stay unmarried rather than raise standards and marry out if they have to is probably the equivalent of Halley’s Comet passing in front of the Sun during a solar eclipse.

I just don’t see black men, for all the knee-jerk “good black men exist, are the exception, etc.” talk, stepping up to say anything about anyone but themselves. Whenever they want in on a conversation it’s either to go to bat for themselves, gas-light the black women in question, or hurl further abuse.

I can count on one hand all the times I’ve seen a black man show up and stand up against GAT-DL abusers in this or similar spaces. And I wouldn’t use all the fingers. And I’ve NEVER seen it in general black-male identified black spaces.

So the way I see it, you don’t get to interrupt a conversation you were never expected to be part of to talk about “good black men” when those men never show up to prove how good they are by giving a crap about black women when they are needed. And even when they do show up, it is too rare to really mean anything in the long run.

Ultimately, it’s just another sign of black people loving to make the exception the rule because they are running from a reality that they can’t deal with: Most black men simply do not care about black women, and have no intention of “fixing” anything or repairing a dysfunctional status quo.

And if anyone wants proof of that, you need look no further than the continued absence of black men when it comes to expectations of moral responsibility and defending of black womanhood.

Overall, black woman-centric discussion in this and similar spaces I found is not concerned with black men despite them being a topic. There is no wailing and moaning about why black men won’t change. There is no impatient demand that black men get themselves together. Or a lot of wincing for them to “come home” from non-black women. African American men simply have caused a lot of irreparable damage to themselves and the women in their  group. And no amount of excuses, finger-pointing or demands that black women shut up about their experiences is going to change that. A man, a true man, owns his mistakes and tries to fix them. Black men need to preoccupy themselves as a group with getting themselves and their heads right and passing on some sense to their male offspring.

Such things have nothing to do with black women or black womanhood. Nor can they be accomplished by lurking BW-centric spaces and fretting over why black women do or don’t bring up the words “black men”.

Ideally no matter what stage a black woman finds herself at, she needs to move towards “acceptance”, and we’ll discuss why when that stage is explained.

Stage One: Black Woman In Denial

“…There are plenty of beautiful, strong and loving black men of the African diaspora ready to wife you in this world.  Get out more, travel more.   But, one thing I tip my hat off to Black men is honesty.  Black men usually do not settle, they won’t just marry anybody.  If Black men are not ready to settle down and still want to play the field, they won’t marry.  If this is not the woman they want to spend the rest of their life with, they won’t wife her….”

The above is a quote from a black woman in denial. This is a woman who could not accept the reality of black men not marrying at anywhere near the rate of other ethnic groups of men. This is someone who cannot face the fact that stringing a woman along is not an admirable trait; it is the trait of a manipulative user. This is a person who has deluded herself into feeling admiration for black men at the expense of her self-respect as a black woman. She named herself after a man’s private parts in hopes this would adequately convey her love and loyalty to the black men who were lurking.

Such black women are common, no matter how much it may pain you to admit it or accept it. Because some black women are just not mentally ready to view black men as less than gods. To admit that a black man is fallible, even for obvious wrongdoing, is to show hatred or disloyalty.

I have admitted in the past to following Kpop and there is a hilarious meme that goes “Oppa didn’t mean it!” This meme mocks Kpop fangirls who try and rationalize away undesirable behaviors in their particular idol because they cannot deal with the possibility that he/she has done something wrong. They’ll say he didn’t mean it or it was some sort of mistake. That everyone is being unfair to “oppa”.

The sort of blind loyalty I’ve seen in teenage Kpop fangirls is pretty much what I’ve seen in black women twisting themselves into pretzels to rationalize and defend trifling, dysfunctional, and hateful behavior.

Black women who cannot accept uncomfortable truths about the black community and particularly black men’s unacceptable treatment of us as a group are in denial.

Stage Two: The Angry Black Woman

The ABW is a caricature meant to control and manipulate how a black woman feels. Meanwhile, the anger stage of black woman grief represents the emotional state of a particular black woman attempting to deal with her experiences as it relates to the GAT-DL.

Anger is a very powerful and forceful emotion. A lot of black women who are coming to terms with the indoctrination, disrespect, cruelty, and just pain associated with black social structures feel a great deal of anger, even hate. They are angry that they allowed themselves to believe so many lies for so long. They are angry at the people who hurt them rather than stand up for them (despite all the “we are all black, and we gotta stick together” talk). And they are especially angry that now that they realize what happened and are in a place that they can escape, the manipulators are trying to force them back into a state of pacificity or lie to their faces about experienced wrongdoing.

You can compare it to this scene in, “The Color Purple”.

I don’t tone police black women at this stage because that’s not going to help them move on. The only way an angry black woman (again, not to become confused with an ABW) can exit this stage is to let go of her anger. Some women never do, and eventually it consumes them. Because not everyone exits whatever stage they find themselves in.

So, what stage do you honestly feel you are at when it comes to the GAT-DL/Black Community? Do you feel you will reach or have reached the “acceptance” stage?

Coming Up In Part Two: Bargaining And Depression

Who the hell was I

to think I’m talented

enough and how dare I believe all that

complimentary stuff!

How silly of me to show up earnestly accepting of extended hands and smiles!

It’s all just a ‘stage’ to them; a personality in a file.

A phone number;

a introduction

and fallacious mumble.

Namaste; I remain ever so humble

lest I become nervous and my words begin to jumble.

But…..

Who the hell am I to think I’ll ever be a loved one?

or ever give birth to a son…

Or am worthy of having a shitty relationship with a

boring man who is only with me because I am the best

he can bag

As he tells his friends how much

I nag

and

as age creeps and breasts begin

to sag

He wandering eyes on she

I am used and old and now he no longer wants me.

 Who the fuck do I think I am?

Applying lipstick didn’t make me Viva La Glam

Tell me how I can learn to understand

When I haven’t been wanted by parent nor man

A wack incidental slip through life’s wide ass crack

I would change the past if I could take it all back.

I would relax and ask questions

Ask for suggestions.

I would have been more involved in those conversations.

Maybe I would pick a better situation.

or a nicer foster home.

Maybe I would pick a family or lover who would never condone

leaving me alone

and putting me out on the streets to Rome

and be forced to moan

as a love Jones

sucking on bones

but I don’t like dark meat

a tender treat

that refuses defeat

hopping in and out of the passenger seat

while I sit

on a trip

to find a grip

to buy clothes and shoes for my baby girls feet.

Who the fuck did I think I am?

I want to be a woman but I am unable

or not fit

or worthy enough to stand

on a pedestal and look down like the rest of y’all

that have the gall

I HATE YOU BITCHES!!

With your choices

and options

and

“never in your life’s”

Demeaning

and

Seething

while

Ignoring the next woman’s strife.

If pussy has value then how many men bid

on her worthiness

wait in line to use her

yet judge her for what she did?

AND

If pussy has measure

then how many women stand and

demand retribution for

circumstances requiring her to sell her treasure?

Who the fuck am I?

A fallen child of ‘GOD’

whose grace his rod could not reach.

I listened to the reverend as he stood before me and preached

It was hard to pay attention to the lesson

they insist this shit is a blessing

BUTT

He wasn’t talking about God.

No way.

No how.

I had my hands full when he told me God wanted me to

get on my knees in front of him

and bow.

Who the Fuck am I supposed to be?

I am a woman!

A whore!

A slut!

the one pulled into the high school bathroom

butter knife in my ribs stuck

I AM

Pulled and restrained in the boy crushes bathroom

and

virginity

fucked!

I AM

Pulled behind the abandoned building on Bergen Ave

AND

butt fucked

as I spaced out to escape it all

by staring at an abandoned Mr. Softee

ice cream truck.

Who the fuck did I think I was?

No dam body

as I peer in my mother’s face

trickles of red blood hitting the floor in splatters

she knew he beat me

but he paid her so it didn’t matter.

Who the fuck do you think you are?

A liar?

A thief?

A self imposed star?

Head held high in false superiority!

You strain your neck looking down

on folks ‘not like you’

to sooth your own inferiority.

Who the fuck am I?

Not a child of God

nor a man’s wife

not a rich white person

MERELY

a woman with brown skin.

Cursing

SO WHO DA FUCK AM I?

I am human

I am you, man

and it breaks the heart I clutch

I am what I am

but that’s not good enough.

Who the Fu*k Did I Think I am is a poem from Me Being Anonymous: A Book of Cursed Poem and Verse sold on Amazon. I’m giving away two free copies of my book to BBW readers. Email tracy@rhedbananamedia.com with the subject “Gimme a Book TJ” and tell me why you think its important that women support all women.

Because I dam sure do….*peace fingers*

“It is a peculiar sensation, this double-consciousness, this sense of always looking at one’s self through the eyes of others, of measuring one’s soul by the tape of a world that looks on in amused contempt and pity. One ever feels his two-ness,—an American, a Negro; two souls, two thoughts, two unreconciled strivings; two warring ideals in one dark body, whose dogged strength alone keeps it from being torn asunder.”

Double consciousness is a heavy enough burden to deal with but just add gender to the mix. Black women have three strikes against them. They are women, strike one. They belong to a class that is associated with poverty and welfare, strike two. And most importantly, they are black, strike three. Thus the concept of “triple consciousness” is created: being born black, American, and female, with second-class citizenship across the board.

It is a strange lot to be a black woman in American society. She was brought to this country to be an unpaid worker, a concubine and a broodmare. Her body and her sexuality has been reviled and experimented on but from the various brilliant shades of brown black people come in, is curiously loved.
Her face has been used as the poster child for poverty and welfare and she has to deal with the dismissal and contempt from everyone, from her own people to society at large yet in spite of everything, she is filled with fire. A swirling contrast of fire, salty tears wept, and strength.

No pedestal for the black woman because she was needed to be the foot stool for American society. Black women’s personal has always been political since 1619 and their personal lives have always been inextricably tied to larger issues of justice, equality, and human rights. Abolition, anti-lynching crusades, and the boycotts and protests of the Civil Rights movement were matters of survival, and black women have fought relentlessly against the historical struggle of racism, sexism, and poverty while struggling to find the inner woman within.

Feminism as a social and political movement has not fully recognized black women’s triple consciousness, their history and everyday lives, lives lived through the dehumanizing experience of slavery and the unfulfilled promises of Reconstruction; through lynching, Jim Crow, segregation; through contemporary racial disparities and injustice. At its worst, feminism has not only failed to challenge the larger society’s racism and classism, it has mirrored it.

Triple consciousness is not an easy burden for black women because they have been taught to ignore the rampant misogynist, destructive thought patterns that exist in their communities and to just concentrate on issues of race, blinding standing by secular and religious traditions that have been holding them back for a generation.

Amid protests, abolitionist and former slave Sojourner Truth addressed the 1851 Women’s Convention in Akron, Ohio, on the subject of women’s rights (the women’s rights movement having grown, in part, out of the anti-slavery movement). Responding to male contention that women’s delicacy and need for pedestals relieved them of any pesky need for rights, Truth wondered aloud where her pedestal was. Having plowed fields as well as any man, and endured whippings and the sale of her children, across a century Truth’s question still echoes: “Ain’t I a woman?”

WARNING!!! This post is not meant for happily masculine women, happily androgynous women, or feminists, so for all of our sake please skip this post. This post is ONLY meant for women who are interested in becoming more old fashioned/classically/traditionally feminine . Please focus your comments on the topics presented in this post and keep it classy and respectable ladies.

Kerry Washington

I don’t mind being soft, I actually like it. You have to be gentle with something soft. If you are soft then you don’t have to put up with things other people have to. You can protect yourself and you don’t need anyone’s permission to do so. People don’t expect you to tolerate harshness, you are excused. Your comfort and protection is of the utmost importance.

What I don’t understand is how some women complain about being treated like unfeeling pack mules and yet continue to act like unfeeling pack mules. Why don’t you just stop it? If everyone thinks you are strong, you can take everything, and you actually like drama and arguing…why do you play into those assumptions? Why do you complain over and over about mammys and mules and then proudly conform to those very stereotypes? Putting up with disrespect doesn’t mean you are strong, it just means you have no problem with being treated badly and that’s sad. Get your mind out of Blackistan! Why don’t you tell people you need help, you can’t handle everything, and you don’t want to be on the defensive all the time? Why don’t you just start acting softer? If you want something to change then you have to change something!

Well some women will say that acting softer will make them weak and vulnerable and people will take advantage of them. Understand I said soft–not stupid. Being soft means you actually raise your standards and require better treatment from others. You don’t even give anyone the chance to harm you. You can be soft and pleasant and still say no, in fact, you don’t have to argue or fight at all because you don’t need to expose your precious mind to negativity. You do not have to tolerate being treated like a mule for one second because you are no mule! You are a lady and must always be treated as such.

Let others accept poor treatment because they somehow convinced themselves this proves they are “mature” and “real women”. If they feel proud about how much abuse they can take, let them. In the meantime, enjoy the freedom, peacefulness, joy, and serenity of being soft and cherished

Esperanza Spalding

Misrecognition and Stereotypes

Harris-Perry thoroughly discusses the term misrecognition when she articulates the use of stereotypes to truncate opportunities, esteem, and worth initiatives for black women. What is misrecognition? It is the misjudgement or mis-characterization of an entire person’s self based on perceived or assumed traits (positive or negative). Misrecognition is inherent in race-based stereotyping because it a) assumes that a perfect stranger can accurately gauge another individual’s race, ethnicity, or heritage from perception alone, b) seeks to identify certain behaviors as attributable to their own understanding of said race, and c) relies on very limited information or exposure to make those judgements.

Misrecognition is extremely powerful. And, it plays directly into the notion of the crooked room. The crooked room says that an individual is only one of several predesignated characters. And, it assigns folks into categories based on those imagined and pre-fitted roles. Once those roles are assigned, individuals are measured by their congruence with these crooked images. And, when they fall in line with negative images like Sapphire or Jezebel, they are shamed for their behavior.

So what is shame exactly?

‘Re-integrative’ Shame versus Stigmatizing Shame

Were you ever that kid who got a whoopin’ in the church bathroom? Maybe you got pulled out of a room by your ear? Or, better yet, maybe you and your cousins had to go outside and pick a switch to get your punishment after having a pillow fight? I was all of those kids. And, if you experienced these things, then you, like me, have experienced re-integrative shaming. This type of shaming usually comes from authority figures or parents who use punishment in a more public setting to teach you acceptable behaviors.

For example, a child with a cursing problem might be forced to wash his or her mouth out with soap. And, that action, though disgusting, teaches the child to remove the dirty words from his or her vocabulary. But, as long as it isn’t followed up by repeated extremes and the child is welcomed back into the loving family with no strings attached, the act is neither exclusionary nor permanent.

But, there is a different, much more diabolical form of this punishment called stigmatizing shame. Stigmatizing shame does not seek to teach the individual much except that his or her whole person (not the behavior) is bad. Stigmatizing shame was a foundational aspect of slavery and Jim Crow. It said, in a sense, that black people were inherently bad, dirty, unclean, wanton, and barbaric. Instead of attributing certain features to certain individuals, it inspired the adoption of collective stigmas associated with the entire group in order to subjugate and reduce all of the individuals within the group.

Stigmatizing shame teaches LGBTQ folks to stay “in the closet.” It teaches those who have been victims of sexual assault to keep quiet so they don’t seem like they somehow welcomed the abuse. Stigmatizing shame teaches young women and men climbing the social ladder to hide their poor beginnings. And, for black women, stigmas about natural hair textures, eating habits, voice tempo and volume, career choices, child rearing, and a host of other things have taught us to hide behind a variety of more “acceptable” social norms.

Any of this stuff sound familiar?

How Shame Works

One key characteristic in the collective shaming of black women is a term Harris-Perry calls fictive kinship.

“The term ‘fictive kinship’ refers to connections between members of a group who are unrelated by blood or marriage but who nonetheless share reciprocal social or economic relationships.”

This notion of innate connection to others in a social group helps to draw pride from images like President Obama. But, conversely, the same kinship draws shame from folks like Shawty Lo or Kanye West. It is this kinship that leaves the black community reeling when a prominent black figure cheats on his wife or goes into a fit of rage on national television. And, it is this same kinship that helps to reiterate societal pressures to avoid unsavory images at all costs.

According to Harris-Perry, feelings of shame occur when we feel exposed to and in disappointment of a “real or imagined audience.” Shame happens when we become worried about what other people might think. Eerily though, Harris-Perry notes that, “when we feel ashamed, we assume the room is straight and that the self is off-kilter.” So, if the self is indeed “off-kilter,” we are then normalizing the crooked behavior and marginalizing our true identities.

When this happens, individuals become desensitized to obscure images of themselves and one another and snuggle into the comfortable slot carved out for them in the crooked room. And, in many cases, the shame works to keep people, who would otherwise be socially mobile, in a repetitive cycle of immobility, thereby validating the crooked images. This is called self-fulfilling prophecy.

But, what happens when someone who actually isn’t one of those crooked images is treated like they are? I am glad you asked. I’ve got a scenario for that.

What Happened at the End of the Sapphire Post?

Well, in the last installment of this series, I left off with a riveting story of my arrest for school truancy. And, after reading this book, that situation became so much clearer to me. I realized that that cop was attempting to shame me. And he was succeeding.

Gather ’round folks…I’m going to finish the story…

“It is instances like these that produce those angry little black girls. It is instances like these that harden feminine hearts. It is instances like these that prove that neither academia nor athleticism nor altruism can work to defray the weight of the burdensome angry black woman load. And, in fighting this white cop, I was fighting against a larger societal vision for me. I was attempting to stand against something much bigger than myself to no avail.”

The cop took me to a middle school about 15 miles away from my high school. He never said a word to me for the entire ride.

“Is this a real cop car? Like where criminals ride?”

Silence.

“Why am I in the backseat?”

Silence.

So, I sat there with my thoughts. Crying. And, crying. Then, I stopped. I literally just stopped. I was pissed off. I was angry. I was REALLY angry. As we pulled up, I saw a line of black kids going into the truancy center. They were girls, boys, some of them looked grown. And, there were cops everywhere. Laughing and chatting. Drinking coffee. But they weren’t talking to the kids.

The cop took me out of the car cradling my head on the way out of the vehicle like he actually gave a crap.

“Okay, go stand in that line. Give them your name and what school you came from. Go upstairs and they will have reading material for you. You can do homework also.”

“I don’t have my homework. You picked me up at second period and wouldn’t let me get my backpack. When can I go home?”

“That is up to you parents.”

I laughed to myself, “parents.” Whatever. I got in line behind a girl with super long finger nails and braids and waited to tell some chick who I was so I could ruin my otherwise perfect school record. Once I handled that deed, I went upstairs and sat at the smallest table known to man in a room full of other high school students sitting at similar tables. There were no adults in the room. It was like baby detention or something.

On the tables they had little pamphlets with phrases like “why am I here?” and “what is a truant?” I was over it. Done. A lady came over to me and asked me if I wanted to call my mom or dad. Once I did, I realized that no one really gave a crap that I was in baby prison for the day. My mother and my brother (because dad was the no-show type) were not going to exit their quaint little daily plans for me to get back to my academic studies and perfect grades.

My teachers weren’t going to put out an APB. And, life would go on. I looked around at everyone else, and they all looked as if they felt the exact same way. We were corralled in this room away from our friends, not talked to, not addressed, and basically shunned to make a point. We were bad. Being a truant was bad. And therefore, we were bad. The reasons didn’t matter. The intentions didn’t matter. All that mattered was the color of our skin and the location of our feet on a curb during school hours.

And, it worked. I felt ashamed. I prayed that I would never see these people again. I prayed that no one from my church had seen me in the cop car. I prayed that my purse and backpack would be safe for the remainder of the school day. And, I prayed that someone would at least acknowledge me. And, when my brother came to get me a few hours later, his nonchalance and ineffectual attitude showed me that he thought I was bad too. And, his feelings made me feel even more ashamed.

The shame was almost inescapable. And, that was the point. That white cop did his job that day…

To be continued…When Shame is an Action Word and Reactions to Shame

Buy the book here.

I’ve been burning the candle at both ends since my infant days. I would tire everyone out with my boundless energy, questions and curiosity. Most people, including kids my own age, would tap out of activities just when I would be getting warmed up.

It always seemed like people couldn’t keep up with me. I’ve since learned to accommodate this inequity, but I digress.

I’ve also always been a very a physical female; strong, aggressive and deeply in love with all things that increases one’s heartbeat.

When I started chasing boys, dating and having sex, same shit, the variety of sexual experiences taught me that not all men are created equal.

What’s the payoff after having maneuvered my time away from my Dad’s watchful eyes, a trip across town, scratching up bus fare to get to the place I’m not supposed to be, and then sneaking in and out of windows, fire escapes and/or by sleeping parents on the couch ?!!!

Not five minutes, I’ll tell you that! #truestory

But since I’m the studious type, I kept going with my social biology experiment. With a pocket full of condoms and a standing appointment at Planned Parenthood, I went where no other woman had gone before. To gain experience with sex.

I approached sex the same way I approached everything else, I sought to learn it, and to master it.

Positions.

Sex toys.

With the lights off……and on.

During the sunrise and as the sun went down. From sundown until sunrise the next morning.

I learned that not all men are created equal after all. I didn’t have to be disappointed by a lazy, inexperienced, or stamina lacking lover. I have standards, and the men better be able to keep up if they hope to ever see me again.

My palate is quite developed these days…..

I revel in the chase.

The dance between male and female.

I’m often the predator, but a young girl couldn’t walk around being plump and juicy without coming to learn about the dreaded neighborhood phenomena known as the DIRTY OLD MAN.

Like a goblin that lives under the bridge, I would be minding my business wandering through my young teen years, when he reveals himself. Tacky, hairy, and sleazy, he looks like every unsettling man you can think of, and he’s honed his Spidey senses onto me.

DIRTY. OLD. MEN. are only after one thing. They prey on young girls and they have horns and hoofs, so I heard.

DIRTY. OLD. MEN. are to be avoided at all cost, lest a dirty old man turns YOU into a puff of smoke!

DIRTY OLD MEN become embedded into a female’s brain as something disgusting, but in time, things may begin to change. As she gets older, the bridge between maturity, adulthood and shared interests lessen with age. The social distance isn’t so hard to adjust to once you get some life experience under your belt.

I dated a creep of an older man who only went after young pretty girls in need of ‘assistance’. I avoided him like the plague until I buckled under the pressure of my friends. I allowed him to take me out for drinks at the local after work watering hole. Though too eager to please me, he was very nice and generous. He seemed excited and nervous during our exchanges. He never did anything strange, but the feeling that something wasn’t right was still there.

Blah. Blah. Blah and a whole lot of liquor and many moons later. We spent the night at the hotel. It was a beautiful place that was quite expensive. He nearly fell down the stairs as he attempted to keep up with my skipping up the steps two at a time back when I had knees that did that cool shit.

I slept like a baby in that bed while he pouted, huffed and puffed over his inability to ‘enjoy’ our evening.

I was only slightly annoyed. If I”m in bed with you than I expect some action, dammit.

I had guys my age whose flag flapped in the wind when it was supposed to be at full staff, its depressing.

I began to associate age with (even more likely) sexual dysfunction, in addition to the awkwardness and inability to keep up as I had already experienced with previous sex partners. DIRTY. OLD. MEN., the boogeymen, weren’t allowed on my radar, at ALL, thanks to this guy.

In time, he fell to wayside, resentful that he had found himself in a room full of diamonds, yet he lacked the hands to grab his fill of riches now that he had his chance.

DIRTY. OLD. MAN. And life went on.

IT guy was only a few years older than I, when we met, but at 40, I still considered him an old man while in my late 20′s.

Caramel skinned, and a recently retired Marine, he made coming to work not so bad first thing in the morning. With a minor in Computer Sci that I had just withdrawn from, I was hired to be his assistant, he kept my secret and taught me everything I needed to know about logistics infrastructures and computing.

Since I was a fast learner, it wasn’t long before we were able to spend most of our day hidden away in the catacombs of the warehouse, giggling and joking like two school age kids. We had ‘great chemistry’ if you get my drift and I think you do.

His Scorpio went very well with my Capricorn. We were from the same general neighborhood in Newark, and had many other things in common. He was so intelligent, our conversations spanned topic and subjects, both of us passionate and assertive debaters. A heated exchange produced a Hallmark card and chocolates once. We weren’t boss and the chick under the boss any more. #pun

Well.

Blah, blah, blah… happened and let’s just say he changed my mind about ‘older men’. I had an amazing affair with him, peppered by laughter, lovemaking, life lessons and intimacy. I crawled out the room, got the chance to play in a power exchange relationship and his body was dope as Hell. #semper fi

I miss that guy…….*rocks and hums*

Fast forward to not to long ago when I befriended a brethren blogger who shall, hopefully, remain nameless. I would wait on his articles to publish just so that I could read the beautiful words that come from his mind.

Adult themed essays never seemed so when he wrote them, regardless of the topic, or subject matter.

If words were foreplay then he gave good dictionary.

The awareness, open mindedness and freedom he expresses in his writing represents all things a woman would want to have embedded in the heart of the man she’s sleeping with.

I watched for as long as I could without making myself known; I later found out that he had been reading my adult themed pieces as well. #gamerecognizesgame

Work needs on the web site we wrote for required us to communicate via chat for blog meetings, it wasn’t too long before we began our own personal internet friendship. He and I exchanged numbers and have only spoken on the phone a hand full of times.

We spent the night talking that first time, all the way until sun up the next morning, I remember listening to him say something profound as the orange of the sun bled into the dark dawn sky.

I held the phone against my ear like I had done to my Princess cordless back in the 90s.

I waited for the words to fall out of his mouth. He said nothing naughty and everything tantalizing. Nothing insulting, and everything irreverent, intelligent and bare knuckles face front.

We sincerely discussed everything personal, private, contrite, intimate and sexual.

We were mind fucking…and I loved it.

At some point when adults discuss personal details, age does come up, hearing that he was 20+ older than I caused me to bat an eye. Just one.

I still held a bias against older men. In my mind, any man significantly older than I qualified as a DIRTY. OLD. MAN.

I’m still un-learning childish things…..

Fast forward nearly a year later. I am running around Manhattan lost.

A die hard New Yorker, my writing amore tried his best to text me back on the right path so that I could make my lunch date. It wasn’t happening, so instead he suggested an impromptu meet for us.

He gave me directions that I was actually able to follow, and kept check on me as I moved from street to street, he did better than Google map ever did.

I arrived on the correct block, he saw me coming before I recognized him. A loud obnoxious whistle  loud as I crossed the street in search of him. I turned to curse out whoever was doing the whistling or throw a dirty look, when I realized it was him.

He apologized that our dinner would have to be discreetly priced, as he was recently laid off from a position he held for many years. I didn’t care if we went to McDonald’s, where means nothing to me, its always the who that I give a fuck about it.

We make our way to South Street Seaport and into a restaurant that I had often stared at from the outside but doubted I could or would indulge in the cost of ever eating in. The waiter addressed us promptly and my now ‘date’ responded in a very masculine decisive way.

As he stepped aside to allow me to walk ahead of him, I realized how much I enjoyed and was accustomed to being treated as the ‘lady’ by a man who enjoys being ‘the man’. The better part of this realization is the fact that although we can both adhere to gender roles, neither of us are so embedded in the robotic existence of ‘man’ and ‘woman’ that there was no room to also exist as ‘human beings.

He requested a seat by the back next to a picture window in the nearly empty restaurant.

“I thought you would enjoy sitting back here. You like the water and there’s a great view of the skyline here.”

Chair pulled out. I am seated.

We began light banter that was rudely interrupted by my inability to remain focused.

His eyes.

His voice.

His laughter.

The NYC tough sounding accent conveyed opinions and a vocabulary that betrayed the poised man sitting in front of me. He’s lived three lives, and has loved women through each of them. Down and out. Rebellious. Renewal. Humility. Full circle awareness.

No wife. No children. Not on purpose.

I was just as intrigued by him in person as I was while reading his work and during our phone conversations.

I stared intently at him across a candle lit table, as the sun set in the New York harbor. I saw a lot of things, but age wasn’t one of them.

When faced with too many options, I get overwhelmed, this means that I should not be left alone with a menu and asked to make a decision. I will consider each item, twice, and still go with burgers or fries or something I know I eat just so that I’ll order something, otherwise, I won’t eat at all.

He was aware of this, from our conversations, and so he suggested three options of things that I do eat that adhered to my finicky eating habits.

Problem solved.

When presented with the wine option.

What? Who…?

He chose a splendid wine that had something to do with something about the food and type of toes made to create it, and I loved it. We had more conversation, and more laughter, and a delightful ROMANTIC date.

The check came. The meal was paid for. The waiters and servers were graciously thanked and compensated. I had my chair pulled out and coat slide onto my shoulders by a man that smelled ‘like that’ to me.

An extended walk to the train led to us taking cell phone pictures of objects rather than each other. The crowded street forced us to walk closer together, his arm always gently on my back to lead me in this direction or that. I was disappointed to find us standing outside of the train station.

More talking as people bumped us and shot annoyed looks at our taking up precious commuter train dashing space.

Uncomfortable looks and apprehension from me. I had let my ‘dirty old men’ opinion be known early on and my date was absolutely platonic behaving up to this point.

My train was about to leave and I couldn’t miss the last thing smoking to my home state.

Normally, I’m the predator, and then I decided to be prey by stepping into his personal space to give him the go head to do what comes next.

“What about your ‘dirty old man’ policy?” He teases.

“I sure hope so”, I respond over my shoulder as I run for my train.

What made me change my mind? Because judging by age is kinda stupid and the only person missing out on an awesome guy will be me and I hate missing a good meal!

He’s in better shape than many men my age and much younger. He’s experienced in life, and also with women both in and out of the bedroom. I know we have plenty of purity police here so does a man having a sex life previous to one with you make him ‘damaged goods’ or an experienced lover for you to enjoy?

So….I said all that to say:

What’s your feelings about older men? When dating, its easy to fall into using stereotypes to judge and dismiss certain people. Why do older guys unfairly get a bad rep when it comes to being considered as viable mates and partners? I know we here a lot about Viagra but before the onslaught of the magical blue pill there were still plenty of men who had the gusto naturally.

What are the benefits of dating an older man? I sure did enjoy a man who understood traditional roles who also happens to be very forward thinking and progressive due to the years he’s had on this Earth to work on himself.

What are the drawbacks? Age doesn’t equal death when 30 year olds are dying of heart attacks and others live to be 100. If there are no kids involved, doesn’t this just become a case of two people who are considering their viability as a couple or is there more to it?

Have you dated an older man/woman?

Say something so I’m not here talking to myself dammit!!

#TeamShadesofGrey in full affect!!! Whose with me……?

If you don’t want to have causal sex with multiple partners, feel pressure to do so, may have even done so and regretted it later, and you think it’s harder now to get into monogamous relationships, then this post may help you feel more confident in saying “NO”. 

This CNN video may shed some light on the context of this post…but then again maybe not.

Social Norms and Sexual Norms

What women do with their privates is no one else’s business and it doesn’t harm anyone as long as the sex is consensual and safe right? I disagree. I think some people are oblivious to the fact that there are sexual norms (it’s intro social psychology and sociology). Sometimes these people even propose that basically anything sexual is normal as long as it’s consensual. They don’t realize that they are establishing the new sexual norm of ‘anything goes and everything is okay’ and that there is something ‘abnormal’ about you if you think otherwise.

“Social Norms are the expectations about how people should act. Usually social norms are created by having the same sort of certain behaviors among social group members. Also, there are usually negative consequences when someone violates a social norm…Norms do serve a purpose, as they allow people to expect the events that will occur in a particular setting. This allows people to prepare themselves for being in that situation. Uncertainty is a big source of psychological stress. Norms allow us to reduce the uncertainty that we might otherwise feel in a situation, or leading up to a situation if we knew nothing about how that situation would unfold.”(source; also see Wikipedia definition)

In other words, once a norm for promiscuity is set, both men and women will come to expect it and many will conform to it. In the past it was only men and promiscuous women saying sex was fun, it’s no big deal etc. and it was easier to say no because they advocated out of self-interest. You see, saying it’s okay to be promiscuous, women should not be judged or shamed, and that some women enjoy the activity with no ill effects is one thing. But when an ideological group, Third Wave feminists, state sleeping around is empowered, that it helps women figure out what they like in bed, or it shows they are not repressed by the patriarchy, then that’s a different story. It’s associating promiscuity with positive things that many women want because they want to be empowered, satisfied with sex, and not slaves to men. When Third Wave feminists (who some women identify with, respect, and trust are looking out for their best interests) imply that being promiscuous has these benefits, women may start questioning themselves and start sleeping around against their better judgement. Some women assume that feminists are not advocating sexual practices for ideological self-interest while disregarding the affect these practices have on individual women–they just want what’s best for you right?  ”"Feminism is not the freedom to act like a dickhead,”…”These women are individualists, not feminists” (source). They don’t care that hold outs may experience prude-shaming by women implying that they are repressed, frigid, too uptight, too old fashioned, insecure, not giving their bodies what they want, missing out, not free thinkers, something is wrong with them, or they won’t be able to keep a man (similar to the things men say to coerce women into having sex..hmmm).

For example, if most women sleep with men on the first date then that becomes the norm, and men will pressure other women to “be normal” and have sex on the the first date. This in turn will confirm and perpetuate the norm. Feminists supporting promiscuity makes it that much harder to hold out. Personally, I’m more concerned about protecting abstainers from pressure than about hurting the feelings (i.e., shaming or judging) of people who knew the risks, ignored the warnings, and went full steam ahead anyway. “Norms can be self-perpetuating, as once they are established they will often continue, even when those who established them have long since left the situation” (source). So if promiscuous women get married (maybe even by lying to their husbands about their sex number), get old, or stop dating, then other single women are left with the norm! Future generations will suffer because of other women’s actions and many young girls are already caving to the pressure.