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Monday, September 21, 2015

I love myself.

I can't believe I allowed myself to be in a relationship where I constantly questioned my worth because most times I interacted with that person, I had to deal with mood swings and an overall bad attitude.

 I've been using the past two months to learn about self-love and to change the way I see myself. People have always told me that I'm smart, or driven, articulate, focused, sometimes pretty? I've hard it multiple times and I've appreciated it, and I've seen glimpses of it. However, I haven't internalized it. I haven't accepted these things as fact, and I haven't allowed them to affect the way I see myself.  Now I am. Now I'm able to wake up in the morning and see a gorgeous girl. I see a dedicated friend, a respectful daughter. I see a future world-changer. I see a smart woman. I see a survivor. I see someone who is strong. I see someone growing and changing and improving. I see someone worth loving.

What do you think your life would look like if you internalized compliments? What if you truly believed that you were beautiful? What if you believed that you were unique and valuable? What if you complimented yourself as easily as you compliment your friends? How would your life change? Who would still be there?

 I just know how it feels good to wake up and feel appreciated by friends and family. I know it feels good to have my opinions heard and valued. I know it feels good to know where I stand with someone. It feels good to have doors opened for me, it feels good to be introduced to people, it feels good to feel appreciated. It feels amazing to have people message me and tell me they're happy for me. It feels good to laugh with friends. It feels good to be Kristina. Single, in a relationship, married, skinny, fat. It feels good to be me regardless of any stage I enter in my life. I love myself and that's something that will stand firmly.

It's showing through how I interact with people. It's allowing me to feel calmer and less bitter. I aggressively build myself up. I selfishly do things for myself. I don't settle, I don't enter situations that will make me unhappy. I don't engage with people I don't like. I don't attend events that I don't want to. I don't pretend to be anything I'm not. I treat people's bad behavior as a reflection of them, not a reflection of me.

Many people tell me I'm a good person or they're happy to know me. Now I'm demanding that they act like it. Don't tell me I'm great, show me I'm great. Or expect our interactions to end.

I'm learning that self-love isn't a cute topic for HuffPo articles. I'm learning that self-love saves. Self-love empowers. Self-love is beautiful.

I love myself.


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Friday, July 10, 2015

Articles I'm Reading 7/10/2015

Making an effort to read daily is something I'm working on. I can read short blurbs about the news, but I often don't make time to read opinion pieces or editorials. These can help us learn a lot of things that we can apply to whatever issues we are working on. It also allows us to gain insight into how others live. I think constantly learning and acquiring new knowledge should be at the forefront of every activist's life. 
These are articles I’ve saved on facebook or tumblr to read. All of these articles were shared by my awesome friends or even written by some of them. I’m making this post in case anyone is bored or something. I also need to catch up on reading. I’ll go back to these and highlight the ones I’ve read, and bold my favorites.
I hope to publish lists like these every couple of weeks.
Atlanta Gay Bar Taking Heat over Dress Code SIgn
6 Actual Facts on What it Means to be Asexual
Asian Immigrants on TV are Gaining Respect
Latinos Now Outnumber Whites in California
A Response to America’s Response to Donald Trump
The Wrong Way to Stop Prostitution
Accomplices not Allies
We Need to Sop Making Black Women the Mammies of our Movement
13 Trans Latinx Activists Changing The World
Plantation Tour Guide Answered Questions
What Happened to the 9 year old Smoking in Mary Ellen’s picture?
What Marriage Equality Means When You’re Trans
How Colleges Stop Depressed Students from  Returning To Campus
Anti-LGBTQ Violence Down, Homicides Up
Out In The Night, 4 Black Lesbians Self-Defense
The Cisgender Gaze
Black Faith in a Time of White Supremacy
Famed Surgeon Jocelyn Elders Says Bisexuals Must Be Counted
Let the World Know Black Women Don’t Need Help from Appropriators
LGBTQ Youth Deserve Real Education About Sexuality
People Are Finally Talking About What No One Wants to Talk About
Jamie Dimon wants to Mansplain Banking to Elizabeth Warren
Sex Statistics on Queer Women in Relationships
What Does the TPP Mean for Black People?
Hilary Clinton’s Shirt is Actually Really Messed Up
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Thursday, May 14, 2015

Lupita and Laverne






On May 13th, 2015, famed actress Lupita Nyong'o wore a beautiful grasshopper green dress to the 2015 Cannes Film Festival. The internet broke.
It seemed as though every entertainment blogger, website, and television show had something positive to say about Lupita. From the way she looked, from the way she twirled, from the way her smile glistened, everyone was in love. Normally, I would have participated in the swooning. I love Lupita. I think she's smart, I think she's likable, I think she's gorgeous. More importantly, I think she's a great person for little dark-skinned Black girls to look up to. But lately, something's been off. Every time People Magazine shares an article on Lupita's beauty, I shudder. Every time Lupita shows up on my Tumblr dashboard with a complimentary caption, I can't resist the urge to roll my eyes. It was starting to confuse me. Wouldn't I be happy to see someone like Lupita gaining so much popularity? 

Then it hit me. There's a post circulating on "Black Tumblr" that pretty much highlights the fact that whenever a dark-skinned Black woman posts a selfie it gets 1,000's of notes. Yet when the same dark-skinned Black woman talks about her lived experiences there is absolute silence. This is the problem. 
The problem is, colorism can cause a lot of emotional trauma for dark-skinned Black women. I've written on it before, so I'll spare you the details. But like any other type of emotional trauma, it's often difficult to talk about. So when we actually take the time to talk about it, it's kind of crappy that it's often ignored. 

So while Lupita's recognition is great, it also sheds a light on something a lot deeper. 

The constant need to force Black women into these cute and commercially marketable packages, without actually listening to what they have to say. This is a very heavy statement, so let me use another popular Black woman as an example. 

Laverne Cox. As one of the stars of the Netflix series Orange is the New Black, Laverne's fame seemed to skyrocket suddenly. She was on Best-dressed lists, the cover of Time magazine, and she seemed to be a constant guest on talk shows. She was a great example of a gorgeous Trans person of color stealing the hearts of fashion bloggers. But like Laverne said in an interview, her fame and popularity didn't stop my friend and Transgender activist Blake Brockington from killing himself this year. It's not Laverne's fault. She has spent years advocating for Trans issues. She has talked about it on multiple TV shows, and interviews. She has dedicated her life to promoting the acceptance of Trans people of color, but guess what she's known for? Being a gorgeous Trans women who's able to pass as a cisgender person. 

Many people believe that reblogging Laverne on Tumblr, liking her pictures, and referring to her by her correct pronouns suddenly somehow cures them of whatever cissexism and trasnphobia they had left in their bodies. By leaving cute emojis on Laverne's pictures, they don't have to answer to the fact that Trans women are being killed right down the street from them. By admiring Laverne's dresses, they don't have to listen to her when she talks about the high number of Trans suicides. By just embracing Laverne's beauty, they have done their good deed, and Trans people are now accepted in Hollywood, and in their everyday lives. 

This simply isn't true. Laverne is a person. She's an intelligent human being with a passion for helping others. She is more than her appearance, and she is more than her fashion sense. She is a talented actress and advocate. She is not the poster-woman for Trans acceptance.Yet every time she speaks on Trans issues it seems to go in one ear, and out the other for most Americans. People embrace Laverne, yet continue referring to Trans people using the incorrect pronouns, and remaining silent on Trans issues. 

The same can be said of Lupita. Even though Lupita isn't as activism focused as Laverne is, she has spoken on racism before. She rose to fame for a movie about slavery! She's mentioned colorism in her awards speeches, and has had multiple interviews acknowledging her Blackness. So why aren't we talking about the huge elephant in the room? Why aren't we talking about the fact that it's a HUGE deal for a dark-skinned woman to see someone with Lupita's complexion rising to fame? Why aren't we discussing the fact that it's extremely odd for someone with Lupita's skin tone to be on People magazine, and the face of Lancome?

Lupita becoming famous won't change the fact that I can never find my shade of makeup at the drugstore. It won't change the fact that dark-skinned women have been statistically imprisoned longer than their lighter-skinned counterparts. It won't change the fact that no matter what I do, I will constantly have to fight to be seen as feminine, and non-aggressive. Does it help? Yes. Does it erase colorism? No. 

Also, Lupita and Laverne are both wealthy and famous. Many Trans people don't have the option to "pass" as cis like Laverne can. They don't have the money or the access to proper healthcare. They fear walking down the street, applying for jobs, doing normal tasks. Lupita is beautiful, but she also maintains a lot of Eurocentric beauty characteristics. Despite her dark skin and short hair, she is small and petite. She has straight and white teeth, and acne-free skin. She has a thinner nose for a Black person. So while it's great that she's getting fame and recognition, it's very easy for someone to like one of Lupita's pictures, then refer to dark-skinned girls as "roaches" on Twitter. 

While a lot of White women are famous for their appearance and not their intelligence, it's different for Black women. When people like White women as celebrities, it's not pointed to as the ending of misogyny. However, when people like Laverne or Lupita, it's named as an example for transphobia and colorism fading out. 

Lupita and Laverne are great, and they deserve every ounce of recognition they recieve. However, it's important to recognize that while their fame represents big steps in terms of representation, there's still a lot more work to be done. 

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Thursday, May 7, 2015

You know what's really embarrassing?

Going back and reading my past writing.

I don't think I'm going to do that anytime soon. For now, I'm going to continue updating this blog. I have a lot of writing I haven't published on here yet. Life is good. I start summer classes Monday. I have new roommates for the fall. I've met some cool people at KSU. I've started going to activist events in Atlanta. I'm working out more, I'm eating healthier, and I'm making time for me.

Most importantly, I have hope. I have hope that I will get better. I have hope that I'll graduate college. I have hope that I'll maintain healthy relationships and friendships. I have hope that I can get through a day without engaging in healthy habits.

For everyone who has stuck with me and supported me, thank you. For everyone who let me down, for everyone who judged me, for everyone who decided I was "too sad," to interact with, I hope that everything in your life works out. I hope you never have a time in your life where you become fragile. I hope you never have a time where you experience disappointment, and a time where you just need kindness. Because to need that, and not receive it from some people, hurts a lot. I hope you never have to experience that hurt.

During this little hiatus from school I slept. I slept for hours, and didn't leave my room. I laid in bed, and sometimes I didn't eat. I sat waiting for this break to go by, and I was angry. I was really mad at myself, and my situation, and I was mad that my friends got to do things that I couldn't do. I felt forgotten. But then I started doing better. I started going to therapy, and leaving the house. I wasn't tired anymore. I started smiling again. I even began texting people back. Eventually I got a job. I went to that job every day, and I worked my ass off. I ended up quitting to focus on school, but that job helped me a lot. It gave me something to do. Eventually the break went by, and now I'm already starting school again.

I've learned so many things that I can't even begin to write about, because it just blows my mind. But I've changed. People can see it, and I can feel it. This experience has matured me in so many ways. I'm so confident in who I am as a person, and as a woman, and especially as a Black woman. I feel so strong, and it's a great feeling.

So yeah. I'm back. I missed writing, but it was a little bit painful for me. I'm excited to see where this next phase of my life takes me.
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Wednesday, February 11, 2015

I haven't written in a while but I'm still alive! Just taking time to do my own thing, and get healthier. Thanks for sticking with me. 
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Wednesday, January 14, 2015

Checking My Privilege

I think befriending people who’s parents come from different income sets can be eye-opening in some ways. However, it’s not really something I thought about until I came home from school. In college, all of my friends seemed the same. We all lived on campus or in apartments, we all struggled to find food by the end of the week. We all hated our jobs but we all hated not having money. We didn’t care about wearing designer items, we just wanted to be unique and well-dressed. Food stamps didn’t have a stigma. Sometimes you paid for your friends food, sometimes they paid for yours. You would give your friend money to buy alcohol for a party. All of these things were normal, because we were broke college kids. We weren’t “rich,” like “White” Greek life. We knew what it was like to not have Daddy give you his credit card.
But then I started dating someone in a different situation than mine, and I realized I’m a lot like White Greek life. Actually, I’m pretty much exactly like White Greek life except for the fact that I’m not White.
I think that Black people who come from an Upper Middle Class background, are often in an interesting situation. This generation of Black young adults in general, are in an interesting situation. We come from a generation where it’s not as odd to have two Black parents, who went to college. With education, we are granted more opportunities. With more opportunities, comes more money. Sorry, this sounds a little bit like the “pick yourself up by the bootstraps” model, but bear with me.
What I’m trying to get at, is I’m not like all of my friends. When they can’t call home to their parents to ask for large sums of money, it’s because their parents are not able to give them large sums of money. When I can’t call home to my parents for large sums of money, it’s because my parents refuse to give me large sums of money. When they can’t ask their parents for a brand new car, it’s because their parents are not able to give them a brand new car. When I can’t ask my parents for a car in general, it’s because my parents refuse to give me a car in general. When they call home asking to go out for an expensive meal, it’s because their parents cannot afford for them to go out for an expensive meal. When I call home.. you get the idea.
My parents don’t refuse to give me these things because they cannot afford it. They refuse to give me these things because I grow up in a Black household. In Black culture, things are not usually given freely, they are earned. Your parents raise you to know that not everything will be handed to you. Spoiling your child, is usually not a bragging point. This probably isn’t the case when it comes to “White” Greek life. 
This is why, at school it was easy to forget about my parents. It was easy to forget about my privilege. Especially in the town that I grew up in. I would never be considered “rich.” I grew up with people who asked when the last time I visited the Dominican Republic was, and people who were confused by my parents not even considering paying for me to go to Auburn after I got accepted. I wasn’t like those people. If you’ve ever been to Kennesaw, you will quickly realize that the people there are out of touch with reality. In Kennesaw, a 3.5 GPA is bad, and not being able to go to the Dominican Republic is the equivalent of living in a homeless shelter. 
Both of my parents grew up relatively poor. My dad wasn’t poor by Nigerian standards, but he would be by American. He moved here when he was 18. My mom grew up in a country town with 10 siblings, who were all extremely skinny due to undernourishment. She went to an HBCU, and joined ROTC to pay for college. From then on, my mother’s life became a series of lucky events. She got the right job, at the right time. She moved to the right place, at the right time. She worked at a Fortune 500 company for 16 years that gave her the resume boost she needed, and now she works at another Fortune 500 company (Coke.) 
My parents are the exception, not the rule. They both have their Master’s degrees, and got them at a young age. The amount of money they make disqualifies me from any form of financial aid. My dad owns two luxury cars (one is collector), and I live in a house where we frequently text each other because we can go a whole day without hearing/seeing each other. My closet is walk-in, and I do have designer handbags in it. We never have to worry about our next meal, or worry about financial security.
But I also live in a household where my parent’s money, is not my money. I’ve been reminded that from an early age. Money and shopping are reserved for holidays. Designer clothes, all come from an Aunt with bad shopping habits. My friends who’s parents have lower incomes are more likely to get money from their parents, and get a car, than I ever am. In fact, it’s exactly what happened. My dad has the spending habits of someone who never left Nigeria. Both of his cars are paid off, and the non collector one is nearing it’s 20th birthday. You don’t throw anything away, and you don’t waste money on anything. Anytime my mom goes shopping she is met with strict interrogation when she comes home. I have a strong work ethic that all of my classmates can notice. I don’t expect things to be handed to me academically, or socially, and I’m able to work hard to get the things I want. 
But now that I’m older, I also need to recognize my privilege. Having both parents that went to college, is a privilege. Having food on the table every night, is a privilege. Not having to work my whole life, is a privilege. Not having to take out student loans, is a privilege. Being able to take a break from school, is a privilege. All of these things are a privilege and me being a Black woman in America does not negate the fact that I live a very good life. It’s okay, it’s not my fault. But I do need to use, and constantly check, this class privilege that I have. Which I feel as though I don’t need to check often, because being in Statesboro afforded me the luxury of pretending I didn’t have it.
After my significant other/friend/what the hell are we calling ourselves these days, entered my home, she spoke to me in hushed tones. She looked around in amazement, and called my home “extra.” She looked in my closet, and she looked in my room, and I couldn’t help but feel like a fraud. A social justice warrior that lived in a neighborhood full of rich Republicans. An activist who never had to struggle a day in her life.
But remember how I said that my parents were the exception, not the rule? That this wasn’t normal? That still rings true. The fact that my mom had access to all of these opportunities was sheer luck. With White privilege, it doesn’t work like that. If you have your Masters, you are guaranteed to go far. Hell, you are guaranteed to go far without it. You are afforded all of the things my family has, and THEN some. In my family’s case, hard work+education did equal success, but in most Black families it does not, and will not. Both of my parents are significantly underpaid compared to their White counterparts and they KNOW it. Had they not been Black, my life would’ve been even better than this. So yes, I do have privilege, but I am also able to acknowledge that all of the things that are happening to my family, technically should not be happening due to the way our society is built.
Now that I’m home, I’m more aware. I wake up every morning and I look around my big room, and I remember that it is a big-ass room. I look at my makeup collection and I remember, that it is a big-ass makeup collection. I eat my mother’s food with a little more gratefulness. I stop to take in my surroundings when I leave my home. I remind myself that I am well-off, Kennesaw is weird, and that there’s a lot more work to be done. 
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Saturday, January 3, 2015

I trusted you.

For people who do not suffer from mental illness, it is something they just simply won't understand 100%. Just like I don't know what anyone who suffers with any other illness goes through. However, I would like to feel as though I could empathize with people who's bodies are working against them in ways that inhibit their daily life.

However, this goes out to all of my able-minded allies. The ones that talk about removing the stigma that surrounds mental illness, yet engage in behavior that is problematic and does nothing but furthers the stigma that surrounds mental illness.

Your mental health is not less important than, nor different than, your physical health.

 We all know that our brains are extremely important. They help us get through our day, they help us make decisions, they literally help our bodies operate. So why would the Brain (one of THE most important organs,) be less important, or different than our physical health? Why? Why would someone ask me why my mental health was more important than their feelings? When they would never ask me that about my physical health?

Because society still has this idea that if you work hard enough, mental illnesses will go away. Society still has this bootstraps mentality. Society still has this mentality that mental health is just a buzzword, it doesn't mean anything.

No one would ever ask me to sacrifice or injure a limb for their feelings. No one would ever ask me to spike my blood sugar, or induce an asthma attack for their feelings. So why would someone ask me to engage in a behavior or conversation that is detrimental to my mental health for their feelings? How is me, saying I don't want to workout because I have asthma, any different than me saying I don't want to argue because I have anxiety?

How is you, asking me to sacrifice myself physically less bad and selfish than you asking me to sacrifice myself mentally?

It is not. You see, I've had depression for 7-8 years. I know how it works. I know what triggers it, I know how to cope, I know what I should and shouldn't do. You know who also knows? The multiple therapists and psychologists I have seen. The ones that have told me to make my mental health my first priority.

Do Not. Ever. Ask me to sacrifice my mental health for you. Because I won't. Not now, not ever, for no one. I will not. Because I would never ask you to damage yourself physically.

 Saying I'm triggered by something, isn't an avoidance tactic.

 If you had a major traumatic injury to your knee, you would probably not be able to do some things that other people were able to do right? You would probably know that other people could run for long periods of time, and you would be unable to. You would probably know that you used to be able to do those things, but now you cant. So imagine, if you had a friend, who knew about your knee injury, and they just kept asking you to run a 5K with them.

Even after you explained, that running a 5K would cause short-term, or long-term damage to your already fragile knee. Imagine if the friend, implied that they were hurt, or that you were being selfish, because of your inability to run a 5K. A 5K that you said you would run eventually, just not at that moment. Wouldn't that be pretty messed up? Wouldn't you be confused? Wouldn't you want your friend to understand that no matter how hard you tried to run that dang 5K, it wasn't going to be finished today. And IF it was finished today, your knee would be in terrible shape.

This is how it feels when you ask someone with a mental illness to engage in conversations or behavior that they have already deemed triggering, and detrimental to their mental state at the moment. This is how invalidated, ignored, and angry we feel when people decide that we are making our triggers up, and we must do whatever activity they want us to do.

This is how hurtful and insensitive you are being.

 Do not ever reduce my mental health to a joke, for your comfort.

 It may seem like I am comfortable sharing large portions of my life with people, but sometimes I am not. Sometimes it is triggering, sometimes it is traumatic, sometimes it is uncomfortable. Sometimes I want to do it, sometimes I dont. So if I trust you enough, to let you know about my mental state at the time, and you make it into a joke, that is very hurtful to me. It is the equivalent of someone in a wheelchair, telling you why they are in a wheelchair, and you making a joke about their inability to walk.

Does that make you happy? Does that make things less awkward for you? To lack empathy?

 You do not understand.

As much as you've followed me on this journey, as much as you've experienced, you will never understand how I feel. Ever. Even two people with the same illness will never completely understand how the other feels because it manifests itself in different ways.

A couple of weeks ago, while going through a crying spell, I explained to my mom that I was in so much pain, that I wouldn't wish it on anyone. I would not wish it on my worst enemy. Eventually, your brain literally begins to feel weak. You can feel it giving out on you. Just like any other body part.

I have had to give up the things that I hold dear, my clubs, my friends, my school, I have had to give that up. I have had to give up the things that make me happy. I have had to give up the things that define me, and have defined me for the past 2.5 years. All of it has been taken from me in the matter of a month.

If you expect me to be the slightest bit over that, you must be very confused. 

Depression can either make you hyper-sensitive, or numb. You can't access the emotions you need to react appropriately to a situation. It's confusing. It's tiring. You feel hopeless. You want to die. Sometimes, not because you're super sad. Sometimes, you want to die because depression is just plain annoying. It's annoying anticipating having to feel this way for the rest of your life.

So. If I am expressing myself because I am upset over something, it is not your duty, it is not your right, to tell me what I CAN and CAN'T be mad over, and what I SHOULD, and SHOULD not care about. It is not your place to tell me that I care too much about xyz. It is not your place at all to tell a 20 year old women how she should, and should not react to things. However, it is definitely not your place when this woman did not have access to her emotions for 6 years and one of her coping mechanisms IS expressing herself, and is one of the things that was stressed upon in therapy with a licensed medical professional.

I am hurt.

I am hurt by the fact that I have to write this out. I am hurt by the fact that I have to explain things to you that I feel should be known by now. I am hurt by your apparent lack of empathy. I feel guilty. I feel guilty for being upset, and I feel as though I "owe" you something so I shouldn't be able to call you out. But this was not, and will never be okay. 

This goes to everyone.


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