The Wayward one
I’ve long been what some might call the “black sheep” of my family, but that phrase never sat right with me. A more accurate term is the wayward one—not because I lost my way, but because I chose a different path. I became a hermit from my immediate family first feeling a sense of failure or shame, but though those feelings once shaped my distance. Through healing and reflection, I came to understand that what truly separated me was my refusal to participate in the cycles of harm that defined our dynamic. The break wasn’t abandonment—it was an act of self-preservation, a refusal to carry forward what I knew had to end with me.
While “black sheep” is often used to describe someone like me, it carries problematic racial connotations that deserve scrutiny. Though the term originated from the idea that sheep with dark wool were less commercially valuable, the metaphor has come to imply that anything black is undesirable or deviant. In Western culture, “black” is frequently associated with impurity, disorder, and wrongdoing—consider phrases like “blacklist,” “black mark,” or “black magic.” In contrast, “white” is tied to purity, innocence, and moral virtue. These associations aren’t just symbolic; they reflect and reinforce the logic of white supremacy and anti-Blackness. Even when used casually, language like this subtly upholds a racialized hierarchy of value and normalcy.
For those of us who live at the margins—whether in families or in society—words matter. Choosing to describe myself as the wayward one is about reclaiming my narrative. It reflects not exile, but conscious divergence; not shame, but survival. I didn’t wander—I walked away, with purpose, and for good reason.