While reading Viola Davis’ memoir, I was caught on her realization of who she is.
And I knew right away who I was. I remember the moment. I had started hanging out with a new girl at school named Lauren. We were going under the tunnel to smoke weed and she introduced me to her boyfriend. He said, “yeah, I’ve seen you around.” And it simply didn’t make sense. Because I was invisible. I knew I was. So how could he possibly have seen me around?
Junior year, a new girl joined my main social group. I was already starting to be on the outs of it. I was raped but that’s not something you just throw out to your high school social group. My best friend left me shortly after. The group figured that I was a Ms. Judgy Kathy who didn’t agree with them all smoking weed. Then Kiera came along. Black. And she became Christina 2.0. That’s what they called her. I suppose I should be thankful she got the name Christina 2.0 and I wasn’t renamed to Kiera 1.0.
In middle school, I was called an “Uh Oh Oreo” and it made me uncomfortable, but I suppose I had to laugh. Right? Otherwise, I was being too sensitive. The people that didn’t call me an Uh Oh Oreo, still did. Still implied it.
I talked too White. The music I listened to was too White. The shows I watched were too White. Everything about me was too White.
It wasn’t just school though. It was everywhere. Every space I was in. Too White while being Black. (A brief discussion on colorism. All those years of being considered Too White. And as an adult, I am vividly aware of colorism within the Black community and being yep, too dark.)
When I looked in the mirror though, it was Black looking back. I felt my Blackness everywhere in that White town. I felt it in the way that I was expected to be friends with my few other Black classmates. I felt it when my friends stole and I would get so angry, so nervous. Because even though I didn’t understand, I did understand. It would be me who got into trouble.
In a college class, they asked what people thought when they first saw us. A classmate answered “nigger” for himself. People gasped. But us four Black people in the room including my professor nodded.
At the end of July this year, I had a complete meltdown. I was struggling to be a therapist when it felt like every time, I opened my mouth to talk, tears would spill out instead. I made it through because I’m a professional, obviously. But it took me back.
It took me back to all the times I held it in.
I’ll always be the invisible girl.
As I cried in my bathroom, I turned away from the bathroom mirror, only to turn and see my crying face in the mirror that sits outside the bathroom.
I yelled “I know I’m lovable!” and then punched the wall.
I came to the conclusion of what was being held in. But that’s between me and my therapist. Sorry folks but also you are so entirely welcome.
My main thing is I show up authentically. I show up as myself. Bubbly, intelligent, funny, and (invisible). She will always be a part of who I am.
I’m curious as to who I was invisible to. Myself? Others? Everyone? Lauren’s boyfriend had “seen me around.” I didn’t.
I do now though. I hold Invisible Christina inside me. I bring her with me everywhere I go. I tell her, I see you. I love you. I’m sorry. You’re safe now.
Happy birthday. We’re 31. Can you believe? Look at us now.
This is beautiful- happy happy birthday!!