Hey y’all guess who’s back, back again. Back to say goodbye (wipes tear). No, seriously it’s been lovely writing to you all (crickets chirp, because the audience is actually vacant), along the way I’ve truly learned a lot about myself, especially since all the while I imagined that my blog was being read by all the great writers, or maybe some future fans that searched my name up after finishing my book and found this hidden in the depths of the internet (I promise you can read this even if you aren’t me or my future kids). This class has really helped me take myself seriously as a writer, but also shown me that I should write for myself as I have always been and yet not be afraid to let others see me, the writer me, even if she is vulnerable and passionate and still unsure of who she is (please excuse how corny this is, when I wrote it I was being sincere). I feel stronger, more encouraged and certainly lucky to have shared this journey with you beautiful folks.

When I was first informed that I needed to start a blog, I was actually very literally shooketh (urban dictionary it if you don’t get it). I mean there’s only one thing I hate more than sharing my writing (and therefore my emotions, myself) with people and that is the pressure of having to know if it’s liked or how much it’s liked. I’m the type of person that posts a photo to Facebook or Instagram and watches for likes (and deletes the picture if it doesn’t get more than 20 likes in the span of 4hrs, depending on the time of day, of course, I’ve got it all figured out), so this was definitely a struggle. It’s been fun though, kind of like struggling through a project and then being so proud when you see the finished result because you know it came from you, and all your hard work and determination. I’d like to thank you all for being there, right beside me (likely laughing at my foolishness or perhaps judging me secretly) as I poured my heart and soul into this blog and I’d like (please I’m begging) if you could join me as I switch platforms sometime in the short future. On my next blog I will be sharing some excerpts from a book I’ve been working on as well as some other pieces I’m passionate about.

I love and appreciate you more than you could ever know! I’ll be posting the link to my next blog as soon as it’s up and running and I really hope to see you there. So as my grandmother always says, “I’ll do you like the farmer did the potato, plant you now and dig you later”.

Do you know that saying, “I’m black and I’m proud,” well for a long time I wasn’t so proud of my ethnicity/race because I was actually afraid of it (this will make sense soon). Much of my writing is memoir about my experiences growing up and as I’m sure you could have guessed being black was somehow always at the forefront of my experiences. It’s really the first thing people notice about others (yes, even you), whether you like it or not, upon first sight you’re grouped with a certain race and gender and then by default you’re linked to a million stereotypes (and luckily if you’re a black girl 90% of those stereotypes are negative, lit, lit)  that people use to gauge how they interact with you and make certain assumptions about who you are.

Growing up, non-black people would ask me things like “Is your hair real?” (if you have to know, the answer is maybe, but mind your own business), “Do all your siblings have the same dad?”, “But you’re not that kind of black right?” (because the other type is bad? What’s good with you?)  and a personal favorite: “So do you, like, live in the hood?” (yes, and my street name is C-Killa) . As if all these random and awkward questions weren’t enough other black other little black kids made me feel excluded from my race too (this was before everyone was calling each other black queens, and talking about black girl magic etc.), “You know Courtney is a white girl name” (oh? But I’m a black girl so?), “Why do you talk like a white girl?” (You mean speak articulately? Idk, man), “Do you even listen to any black music?”, “You’re not really black, you’re lightskin because the white is seeping out of you” (this was actually pretty clever, I’d respond snarkily, but I’m still in awe (it’s been 6 years)). It was really just super fun stuff coming from all different kinds of people, which made me have low self-esteem and basically avoid social interaction (no worries, I’m back and I’m betta).

I didn’t know it back then, but whenever I wrote about how I’d had a bad day in my diary it was linked back to my race in some way. I always hated how much my race defined me in the eyes of others, especially since somehow it also became an obstacle. Here’s an excerpt from a piece I wrote about 2 years ago, for an assignment where I was told to reflect on my transition into high school:

“Exiting a school where being black was the norm and entering BHSEC where I was the only black person in most of my classes was an intense change. I didn’t even recognize the extreme change until saying “Is it because I’m black?,” in a class was viewed as a serious question to the teacher, as I was the only black student in class, rather than the classic joke it was in my old school. I remember posting a picture with white girls from my advisory and receiving comments from my middle school friends like; “You’re finally with your people” and “Lmao I guess you’ve made it to where you belong.” I actually figured the same things, because these girls didn’t mention my race, they didn’t even seem to notice at first, and I didn’t feel left out because of that. This only lasted a short while, however, I was soon exposed to the fact that race was very much noticeable to them, and the questions began. I got the “So, what are you?” from many people of all backgrounds.”

Today, I still write about the struggles of being black and a woman, but also about what that struggle means on more of a national and communal level, due to all the great stuff that’s been happening to people like me (and how much people like to make excuses for murders I guess).