Black Girl in Maine

Musings of a black woman living in the nation's whitest state

Black Girl in Maine - Musings of a black woman living in the nation's whitest state

Make-up with a side of racism, how Sephora lost a customer

For those of us with brown and black skin in America we know that there is nothing post-racial about America even in these Obama years. Yet if we focus on the racial slights and insults that happens every day (and they do happen every day, make no mistake) we would simply be too overwhelmed to function. However there are times when we cannot ignore what is so blatantly in our face and what follows is a letter written by my spiritual little sister who yesterday suffered the indignity of being racially profiled at Sephora in Madison, WI. Interestingly enough, Madison has a reputation for being an open minded and liberal space yet what happened to my friend shows that even so-called bastions of liberalism need to examine themselves. This letter is being sent to Sephora, but I also asked Natalie if I could share it in this space.

Dear Sephora:

I’m in the process of completing a PhD. I’ve traveled the world. In addition to English, I speak three languages. I am upstanding citizen who has never had a criminal record.

On average, I spend about $300 a year at Sephora. Additionally, because of my loyalty to your store, I’m a VIB member.

Yet, apparently, neither store loyalty, nor educational background, nor worldly sophistication are enough to preclude me from being racially profiled and harassed for being a Black woman by your employees.

On at least three separate occasions, a white security guard at the affiliate Sephora store in Madison, Wisconsin—where I currently reside, followed me. When it happened to me the first time, I dismissed it. I assumed that, surely, everyone in the store is subject to the same level of scrutiny. At first, I thought I was overreacting. You see, contrary to popular belief, Black Americans do not want to look for racism everywhere. Because our judgment concerning veritable acts of systemic racism has, historically, been called into question, we do our best to “ignore” it. We want, desperately, to believe that what is happening to us cannot be real, even as these acts of anti-black racism are unfolding right before our very eyes.

And, then, on May 16, 2013, when I went on one of my regular jaunts to Sephora—this time to return two items that were not working for my skin, it happened again. The same security guard began following me, hovering over me from a distance, and clearly positioning himself so that he could monitor my every move. To make sure I wasn’t “imagining” this, I decided to “test” him by doing circles around the store. And, surely, he followed my every move. The man clearly had no intention of being discrete about his profiling of me. Mind you, he paid no attention to the other white customers, many of whom were clearly much younger than me and who, perhaps, would have more reason to shoplift than me, an established 36-year-old Black woman. If shoplifting is, indeed, a real concern for Sephora, then everyone should be monitored. Needless to say, the entire experience was humiliating, and had me on the verge of tears.

I am writing to let you know that I will no longer patronize your store until the racial profiling of Black customers ceases and the security guard who follows me—and most likely other black customers—is dealt with accordingly. Additionally, as an academic and blogger with access to a network of well-connected bloggers and writers on a national and international level, I will be posting this letter on-line to alert everyone I know as to the discriminatory practices of Sephora and its employees.

Importantly, Sephora should welcome every paying customer, regardless of educational background, socioeconomic status, appearance, or racial origin. I shouldn’t have to use my educational background and economic status as a trump card to demand that your employees treat me as a Black woman with dignity and respect.

Formerly a loyal customer,

Natalie L. Belisle

 

 

Cheap laughs and the loss of courtesy

The internet and more specifically social media are literally changing the way we interact with one another. Information that used to take days, if not weeks to make the rounds can now be disseminated in a matter of hours. Thoughts and ways of being that used to be considered private are now routinely discussed with any and all. There are strangers who I have never met, yet I know more about their peccadilloes than I know of some of my oldest friends.  In some ways, it is the best of times and the worst of times. In moments of crisis, social media is a thing of beauty. Yet too many times in our excitement of embracing these new ways of being, we forget that common courtesy and respect never go out of style.

In many ways it is easy to forget when we blog, Facebook, tweet, and so on that at the end of the day we are real people dealing with other real people. When we forget that we are dealing with fellow travelers on this journey called life, it becomes easy to other and de-humanize one another. Most of us don’t start off that way but there have been times when I have been caught up in the moment and made a flippant comment not aware that my words are being read by someone else and that those words hold power. That a quick and dirty laugh is being made at the expense of someone else.

A few weeks ago, a blogger I admire deeply wrote a blog post that many took offense with. In the end I believe she spoke her truth, yet many were bothered by her post which is their right. However rather than deal with her as a fellow human, many resulted to slandering her character and making assumptions and attacks on her. People were so caught up in the moment that rather than take a step back to breathe and attempt respectful discourse, shallow and simple attacks became the rule. Behaviors like this are more and more common online it seems. Personally when I read anything online that riles me up, I take it as sign that I need to step back, unplug and plug into the people right next to me.

Today I came across a blog post from a blogger that I am not overly familiar with and while I understand that the post was written in a style that the blogger is known for, it broke my heart. Once upon a time as a society we knew instinctively that using children for cheap laughs and conversational fodder was simply not acceptable. That taking pictures of children that we have no connection to and posting them on our blogs or Instagram accounts even with their faces blacked out is simply not acceptable. To judge a child that we don’t know speaks to a certain level of depravity within ourselves.

In the course of our daily lives we encounter and see many things, some good and some bad. As someone who has spent years working with people in need, pretty much every day in my professional life brings an eyebrow raising moment. There have been many times I have wanted to crack wise online about a situation but I don’t. For starters, it is unprofessional. More importantly, what is the point? What do I get out of turning someone else into a punch line or talking point?  Nothing but a temporary buzz and if I need that buzz so much so that I will harm another, it is a sign that I am not healthy.

I am all for  sharing, but there is a time and a place and sometimes, some things are simply not meant for public consumption on a large scale.

Minding my manners and admiring a fellow mother

This morning the world awoke to the eloquent and deeply personal Op-Ed piece in today’s New York Times by actress and activist Angelina Jolie; where she revealed to the world that she recently underwent a preventative double mastectomy due to being a carrier of a cancer causing mutation. Jolie is not just any actress, she is a high profile actress and she is partnered to a high profile actor, Brad Pitt. Jolie is known as much for her humanitarian work as she is for the roles that she plays and she is a mother.

The media and world were immediately on fire discussing this revelation, after all Jolie isn’t exactly Jane next door, so this was news. The problem is that for many of us in discussing this news, we forgot that at the center of the news was a very real human being with thoughts and feelings.

I am embarrassed to admit that I forgot for a moment that attached to this news was a fellow mother and woman striving to make the best choices or herself and her family. Instead in a moment of thoughtlessness, I launched into a twitter rant about how not all women have the ability to make such preventative choices. While that is true and even Jolie has acknowledged the inequalities that exist, today was not the time and place as a long time BGIM reader and supporter told me and she is right.

For some reason living in a ramped up news cycle fueled by 24/7 access to the media, we often feel the need to speak when the better response is silence.  When it comes to public figures we and I am guilty of this myself, feel the need to say something because somewhere along the way it became easy to not afford public figures the same level of respect and treatment that we would give to our friends and loved ones and it is wrong.

Being mindful and respectful should not be limited to only people in our personal circles; it should be something that is extended to all people.  Social inequalities exist and unless one is under a rock in a cave, we all know that. However on this day, I will sit and just admire a woman and mother who in light of her very public life and status made a brave choice and feel honored that she chose to share that with the world.

Helping a Mama in need…a story with a twist

It seems fitting that on this day that we honor mothers, that I share the tale about a mother I am helping out. Considering that I am in a helping profession, helping people in need is second nature to me but I must admit that my helping nature is challenged at times when it comes to non-humans.

A few days ago, I was standing in my kitchen at the sink as I am prone to do.  When I heard a sound, it was a little strange but when you live in a house built in the 1880s you learn that strange sounds can be rather normal. So I did what any lazy homeowner would do, I ignored it and figured if I heard it again, then I would mention it to the Man Unit.  Of course, I heard it again so the Man Unit goes off to investigate in the basement. His investigation turns up nothing, when suddenly the light bulb goes off that the wall in which we are hearing the strange sound is the one where the now defunct chimney that used to be hooked up to a fireplace is located. Uh oh.

For starters we live in a house with what is called a mansard style roof which in simple terms means I have a two tiered roof and on our house we have the larger roof and a smaller roof so running up on our roof to investigate is not an easy option. Long story short after many calls, we get a guy from a local pest company to come out. Ole Travis as I shall call him arrives and comes in our house to see if he can hear the sound.  It is at this point he realizes I wasn’t kidding when I explained on the phone that the old fireplace area has been sealed up completely so he heads to our roof to see if he can locate the source of the strange sound.

Drumroll please…after 15 minutes on the roof, Travis comes back to the front door to deliver the verdict. A mama gray squirrel has decided that our unused chimney would be a fabulous and safe den to deliver her baby squirrels and that sound we are hearing is Mama and babies nesting in my unused chimney.

Unused chimney and temporary home to the Gray family

Unused chimney and temporary home to the Gray family

This is the point which I revert back to my city slicker ways and ask how are you going to get them out? To which Travis explains that he is strongly recommending that we wait 2-3 weeks to have them removed. Come again? See, the Mama squirrel can be trapped and taken out easily but with the babies, they are too young to trap and without Mama they will die in my chimney thus creating a nasty smell that could linger for months in my house. Pass the smelling salts! Are you telling me that I have to live with squirrels in my chimney for the next few weeks? Yep, that’s the deal. To say I am not happy is an understatement, I once moved out of an apartment less than a month after moving in because I discovered it had cockroaches. My tolerance for critters is lower than low.

However while I hate critters and creatures, I understood that there is no way for them to get into our living quarters since the damn fireplace has been sealed up and the chimney itself is brick and lined with mental hence the sound we are occasionally hearing. Oh my!

So on this Mother’s Day, I am honoring all mothers including pesky gray critters that have invaded my chimney and are wreaking havoc on my nerves with their sounds. Guess all mamas need a little help at times, so I am doing my part. But what is the mailing address for this Mama Gray Squirrel because it seems really rude to stick me with a $500 bill when I have graciously allowed her babies to live.

When Mom is Dad…some thoughts on Mother’s Day

Mother’s Day will be here in a few short days and while it is a day of great emotion for me due to the loss of my own beloved Mother, this year I am flipping the script. For 31 years I had the best Mom in the world (at least in my world) and losing her crushed me. I thought she would be here forever and most certainly didn’t expect to lose her so early in life but that is the nature of life. We just don’t know when we will leave.

Yet in the nine years since my Mom died there has been someone playing the role of mother in my life. While my dad would probably have my head for saying this (let us be happy that Papa of BGIM is not online) the truth is there have been times in the past nine years when I needed a mom. Even adults with their own kids occasionally need to be mothered.

I probably should point out that before Mama of BGIM took ill and died; my Pops and I had a decent relationship. It wasn’t bad but there were times when it could have been better. As far as anything related to womanhood, my Dad was a hands-off dude. Except for the time when he came home bearing coffee cake to celebrate my first period at age 11.  A truly tender moment, though I suspect at the time I was mortified that my mother felt the need to share these details with my father.

Papa of BGIM a few years ago.

Papa of BGIM a few years ago.

In the years since my mother’s passing there have been times when I needed a woman’s advice…I needed my mom.  One of those times was when I was pregnant with the seven year old. My dad reached out to his sisters and loaded himself up with information to share, the sort of annoying stuff that one’s mother does but at the time and even now I appreciate my father going that extra mile to fill my mother’s shoes. Then there was my breast cancer scare, which is definitely a strange thing to discuss with one’s dad and even my dad has acknowledged in those moments, it is a shame that my Mom is not here.  There have been many more moments when it was clear that my father was taking off his dad hat and attempting to wear my mother’s hat, no matter how awkward it felt for both of us. For that I thank you Dad on this Mother’s Day weekend for recognizing that there were times when I needed my mother and though you didn’t know what the hell you were doing, you were willing to try.

In thinking about my own situation it made me think of all those who play the roles of mother in someone’s life but aren’t officially recognized as mothers. Mothers are the ones traditionally seen as the caregivers to children but the reality is anyone in our village is capable of mothering because loving and nurturing is not just relegated to mothers. So while this Sunday may involve being pampered as mothers or pampering our own mother’s, let us not forget all that mother to those in need of mothering.

 

 

Christians are not a monolithic group

Excuse me for a minute, but I need to get something off of my chest that has bothered me for quite some time.  As someone who admits to being a work in progress and works daily to make sure that I am mindful of others, I wish that others would return the favor.

It’s no secret that I am a Christian, I don’t talk about it a great deal in this space or frankly with many people because in some ways I am a throwback to an era long past. Certain conversations are simply too contentious for general discussion: religion, politics and sex. They all make for great conversations and they are also a great way to end relationships. After all you folks don’t really need to know about my fully stocked dungeon.

I am not naïve or foolish, there have been many atrocities committed in the name of Jesus. There are plenty of despicable people running around yelling at the top of their lungs that they are Christians yet there is nothing loving or Christ like about these people. I am pretty sure Jesus himself would delight in smacking some of these fools misusing his name to hurt and oppress others. Some so-called Christian teachings are pretty far out, and even I question how exactly they came to be.

All that said though, Christians are not a monolithic group. There are Christians running around hating on other Christians. I am pretty sure that a Southern Baptist will never have a civil conversation on marriage equality with someone from a UCC background. The thing is there are Christians who see the Bible as one big metaphor for life and others who believe the literal translation of the Bible. There are Christians who love Jesus but don’t accept him as their Lord and Savior. There are Christians who are ride or die for Jesus. Christians are a diverse group of people…really we are.

Which means when someone decides that Christians should all be lumped together in one big box; it feels uncomfortable. A few nights ago on Twitter, I had an exchange where someone said they didn’t think Christians believed in the Old Testament. I was momentarily stunned, some of my favorite parts of the Bible are located in the Old Testament, specifically the Psalms and Proverbs.  

In a day and age where the suggested mission appears to be that we are striving towards greater inclusivity for all, it hurts that so many are quite comfortable bashing Christians.  It’s just not cool. In many ways when I think of my own faith, I am reminded of how stunned I was to learn that a gay friend was socially and politically conservative. Like many people, I had my own preconceptions and they were wrong. It was a learning moment for me.

Inclusivity and tolerance need to be two way streets for all, otherwise we will never end the cycle of hate and fear that has plagued this planet for too long.

PS: Excuse any typos, it’s that kind of day.

Musings on words and Charles Ramsey

Words and money are the currency on which our lives depend on. Loving and caring words, lift our spirits, keep us going and can even fill our hearts with joy. Money? You simply need it need it to live. There is no way around it.

Until a few days ago, it never dawned on me that as a wordsmith; even I could create words that while honest, simply missed the mark. Of course it’s easier to see when others fall short in their words but sometimes it takes a bit more to look at ourselves and acknowledge our own shortcomings especially when we assume we know.

I found myself in a rather uncomfortable place professionally a few days ago when I realized the words that I had been using while honest, simply fell short. Thankfully, I was able to make a course correction and there is light at the end of this challenging professional tunnel.

This unfortunate incident has made me ponder the greater issue of honesty and intentions in our words. It seems everywhere I turn, whether it is online or offline, everyone is being honest and speaking their truth and while that always feels good. There are times when honest words fall short. Either they are used as weapons to destroy and hurt others or an excuse to highlight our own personal failings and lack of common sense.

Then just when I was mulling this all over today, I heard about Charles Ramsey, the Black man in Cleveland, OH who helped rescue three missing women who had long been assumed dead. Charles Ramsey is like many relatives of mine, a plain talking, working-class Black man in the Midwest. For those not used to such people, Ramsey is a delightful and colorful man who is hamming it up. Really? In my extended family, we must all be hams then!  

No one disputes that Ramsey is a hero but what I find fascinating is how in using his words to tell a story which isn’t funny in my two cent opinion, it created a situation of humor for some.  His words are a reflection of his reality and to some degree his place on America’s invisible but not really class ladder.  I suspect the line between those of us laughing with him and those laughing at him is a thin line indeed. At the moment Ramsey is the toast of the internet and cable news networks with viral memes popping up, yet there is a part of me that wonders how many are uncomfortable with his honesty?

 In sharing his version of the story with us, he used his words to speak his truth, yet some honest and truthful words cannot ever be heard because we would rather be amused at times. Words…they are a tricky and messy business indeed.   

Losing my labels

Blue-collar, white collar, chief executive, day laborer, and stay at home mom, and the list goes on. Words that we use to describe who we are and what we do; they may even shed some light on who we are as individuals. Really they are just labels; labels that many of us are deeply invested in. Labels that hold so much power and sway in our personal orbs that if we are faced with the reality of losing our labels, it can rock us to our core.

For the past several weeks in the midst of the professional storms that I am facing, I have found myself in the quiet moments wondering who will I be if I can’t turn things around? For the past four years, I have been known primarily by my professional accomplishments and at times my ego has sucked it all up. The ego has a tendency to thrive on accolades and accomplishments, it feels good. Yet the ego is not my friend and I know this, but the ego is that lover who is bad for you but you just can’t quite break free of…not even for your own good. No one is completely free of ego and the ego knows it, hence my own desire to work towards mindfulness at all times.  I can’t shake ego but I can at least be aware of it.

I realized that should I cease to be the executive director of my agency, I will still be me. If my column for the Portland Phoenix should end, I will still be me. Hell, I could lose my family and I would still be me. I am more than the roles I play and the labels I wear. The labels I wear and embrace may say something about me, but they are not me. The problem is we live in a time where our labels say so much, that to lose or change labels especially on the things we as a society deem to be most important in the eyes of others are the hardest to lose. It’s why America has a middle class problem. We all claim that label even in the face of clear data that says otherwise. We are more than our class levels, we are more than our jobs but it takes time to accept that truth and feel comfortable in it.

As for me, no matter what happens I will make peace with just being me. Individually made and unique. Growth requires change and change requires accepting that nothing stays the same, not even our labels.  

 

 

Mom and bodies…uncomfortable and unspoken truths

I lost the battle of the flat stomach twenty-one years ago when I gave birth to my son at nineteen. Sure, I was back to my pre-pregnancy weight less than a week after giving birth, but I have been chasing the dream of the flat belly ever since and it stops now. Despite talking a good game over the years and decades, I have been involved in a dysfunctional hate-tolerate relationship with my body like too many women. This relationship is over and it’s all because of my seven year old daughter.

A few days ago, my daughter was talking to me and all of a sudden I heard her utter that word that should just be stricken from the English and any other language that it exists in…diet. My antenna went up and I asked her what she was talking about, where did she hear that word? In the end it doesn’t matter where she heard it because the truth is we live in a society that worships at the altar of thinness and I have been guilty of being a congregant at that church more times than I care to admit.

Just last week, I went out to the local tweet up and mentally spent most of my time filled with angst because the majority of the bodies present were young and thin. So I hung on a bar stool and spent most of my time talking with just a handful of people since as a 40 year old slightly overweight woman, I felt out of place.  As if I didn’t belong. Who told me that I didn’t belong? No one but I felt that I didn’t belong because my body isn’t perfect, it isn’t thin. Never mind that it is strong, healthy and limber as hell thanks to four years of yoga.

For the past few days I have been reflecting on my conversation with my daughter and wondering how many times have I subconsciously passed on the message that certain bodies are better than others even though I have been careful to never use the word diet? I think about the times my girl has suggested I wear a certain outfit because she thinks it is cute but I won’t wear it because it will accentuate that which I am not comfortable with? Too many times.

Today, I woke up thinking about the parts of my body that I adore…turns out that I love my legs. They are gorgeous and more importantly they are strong and they root me into the ground, they are my metaphorical rocks. Even this jelly belly that I loathe because it makes clothes shopping a hassle is soft and squishy and warm like a buttery corn muffin. Who doesn’t love a buttery corn muffin?

My leg

My leg

 

I won’t lie, it will take some work to truly embrace my entire physical being but just like the mental and spiritual work that I have been doing in recent years. It is time. What about you? What do you adore about your body?

Wear a hat, network or just let your hair down

When I was 20 and my Mom was 38, my Mom decided that after twenty years of being what used to be called a housewife, she was tired. She went out and got a full time job and declared that Friday nights were hers. That on Friday night she was not cooking, cleaning or doing anything for anyone else other than herself. She was going to meet up with her friends and have fun! When she first made this declaration despite the fact that I was already out of the house, it caused huge ripples in my parents’ marriage and in our family. I mean why was she going out?

At the time, I admit it was rather confusing to me but it was clear that having one night a week that was hers and hers alone made her very happy. She still had one underage kiddo at home, my brother who was about nine or ten. But who was also at an age where not having Mama home at bedtime wasn’t going to cause him any great stress.  My mom continued to work full time and take her Fridays as well as an annual trip to the Upper Peninsula with her girls until she died a premature death at 50.

As the years have gone by and I have gone through the ups and downs of navigating motherhood, marriage and a professional life; suddenly a night a week to myself started looking good. So last year I decided to follow in my mother’s footsteps and take Friday night for myself…the result? A happier mama/wife/ worker who revels in knowing that weekly I will get time to myself, guilt free time, where sometimes I get together with friends for margaritas or just relax with a coffee and a book. For me taking a break from the world allows me to better manage the stresses of daily life and if Mama is happy, everyone is happy.

I admit it took time to get over the idea that I was being a “bad” mama and doing something wrong by putting myself on the calendar every week. In today’s world of hyper-parenting it occasionally feels wrong to take care of ourselves because somewhere along the way, the parenting rules were rewritten and it seems mothers are only mothers. Too many times if we do something for ourselves, we feel the need to justify it and the question I have is why? Who said mothers are just mothers? We existed before our kids were born and as the mother of a 21 year old man, I am learning that we will exist after our babies grow up and have their own lives.  For whatever reasons, the guilt that seems to be part of mothers lives is for the most part absent from father’s lives. Can we say double standard?

It seems last week when I was out playing the role of Grinch to poor kiddos, the Wall Street Journal published a piece on “mom bloggers” and insinuated that blogger conferences are nothing more than a “guilt free, child free” reason to leave home. Plenty of bloggers have responded to this piece and while I personally have never attended a blogging conference I have it on good authority that are more than just this “But they also will get decked out in ornate hats as they sip mint juleps at a Kentucky Derby party and will don capri pants for a 1950s-themed barbecue on a cliff overlooking the beach. Throughout the conference, they can stroll through the expo that will be set up to let event sponsors connect with attendees. Organizers hope the expo space has the feel of a French market: chalkboard signs, fruit and flower carts, cypress trees.”

Clearly blogging is work, with many women using blogging as a way to earn a living and expand their professional horizons. For many bloggers, conferences are a way to move their work ahead and yes they do provide a break from the usual routine since most bloggers aren’t traveling with their kids in tow.  But even if a mom blogger is just attending a conference to catch a break from the daily grind and just wants to get decked out in an ornate hat and let loose …what is the problem?

Why must we as women constantly justify our choices to the world at large? Who is creating these standards that define us and put us in boxes? I am sick and tired of grown folks needing to feel any type of guilt over their choices. Frankly I think we all need breaks, but if someone else doesn’t feel that way, that is fine too. Variety is the spice of life and we all need to strive to live in a manner that feels intentional and honest to us without fear of judgment.

As for the Wall Street Journal, quit demeaning women’s work and creating an environment that stokes insecurity. Besides that piece was filled with assumptions and you know what they say about assumptions….