The Importance of Teaching Your Children To Value Themselves
When my parents decided to have children, they did so for one reason. They believed that maybe their child would be the one who changes the world. So before I was ever born, my parents valued me as well as the difference they believed that I could make in the world.
Growing up, I had a great childhood. Throughout those years, my parents vehemently sought to instill in me that I was important and that I mattered. As a result of this, I had a very strong sense of worth and believed I had illimitable value. There was never a time in my home that I questioned my value because my parents actions proved to me that they were determined to see me reach my potential. My parents listened to me, celebrated me, allowed me to make my own choices, and were the first people to defend me when someone had wronged me. I lost count of the amount of times my mother was at my school raising Hell on my behalf.
However, as I got older, I began to notice the differences between how I was viewed and treated at home and how the world would come to view and treat me. Coming to this realization was gradual but was built upon constant micro-aggressions that I ignored throughout my fifteen years at a predominately white all-girls private school. From being called an “Oreo” to being told that I am “not like other black people”, I began realizing that being articulate, mannered, and intelligent were seemingly only qualities reserved for white people. I was being socialized to believe that if I were to possess any of these qualities, it would be in spite of my Blackness rather than because of it.
It was hard for me to comprehend how some of my friends could claim to love me but not like Black people. I was beginning to be pulled from my blissful ignorance on concepts of white supremacy, systematic oppression, and white privilege but I did not know these terms yet. I continued to be a little Black girl with big dreams who believed she was just as deserving and likely to see these dreams achieved as anyone else. I was confident in myself but this was, and continues to be, a threat to others around me.
When I was in the seventh grade, I remember being made fun of at the lunch table because I admitted that I thought I was beautiful. I was laughed at while girls stated remarks such as, “YOU think you’re beautiful?”, and “you need to be a little less cocky”. I was beginning to realize that I would have to shrink myself in order to be accepted by my peers. But my mother once read and I will always remember a quote by Marianne Williamson that says, “There is nothing enlightened about shrinking so that others won’t feel insecure around you. As we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same. As we are liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others.” However, as I got older, I began realizing that despite my confidence and refusal to shrink, some people would not be able to look past the color of my skin.
When I was in high school, I recall a friend of mine leaning over to me and saying, “Kayla, look, there is a black man in the atrium and no offense but I am kind of scared.” I remember being hurt by her saying this, but I also remember being hard on myself for apparently giving her the impression that I’d be okay with a statement like this. That one statement showed me that my “friend”, if not a racist, has a dangerous bias against Black men. This is the same bias and fear that is behind the trigger of a gun that shoots and kills an unarmed Black man.
If a man’s blackness scares you, then how can you claim to love me? It is because she, and many others, separated me from my Blackness. Due to their ability to separate me from their distorted and menacing view of a stereotypical Black person, they accepted me as their exception. It became increasingly evident that maintaining the strong sense of worth that had been instilled in me from an early age was going to be tested for the rest of my life. I would soon come to realize that people would actively seek to devalue my voice and my experiences. I would soon come to realize that people would hate me for all of the reasons that I love me. All of the unique things I love about myself are hated for the very nature of them being different.
When I think about my childhood, I cannot help but to think about how naïve I was about the reality of being myself in America. When I moved from home and went to college, I saw former micro-aggressions manifest into deliberate acts of violence and aggression against me because I am black, gay, and female. My reality is being called a “cute little Nigglet” and followed from the gas station at 3 AM. My reality is being told pulled over for expired tags and told to keep my hands up during the entire exchange by a police officer who kept his hand on the holster holding his gun. My reality is that I have a higher chance of being sexually assaulted just because of who I am and that is precisely what occurred when I was both orally and anally raped by a former friend of mine who whispered in my ear months prior, “I’m gonna make you like guys again.”
I’m black, gay, and a woman and I am not sorry. I will never apologize for being who I am and I will never change who I am. These parts of me are what make me strong and I’ve always believed that. After conquering the identity crisis that developed during my time in school, I can now say that I have found my voice, reclaimed my value, and I will continue to fight every single day until people like me no longer have to fight to live as they are.
Welcome to the writings of a queer, black, and fed up feminist.
