live, laugh, love… literally.
for the past 21 years, i’ve been learning who i am from what i was taught.
i learned from my parents that i was a black girl, and black girls were beautiful. i was taught to speak up, to embrace my power, to love my natural hair, to marvel at my divinely-created body… then, i went to private school. from the first day onward, my lessons on identity became disjointed. i learned that white people see black girls differently. i was subhuman, but in a sexy way. i was the token black friend, but still unapproachable. i was too loud, too aggressive, too masculine… i was just too much. i went to college and became everyone’s savior. i was an icon, following in the footsteps of the BNOCs (big name on campus) before me. i was the “exceptional negro”, treated like a celebrity destined for the “talented tenth” hall of fame. i alternated between invisible stage manager and inimitable leading lady, depending on which role would benefit the administration’s agenda. after years of internalizing these conflicting messages, i realized that i had no idea who i truly was.
in a world that can’t make up its mind about us, how can any black woman know who she is?
the truth is that i wasn’t given the chance to be anyone. i shape-shifted, code-switched, self-policed and did what i needed to do to survive wherever i was: in an education system determined to colonize my mind, in a country designed for me to fail, and in a world that explicitly reminds me that some people genuinely believe that the drywall at 3003 springfield drive in louisville, kentucky has more value than my life.
the recent resurgence of the black lives matter movement has proven on a global stage that for every person who is ready for change, there are several more who are desperate for things to stay the same. the foundation of millions of people’s lifestyles depend on keeping me beneath them and forcing me to hold them up with a smile. i am no longer legally considered property, which in some ways is a shame. i’ve seen the way white people nationwide take up arms and put their lives on the line when they fear their property is in danger; it’s almost enough to make me jealous of my local walmart.
every day, i am reminded of that politicians, businesspeople and fellow citizens are actively trying to strip me of my agency. i’m not ashamed that i have allowed others to reduce me to a subject in the past. it was a successful self-protective strategy. ultimately, i survived, and survival has always been the goal.
until now.
it’s funny how quarantine forces you to sit with yourself. once i was confined to the four walls of my room, i realized that there was no one left to tell me who to be. what does an actress do when the cameras are off and the live audience is gone? when you’ve lived your whole life trying to stay inside the lines, what the hell do you do when handed a blank piece of paper? i couldn’t answer these questions and that’s what scared me the most.
nothing can prepare you for the realization that your life is a lie. when i removed academics, responsibilities, and even other people from my life, i was left with a self-concept ridden with holes and held together loosely by labels i applied like band-aids to patch myself up. unfortunately, band-aids aren’t meant to be permanent. at some point, if you’re still in pain, that means you are not healing. you have uncover the wound, assess the damage and invest more into your recovery.
once quarantine forced me to rip the first few band-aids off, i was able to identify where my pain was coming from: i didn’t know who i was. that’s why being called a BNOC never sat right with me… i was being reduced to a name. i was bound by a contract i never signed. i spent years just being “CAMRYN” because whoever she was, people liked her. for a while, that was good enough for me… but not anymore.
i’m tired of existing in survival mode. i want to live, laugh and love.
over the past few years, “live, laugh, love” has become a meme, but the punchline never landed. do you know how privileged you are to be able to see those things as trivial? to consider these human experiences as so common and basic that they became a cliche?
if nothing else, i am owed life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness. these are my inalienable rights, and i am just as entitled to them as you are.
i’ve been doing this inner work since march, but i know it will take more time to separate what i was taught from what i know to be true: who i am, what i believe, and what i’m capable of. now that i have fully committed to unlearning old lessons on identity, that constant underlying pain has subsided. after removing all the band-aids, i can feel my wounds starting to close.
it’s been 22 years and i’m just now starting to feel alive.
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[adapted from this original post]
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