I spend a lot of time thinking about what black women owe to theatre. What we owe to the arts. What we owe to each other. And at what cost?

I won’t lie. It was inspiring as hell to see cullad wattah being pulled from Victory Gardens after a hot mess of a week. I read the playwright’s note over and over, really being proud to see another Black woman deciding enough was enough as I was actively fighting with a theatre company I knew better about, knew I shouldn’t have worked with but I did anyway.

All while a white woman was actively shaming me for it.

I thought for a long time if I wanted to write a blog post about why I made the decisions I made, how things escalated so quickly, and how I felt about things now. But then I really thought about it. I have spent years apologizing for my decisions. I have spent years being as humble as I could be while my marriage fell apart, while my health fell apart, while loved ones died, while being betrayed by own family. I have come to this blog and overexplained. I have come to this blog and tried my best to express both my hopes and my frustrations.

And yet I am still being told my ambition is in the way of “doing the right thing.” And yet I am being scolded for making the same choices everyone else has to make to make ends meet. And yet I am not enough.

Well, to be as frank as possible…

…y’all got me fucked up.

I am annoyed that it always, always, always comes down to the Black women doing the right thing. I am tired of being held to this impossible standard, of always having to be the light of hope, of the weight of what it means to never choose yourself first. That’s what it means to be a Black woman in this country. You must always save the day. You must always lead the fight. What you want does not matter unless it helps the greater good.

While the greater good continues to stomp you in the face.

There is no amount of martyrdom I could do that will be enough for my critics. There is no amount of humility that I can have that will satisfy them. Because, saying the quiet part out loud, they don’t want me to have it. It being success, it being peace of mind, it being joy.

And I’m tired of it.

homemade tamales to cheer me up 🙂

Don’t get me wrong. I do think there’s a time for a revolution. For a time to set aside. For a time to say “enough” and walk away. But I don’t like that it always seems to be Black women who have to do it. Who have to lose something for the sake of the greater good.

As far as I’m concerned, moving forward, fuck being humble. Call it my villain era if you want. I’m calling it my “I worked my ass off for this and I’m gonna shine so bright you can’t ignore me” era. I’m over giving explanations to people who aren’t listening to me anyway. Time to put my sunglasses on and walk out in broad daylight, exclaiming “I’m the shit and I always have been.” Y’all thought I was a problem before…

…just you wait.