Dear Black Womxn,
This letter is crafted with the wisdom of our ancestors, the warmth of the sun, and the ways of the academy. In these three spaces, I come to you with a strong serving of Midlife Magic.
What you are about to read is an arts-based, auto-ethnographic adventure that explores the healing spaces that bookended my experience of inclusionary isolation during my Elsewhere Museum artist-in-residency experience. The main purpose of this project is to provide an unapologetic permission to Black people, especially my fellow Sista Queens, to press pause and pursue joy. The implications of my research are directly connected to disrupting the Strong Black Womxn narrative and activating a new conversation about Black Joy and healing in, with, and through nature.
As an auto-ethnography, I will primarily focus on my story. However, this adventure will weave in a creative non-fiction conversation with a Black (wo)mannequin from the Elsewhere Museum collection named I-Sis. Now that you know the who, the what, and the why, let me throw in one more thing to set the tone of what you are about to read:
Often times we hear the saying “Black girl magic,” but what does that imply when we are grown womxn? On the opposite end of that spectrum rests the “angry Black womxn.” But what does THAT imply when there are real reasons for us to be angry? During my time in Greensboro, NC., I was at neither end. I was smack dab in the middle.
I am a 46-year-old, round up to 47 in about 30 days, Black womxn who is creating a new chapter in her life. A chapter that is filled with magic and new beginnings. A chapter that actively and unapologetically pursues joy. I am trying on new hats and dropping old capes. I’m here to tell you; I am not angry, and I am far from being a girl. I am a grown ass Black womxn makin’ grown ass midlife magic. Hello, somebody!
I Dropped my Cape and I Don’t Want it Back!
As most of us know by now, the Strong Black Womxn (SBW) phenomena and Superwomxn schema (SWS) narratives are frequently heard throughout the course of our lives. SWS suggests that Black womxn feel both an obligation to help others and present an image of strength at the expense of suppressing one’s own emotions (Woods-Giscombe, 2010). This multi-generational narrative becomes engrained into the subconscious minds of Black womxn to the extent that one may feel “guilty” for engaging in brief bouts of self-restoration.
If I stop to think about it, I don’t think I ever saw my Mama take her cape off. She worked two jobs and sometimes three. She attended ALL my school functions. She baked cinnamon rolls for the church. I think the only time I saw Mama rest was when she ate dinner and then fell asleep watching tv. I don’t think that really counts as rest; that seems more like exhaustion. Can I get an “Amen?”
Long time ago, I decided that I didn’t want to wear that supershero cape that threatened to strangle the life out of me. Even as a single parent, I knew I didn’t want to set this example for my daughter. I needed her to bear witness to a different story; I need YOU, my fellow Sista Queens, to bear witness, too. So, I kindly invite YOU to take a seat, as witnessed in the video, and ask yourself the following question - “How do I change the narrative?”
No Time to Sit?
Black womxn express that they are the primary caregivers of their households and responsible for a variety of household tasks ranging from childcare, meal preparation, laundry, and cleaning. This second “job” provides little to no time to engage in self-restoration practices (Bopp et al., 2007; Joseph, Ainsworth et al., 2015). Now, don’t get me wrong, I fully acknowledge that all these things need to be taken care of. Hell, I’ve even heard Black womxn tell me at conferences, “Chris, if I don’t do it, it won’t get done.” Does that sound familiar to you?
During my last conference presentation, when I heard that statement, I chuckled and responded with, “Okay, Sista Queen. I hear you. But, let me promise you this… If tonight you should happen to take your last breath, I guarantee you that the kids will be taken care of, the house WILL eventually get cleaned, ain’t no one gonna starve, the laundry may pile up but eventually it will get done! Plus, if you are worried about your job, don’t be!! Your position will be posted within the next 30 days and if you are a really valuable employee it may post in 45.”
If you can relate to any of that, I invite you to drop that metaphorical cape associated with being the Strong Black Womxn and simply sit. Do you accept?
Who Cares for the Caregiver?
Audre Lorde once wrote, “caring for myself is not self-indulgence, it is self-preservation, and that is an act of political warfare (1988, pg. iv).” As you may have noticed, I prefer the term “self-restoration” over “self-care.” Why? I’m glad you asked!
If you watched my TEDx talk, you may recall me saying, “The term self-care has been overused, misused, and even abused throughout the decades. Often, it is associated with manicures, pedicures, lavish trips, and things in a bottle” (Carter, 2020). Most of us do enjoy these things. I know I do! But what happens when we want care and there are no funds to support the need? Or even worse, what if there is no human to provide the service? This, I propose, is why Mother Earth answers the question, “who cares for the caregiver?”
To return to Lorde: I agree with her declaration; however, I believe that neither term, “self-care” nor “self-preservation,” speak to the divine power of communing with Mother Earth (nature). We, Black womxn, need a self-restoration movement. An opportunity to be restored to those special places where connection to self, others, and nature can yield new knowledge and a greater sense of personal peace and joy. Oh, how can I forget the most important part? What do you see when you take a moment to look at the first four letters in “restoration?”- Let me spell it out for you R-E-S-T!
The Significance of Rest
On April 16, 1973, my grandma journaled, “Rest. Uncle SAM (Sun Moon Star) will tell you more.” For the last 16 months, I have listened to Uncle SAM. During that time, especially the last six months, I developed a deep appreciation for eco-narratives and eco-presencing. That's just academic language for stories about nature and lessons from being present in and with nature. For me, that meant observing trees, caterpillars, an owl, and a series of luna moths. With each communication, amplified by the energy of the sun or moon, I am shown pieces of my divine assignment which is to connect with others by creating and holding spaces of self-restoration and healing.
When I honor my assignment and create those spaces for self, I intentionally slow down. I “lose” my phone. I don’t turn on the television. Sometimes, I just remain naked all day. Oops! Was that a WTMI? Oh well, we fam. Please know that there is a sacredness in the space of slowing our bodies and our minds to be able to pause the rest of the world while we enjoy something as simple as a breeze (Walker, 1997). Clothing optional breeze in my book. Haha.
Why WE need healing spaces?
We, Black womxn, have been hurt, harmed, discarded, and dismissed for centuries. Whether we choose to look at the generational trauma or just the everyday trials of being us, there is always a need for healing. My research proposes a different approach to healing. I don't want the wounded healing approach where “people bearing the scars of suffering share their stories;” (Richardson, 2017, p. 285) rather, I want the “joyful illumination” kind that shines a light one what is right with Black womxn. Now, THAT's a special way to honor and encourage Black joy. Let's share THOSE stories.
Before I share more of the “why,” I want to put on my public health hat and frame my next two reasons with “I hate the deficit narrative. I really do!” According to a study conducted by Taylor et al, “older Black women who were extremely socially isolated were three times more likely to die within five years of the interview as compared to those who were not socially isolated” (Taylor, et. al, 2016, p. 446). My temporary experience in Greensboro dealt with inclusionary isolation which is the opposite of social isolation because I was still around people. The pain, for me, was just as real. However, imagine how other Black womxn, especially our elders, who aren’t surrounded by anyone, feel daily?
My second reason is supported by Hines and Thorpe's (2019) article for the American Heart Association (AHA). According to the AHA, Black womxn between the ages of 18 and 35 are 58% more likely to have high blood pressure. Now, ya know I am not in that age range. I am closer to 50 than I am 35. So, to speak to my Midlife Magic Makers, AHA added that 75.7% of Black womxn will develop hypertension before the age of 55. THAT STRESS IS KILLING US.
Conclusion
As Black womxn, we are already marginalized based on race AND gender. At this intersection, some Black womxn already feel as if they don’t belong. This feeling magnifies the feeling of isolation (Baszille, 2017) and warrants a significant call to action. In the words of Crowell and Waite, we must “optimize social relationships or adjust expectations” (2009, p. 32).
My art, teachings, and research systematically support the creation and holding of space for Black womxn to experience self-restoration and healing while being present with others and nature. So, if you have ever experienced “isolation,” consider this your personal “invitation” to feel the warmth of the sun and receive the wisdom of our ancestors while we embrace “inclusion” for the purpose of joyful illumination and healing. Until next time…
Inhale Light. Exhale Light. Be light!
Chris “The Health Hippie” Omni, MPH
This letter is crafted with the wisdom of our ancestors, the warmth of the sun, and the ways of the academy. In these three spaces, I come to you with a strong serving of Midlife Magic.
What you are about to read is an arts-based, auto-ethnographic adventure that explores the healing spaces that bookended my experience of inclusionary isolation during my Elsewhere Museum artist-in-residency experience. The main purpose of this project is to provide an unapologetic permission to Black people, especially my fellow Sista Queens, to press pause and pursue joy. The implications of my research are directly connected to disrupting the Strong Black Womxn narrative and activating a new conversation about Black Joy and healing in, with, and through nature.
As an auto-ethnography, I will primarily focus on my story. However, this adventure will weave in a creative non-fiction conversation with a Black (wo)mannequin from the Elsewhere Museum collection named I-Sis. Now that you know the who, the what, and the why, let me throw in one more thing to set the tone of what you are about to read:
Often times we hear the saying “Black girl magic,” but what does that imply when we are grown womxn? On the opposite end of that spectrum rests the “angry Black womxn.” But what does THAT imply when there are real reasons for us to be angry? During my time in Greensboro, NC., I was at neither end. I was smack dab in the middle.
I am a 46-year-old, round up to 47 in about 30 days, Black womxn who is creating a new chapter in her life. A chapter that is filled with magic and new beginnings. A chapter that actively and unapologetically pursues joy. I am trying on new hats and dropping old capes. I’m here to tell you; I am not angry, and I am far from being a girl. I am a grown ass Black womxn makin’ grown ass midlife magic. Hello, somebody!
I Dropped my Cape and I Don’t Want it Back!
As most of us know by now, the Strong Black Womxn (SBW) phenomena and Superwomxn schema (SWS) narratives are frequently heard throughout the course of our lives. SWS suggests that Black womxn feel both an obligation to help others and present an image of strength at the expense of suppressing one’s own emotions (Woods-Giscombe, 2010). This multi-generational narrative becomes engrained into the subconscious minds of Black womxn to the extent that one may feel “guilty” for engaging in brief bouts of self-restoration.
If I stop to think about it, I don’t think I ever saw my Mama take her cape off. She worked two jobs and sometimes three. She attended ALL my school functions. She baked cinnamon rolls for the church. I think the only time I saw Mama rest was when she ate dinner and then fell asleep watching tv. I don’t think that really counts as rest; that seems more like exhaustion. Can I get an “Amen?”
Long time ago, I decided that I didn’t want to wear that supershero cape that threatened to strangle the life out of me. Even as a single parent, I knew I didn’t want to set this example for my daughter. I needed her to bear witness to a different story; I need YOU, my fellow Sista Queens, to bear witness, too. So, I kindly invite YOU to take a seat, as witnessed in the video, and ask yourself the following question - “How do I change the narrative?”
No Time to Sit?
Black womxn express that they are the primary caregivers of their households and responsible for a variety of household tasks ranging from childcare, meal preparation, laundry, and cleaning. This second “job” provides little to no time to engage in self-restoration practices (Bopp et al., 2007; Joseph, Ainsworth et al., 2015). Now, don’t get me wrong, I fully acknowledge that all these things need to be taken care of. Hell, I’ve even heard Black womxn tell me at conferences, “Chris, if I don’t do it, it won’t get done.” Does that sound familiar to you?
During my last conference presentation, when I heard that statement, I chuckled and responded with, “Okay, Sista Queen. I hear you. But, let me promise you this… If tonight you should happen to take your last breath, I guarantee you that the kids will be taken care of, the house WILL eventually get cleaned, ain’t no one gonna starve, the laundry may pile up but eventually it will get done! Plus, if you are worried about your job, don’t be!! Your position will be posted within the next 30 days and if you are a really valuable employee it may post in 45.”
If you can relate to any of that, I invite you to drop that metaphorical cape associated with being the Strong Black Womxn and simply sit. Do you accept?
Who Cares for the Caregiver?
Audre Lorde once wrote, “caring for myself is not self-indulgence, it is self-preservation, and that is an act of political warfare (1988, pg. iv).” As you may have noticed, I prefer the term “self-restoration” over “self-care.” Why? I’m glad you asked!
If you watched my TEDx talk, you may recall me saying, “The term self-care has been overused, misused, and even abused throughout the decades. Often, it is associated with manicures, pedicures, lavish trips, and things in a bottle” (Carter, 2020). Most of us do enjoy these things. I know I do! But what happens when we want care and there are no funds to support the need? Or even worse, what if there is no human to provide the service? This, I propose, is why Mother Earth answers the question, “who cares for the caregiver?”
To return to Lorde: I agree with her declaration; however, I believe that neither term, “self-care” nor “self-preservation,” speak to the divine power of communing with Mother Earth (nature). We, Black womxn, need a self-restoration movement. An opportunity to be restored to those special places where connection to self, others, and nature can yield new knowledge and a greater sense of personal peace and joy. Oh, how can I forget the most important part? What do you see when you take a moment to look at the first four letters in “restoration?”- Let me spell it out for you R-E-S-T!
The Significance of Rest
On April 16, 1973, my grandma journaled, “Rest. Uncle SAM (Sun Moon Star) will tell you more.” For the last 16 months, I have listened to Uncle SAM. During that time, especially the last six months, I developed a deep appreciation for eco-narratives and eco-presencing. That's just academic language for stories about nature and lessons from being present in and with nature. For me, that meant observing trees, caterpillars, an owl, and a series of luna moths. With each communication, amplified by the energy of the sun or moon, I am shown pieces of my divine assignment which is to connect with others by creating and holding spaces of self-restoration and healing.
When I honor my assignment and create those spaces for self, I intentionally slow down. I “lose” my phone. I don’t turn on the television. Sometimes, I just remain naked all day. Oops! Was that a WTMI? Oh well, we fam. Please know that there is a sacredness in the space of slowing our bodies and our minds to be able to pause the rest of the world while we enjoy something as simple as a breeze (Walker, 1997). Clothing optional breeze in my book. Haha.
Why WE need healing spaces?
We, Black womxn, have been hurt, harmed, discarded, and dismissed for centuries. Whether we choose to look at the generational trauma or just the everyday trials of being us, there is always a need for healing. My research proposes a different approach to healing. I don't want the wounded healing approach where “people bearing the scars of suffering share their stories;” (Richardson, 2017, p. 285) rather, I want the “joyful illumination” kind that shines a light one what is right with Black womxn. Now, THAT's a special way to honor and encourage Black joy. Let's share THOSE stories.
Before I share more of the “why,” I want to put on my public health hat and frame my next two reasons with “I hate the deficit narrative. I really do!” According to a study conducted by Taylor et al, “older Black women who were extremely socially isolated were three times more likely to die within five years of the interview as compared to those who were not socially isolated” (Taylor, et. al, 2016, p. 446). My temporary experience in Greensboro dealt with inclusionary isolation which is the opposite of social isolation because I was still around people. The pain, for me, was just as real. However, imagine how other Black womxn, especially our elders, who aren’t surrounded by anyone, feel daily?
My second reason is supported by Hines and Thorpe's (2019) article for the American Heart Association (AHA). According to the AHA, Black womxn between the ages of 18 and 35 are 58% more likely to have high blood pressure. Now, ya know I am not in that age range. I am closer to 50 than I am 35. So, to speak to my Midlife Magic Makers, AHA added that 75.7% of Black womxn will develop hypertension before the age of 55. THAT STRESS IS KILLING US.
Conclusion
As Black womxn, we are already marginalized based on race AND gender. At this intersection, some Black womxn already feel as if they don’t belong. This feeling magnifies the feeling of isolation (Baszille, 2017) and warrants a significant call to action. In the words of Crowell and Waite, we must “optimize social relationships or adjust expectations” (2009, p. 32).
My art, teachings, and research systematically support the creation and holding of space for Black womxn to experience self-restoration and healing while being present with others and nature. So, if you have ever experienced “isolation,” consider this your personal “invitation” to feel the warmth of the sun and receive the wisdom of our ancestors while we embrace “inclusion” for the purpose of joyful illumination and healing. Until next time…
Inhale Light. Exhale Light. Be light!
Chris “The Health Hippie” Omni, MPH