Big voice, small body
My journey of self discovery and self acceptance
#1 Confession of a Small black Woman :
I must confess. I have a deep fear of being forgotten.
I try to fill every space with my mind instead of my body so my energy will linger in the rooms I dwell in. Like smoke, I want to be inhaled by strangers. I want people to know me—Not only recognize me by my looks or imagery but I want people to know me by scent. I want to be heard before I enter any room. I want to be felt when I leave anyone’s presence. That is why I create a signature scent or some days when dressed up I wear tons of bangles so you hear me before I come anywhere near you.
I think my fear is partially rooted in my insecurity around my size.
Since a child, I was always smaller than people my age. My personality filled spaces more than my body ever did. I had to be headstrong to be seen. That led me to become a slave to my own ambitions. Such ambition and motivation to be heard made me susceptible to chronic pain. My arms were in pain and worn out from reaching for things I couldn’t reach, my voice was strained from all my attempts of trying to be heard, my back was in pain from carrying the weight of my ancestor’s sins, colorism, trauma and racism. I also used to trip a lot because the shoes I had to fill were bigger than my own feet.
I got headaches early from thinking too much but if you asked my grandma back then she’d say it’s because I was tenderheaded and hardheaded. Tenderheaded because she used to comb out my kinks with my great grandma’s hot comb, and hardheaded because I didn’t listen enough. Everyone told me to straighten out what was natural. I caught hell for not taming myself enough.
I was raised in dem church pews and I sung in church for the Lord. I was the loudest in choir because I carried a singing voice that was strong and deep at only 11 years old. My school churches suggested that I needed to cleanse myself with holy water to override that rebellious spirit of mine while elders would attempt to convince my mama to beat me into submission. I was and am very proactive so the traditional type may ridicule me for indulging in the taboo or saying what needs to be said. I am little like most the women in my family but heavy with personality and energy. Even my name is heavy.
Traditional elders, taught me how to be a woman of class but the duality of black women was always so interesting to me because although they tried to comb out their kinks, hide their sins with big church hats and perfume…there was always another side to them. Those same women who taught me to cross my legs, fold my hands, wear a slip, and be mannerly were the complete opposite of that at home. I learned that to be a BLACK woman is to perform. When they left church they were done filling the role of this perfect pure woman. At home we lost all table etiquette while indulging in soul food and grandma would curse with the same mouth she used to pray. I'm sure that these women felt the same pressure I felt as a child. All my life I’ve been performing. I’ve been stepping out my body to prove that I was bigger than how I appeared. I used to stare in the mirror and find ways to be bigger than I am. I wanted to intimidate—I wanted to be a force to be reckon with. Some may say it’s a napoleon complex because i’m only about 5’0 or 4’11. Whatever it is I can’t be tamed and I won’t be. I am still classy, intelligent and my wildness is beautifully expressed.