In Order To Love A Black Man, I Had To First Forgive My Father
I can't lie. Black love feels different since Korryne.
Since Trayvon.
Since Philando.
Since Rodney f--cking King.
It feels more profound and more important.
I haven't been able to write lately because I've been reflecting on what it means to be loved and Black.
When I was 13, my father abandoned us. He abandoned me. The reasons didn't even matter. Ultimately, he was needed and did not show up. He was the first man to ever teach me that love could be temporary. Retracted. That it could dissolve into thin air. It left me wondering why I was so damn insignificant. Wondering what about me could be so easily dismissed.
He was the first man to ever teach me that love could be temporary.
And yet, I couldn't love a Black man until I forgave my father for every wrong thing he ever did.
And I couldn't forgive my father until I forgave myself.
If you're Black, there are two things I know for sure. That you are beautiful and that you are damaged.
I know your parents are likely more damaged than you. And their parents before them, even more so. You don't have to come from degradation or poverty for this to be true. You don't have to come from hell for this to be true. This is true because the condition of the world in which we live is such that we have been conditioned as slaves. Our men have been taken and beaten, our women have been forced to take on things too heavy for their backs. We bent and twisted like tree roots through sidewalks. Unforgivably determined and yet — confined.
It's OK to accept this.
Because it won't change until we accept this.
I can't blame the condition of Black love on the industrial prison complex. I can't blame it on crooked cops. I can't blame it on slave masters who sailed boats filled with Black bodies. There's no place for blame. But understand those things are the reason.
I know that if you're a Black woman it is more likely than not that you have been raped or violently assaulted.
That you have walked out of or into your home feeling unsafe. That you have been told precisely who you are by people who miscalculate your worth. That you have overcompensated for the assumptions on the other side of tables and across rooms. That you may not know your father or feel inconsequential in his eyes. That you keep your chin up because you have to despite a weary neck.
That when people praise you, they are actually praising the generations of women who came before you as well. That you step lightly for no one because you can't afford to be passive. That even though your tongue is sharp and your gaze is fixed, you want to be held and loved and comforted and told everything is alright.
I know that if you're a Black man there has been a narrative written in your name. You may have been raped, beaten, neglected, assaulted and forced to shake it off. That you may have been raised by a tired single mother who didn't have the time or was not taught to think about your emotional development. Who may have leaned on you too hard, too soon and taught you to feel burdened by the opposite sex. That you exist in an alternate reality in which Black men are taken for granted by passers-by — who can't possibly acknowledge that they are walking past kings.
I know these things. We all know these things. And yet we pretend that we don't.
And then there's Black love.
We're thrust into the gravity of each other. Maybe for a night or a summer or possibly a decade or a lifetime.
The Black man and the Black woman who have been given skewed versions of love lessons.
Standing in rooms we didn't choose to be in.
Trying to run from and understand each other at the same time. The tug-of-war is poetic and heartbreaking and life-giving. We write love letters with missing syllables and still dance to its rhythm in pure imagination. But that shit doesn't last.
How do you love someone who may be systematically broken? And who, throughout their life, may break again and again?
I don't pretend to be an expert in the art of Black forgiveness but I do know it begins with forgiving yourself. To stand in front of a mirror, or at a bus stop or before an ocean or on line at the supermarket or at the wake of a new lover's touch and say or think, “I forgive myself."
I FORGIVE MYSELF.
To accept that every painful thing you've experienced was in fact abuse — no matter how insignificant you've been told it was. That you should have been treated better but was not. That you shouldn't have been discarded or ignored or profiled — but you were. To forgive the cracks and missing pieces that exist within yourself and understand those marks are things of beauty. Because we are not what has been done to us. We are walking manifestations of our ancestors' dreams. Every one of us.
If you can forgive yourself a thousand times a day — know that you will have to forgive your lover just the same. You will have to accept that they will hurt you, pull away from you, lie to you, and perhaps leave you. That they may do those things because those things have been done to them by others. Or by you.
And then you have to accept how important this process is. The static in the air right now is solidifying.
We are at war.
We do have to fight back.
We do have to be aggressive.
We do have to be relentless.
But if Black people are standing on a battlefield, make no mistake — our greatest weapon is the ability to be loving.
To ourselves, to our lovers, to our children.
To our oppressors who are cowardly waiting for us to retreat.
Ashley Simpo is a writer, mother and advocate for self-care and healthy relationships. She lives in Brooklyn, NY. Follow her on Instagram and Twitter @ashleysimpo. Check out her work and her musings on ashleysimpocreative.com.
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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Megan Thee Stallion Shares Her Transformative Approach To Health And Wellness
Megan Thee Stallion is back and better than ever — both physically and mentally.
ForWomen’s Health May/June 2024 cover, the 29-year-old rapper bared all, opening up about her healing journey following the aftermath of the July 2020 shooting incident by rapper Tory Lanez.
“A lot of people didn’t treat me like I was human for a long time,” she told the publication. “I feel like everybody was always used to me being the fun and happy party girl. I watched people build me up, tear me down, and be confused about their expectations of me.”
She continued, “As a Black woman, as a darker Black woman, I also feel like people expect me to take the punches, take the beating, take the lashings, and handle it with grace. But I’m human.”
While the “Savage” artist exudes confidence through her stage presence and boisterous lyrics, behind the scenes, Megan was experiencing a silent battle with her mental health. “Before I went onstage, I would be crying half the time because I didn’t want to [perform], but I also didn’t want to upset my fans,” she says.
With pressures from the outside world piling up, Megan experienced “dark times,” that caused her to isolate from the public eye.
“I didn’t want to get [out] from under the covers,” she recalls. “I stayed in my room. I would not turn the lights on. I had blackout curtains. I didn’t want to see the sun. I knew I wasn’t myself. It took me a while to acknowledge that I was depressed. But once I started talking to a therapist, I was able to be truthful with myself.”
The “Wanna Be” rapper also details her current workout slip and diet that work hand in hand, giving her the mental clarity and stamina to perform at her highest level. For four to five days a week, Megan is locked in with one of her two trainers, Emory “Joc” Bernard and Tim Boutte, doing a variety of workouts like Pilates, running up and down sand hills at the beach, or hitting the StairMaster or elliptical for upwards of 40 minutes.
Best known for her “Megan knees,” leg day is a must — with hip thrusts, goblet squats, leg extensions, and “stallion kicks,” being included in her circuits.
With a combination of therapy, stepping away from imbalanced relationships, and daily movement, the Houston Hottie has since been able to reconnect with herself on a deeper level; putting her happiness before the opinions of others. “Working on myself made me get into working out because I needed to focus my energy somewhere else,” she shares. “I used working out to escape and to get happy.”
“I’m in a space where I feel good mentally, so I want to look as good as I feel.”
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Featured image by Dia Dipasupil/Getty Images