The Invisible Black Woman

Happy Tuesday, y’all. It is the 7th day of the month, which means it’s time for the next installment. I alluded to this in the previous episode, 46 Times. So let’s get into it.

First and foremost, thank you for all of the comments, the likes, the dislikes, the love, the hate, and everything in between. This writing journey via this blog is doing exactly what I hoped it would. Actually, let me stop. I never expected it would strike a nerve with so many people, good and bad.

I began writing this as a way to therapize, exorcise my hurt, anger, pain, and more, over what I have dealt with the bulk of my professional life. An unexpected outcome was that it resonated with so many people. I knew, but I didn’t really know until I started this thing how many of you could relate.

On the flip side, I’ve gotten some flack, either directly or indirectly, about the name of the blog and its tagline: The Invisible Black Woman—My skin color makes me invisible. What’s your superpower? I knew full well it wasn’t going to sit right with many non-melanated folks, based on the “lovely” comments left and messages landing in my inbox. That I saw coming a mile away. Y’all keep waiting for my response, mmkay?

I should also probably mention that the second part of the tagline, What’s your superpower?, is very much meant to be super heavy on the sarcasm. And maybe sarcasm isn’t even the right word because no one wants to be made to feel invisible or to be invisible in a space where they very much should be visible in every way. It’s an accidental or forced superpower of sorts that no one really wants to inherit. Personally, I would love the ability to fly and would even settle for a truth lasso. I hope the meaning and intent was clear but in case it wasn’t, there’s your spoiler!

What I found interesting—not surprising but interesting—were the responses I got from my fellow skinfolk. I can see based on the comments that some of y’all didn’t appreciate my statement. I respect that, but I won’t apologize for it. Y’all know by now that there are things I’m gonna always channel my inner Nene Leakes on. So with all the emphasis I can muster and the strongest base in my voice: I. Said. What. I. Said. Throw in a clap in there after each period. That’s how much I mean it.

When I named this blog, I was as intentional about the title as I was the tagline. I did not say, for example, Your skin color makes you invisible. I think that’s important to highlight. And the reason I mention that is because this here is very much about my lived experience as a Black woman—and not just in this country, but abroad (but that’s a story for another time and I’m getting very much ahead of myself).

If you have been blessed to never have been made to feel less than or dismissed because of the color of your skin, if you never got pegged with a certain label or had to work 10 times as hard to get half as much, if you never had to train your new boss to take over the job you’re already doing and very capable of continuing to do, I’m really glad. I wouldn’t wish this on my worst enemy. But just because you haven’t doesn’t mean no one else has either. Your experience is your own. So is mine. I know for a statistical fact I am not alone and that I didn’t coin the term, “The Invisible Black Woman.” Two things can be true: you can have a great experience in corporate America as a Black woman and I can have had a terrible one.

How outrageous would it be if I said that if you never had a terrible experience as a Black woman in corporate America, you’re a fraud and you don’t belong here? Dismissive even? Well, trying to paint my life with the brush of your lived experience is no different. If a person who went through horrible labor said their experience was terrible, would you say to them, “I never had problems in labor”? I really hope not.

I say all this to say that you may consider, for a moment, that it is possible to be in the same demographic as someone else and have a sharply different experience than that person. That doesn’t make yours any more valid than mine or vice versa. Just something to consider in case you may have a friend or colleague in your life that may well be going through what I dealt with. The last thing they want to hear is, “Huh. I never had that problem.”

If you’re getting angry and annoyed about what I just said, the above may apply to you. And while I know it’s hard to read or convey tone in writing, please know that what I’m sharing is in love. I have been at workplaces where people that look like me will legit be shocked when I tell them something I experienced. I’ve had so-called friends who shrugged and told me that was never their experience. Like, full on surprised and confounded. If a friend or coworker shared their experience with you, even if you cannot relate, you can empathize. Take them at their word and be there for them. And, in case you are just beyond mad at what I just said and are through with me, stick around anyway. There’s lots of shows on Netflix I hate-watch so I can see how it all ends. You never know when the surprise twist is gonna show up.

And, since we’re on the topic of public service announcements, this goes out to all the non-melanated folks that support this blog by way of eyeballs, comments, and reactions. Thank you. I appreciate the comments and the perspective y’all are sharing, too. One thing I’m gonna point out that I’ve seen a healthy bit of is the following phrase: “I’m not Black, but” or “this applies to all women,” or something along those lines. That’s cool, boo. If you’re getting something out of this, good! But also, some of y’all tryna be slick with the “all women matter” narrative. I see you, too. And that’s where I’ll leave it. To the point at hand though, wouldn’t you have hated it if I named this blog, Kittens and Puppies and it was this heavy shit? I’d definitely want my money back. Again, I was intentional in the labeling because my primary audience is Black women, but I have nothing but love for the Black brothers and everyone else who comes through.

Speaking of Black brothers, can I take a real quick timeout right here, please? I need to give a heavy, special shoutout to the Black brothers. Thank you to those of you who have shared this blog with the Black woman or women in your life because you knew they would relate. Thank you to those who have stopped by and just left a comment that made me chuckle or just affirmed what I stated. I appreciate you, forreal. I’m blessed to be married to a wonderful Black man, and he is that guy and has been since the day I met him. So a big big shoutout to all my brothers holding it down. Y’all deserve to be cloned forreal because I ain’t sharing mine!

But on a much more serious note, the stats tell us that too many of us—Black women—are dying by suicide. That number has grown in recent years. It doesn’t take a medical expert to know that part of the problem is too many of us are suffering in silence. I talk about this in detail in my post, “… looks like rest.” I want to spend the rest of my time on this earth magnifying and shedding light on this very serious problem. If I can help just one other fellow Black sister feel seen, then I made a difference.

So while the aim of this blog was to focus in on my lived experience as a Black woman, at the end of the day, I’m still human and some of this stuff is gonna resonate regardless of your skin color or gender. As long as you can be civil and bring something of value, you are welcome at this cookout.

Until next time, I wish you nothing but sunshine, rainbows, and unicorns, which are no less fictitious than the badass, beautiful, bodacious creature you are.