REFLECTIONS ON RACISM | BLACK IN AMERICA

Not Black Enough

Overcoming racial imposter syndrome.

Photo by Noah Buscher on Unsplash

I recently told a friend, “I’ve spent my entire life not being black enough.” While it wasn’t the first time I’d ever said something to that effect, it was the first time that saying it out loud resonated with me so deeply as it was now. And it was the first time I really stopped to unpack it.

Growing up, people around me in my very homogenous, small town made it quite clear to me that I was different. Read: not white. I cannot tell you how many times I’ve been asked, “What are you?” or “Can I touch your hair?”
Or, maybe worse, not asked.

For some, it doesn’t matter who or what I am. One look at me and the one-drop rule tells them all they need to know: definitely black. There are plenty of stories I could recount as evidence of my blackness, including being called the n-word, having a makeshift cross burned in front of me at a party, and having my achievements reduced to affirmative action.

But, for others, I’m not black enough. My mother is white, so I’m dubbed an “Oreo.” I’m told I have “good hair” or that I “talk white.” I wish people wouldn’t reduce hair to being either good or bad, or reserve descriptions such as educated and articulate for white people…