With confident eyes, I looked back at the white man, making sure that he knew that I saw him staring at me and, that I wasn’t going anywhere. That I had a right to be in that parking lot, taking up space.
He never smiled nor waved and after what must have been a good minute or more, he walked into the building. It would not have surprised me if this man had called the police.
This also happened to be during Black History Month, February 2020, adding insult to injury.
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“God woke me up
With a symphony of nature
A choir of birds flew into my dreams…”
I usually wake up once or twice in the night but last night I slept all night long. Safe and sound, like a baby resting on her parent’s chest. So grateful for this contrast to my previous anxiety-filled weeks.
Slowly waking up, the birds sounded distant. They were resting on the trees right next to the balcony.
They began to sing loud. Louder. And louder still. As if God, their conductor, guided them into a crescendo.
I listened as my body and senses began to wake up. Basking in their harmonious sounds. Very near to where I lay, they continued to sing while the sky was too dark to capture their image.
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As a black woman of faith, I personally haven’t heard of enough talks about suicide prevention. Not in the church. Not amongst friends. Not in enough work-related trainings... some but not enough.
Yet I am in one of the most marginalized groups, having brown/black skin.
Add to that, being a woman.
Add to that, being a woman of faith, mostly dominated by men.
Add to that, being fat, for most of my life in a culture OBSESSED with diets, weight loss and being thin.
Add to that being a mother/grandmother of black and brown sons/daughters.
Everyday, I am exhausted.
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