Song of Inspiration: Jamila Woods- Holy
“Help me to walk alone ahead
Though I walk through the darkest valley I will fear no love
Oh my smile my mind reassure me I don’t need no one
Woke up this morning with my mind set on loving me”
It is so important as a woman, especially for black women, to intentionally spend a period of our lifetime single. I had a college boyfriend, which meant that throughout the majority of my college years everyone knew that belonged to a specific person. When you saw me, you usually saw him and when you didn’t most people would ask me where he was. I wasn’t whole without him, there was nothing interesting about me without him. I thought that was normal.
February 2016 I turned 21, my boyfriend who was 23 at the time was happy to take me out to 21+ clubs and bars to celebrate and we, along with other friends and had a great time. But not long after that I realized how unhappy I was with having a ‘boyfriend’. My 21st birthday symbolized a certain type of freedom, legally, but that didn’t coincide with my emotional freedom. Emotionally I was tied to this ‘boyfriend’.
Throughout my teenage and college years I always had been in some type of romantic relationship. I remember boys who called themselves my “hubby” and bought me clothes and stuffed animals in middle school. As I got older I became accustomed to moving from one heartbreak into the next. I didn’t know how to be without a guy’s commitment and adoration. I worked a males love into my individual identity. I was also crippled by the belief that the best way to get over one guy was to get on top of another…not always in the literal sense.
Upon turning 21 is when I realized that I wanted to challenge myself. I broke up with my college boyfriend to the surprise of my peers and then I lived the ‘single lifestyle’.
For the majority of my senior year I’d promised myself I’d stay single and explore, that’s what college is for right? I dated Mexican guys, Indian Guys, Black guys and a Pakistani guy….no white guys…but I did explore. I realized quickly that the ‘single life’ that is portrayed as the most enjoyable experience in film and television was just a draining emotional warfare. Why would anyone put themselves through this? It was difficult remembering which guy told me what or what funny story I shared with who.
When August came I changed my personal definition of single from:
Single – (adj.) not being in any committed relationships
To
Single – (verb) focused on maintaining a strong relationship with myself
I knew that operating within this new definition of singleness was the only way that I would be able to satisfy whatever void I was trying to fill. And because my body is a holy vessel that void was not allowed to be my vagina and could not be filed by penal penetration.
“I’m not lonely, I’m alone. And I’m holy, by my own”
The only way that I could maintain this holy vessel was to protect the relationship I had with myself and my body from flaky, horny men. And because the media loves to portray the black female body as being most valuable as objects of sexual gratification I must protect myself from all men. Because in the same way that I can’t help but think about fries when I think of McDonald’s (a main subject in their advertisements); I know that men can’t help but let thoughts of sex invade their mind when they see me. This is because of over sexualized black women, like Rhianna singing songs like “Sex with me so a-ma-zing”. Couldn’t something else amazing about me be focused on??
Western culture has a history of sexually objectifying black bodies. Black women where gruesomely tortured in sexual experiments, raped daily by their masters, denied the choice of forming their own romantic relationships and humiliated. Black female bodies were put on display in freak shows, dissected in experiments, torn apart and poked & prodded by strangers and we continue to be objects of objectification. Saartjie Baartman in 19th century Europe was put on display in a freak show under the name Hottentot Venus because of the size of her rear end. Female slaves were almost guaranteed to live a life trying to avoid constant sexual objectification. Men were forced to watch their wives being molested. Slaves were breaded among each other and with their masters.
We never owned our bodies, our private parts or sacred pieces. And now we think we do.
Many women in my family and friends (all black) have shared stories with me about being taken advantage of. All at different ages and by different men in their lives. Black women are more likely to be raped than white women and the perpetrators are less likely to be prosecuted for the crime. According to the Dallas Times Herald, “the average prison term for a man convicted of raping a black woman was two years, whereas the average term for raping a Hispanic woman was five years and for raping a white woman ten” (Kennedy, 73). Black bodies are not valued in this society, they never were.
This is why I made the conscious choice to be single. I didn’t know how huge of an impact it would have on me. Refusing to go on any dates or have any sleepovers was empowering. I spent a lot of valuable time with myself, I cleansed my spirit of emotional baggage, worry, stress. There isn’t anyone that I hope calls me before bed, or texts me in the morning, there is no guy that makes me feel anxious butterflies and there is no one to impress. At one point I wondered what I would think about if I wasn’t daydreaming about someone’s abs or smile but now I know that there is so much more space in my mind and every woman should know how that feels.
I choose to be single because my ancestors were not allowed to make that choice.
I choose to reserve my body because black bodies continue to be viewed as property and so many of us to do not feel empowered enough to make that choice.
I choose to own my own body, my mind, my spirit and use to it only for the benefit and pleasure of myself and no one else.
If you’re not happy in a committed relationship, then strengthen the one that you have with yourself because that is a large part of the reason for your dissatisfaction. Now I won’t even let a man get any credit in my fantasies.
I dare you to try it.
“My cup is full up, what I got is enough
Nobody completes me, don’t mess with my stuff”
References:
Kennedy, Randall. Race, Crime, and the Law. New York: Pantheon Books, 1997. Print.
