Black Pussies Matter: Author’s Notes
If last week had a book title, based on how I feel, it would be called “Do Black Pussies Matter?” Below would be the acknowledgement section:
I’m still reflecting on the last hours of Obama’s presidency, which I spent in an emergency room, followed by a doctor’s visit, and ultimately confined to this thing called “rest”. Sharing space in a time of desperation and pain with other Black families pleading for their medical emergency to be taken seriously let me know that the martyrs of the next four years will likely be the forgotten, the uninsured, the elderly, persons incarcerated.
I watched in awe with videos of women wearing pussy caps at the Women’s March in Washington, yet struggled to wonder if my Black pussy mattered. Literally. As my obgyn found at least one fibroid, I realized that I am in a statistic I once shared in awareness, and now I share in solidarity.
I don’t know if my Black pussy will matter to all. That is not my fight to convince them it does. My present fight is to get well so that Black pussies and every loving thing attached to them will be safe.
And that leads me to my acknowledgements. I’m grateful for angels like Tia Oso, who waited with me in the hospital for 7 hours; Latasha Williams, who came the night before my Black, Bougeoise, Boozy, Brunch to help prep and run around when I couldn’t; Brittney Cooper, who wouldn’t let me stay standing for more than a couple minutes without reminding me to sit and drink water (and cooked at my own brunch), and Toni Lewis, who not only brought a self care bag, but also help me rethink my work schedule for next week so that I can still make it to my vacation. And for the random gifts of love, whether it be Allen Frimpong giving me an Ashanti wrap from Ghana, Tristan Wilkerson, Cortney Robinson, and Joshua Harris unexpectedly flying into town, Tanya St. Julien just being in my house (we live five minutes away yall), Lawanna Kimbro will the wise sisterly advice, or Turquoise Young with the beignets. And so many others to made my home so warm at a time where I needed warmth.
I stated my present fight is to get well. I think that is all of our fights. Whether it's physical, spiritual, financial, emotional wellness. Get well. And help others get well. When you fight, get specific. Because specific fights yield specific victories. And the fight doesn't have to look like one at all. It could be as simple as covering a loved one's prescription, or opening your living room to safe conversations.
I am grateful that I know people who know me. Who know how hard it is for me to ask for help. But help anyway. I am even grateful that this temporary ailment deepens my commitment to ensuring that Black pussies matter. Out of them springs life, love and labor. All under threat. All worth preserving.