On October 18th, 1986, I came into a world I did not want to be born into but the doctor refused to allow me the benefit of more time in the unmovable womb of my mother, the womb that would not open any further to allow my large head to come forth. So I was ripped out with the precision of a scalpel, removed from the body of my unconscious mother, 9 pounds, 9 ounces. No arms to hold me with joy, but the cleansing of nurses and sterilized hospital materials. I think I cried but it's possible I was unconscious. Whisked away to a nursery, I waited for my welcome. My aunt and father stood side by side in front of the window to the nursery. Side by side, I lay next to a baby whose skin was many shades lighter. My aunt hoped I was my lighter friend and said the words out loud, not knowing that my darker father heard her and hated her for politicizing my birth.
Since that day, I've been compelled to do things I did not want to do, pushed to do things I feared. And then I was judged for what they wanted and expected, not for what I was or would be. So I do, always fearing I'll be judged. I serve to be chilled by criticism. I work waiting for the day I live free of the fear to be myself. I wait for the feeling of fearlessness but work, depending on the promise.
"There is therefore now no condemnation to them which are in Christ Jesus, who walk not after the flesh, but after the Spirit." Rom. 8:1
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