Today’s Shared Post_Link…01 March 2017

Blogger’s Diaspora
Today’s Shared Post-Link…
Published Date: 03.01.2017 

b_diaspora_logo A project for Self-Searching Blog Posts in Blog Sphere…

“So I’m from the East. Yes, New Orleans East. Literally born & raised in the East. So I’m a legit East Beast. I know its strange, but I am proud of that. I mean I can’t lie and say I’m from Uptown, I’d be found out so quick. I call the East many things: “the land that care forgot” “hood suburbia” “the city’s step child” “the after thought”. Because to me that’s what it is.” …

“So now I go hard for the East, like I go hard for the city.Maybe I shouldn’t care what other people think. Especially the new people coming in, who don’t appreciate all parts of New Orleans.” …

noirlinians_5 I’m weary yall. I really am.

“This kind of relates to how I live as a black woman. I have pride in my black womanness I have to love my black womanness. I have to refuse to be erased as hard as they try. I also have to work over time to be sure I am heard and seen. Which is what I need to start doing for the East and the city in general. The black community is fighting to be heard and seen. We need to have pride in the places where we are from, because if we don’t who else will.” [Self assertion: Bunny Bread Factory, New Orleans East]

“… in my experience, especially when dressed in a more feminine way, the comments that I receive are actually less rooted in appreciation, and more rooted in expectation (of willingness to engage, of accepting the unwanted sexualization and objectification that almost always follows what could have been an appreciation). As if someone noticing and liking a woman’s body somehow means the person, usually in my experience, someone masculine, should have access to it and to say whatever they want about it, despite how it makes the woman feel.” …

noirlinians_4 Me laughing to keep from crying when I think about how much fuckshit I put up with growing up as a Black girl

“When I was younger (up until about age 12), I was an proud tomboy. My small boyish frame and the masculine way I carried myself aided in my tomboy camouflage, but right before I became a teenager, I was struck by puberty. Suddenly, I noticed that not only did my body change, but the way people perceived it, looked at it and spoke about it, especially older boys and men, changed as well. And it made me feel uncomfortable. Like I had to not just exist in my body, but now start actively protecting it.” …

“Growing up distanced from femininity and conventional standards of beauty gave me a very limited (and misguided) understanding of what femininity was and what it actually meant to walk around presenting in such a way.” …


I knew about body language, but up until then, I did not realize that body language was more about other people’s perception, than the actual translation of what your body was trying to say.


“As I got older, I didn’t have a choice. No amount of tomboying could hide me from being read as ‘(young) woman’, and I was secretly glad I had finally been inducted into the ownership of my girl/young woman body and the beauty it possessed through puberty.” …

“I was in middle school. In the hallway. Talking to a brown boy who was a friend of mine. I was wearing a white spaghetti strap tank top, and tight flare jeans. I don’t remember exactly what we were talking about, but I remember at some point he reached out, squeezed my breast and started laughing.” …

“All of this happened in the span of mere seconds, but I was so lost in my own body and that experience that I was glad when I looked up and saw one of the hall monitors, an older Black man who had (what I assumed) a similar look of horror on his face. He was already on his way over to us, and I felt the knot in my stomach slowly start to unwind with each step he took. He briefly said something to the boy about keeping his hands to himself but then, much to my surprise, when the boy walked away, he took me off to the side to have a conversation with me about how I should not be wearing spaghetti strap tank tops because it was against the dress code, but also because of what it told other people about me.” …

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“What the hall monitor told me also stuck with me because it was the first time that I clearly realized I wasn’t just growing into a woman’s body, but specifically a Black woman’s body. This was the second time I had been talked to for a dress code violation, but each time, other girls, specifically white girls, had worn damn near, if not exactly what I was wearing, but because their bodies looked different (either had not hit puberty, or had, but were generally less sexualized), they were not spoken to or reprimanded.” …

“I want to live in and fight to create a world where a woman or femme presenting person can wear (or not wear) whatever they want and be free to be. But I know all too well that is not the world we live in. And honestly, as much as I want to be my unapologetically femme woman self, I know there is a difference between being unapologetic and unafraid, and I am both.” …

“Everyone keeps talking about how terrible 2016 was, but for me, it was more of a series of highs and lows. At least 3 of these lows was learning about/ being told about assaults of various kinds that Black men who I either admire, have shared platonic intimacy with, have supported and befriended (and who have supported and befriended me) have committed, as well as the community response or more often then not, the lack of response once they were made aware.” …

“A world that simultaneously depicts our strength in art in nude, sexualized manners, then shames our bodies in real life as if they themselves are not works of art and more importantly, ours to do with what we want.” …

noirlinians_9 I know there is a difference between being unapologetic and unafraid, and I am both

“when I hear Black women talking about how other Black women dress and generally hoe shaming other Black women, I hear a sense of fear and desperation. Of clinging to a particular notion of patriarchal safety that tells them if they are woman in a particular way, they will not be punished (through violence, shit talking etc) for being women. But the reality is, choosing a certain kind of womanhood doesn’t make you any safer, it just gives you an illusion of safety.” …

“But women are, as we have always been, resisting to the narratives put on our bodies unless we scribe them for ourselves (I’m encouraged by moments such as Kenya’s My Skirt My Choice/Miniskirts Protests.)” …

“I ended up up not choosing that full length photo to be edited and placed in the blog, but honestly, after writing this, I actually want to share it now. Just because as Black women we are often not in control of the narratives over our bodies, doesn’t mean we should stop telling them or expressing them in the ways that make us feel beautiful and great.”… [Self assertion: MWENDE KATWIWA]

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“I can remember lying in bed one night, eight years old, and rolling over from my back to my tummy only to feel a sharp pain in my right chest. My hand found a small hard lump the size of a walnut just beneath the surface of my nipple. I ran downstairs to my mother who was watching tv and declared to her that I had cancer. She sighed and lifted my shirt, her cold fingers prodding at the painful bud.

“You don’t have cancer, Denisio. You’re growing breasts,” she said with exhaustion on her breath. “We’ll go to the doctor this week, go back to sleep.” …

“In my mind, becoming a woman meant becoming something between my modelesque mother and Jessica Rabbit. It meant I wouldn’t have to wear coke bottle glasses anymore. It meant I could get my hair straightened and have long “flowy” hair like all my white classmates. It meant I would be beautiful and not cute anymore.” …

“My boobs grew to proportions worrisome enough that I had several doctors visits just to make sure I really didn’t have cancer. Coarse black hair sprouted everywhere, and since I was still technically a small child, I wasn’t allowed to handle a razor. This resulted in even more teasing from my white classmates who had grown tired of the nigger jokes and needed new material. For years I was awkward in this new body, and felt ashamed by the attention it seemingly warranted.” …

noirlinians_7  life for black queer women and femme is perpetually triggering, exhausting, and rarely consoling

“There is no easy way for me to talk about sexual violence. I wish that I could ease into this part. My first impulse is to warn you that this post could be triggering but there was never any warning for me, and life for black queer women and femme identifying individuals is perpetually triggering, exhausting, and rarely consoling. There was no caution label on my life to alert me to the ways in which I would be violated time and time again. No fine print to tell me that a lifetime of womanhood comes with male identifying individuals presuming ownership over my body.” …

“I was raped by Josh and Cassandra’s father on a deceptively sunny afternoon right before or around my 9th birthday.” …

“I didn’t tell my mother. Not for 23 years. There were many reasons why I stayed quiet. For one I believed the Monster’s threat. I didn’t want to lose the only two friends I had. I also knew that the divorce was taking a toll on my mother. She drank a lot more. I could hear her sobbing in her room nearly every night through the thin walls of the apartment. I was not oblivious to the fact that we were running out of money.” …

“The violation left me with a map of scars both physical and emotional that made sex extremely painful for a long time. As an adult I avoided seeing the same gynecologist more than once because I hated having to explain “what happened”. I wasn’t ready to talk about it. I also avoided looking at my vagina because I assumed it must have been as disfigured as it felt. When I did become more comfortable with others seeing me down there and with sex in general, I mistakenly believed my body was something for the enjoyment and validation of others. It was something that made him or her or them love me. I never thought of my vagina as something for me to enjoy. It was a thing, a broken thing that sometimes worked, sometimes didn’t. I was a broken thing.” …

noirlinians_6 I used to torture my breasts for fear of looking “too sexy” 😐

“For instance if you look at previous blog photos of me with low cut tops, you will notice that I have little to no cleavage in them. This is because for a very long time, I used to tape my breasts away from the center to avoid having cleavage in low cut tops. In my warped mind, my cleavage was too much and looking like I had a gap in the middle of my chest was more respectable and thus would warrant less unwanted attention and comments. I actually hesitated to write about this, even more so than the rape, because it seems so vain and embarrassing. But I vowed long ago to be as transparent as possible so, there you go! My name is Denisio and I used to torture my breasts for fear of looking “too sexy” 😐 Since October I’ve started wearing more body conscious items that show a lot of cleavage. This is a deliberate decision to take ownership of and become more comfortable in my very feminine body.” …

“And the more I speak to other women about what happened to me the more I realize that so many people in my life have had similar experiences, which is the strangest combination of comfort that I am not alone but disgust and anger that sexual violence against girls is so commonplace, some sadistic rite ushering one into womanhood.” …

“I share my stories to whomever is willing to listen. I power through my discomfort. I claim ownership of my body and how it is represented and used. I love on and vent to my beautiful friends like Mwenders and my incredible and patient partner who has taken time to learn my trauma and help me work through it. I am getting there slowly. I am surviving.” … [Self assertion: DENISIO TRUITT]

Read whole article in: 

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Control : Self assertion of Mwende and Denisio in Noirlinians Blog. 

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Photo Credit: Photos are collected from Noirlinians article.

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