Tag: intersectionality

What I do here…

What I do here…

The work I do here (and especially here) is rooted in belonging, perception, and inequity. That’s the foundation, everything will branch from here. My hope is that you feed off the fruit of these roots, taking what you have learned here, and plant your own 

Do I know why I am here?

Do I know why I am here?

Do I know why I am here? This is something I have been looking for an answer to for quite some time. It doesn’t matter what room I’m in, what space I occupy, I do so with the attitude that I am where I’m supposed 

Am I Good Enough?

Am I Good Enough?

Being Black in America is knowing you’re good enough, smart enough, capable enough…and when you’re finally recognized for it, you question if you even deserved it.

America has taught us that we need to be better. That we not only have to demonstrate our worthiness, but prove why we deserve to be where we are.

And then tells us we only got it because of the color of our skin. I actually started to believe that.

I was conflicted with my growth in the social media world in just a few short months, when I have been sharing my story for far longer than that. It isn’t lost on me why so many found me and flocked to my page(s).

I cried when I initially wrote this. And I cried when I shared it on Instagram. I questioned my worth. I doubted my talent. And that is something I couldn’t shake. It broke me.

Tiffy, Black Autistic woman, from the chest up. She is closed mouth smiling and looking at the camera. Her hair is wavy and black and falls below her shoulders.

Everything I knew to be true about myself, I doubted. I was unsure of.

I have always felt as though I had something to say. I felt as though I was an exceptional writer who was going to change the world with my pen.

They just didn’t know me yet.

I thought the work I was doing was of my own creation and I was in control of my rise and fall. I learned early on this wasn’t the case.

I knew why I was muffled, screaming into the wind. It wasn’t because my content wasn’t relatable. It wasn’t because I’m not a good writer. It wasn’t because I didn’t have anything to say.

My voice was drowned out in a community that neglects its members who have faces like mine. But one day, they would hear me. I believed that.

However, the same reason I was lost here, was the same reason I was found. This is a spot I didn’t envision myself being in. Not here. Not online. I wanted to move people in such a way that they wanted to follow our journey.

I spent so much time sitting with my feelings on this. All the doubt, confusion, pain, fear…I sat with it all. I wanted to feel worthy of the “success” I was experiencing.

Was I worth it? How good am I to those who are now a big part of my community? Why are they here? Why are they in my spaces? It was like I needed to be convinced of how good I was…as a writer, an advocate, a mother, a friend…

I remember something my grandma told me many years ago, she said, “it doesn’t matter what brought them here, what matters is that you made them stay.” And that is what I am trying to live by here. It matters not how they found me, I was the one who made them stay. You don’t have to be here. You don’t have to follow me. You don’t have to read my posts. You don’t have to read this blog. Or this post.

But you are here. You stayed. And that was because you saw something in me and my content that made you want to stick around. I have to remember that I am good enough, smart enough, and worthy.