Her Voice
I had wanted to respond right away to the offer. But I decided to listen to my intuition and take the weekend to sit with the email I received late one Friday afternoon. I started to rationalize their response in my head, almost wanting to accept the offer. I thought to myself, "Don't take it personally. Don't get offended, this is business."
I'm nice, not naive.
Corporate America taught me, and a big four consulting firm raised me.
And they taught me extremely well. Corporate America might have ruined my life at one point, but they didn't leave me without the knowledge and experience to succeed at anything I do. It broke me down and built me up, but I bounced back one hundred times better. Now, I can make boss moves like this.
BTW, this is the only damn thing I am thanking Corporate America for.
Everything inside of me knew my client was trying it and trying me. On the real though, I low-key love it when people try me because they don't expect the clap back. And one thing about me is I will clap back when necessary. And I do it with grace and eloquence. Always. Come that Sunday night, I strategically drafted an email to my client clarifying my role, scope of work, work product, and deliverables. I stated all the facts. Come that Monday morning, I clicked on the send button and the email was sent.
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I was confident. I know who I am. I know what I'm doing. And I told no lies. There are ethics to this shit.
Not only did I know my client was trying it, so did my circle. This is where the importance of the right people in your circle comes to play. A remote working session with two of my homegirls allowed me to further talk through the situation. When I gave them my life update, their initial reaction was, "OH, HELL NO." They were angry and in their feelings for me too. One of my friends also pointed out, "They tried to box you into a title and role you were never doing as an 'employee' when you're an independent consultant." She was right, and I had completely looked over this small detail.
Maybe this is why I felt slighted as all hell.
Because I'm not working for someone anymore, I am working with them. And that's where some clients have it all the way fucked up. I have most of the say so, not them. I set my rates and hours, not them. My homegirls immediately reminded me of my worth. And I was ever so grateful. It gave me the confidence to stand by my response and be prepared to make certain decisions.
Listen.
If your friends don't remind you of your worth, they ain't it.
If your friends don't help you plan your exit strategy, they ain't it.
If your friends don't help you to play big, they definitely ain't it.
If your friends don't encourage you to be bold and brave, they ain't it either.
I walked away from a six-figure salary and title, what makes anyone think I wouldn't walk away from a client?
Not all money is good money. Your currency is your time, energy, and peace. You cannot put a price point or a market value on these things.
You have to know your worth more than any dollar amount or currency in this world.
And I want to remind you to always know your worth in any space.
For more job search tips, career advice and profiles, check out the xoNecole Workin Girl section here.
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However, my husband had just graduated from dental school and got a job in Dallas, TX. I truly believed God had shown me that this was the perfect time to transition. And although I knew the unknown wouldn't be easy (new city, new experience of defining work for myself), I could've never imagined just how difficult this change would be.
I've read a lot of inspirational blog posts about leaving your 9-to-5 and pursuing your passions, entrepreneurship, and #blackgirlbosses. They usually tell us to push fear aside, chase after our dreams, and be OK with failing because the process is worth it in the end. But in all my reading, I've never seen anyone talk about the other struggle that comes with entrepreneurship, specifically that of an independent black woman.
You see, when I left my job, I didn't have a set plan. I had just launched a blog with an idea to parlay that into a larger business, but the logistics weren't there. So, I used the first few months of unemployment to seek God and gain clarity and direction for my vision. Then, I began to work toward it: writing blog posts, promoting content on social media accounts, adding in YouTube videos, and creating a monthly newsletter. And all the while, my income remained at zero. Sure, I had a few final checks roll in from my previous job, but after they were deposited, it was nada.
For the first time in a very long time, I didn't have an income.
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And I quickly realized that this was challenging for my independent self.
But, I know you're thinking, you mentioned that your husband graduated from dental school, right? Yes, my husband is a dentist, which is another reason why the timing of the transition worked out. He was now going to have an income to support us both, so I truly had the opportunity to not work traditionally or be concerned about making money so that I could focus on starting my business.
You would assume that provision would put me at ease, but I have to be honest: it did the opposite. I know there are many women who would love for a man to fully provide for them, and although I understood that it was a blessing, I wouldn't quite say my feelings toward it were joyous.
I continued battling with these feelings one evening as my husband and I talked. I was discouraged by the different expenses that came along with starting my own business and even more so by the fact that I needed to keep spending without contributing financially to our household. Now, this type of conversation wasn't new for us. I'd cry about my no-income insecurities and my husband would remind me that although he's working, it's our money; I am working toward something greater that will benefit us in the future, and I contribute in so many ways beyond the finances. And even though, mentally, I knew all these things were true, emotionally my heart couldn't accept them.
"Maybe I'll get a real job," tears filled my eyes as I spoke. "That way I can bring money in and not feel like a leech." My husband looked at me lovingly and asked, "Babe, why can't you just let me take care of you?"
It was at that moment that I realized a profound but sad truth: I didn't know how.
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I don't know how to be taken care of. It hurts to write this, but I need to let it sink in.
I'm newly married and now in a position to be taken care of, but I don't know how to allow my husband to do that.
And I realized it's because throughout my life, I have rarely had that luxury. When I was younger, I used to love singing along with Ne-Yo to "She Got Her Own". It wasn't until I got older that I realized she had no other choice.
How many black women are independent because they've had to be? Because as a child, you saw your single mother struggling to raise you and your siblings, so you made it a point to take the pressure off her, at least when it came to providing for you? In my hometown, we could start working at age 15 and a half, and six months after my 15th birthday, I had my first job at Kroger. Of course, I didn't make much, but I was able to use my little paychecks to buy my school clothes and take a small burden off my mother.
In college, I saw those around me receive financial help from their parents, yet I was solely responsible for all my expenses. I applied for every scholarship available to help pay my tuition, bought a used car with my refund check, and worked multiple internships to pay my rent and cover books, food, and gas. I had no other choice.
And not only have I continued providing for myself, but I am also the one who usually financially supports my family. So, it makes sense that being a "receiver" is foreign to me when I've been used to my "giver" role—marriage included. When my husband and I first got married in 2018, he was in dental school while I worked. Although he contributed financially from his tutoring gigs or DoorDash runs (bless his heart), I was the real breadwinner for the first two years of our marriage.
Although my husband constantly reminds me that I supported us then so that now he can, it's still so easy for me to feel uncomfortable in this position.
There is a sense of comfort that comes with knowing you're fully taken care of and you don't need to hustle and grind to make ends meet. Many black women have given themselves that comfort because they didn't have other dependable options.
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I have prided myself on being an independent black woman. I'm proud that I was able to take care of myself and still can if need be. But, I am coming to realize that if left unchecked, this self-sufficiency can hinder me from experiencing a different type of freedom.
There is so much power in having a choice, and for so long, my only choice was to depend on myself. But this season is teaching me that I can provide for myself in a new and much-needed way: by allowing someone else to support me.
Working so much to provide for my financial needs caused me to neglect many personal aspirations. But now I am able to support a different part of myself because I'm choosing to receive.
Accepting support is a form of self-care, something even the most Destiny's Child-esque independent women need. And it's more than OK to embrace this option when you're blessed to have that choice—sometimes it's the best way to truly look out for you.
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And for many women, self-care is something that has to fold into their desires to hold their households, spouses, and families down or pursue the life of their dreams. If you work hard, achieve, and gain recognition—well, there's the "magic"—then you just throw in a few bubble baths, mani-pedi appointments, and European vacays in there for the self-care checklist, so you don't "burn out."
You might even go a bit deeper into therapy, diet and exercise transformations, 24-7 leisure living, or religious epiphanies. Go off, sis.
Well, I want to give an honor and shout out to the pro athletes who have recently shown many of us a very different version of self-care. Though their actions aren't new to celebrities and high-earning everyday professionals, they've shined a renewed light on what truly matters when one thinks about preserving what's important in the grand scheme of things. The concept certainly takes a whole different turn once sports records, millions of dollars, career credibility, and people's livelihoods are at stake.
I know I might hurt a few feelings with this one, but I'm going to go there: Their latest exercises in self-care on the part of our amazing athletic sisters puts the term "Black girl magic" on its heels and sparks a question of identifying what "strong" can look like that many of us don't want to face.
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Self-care takes a different spin when you think about the power of shaking off the mystical label given to Black women who are simply being excellent, gifted human beings (and should not be solely defined by race or skin tone when talking about our amazing-ness).
This version allows us to throw that stereotypical, overused, superwoman cape to the side, and really start to look at what being the best version of ourselves requires—no matter what phase of life we might be in.
Take pro gymnast Simone Biles, who was all set to light the Tokyo Olympic games on fire when she abruptly chose to sit this year's festivities out. She already holds records in her sport and is known as a young legend at 24, with more than 30 Olympic and world medals. She faced harsh criticism for her decision and was accused of letting down her team, but she stood her ground, telling reporters:
"I just felt like it would be a little bit better to take a back seat, work on my mindfulness."
She's also decided to focus more on mental health advocacy. For one of the few Black women on her level in a sport that's majority-white, that had to have been a difficult decision, and even beyond the racial aspect, there's this sense that athletes should be able to push through both physical and mental challenges to get the job done.
Just take a look at this story about Serena Williams' Australian Open win while pregnant or this one about a past Venus Williams win at the U.S. Open or this whole list of athletes that have performed—and triumphed—through painful injuries. (My own father played basketball and once completed a whole game with a torn ankle. By the time he got home, his whole leg looked like an elephant's. He shrugged it off, wrapped it, iced it, and was back playing a few days later.)
Sound familiar? As Black women, we're often expected to just bare the brunt of pain or hardship in order to "push through" or reach a certain goal, and even the progressive among us (i.e. me) who tell ourselves that we will not be defined by the echoing voices of our grandmas, aunties, or moms—those voices don't allow for "giving up" or "letting people down"—we still push ourselves to the limit almost by default.
There's a trigger there that says, "Nah, I can't just walk away. I have bills to pay," or "Taking a break is weak. I can do more. That's what it takes to be among the best. I must ride this wave until the wheels fall off and reach success by any means."
And to the sis shaking your head, like, "Nah, that ain't me," just think about that last time you didn't say no to an opportunity because you didn't want to miss out, when that Twitter post, IG photo, or Facebook message didn't trigger a response of wanting to do something that would push a boundary, when you couldn't say "I'm busy" to that fantasy bae, or you had to get that 10th toy for your kids that you really couldn't afford. Yea, you, too. You are us, too.
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When Naomi Osaka, the world's second-ranked tennis player, withdrew from the French Open this year to focus on her mental health, she faced thousands of dollars in fines for not completing a press conference in her effort to preserve her sanity. She was publicly shamed and met with doubt, as critics turned on her stating that she was simply making excuses.
It's all "Black girl magic" until you need a day off or a break. Being great at what you do in your career doesn't allow for a sick day or even a change of course, and if you're this super-powered character--as many high-achieving Black women have been pegged to be—you can't really be human.
This, to me, is dangerously similar to those archaic, racist theories about the performance and endurance abilities of African slaves and how they had a "higher tolerance for heat," an built-in "immunity to certain diseases" and "were impervious to pain."
And here comes that trauma-bonding two-step between self-care and Black girl magic yet again. Who needs much self-care when you're a durable, high-functioning, well-oiled, enchanted supernatural creature who's just expected to thrive and survive?
Simone Biles, Naomi Osaka, Serena and Venus Williams, shot-put Olympian Raven Saunders, WNBA stars Maya Moore, Renee Montgomery, and Chamique Holdsclaw—these are just a few of our athletic Black queens who are showing us that self-care means taking the time to step away and advocate for the foundational parts of life that enrich all that so-called "magic." Their pause-for-the-cause moments haven't diminished their accomplishments, greatness, or legacies—they've enhanced them.
Our mental and physical health and safety anchor us and allow us to be able to be our full selves, whether that means winning trophies, breaking records, making big bucks, or not. And there's no amount of superhuman stereotyping that can deny that.
These women prove that self-care can indeed mean walking away from high stakes and taking a few steps back to address and develop elements of our lives and selves that lend to balance. As Black women, we've got to be inspired by these athletes to redefine what self-care really means for our lives beyond a surface-level, fly-by-night buzz word.
When we lay the incredibly draining pressure of holding "magic" in our bosoms and embrace the vulnerability of our humanity in a way that honors the fullness and balance of who we are and what we're called to accomplish, we can truly reach our God-given potential.
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There were moments, more than I'd like to admit, that gave me a glimpse of what life would look like in the future. He was short-tempered, irrational, and a cheater. In my mind, I thought I could change him, and that the birth of our child would bring us closer together. My pregnancy was spent trying to convince myself that we would make it by playing house. There was no amount of cooked meals, feeding his ego, or promises that could undo the inevitable.
Two weeks after giving birth, I was back in my family's home with a newborn. Living together proved to be more of a burden than what it was worth. I was so concerned with the optics of what a family looked like that I forget I was important too. More fragile than ever before, I needed to be surrounded by love and kindness.
There is no way you can fully extend love to your child without giving it to yourself first.
Photography by S. Bola Okoya
Our relationship fell into a pattern of harsh breakups and emotional makeups. We were young and inexperienced with these kinds of issues. Eventually, we parted ways. Therapy helped me break the cycle of trying to make it work. I remember sitting on a big brown couch in what was supposed to be couples therapy, alone. The therapist, a white middle-aged man, asked me, "Why do you stay and allow yourself to get hurt?" I didn't have an answer. I'm sure back then I thought it was because the family was important to me, but now I think it was a learned behavior. The long-suffering (girlfriend) wasn't a new concept to me; it surrounded me like an invisible cloak, both familiar and toxic. By the next session, I had decided to start a new chapter as a single mom. It was the best decision I've ever made.
I firmly believe that once you let go of things that no longer serve you will be rewarded with peace of mind.
My renewed spirit made space for laughter and love. I went from crying myself to sleep from unanswered calls to sleeping peacefully next to my child. There was no longer a need to crack the password to his Facebook account or call family members to confirm his whereabouts. I was free. The kind of freedom that only comes when you choose your happiness over others.
For what it's worth, this was the first time since I started dating at 15 that I had experienced this type of control over my love life. Usually, I stayed too long in relationships that had run its course or waited until the other person did something so egregious that it made it easy for me to leave. I got the hint this time and finally took back my power. This meant learning who I was without the approval of a man, finding out my likes and dislikes, as well as creating healthy boundaries.
If you're a parent and questioning your relationship, I suggest asking yourself the following questions:
- If there wasn't a child involved, would your relationship be over?
- Does your partner exhibit toxic traits?
- Have the attempts to fix the relationship been unsuccessful?
- Do you have doubts about their loyalty?
- Do you feel unsupported?
Photography by S. Bola Okoya
If you answered yes to any of the questions, then it may be time to consider your options. If you answered no, great, there's still hope. All relationships are susceptible to rough patches and if it's worth fighting for then do the work.
My child's father became a footnote in a bigger love story, a journey that led me to a healthy relationship with my partner of five years. This man loved my baby and me and proudly assumed the fatherhood role. There was hope for me, and I know there's hope for you too.
Featured image via Ayana Iman/Instagram
Originally published on November 10, 2019
