I am a black mother, a mother by choice but a black mother by judgement.
I’m a mother when I read my son a bedtime story and we laugh at the expressions of the characters in the book. I’m a mother when I’m doing the school run and ensuring he has all his essentials for the day.
I’m a mother when we’re back home debriefing on our week and how we can improve for the next one.
I’m a mother when I’m supporting my son through his extra-curricular activities and cheering on the sidelines when he meets an achievement.
But somehow this dynamic seems to shift when it’s just not me and him.
And this title of a mother that holds so much positive bearing is met with being a black woman and the title starts to digress into something negative.
You see when I take my son for a check-up because I’m concerned about his eczema prone skin and the medical professional can’t seem to see his rash - I’m a black mother.
And when I have to set up several meetings with his school to talk about the same issue that should have been addressed in the first meeting - I’m a black mother.
I’m a black mother when I have to mind my tone when I’m speaking about something passionate because I don’t want to appear aggressive.
I’m a black mother when my health concerns are dismissed and not investigated because it must just be anxiety, after all a single black mother like myself must be so stressed with dealing with everything on her own.
I’m a black mother when I am not told of my options for alternative medical care.
I’m a black mother when I have to put on a brave face after dealing with daily micro aggressions.
I’m a black mother when I am being followed around in M&S because I most certainly can’t afford the food in my shopping cart.
I’m a black mother when I have to sit down and explain to my son that sometimes even though he has worked twice as hard as his classmates, his teacher may not reward his efforts. But his mother will always acknowledge them.
I am a black mother.
A mother by choice, a black mother by judgement.
HilarySpeaks
