My parents made sure that I was never ashamed of being Black when I was growing up. Our house was full of Black art (including a portrait of Black Jesus), we went to a Black church whose denomination was founded by former slaves, and several relatives graduated from HBCUs so Black excellence in the form of education was always emphasized. Similarly, my family was full of strong, knowledgeable, and inspirational women so I never felt like I was inferior because of my gender. Later on in life, when I was beginning the journey of becoming more comfortable with my sexuality, I fortunately had older women who identified as queer in my life to give me advice and offer support. Although I have had positive examples of unapologetic Blackness, womanhood, and queerness in my life I have consistently struggled with openly identifying as all three. It is one thing to be marginalized in one aspect of your identity, but living with the trifecta of lacking privilege in several of the biggest parts of your life has been difficult for me. It is through writing that I have found the strength and encouragement to stand firmly as a Black queer woman.
When I sit down to write every week my mind automatically becomes flooded with thoughts of doubt. In order to counteract these thoughts I remind myself of the legacy of Black queer women who were and are writers, singers, community leaders, and role models. When reflecting on their impact on this world I know that I can speak up and use my voice, and also that I have every right to do so. Through the example of these women I have realized that we deserve to take up space. We do not have to apologize for our existence or hide parts of ourselves to make others comfortable.
I write to speak up for young Black queer girls who, like me when I was younger, are afraid to acknowledge and accept their sexual identity. I write so they know that they are not alone, and so that they can have support on their journey until they reach the point where they are ready to blossom and introduce themselves to the world. I write to directly go against the voices that tell me to sit down, shut up, and cower in fear of others’ authority. I write because my foremothers have paved the way for me, and their spirits inspire me and give me courage every single day.
With my writing, I do not seek to change the world. I do not intend to singlehandedly cause a shift in society’s perceptions about Black LGBTQ women, nor do I intend to be the voice that represents us all. I instead want to touch individual people and create a genuine connection between my words and their spirits. I want to inform people outside of our community about my experiences as a Black queer woman, and also inspire them to learn more.
The words of my “black, lesbian, mother, warrior, poet” foremother Audre Lorde ring true in my head everyday: “I am deliberate and afraid of nothing.” As Black queer women who are marginalized in several aspects of our identity, in order to stand strong and assert ourselves in this world we must be intentional and brave. We must not let our faith in ourselves waver. As Assata Shakur states, “We must love each other and support each other,” because sometimes as Black queer women we are all that we have.
