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I was fortunate enough to grow up in a home where crying was nothing that needed to be sheltered - there was no shame in it (although neither of my parents ever seemed to do it). But then you know, I grew up to learn about when it’s “okay to cry” and when crying makes women look weak (turns out, the answer is ‘always’), and when it’s  a matter of pride, a matter of saying “there’s no way I would give you the satisfaction of seeing me so upset” - this latter feeling has turned up in the classroom more times than I’d like to admit.

Then in the fall, I found myself stifling emotions further and further, until my ability to strategically be open with other people became a flawless talent - where I could spend hours counseling and guiding others only to spend the remainder of the evening sitting and doing work while tears leaked out of my face for reasons that are too overwhelming at this point to write about at all, let alone in public. I’m an expert at avoiding my own life and focusing instead on the needs of others. WOC? Could be.

I spent yesterday with a woman who is truly phenomenal, who has lived a life I thought I would only hear about through memoirs and rumors. She’s wise and smart, and stunning. And whenever I see her, I just feel compelled to work out those little issues that aren’t really little at all. That’s how it goes though - she’s a woman who knew my mother before I was born, who has insight on my family I could never conceive of, and has statements to make about my own life that make me feel  blessed and confident about the uncertainty of where it is headed.

Coming home - to my parent’s home - has always been a space where I could curl up and cry - a good cry; the kind of cry that resonates out of your guts, where you can’t see and you can’t breathe and liquids are pouring from your face and every time you try to breathe deep it gives you enough time to rethink all the things that made you cry in the first place, forcing a new surge of heaves and sobs to rise out again. And you think of the people you love and the people you’ve lost and the things you are afraid of, and it keeps going until finally you start to breathe a little normally and brutally rub at your face until it starts to regain feeling and dryness and you sort of…keep going.

That’s really the best way I can describe the good cry. Maybe I’m not the writing type after all.

In any case, I saw this phenomenal woman, and I came home and I finally had a good cry - a cry that had been working it’s way out in short and uneasy spurts throughout the last few months, but had been suppressed for as long as possible.

Also, I really have no problem crying in front of strangers. It’s the people I care about, the people who care about me, that I hate crying in front of.

Yes, that does say quite a lot about me.

Anyway, what a lacking post - but here it is - I’ve written something, and it was about a good cry.

Until next time -  I’m sure the next few months will be filled with things worth ranting about and turning over in my head.

From her collection of essays, Sister Outsider. Because sometimes, when we are at a loss for words, we should turn to the writing of the people who help us to remember that we are not alone.

“Racism, the belief in the inherent superiority of one race over all others and thereby the right to dominance. Sexism, the belief in the inherent superiority of one sex over the other and thereby the right to dominance. Ageism. Heterosexism. Elitism. Classism.

It is a lifetime pursuit for each one of us to extract these distortions from our living at the same time as we recognize, reclaim, and define those differences upon which they are imposed. For we have all been raised in a society where those distortions were endemic within our living. Too often, we pour the energy needed for recognizing and exploring difference into pretending those differences are insurmountable barriers, or that they do not exist at all. This results in a voluntary isolation, or false and treacherous connections. Either way, we do not develop tools for using human difference as a springboard for creative change…

Ignoring the differences of race between women and the implications of those differences presents the most serious threat to mobilization of women’s joint power.

As white women ignore their built-in privilege of whiteness and define woman in terms of their own experience alone, then women of Color become “other,” the outsider whose experience and tradition is too “alien” to comprehend…

The literatures of all women of Color recreate the textures of our lives, and many white women are heavily invested in ignoring the real differences. For as long as any difference between us means one of us must be inferior, then the recognition of any difference must be fraught with guilt. To allow women of Color to step out of stereotypes is too guilt provoking, for it threatens the complacency of those women who view oppression only in terms of sex.

Refusing to recognize difference makes it impossible to see the different problems and pitfalls facing us as women.

Thus, in a patriarchal power system where whiteskin privilege is a major prop, the entrapments used to neutralize Black women and white women are not the same…

Some problems we share as women, some we do not. You fear your children will grow up to join the patriarchy and testify against you, we fear our children will be dragged from a car and shot down in the street, and you will turn your backs upon the reasons they are dying…”

Yes, there is a new look - I was getting tired of looking at a dark screen, and even though I loved the template I had before, I needed a change. I won’t admit how long it took me to settle on this and even though it looks different, and makes my words look more naked than they already are, I’ll keep it. If you’re a wordpress user and have suggestions for other templates, let me know - I’m always open to aesthetic suggestions.

Also, yeah, I definitely haven’t written a lot in the last three weeks - but that’s how it goes, isn’t it? When you have the time to blog, you don’t necessarily want to blog at all - and when you’re swamped with work, that’s when you’re itching to put it all down on virtual paper.

In any case, I’m headed towards my last semester of college; there are too many feelings associated with this that aren’t worth writing about because such is the nature of change, and transition. I’m in the process of looking for a job - offers, links, connections and words of wisdom are of course, most welcome.

What I have been doing for the last three weeks is reading - I check my feed about five times a day and I’m loving the opportunity I have to check the blogs I love, read the news frequently, and think about politics a little bit more. This blog is political but not about politics, however, which means I don’t really feel ready to blog about Bhutto or the U.S. primaries or Obama vs. Hillary. I feel fine about this - there are bloggers who are writing about these things and they have been doing it longer and do it better than I ever could.

I’ve also been making my way through The Wire. What a fantastically well-written show.

This post was written mostly to dip my toes back into the blogging waters - but I’ve been turning a lot of things over in my head, so I will be writing steadily over the next couple of days.