I am 47.
I have observed a lot.
As a Black American woman, I am keenly aware of the erasure of Black American / other Black women from many spaces.
Of lately, I have been noticing how Black women are erased as we get older. I realize that it is because we are devalued and erased from things whilst we are much younger. We are surviving, so we don’t notice it as much. It is only when life slows down do you take great notice that there is no place for you. There are only spaces where other Black women have carved out for you to be safe. Or there are these safe spaces you have carved out for yourself. Perhaps I am wrong. I don’t think I am. Again, these are observations.
As of lately, I have been watching home shows and Black people are completely absent. Couple that with the erasure of Black architects from American architecture history, it feels horrible. It is a quiet horror filled with sadness. I’m left wondering why? Why is the Black family erased from the “home” industry? Why is the clever styling and resilience of Black Women not on display. I keep coming back to erasure.
Often times as a Black American woman, I feel like I am in the “upside down”. I am waiting for the monster to escape and terrorize Black people yet again. You can guess who the monster is… it’s not Black Americans that’s for sure.
But in this upside down, Black people and especially Black women are marginalized and devalued endlessly. It’s constant. It is quiet. It is relentless. And it weather’s you from the inside. It takes decades off your life. It erodes your humanity.
It’s hard to have hope, but we must. I guess you take life day by day. Reaching deep inside to love yourself to protect yourself from global Anti-Blackness and erasure.
I refused to be erased.