I Never Wanted to Become a Woman Who Sacrifices Herself
But how I honor Your sacrifices — Women of valor
Just because my mother didn’t break from all the abuse and afflictions doesn’t mean she didn’t put up a fight.
She was forty-five when she left this world, and I hope I don’t have to leave until I have seen my children all grown up, grandchildren and great-grandchildren.
All the time she sacrificed herself, she put me before her own needs, her own body, mind, and soul. She watched me closely every day until I was seventeen.
When most black girls talk about their mothers, it’s often with such pain. Such anger and such hurt. All my black girlfriends, colleagues, and everyone I know are running away from the kind of women their mothers were. However, let me tell you something. That is the privilege we only ourselves get because of who, and what kind of women our mothers were and still are.
When I was seven, I watched and saw my mother being abused in all ways by her in-laws. It was as if she was always walking on living mines of people who could explode at any second. She endured it all silently, like a fool. Like a mute child. Like a deaf girl, as if she were a metal resistant to both physical and emotional pain, just for her children’s sake. I hope I never become my…
