Guarded: How I Learned To Love The Walls I've Built
"You're too guarded," he said.
This was his reason. This was why he couldn't see me for me even after the better part of a year spent loving and building together.
I cried on the other side of the phone because I felt that I'd been more open with him than anyone else in my past. Hell, we'd started dating after he was my friend through a terrible breakup. How could he not see me?
“What does that even mean?" I asked through tears, “I love you. I've been there for you through all of this. And you've been there for me…I've shared some of my worst secrets with you…"
“That…right there…you said 'some'. That is how I always feel---that I am getting some of you. I can't do that anymore."
I replayed that conversation over and over in my head for months. I combed my mind to identify the times that I hadn't been completely transparent with the man who I loved and then it occurred to me---I had been. It didn't take on the form that maybe he wanted but I had cut open my chest and showed him how my heart beat…what more could I do?
I used to rebuke the part of me that didn't make a new best friend in every social setting. I despised my unwillingness to share all of my truths at every ladies' night. I ridiculed my inability to be an open book in past relationships.
I've always been selective with my sharing because I've always been observant.
I grew up in a household with two people who were more sensitive than a newborn baby's soft spot. I've seen what betrayal does to a man who accepts people without judgment for a living (my father was a writer). I know all too well what disappointment does to a woman whose heart is always in the right place even when her words cut a little too deep (my mother is a dancer with a heart of gold and a mouth like a bow and arrow). I know what people do to people----so I watch.
And wait.
Waiting has taught me this: my walls haven't been built for fear of the opposition but in honor of the beauty inside of me.
[Tweet "My walls have been built to honor the beauty inside of me."]
Every single one of the friends/lovers who have rallied for my transparency proved themselves to be people who wanted access to the depths of me just to say they saw what I had inside…not because they actually wanted the responsibility of protecting it.
Know how I know?
Because they didn't realize they had access until it was gone.
[Tweet "You owe no one a seat at the table of your soul unless they've proven themselves worthy."]
Let me tell you what worthy looks like. Worthy sees the light you thought you lost to the darkness in your mind. Worthy knows when something's wrong before the first tear falls. Worthy uplifts and makes you whole again. Worthy is nothing less than peace in the middle of your storm.
But more than anything: worthy never needs an invitation to prove itself. It just performs.
You are not destined to be alone and friendless because your transparency requires more than weekly brunches, happy hours, and mani/pedis staged for Instagram pictures. You are not impossible to love because you don't want to share the story behind every scar that you wear. You are not “too strong", “too closed off", “too weary of others", or any of the other “too-s".
You are protecting your light. And in this world, that's enough of a fight. The battle to make your friends/lovers feel comfortable in their position in your life---let it go.
Have you ever struggled with being "too guarded"? How did you learn to embrace that part of you? Let us know in the comments below!
- It Sucks Being Guarded And Difficult To Love | Thought Catalog ›
- 27 Ways You're As Emotionally Guarded As Drake ›
- Emotionally Unavailable: What It Means and How to Fix It | Greatist ›
- 6 Signs You May Be Emotionally Unavailable ›
- Are You Emotionally Guarded? | HubPages ›
- 10 Signs Your Partner Has A Guarded Heart ›
- Cold As Ice: 12 Signs That You're Emotionally Unavailable ... ›
ItGirl 100 Honors Black Women Who Create Culture & Put On For Their Cities
As they say, create the change you want to see in this world, besties. That’s why xoNecole linked up with Hyundai for the inaugural ItGirl 100 List, a celebration of 100 Genzennial women who aren’t afraid to pull up their own seats to the table. Across regions and industries, these women embody the essence of discovering self-value through purpose, honey! They're fierce, they’re ultra-creative, and we know they make their cities proud.
VIEW THE FULL ITGIRL 100 LIST HERE.
Don’t forget to also check out the ItGirl Directory, featuring 50 Black-woman-owned marketing and branding agencies, photographers and videographers, publicists, and more.
THE ITGIRL MEMO
I. An ItGirl puts on for her city and masters her self-worth through purpose.
II. An ItGirl celebrates all the things that make her unique.
III. An ItGirl empowers others to become the best versions of themselves.
IV. An ItGirl leads by example, inspiring others through her actions and integrity.
V. An ItGirl paves the way for authenticity and diversity in all aspects of life.
VI. An ItGirl uses the power of her voice to advocate for positive change in the world.
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It’s been nearly twenty years since India.Arie’s crown anthem, “I am not my hair,” gave Black women an affirmation to live by. What followed was a natural hair revolution that birthed a new level of self-love and acceptance. Concerns around how to better care for our hair birthed an entire new generation of entrepreneurs who benefitted from the power of the Black dollar. Retailers made room for product lines made for us, by us, on their shelves, and we further affirmed that though our hair doesn’t define us, it is part of our unique self-expression.
Today, that movement has turned into a wig uprising where Black women are able to experiment with colors, styles, and more without causing irreparable damage to our hair. It could even be said that we’ve arrived at a new level of acceptance: one that does not equate love of oneself to one’s willingness or lack thereof to wear her hair the way others deem acceptable. Not even other people who look like us.
However, as with Blackness itself, the issue of Black women’s hair is layered.
On the surface, it’s nothing more than a matter of personal preference. However, in a deeper dive, issues of texture, curl pattern, and of course, proximity to social acceptance, as well as other runoff streams from the waters of racism and patriarchy, rear their heads. The natural hair movement, though a wide-reaching and liberating community builder, also gave way to colorism and often upheld mainstream beauty standards.
Sometimes, favoring lighter-skinned influencers/creators with very specific hair textures, the white gaze leaked into our safe space and forced us to reckon with it. Accurate representations of natural hair in various states of being—undefined curls, kinks, and unlaid edges—are still absent from brand marketing. Protective styles, though intended to provide breaks from styling for our sensitive hair, have become a mask to help our hair be more palatable. A figurative straddle of the fence in order to appease the comfort of others in the face of our hair’s power.
And then there’s the issue of length.
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As a woman who has spent much of the last decade voluntarily wearing her hair in many variations of short hairstyles, from a pixie cut to a curly fro and a sleek bob, what I’ve gleaned throughout the years is that there is a glaring difference between how I am treated when wearing my hair short than when I opt for weaves, extensions or even grow it out slightly longer than my chin.
The differential treatment comes from women and men alike and spans professional and personal settings, including friends, coworkers, and industry peers.
What has become abundantly clear is that long hair is often conflated with beauty, softness, and any number of other words we relate to femininity in a way that short hair is not. That perceived marker of the essence of womanhood shows up in how I am received, communicated with, and complimented.
Even more so than texture, length has a way of deciding who among us is deserving of our attention, affection, and adoration. Whether naturally grown or proudly bought, the commentary around someone’s look or image greatly shifts when “inches” are present.
When it comes to long hair, we really, really do care.
In an effort to understand whether I had simply been misinterpreting the energy around my hair, I decided to take my findings to social media. I began with two side-by-side photos of myself. In both pictures, my hair is straightened; however, in one, I am wearing my signature pixie cut, and in the other, I am wearing extensions.
I posited that treatment based on hair length is a real thing, and what followed was confirmation that I was not alone in my feelings. “Long hair, like light skin, button noses, and being thin are all forms of social capital,” one user commented. “Some Black women enforce the status quo too, why wouldn’t we?”
Courtesy
This also brought to mind the many times celebrity women (like most recently Beyoncé's Cécred hair tutorial) have done big reveals of their own natural tresses in an attempt to silence any doubt that Black women are able to grow their hair beyond a certain length. Of course, we all know that to be true, so why do we still feel the need to prove it so?
The responses continued to pour in from women of all skin tones, who felt that hair length played a role in people’s treatment of them. “When I have short hair I always feel like people don’t treat me like a woman, they treat me like a kid,” another user commented. “When my hair is long I get a lot more respect for some reason.”
From revelations about feeling invisible to admitted shifts in their own perceived beauty, Black woman after Black woman poured out her experience as it relates to hair length. Though affirmed by their shared realities, knowing that reactions to something so trivial have become yet another hair battle for Black women to fight was disheartening. Though we continue to defy gravity and push the bounds of imagination and creativity by way of our strands, will it always be in response to the idea that we are, somehow, falling short?
Unlike more obvious instances of hair discrimination, the glorification of longer length is sneakier in its connection to Eurocentric beauty standards. Hair commercials, beauty ads, and even hip-hop music have long celebrated the idea of gloriously long tresses while holding onto the ignorant notion that it is inaccessible for Black women.
Even as we continue to fight to prove our hair professional, elegant, and worthy in its natural state to the world at large, we’ve also adopted harmful value markers of our own as a community. It’s evident in how we talk about who has the right to start a haircare line and which influencers we easily platform. It’s evident in the language we use to identify those with long hair versus short hair. And it’s painfully obvious in how we treat one another.
It makes me wonder if India.Arie’s brave rallying cry, almost two decades old in its existence, will ever actually hold true for us. Or will we just continue to invent new ways to uphold the harmful status quo?
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Feature image by Willie B. Thomas/ Getty Images