I remember when I never had to question what the consequences of a partner’s anger were. I had the bruises to show; while I tried to hide the scars I so deeply felt were deserved. I felt my role was that of a punching bag and I’m not saying that I miss that; you will never get that sentiment out of me. I grew and started to realize my worth, but I haven’t mastered this yet. I don’t know how to speak up for myself; I hold it in and take the sharp critiques that naturally flow from your lips as they sting with your laughter. This is not a, woe is me post, but an introspective post about relationships, respect, and privilege within the interpersonal sphere. We’re at the end of Black history month and I’m realizing the institution won. They’ve managed to force these destructive ideologies into our domestic spheres. We let them pick our enemy, let them convince us that relationships are competitions, and let them allow chauvinism into our once reciprocated interactions.
How can we build as a people if we can’t even build a household? Don’t get me wrong, I’m not saying that this issue is only in the Black community. Relationships are failing at a drastically higher rate in the U.S as a whole. However, I’m positioned as a Black woman, albeit privileged sometimes because of my academic standpoint. However, that privilege that the mainstream places on to me is forcibly ripped off in the private sphere; therefore irrelevant to this post, except for allowing me the tools to articulate my emotional state. The two are not exclusive.
My good friend Phil once told me to write through the pain, so here’s to nothing. Women are conditioned to be more emotional, and our hormones don’t help the situation. Men are oftentimes penalized for revealing any emotion besides anger; therefore that is oftentimes the default and how all emotion is likewise interpreted. This fundamental difference exacerbates many of our disagreements because we are literally speaking differently. Not in a sense of different languages, but different positions. Men, Black and white, are positioned privileged to that of their female counterparts and although they may not subconsciously contribute to this privilege, they do benefit from it.
These benefits don’t stop in the public sphere, it seeps into the private. When I was with a physically abusive man I always knew when and how he would exercise this privilege, but with non-abusive partners it’s a guessing game and since we’re almost speaking different languages, we don’t know the rules to each other’s moves and interpretation. We have to listen to one another and not just once. Even after we think we understand one another, we have to double back and ask, “when you said this, I took it to mean blank, is that what you actually meant?” We also need to step outside ourselves; I know it’s difficult but not impossible. It takes effort. When we step outside of ourselves, we need to account for our own privileges and lived experiences.
We live in a generation of instant gratification and awarding mediocracy, but relationships are work. Not one person can fix everything and problems are inevitable. When we are trying to step outside ourselves, we have to also take the other person’s history into account. This is not simply for romantic relationships; I think these are all wonderful things for any type of interpersonal relationships, especially drowning in the midst of a destructive me generation. Everyone has vulnerabilities, some visible, others not so clear. If you care about someone and want the best for them, accommodate those vulnerabilities.
We all have baggage that we’re trying to unload, but it doesn’t happen in a day, or even in years sometimes, it’s a journey and the person you’re with should be there, understanding, and patient because it takes time, especially for marginal populations in society. The system beats us down every day. We need to be lifted up; we have a long way to go if we’re trying to knock out that glass ceiling. Although women tend to be more emotional than men, that doesn’t position men and their thinking processes over that of women. I would like to think God made us different so we can enrich each other’s experiences and interpretations, not to repress them.
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