Many People Are Drawn To My Light But Few Can Handle it's Brightness.
What I Learned After Sharing My Book With a Local “Nonbinary” Woman
This weekend, I met up with a “nonbinary” woman in my community, and we had an exchange that illuminated something about myself that I had been needing to see for a long time.
…
We met just a few weeks ago at a walking tour designed to educate locals about the wild-grown herbs in our neighborhood. We were the only two black women in our small group. She had more of a soft-butch presentation, but she seemed shy, and we didn’t talk to each other at all throughout the walk.
However, towards the end of the tour, the facilitator stopped to show us one of the plants growing on the side of the bike trail, and this black woman raised her hand to ask whether the herb was native to the region or not.
The facilitator immediately launched into a 2 minute lecture about how we should watch our language when describing plants as “native” because it also translates into how we describe human beings as belonging vs. not belonging, based on whether they are a citizen of the U.S..
I smirked. Her whole white guilt spiel was really annoying, and it felt performative. Are we not here to learn?! Why is the origin of the plant suddenly offensive?
What’s more, I thought it was so ironic that one of the only non-white people in the group was being policed so hard for using language that was supposedly exclusionary to immigrants, after asking a very basic question.
So I raised my hand and told the facilitator that, as someone who is half-Nigerian, I have personally taken a special interest in learning which plants are indigenous to West Africa, because it helps me understand which Nigerian dishes are native to the region, and which ones are made from ingredients that the colonizers brought to our land.
That was both a 100% true statement, and my way of taking the pressure off of this other black woman. And it worked.
The facilitator widened her eyes and said, “Oh yes of course that is totally valid!!”
She fawned over how that’s a totally different political context, and blah blah blah…we moved on.
After that, I started to sense that this black woman wanted to connect with me. At the end of the walk, she made really intense eye contact with me for a moment, and I gave her a polite smile before walking inside.
A couple of minutes later, she approached and greeted me by my first name. She explained that she had been looking for more black friends in the area, and wanted to know if I’d like to get together sometime. She explicitly said she had to “shoot her shot” with me. Interesting.
Now on an energetic level, I have to be honest: this is not a woman who I would opt to be friends with. I could tell that I was more FREE than her, in every sense of the word—and it showed up in how we carried ourselves.
But being that I have been craving local community, I was open to forming acquaintanceships too. Maybe my initial read on her was our first incompatibility that I should have taken more seriously, but I didn’t. I stayed open, because I thought she seemed like a genuinely nice person, and I was open to explore the connection.
I thought perhaps, we could share a wholesome activity together. So I offered for us to expand on what we learned on our plant walk by going foraging sometime.
We exchanged numbers and eventually, we made plans to meet at a local park to go on a nature walk.
When I was on my way to meet her, I had an intuitive feeling that a conversation about gender ideology was going to come up, and that it wasn’t going to end well.
I was nervous about it, but I had also made peace with it. After all, we had only planned to spend an hour an a half together before parting ways, so I had packed a picnic blanket, a book, and dessert for my own solo time in the garden. I was prepared to be left alone.
…
We met up at a local train station and walked to the park entrance together, which was just a few minutes away.
We had barely crossed the street before her questions quickly began leading us down that rocky road to gender ideology.
Totally normal questions, too…
Like, “What have you been up to lately?…Oh yeah?…Well, what kind of podcast did you record?…What’s the anthology about?”
I got completely out of my comfort zone and told her exactly what it was:
“It’s called She Holds The Line: Black Women Speak on Gender Ideology and it’s a diverse group of women sharing personal essays and poetry about the adverse impact of the trans movement on black women.”
I could immediately feel her sense of time slowing down. For a few seconds, we moved through molasses.
She shook her head incredulously. “Wh…what’s impact does it have on black women? How is it negatively affecting you?”
Her question felt like an increasingly strong grip around my neck.
“We wrote about it. I contributed to the book too. I can send you a link,” I said, breathlessly.
Seconds later, we arrived at the park entrance. She was in such a daze that she completely passed it by. I had to stop in my tracks to alert her that we had arrived.
We then embarked on what was a very silent and awkward walk through the park.
We walked for about 20 minutes and tried to talk about other things. What book did I bring with me, what else we have been up to, what herbs have we discovered lately? The energy felt heavy with discomfort.
…
Eventually my legs got tired and I suggested we sit on a bench. As soon as she sat down, she turned to me and said,
“I’m just going to be honest, I don’t think this friendship is gonna work if you don’t like trans people, because...I’m nonbinary.”
I was taken aback but also…completely unsurprised.
“When did I say I don’t like anyone?” I said.
“I just didn’t want you to be lost about why I’m not responding to your messages after this….”
I laughed a little and shrugged. “I kind of predicted this would happen. I wasn’t really expecting anything to come of this meetup. I was just following through because we talked about foraging together.”
She reiterated the premise of my book and asked the same question she asked before. “What impact is this having on black women?”
I calmly leaned into the back of the bench. “You know, when I’m trying to have a casual conversation I don’t really like to be in teaching mode, which is why I recommend people read the book. But I can give you an example. And this is just one of many...”
I told her about Tomiekia Johnson, the incarcerated woman who wrote an impassioned essay in the anthology, outlining her abuse from violent men in women’s prisons, as well as other rape cases that many female inmates have suffered at the hands of males who identify as women. I explained that this is happening as a result of self-ID laws, that black women are disproportionately impacted due to our incarceration rates, and I felt it was important to highlight Tomiekia’s voice because mainstream media ignores issues like this one.
And I kid you not…
She could not get past the fact that I called the male rapists MEN.
Like…that was the major human rights violation happening here: Me purposefully misgendering the rapists.
That became the focus of the whole conversation; the root of the problem.
She shrugged and explained that some transwomen just happen to be rapists. However, by calling them men, I am stripping them of their personhood and disrespecting them. I am calling them out of their name. Those transwomen who raped are still women!!!
I was sitting there thinking like, “Damn. This is peak self-hate!”
I told her that I don’t feel an obligation to show them any particular respect.
Her: “That’s like when black man does something wrong and he gets called the N-word.”
Me: “You think this is on-par with the N-word?”
Her: “I don’t like Trump but I don’t call him Fat because that’s not why I don’t like him.”
Her voice was growing louder and more impassioned as she belted out the reasons why I am wrong. In the same moment, a man and woman quietly walked by with their small child.
I looked at them in the eye, nodded, and gave them a warm smile. “How you doin?” I said, signaling that everything is OK.
Ms. Nonbinary checked herself and followed suit. “Have a nice day!” she nervously called after them.
I relaxed into my body, knowing I was safe, because I was not the least bit emotionally invested in this conversation.
I turned to face her. “Listen. You’re welcome to believe what you want. I’m not interested in trying to change your mind. But let me ask you something. Do you believe in absolute truth? Or do you believe that truth is always subjective?”
She shrugged, waved her hands around and told me that it depends. Some truths are material, others are subjective, things are always changing!
I said, “OK. Well, I use the original definition of man and woman, which are based on material reality. It’s only within the last few years that they changed it on paper. I don’t think those definitions are hateful. I mean you can identify however you want but it doesn’t change those facts.”
She reverted back to the fact that I’m disrespecting a trans person’s humanity by calling them out of their name.
I nodded and told her I’ve heard this argument before, I’m used to receiving plenty of hostility about my views, and I understand her position completely.
I had nothing else to say.
She lowered her voice back to a normal tone. “Well I’m sorry if you think I’m being hostile…”
I smiled and raised my eyebrows. “You’re not as bad as some other people,” I reassured.
She wished me all the best with my endeavors, thanked me for coming out to meet a stranger, and told her that my position simply hits too close to home because she’s nonbinary, and her partner and roommate are also trans. Then she got up and walked away. We had only spent about 45 minutes together.
…
I was left alone on the bench with an empty space next to me. After watching her disappear into the distance, I gazed forward. I was sitting right in front of the green area where I usually lay out and meditate. I would be headed over there soon…
But in the meantime, all I could think about was the fact that I want to make sure I never waste my time and energy like this again.
I set a quiet intention for myself and moved forward.
The sun caressed me as I laid out on my blanket, laughing about the sheer stupidity of it all.
How predictable their outrage is. How boring it is.
I could practically lip sync every word….
Talking about this issue with most people feels like yanking a wad of chewed up gum that’s been stuck to to the bottom of a middle schooler’s desk for a year, putting it in my mouth, and trying to find a new flavor.
Wash. Rinse. Repeat. Brainwash. Rinse. Repeat.
And the crazy thing is, this is the second “nonbinary” black lesbian who has given me the cold shoulder this week, after talking about my book.
I know I want to be authentic, but this is draining. I don’t like exposing myself to these energies, and something has to change.
So I got quiet and thought to myself about how I got here? And where to go next...
…
Now, let me be honest. When I go out, I attract attention, and people are drawn to me.
I get approached a lot.
I also genuinely enjoy connecting with people, so I experience a lot of social engagement; a lot of contact exchange.
My presence appeals to different types of people, and this also includes “queer-nonbinary” types.
...
What I realize is that people are attracted to the beauty of my light.
Even my hair, which I receive loads of attention for—is an expression of my inner-light and freedom. Most people do not realize that because they think my hair is just a style…but it’s not.
Most people do not understand the courage, inner work, and spiritual strength it took for my hair to be just as it is—they only see and appreciate the aesthetic result. And that’s OK…because it is physically beautiful too. But I say that to say...
The reason why people are drawn to me is not just because I’m beautiful. It’s because I am radiant.
And the fact is, many people who are attracted to that radiance on a superficial level, cannot hold space for my light in a deeper sense, especially not through a relationship, because my light is too bright for them to witness up close.
They cover their eyes and turn away, or they don’t have enough power to stoke my flame. So instead, they ask me to dim my light.
Because in order to fully pour into me, you have to be shining your light just as bright as I am, in a true sense.
My journey through my work on this topic—has shown that to me because I’ve had to reach deep down to find my light and shine it super bright amidst all this darkness.
And it’s one of the hardest things I’ve had to accept. Because it’s been lonely.
But much as I want to be a light for my community, and as much as I want to be here for people to learn...I am also clear that my well of energy is not a fucking charity pot.
So today, I have realized that I need to make myself far less available to people than I am now.
I need to release the fear I feel around not having an emergency contact.
Feel the grief I feel around losing my family, around not having any close friends...
Heal the sadness that compels me to linger around misaligned energies for just a little too long...
And I need to trust that I’m going to be OK.
With no perceivable safety net. With no tight-knit community.
I need to take full ownership of my solitude, and walk my path in a way that preserves my energy for where it truly belongs.
So when people step to me, I can be clear in my heart, that with the utmost love...
Business is closed AS FUCK!!!!
Except for the rare few who show me that they are worthy of my time and energy.
Just like a cat.
That’s what cats do—they require you to earn their trust. I need to connect with my ancestral cat lineage and get into that mode.
So that’s what I will be working on. Meow!!
And that was the blessing that came from this recent interaction I had.
I think deep down, my spirit needed to see a truth brought to the surface so that I could process it, and that’s what happened.
So I accept the cold shoulder with an open heart.
Because it’s all moving me closer to who I am and where I am meant to be.