Angry Black Woman

The curse of the Black woman. A face that would put that of those on Mt. Rushmore to shame. A speech pattern that is known to be firm and direct. A voice tone that is more deeper, more sultry than our white counterparts. Where our curves are considered scandalous in clothing that if placed on another less endowed, would look like a nun’s habit. 

The Black woman is expected to “pop off” at a moment’s notice. Never mind that I haven’t fought since the fifth grade and I don’t even cuss. But it’s expected. It’s even permitted. Because that’s just what Sistahs do. We are supposed to act cray-cray at a moment’s notice. Well I got nothing but an extensive vocabulary with more than four letter words. I got nothing but the ability to remember my mother’s home training and ignore the foolery. 

The Black woman is expected to rule her husband with an iron fist. I’m no wilting flower or carpet, but my husband takes the lead in this home. I just offer my thoughts on a regular basis is all. This is a partnership isn’t it? Last I checked I had a voice too. My mama and my daddy didn’t raise no fool. And my darling husband will be the first to tell you he didn’t want to marry a fool either. 

The Black woman is expected to be materialistic and shallow. As if one too many pair of shoes makes me a hedonistic despot. When you are raised as a people to bathe regularly, dress in your finest, make yourself smell good, and be presentable all to go to the doctor or travel on a plane, one fully comes to understand that appearance is the first mode used to judge. As Black women, we stay being on the offensive. Hence, our appearance and personal carriage goes a long way in helping set the tone for interactions in the workplace and life in general. 

There are no two Sistahs that are made alike. We are as varied as the textures of our hair. Some have accepted the Angry Black Woman myth as their persona. Most have not. We love hard. We play hard. We laugh hard. We joke hard. We love our children and our men hard. We don’t play about ours. We speak our minds. We are loyal to a fault. And all the while we look hella good doing it. 

If that translates into being an Angry Black Woman, then I will gladly embrace this misnomer. 


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