Scratchin' and Survivin'
Black folks take pride in our survival skills (as we should…we have and will overcome innumerable obstacles). But we can’t get stuck there. An over-emphasis on mere survival fuels unhealthy behaviors and thought processes in our community. It encourages the over-worked, borderline-depressed, emotionally-abused sista to just keeping churning because you’re not just any woman—you’re a “strong black woman.” It encourages the burgeoning young scholar to enter the loan-bearing bowels of higher education despite her calling to the arts because you’re not just any kid with a brain—you’re a “talented tenth” “first generation” “ain’t-nobody-got-backpacking-around-Europe-money” kid. We’re carrying so much WEIGHT just trying to survive.
Ironically, this tight-fisted grip on mere survival may be the very thing that destroys us. Despite the pride we’ve taken in psychological superiority to frail privileged minds, we break too. We turn to alcohol and drugs and reckless sex and pills and reckless spending and any number of empty vices to assuage our very human pain and we fucking self-destruct. We’re not built just to survive—we’re built to live. We need hugs and dreams and TLC need butterflies and chocolate and rainbows need laughter and kisses and sunshine need to understand that this does not make us weak—it makes us strong.
