The Gift My Ancestors Gave Me

Recently, I was told that my “confidence was intimidating.” This is why that’s a problem—it’s coded language and it’s loaded with racial bias. Truth is, I have faced this issue for as long as I can remember merely because I am who I am. Yes, a confident Black woman—and that should not scare you. But if it does, I will not apologize, lower my countenance, look away from you, mute my tone, or slouch down to lower the straightness of my spine to make you feel comfortable or superior. But I do however, wish you well in your endeavors to find someone less confident and intimidating.

Many years ago a VP I supported, shared with my manager that she felt she had to walk on “eggshells” working with me. My manager, completely taken aback, replied, “That contradicts everything I know, and have been told about her.” So, my manager suggested a one-on-one between us. I was pregnant at the time, so I sat atop a desk because there were no chairs in the vacant office. The office was directly across from my manager’s office. So, she stood directly in front of me. I asked, “What’s the problem—why the meeting?” She yelled, “That! That right there! I can’t put my finger on it, but that’s the problem!” All while pointing her finger in my face. I calmly stood up and replied, “Oh! That! I can help you define it, that’s  called confidence.” She responded by calling me a “bitch!” She then stormed out of the office—and was terminated immediately.

So, this “intimidating confidence conundrum” that Black women (and men) face is seemingly baked into the American apple pie. And because, obviously, it was her experience as well; I quote the late Dr. Maya Angelou:

“Did you want to see me broken?

Bowed head and lowered eyes?

Shoulders falling down like teardrops,

Weakened by my soulful cries?

Does my haughtiness offend you?

Don't you take it awful hard

’Cause I laugh like I've got gold mines

Diggin’ in my own backyard.

You may shoot me with your words,

You may cut me with your eyes,

You may kill me with your hatefulness,

But still, like air, I’ll rise.

Bringing the gifts that my ancestors gave,

I am the dream and the hope of the slave.

I rise

I rise

I rise.”

Otherwise we could not have survived.🌹

Copyright © 2021 by Christie Y. Shaw