LOUD, AMONG OTHER THINGS

Aggressive. Loud. Angry. Too Much. Overreacting. Crazy. A piece of work.

Why is it so hard for people to hear, listen to, and understand Black women? A lot of the things we struggle with and explain are simple concepts. There are groups of people who violently hate us, others who are complicit in their stand, and others who are willfully dumb. I will not go into detail about what conversations I’ve had today about why certain things bother me and thousands of other women. I will, however, talk about why I’m okay being the things that I listed above.

Aggressive. Loud.

When I was 7 there was a boy in my class. He was several inches taller than me, extremely heavy, husky. He was also the cutest boy to most of the girls in my class, but he liked me. We made every effort to sit next to each other in the assembly. One day we were walking to a special assembly (I can’t remember what we were celebrating), and while we were standing in line, he made sure his hands were always touching me in some way. If it wasn’t caressing my arm, it was pinching my butt. When we sat down I made an effort to switch places with the person next to me and he insisted he sit right by me. I was extremely uncomfortable because I was quiet and I didn’t do things to draw attention to myself, especially when I knew I’d get in trouble for talking in the sanctuary (yes, I went to a Christian school). We sat down and he kept shoving his hand under my butt. I would move and repeatedly tell him to stop, and he’d whisper in my ear and tell me to be quiet before we got in trouble for talking. I still remember what he smelled like. Things like this continued to happen until I was 21. So, yes; sometimes I’m aggressive and loud because I’ve always felt like I’m not heard unless I am audibly assertive and vocal about what I’m experiencing.

Angry.

I’m a product of a vibrant, theatrical Scorpio, and a careful but hot-headed Libra. I grew up in a household where I was told I should be comfortable expressing myself and being honest about how things made me feel. Speak up. I was heavily bullied and harassed for being the smallest in the class, ever since I skipped the 3rd grade. I was either the favorite or most disliked for “thinking I was too good to stay in my own grade” - no in between. I did my best to stay true to my chatty, peculiar self, but I wanted to fit in, make friends. I went through a number of things I kept to myself because I thought it would add to the list of reasons people didn’t have to not like me. I suffered in silence about mostly everything. Even when I’d get emotional it wasn’t about what I was REALLY going through. Until 7th grade, and I really could not take it anymore. Things I brought up to teachers got overlooked, blatantly ignored because I was “being dramatic and no joke or game could be that bad.” So I had a mean streak. You do something to piss me off, I’ll make sure you know I’m pissed off. I’ve screamed, written nasty letters, etc. Nothing compared to blacking out. My reasons were always justified yet always misunderstood.

Too Much.

I don’t remember the first time someone told me I was a drama queen or when they told me I do too much. I just know I eventually embraced it. I wear it like a badge of honor because I know who I am, I love my personality, and I love how it’s given me something to laugh at when I need it. I learned to enjoy my own company because others were so bothered by mine. They hated how comfortable with myself I was, how comfortable I am. I’m a generally excited person. Another reason I’m usually loud. I can’t help my voice rising a few octaves when I talk about something I’m passionate about. Sometimes, I’m still a bit shy, but you can tell when I get a grip on my confidence because my voice gets stronger, a bit louder. I am no sorry that I don’t let people dim my light. If that makes me too much, so be it. I will not be shaken. People being intimidated by that is not my problem.

Overreacting.

I was assaulted for the first time when I was 19. When I told this person how wrong I felt (I knew them), they responded with “ok.” That’s it. I wasn’t overreacting. I was dismissed, just like the 18 out of every 100 rape cases that go without arrest.

I won’t even hit on the last two, because if after all of this, you still don’t get it, I’m not sure you ever will. It comes down to listening, understanding, comprehending, having empathy, and changing behavior. Black women rarely get any of these things, and all we’re asking is that you ask us how you can best offer that to us. And when we give you an answer, don’t dismiss or modify it, or give reasons why they won’t work. Just like we give our all to make people feel safe and comfortable, we want the same courtesies.

Xoxo, richelle k.

Female. Queen.

You can add those to the list of words not to call Black women. Period.