We Don't Owe You Kumbaya.

My Willingness To Be Disliked in the name of Truth

N3VLYNNN

Last week, I published a very honest essay called “Why It’s Hard For Me to be Friends with White Women”. 

A lot of white folks—including some readers and random strangers on Substack—were very angry with me for writing this essay, and let’s just say that they aggressively made sure that their opinions were heard.

Folks who hadn’t even read the full piece projected their defensiveness, framed me and my feelings as inherently wrong, and publicly shared my work with the intention of turning others against me.

It really showcased the essence of white fragility. 

The spineless vitriol and cheek-turning was a little overwhelming considering the vulnerable state I was in when I wrote the piece.

I ended up blocking a number of people, including a paid subscriber, ranting about it on Notes, and then I turned off my notifications for a week. 

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One thing I will say is that the backlash I received didn’t change how I feel at all. 

In fact, it just reinforced everything that I talked about in that essay x10. 

The truth is, I have been feeling the weight of being a minority in my environment. I’m dealing with the mental gymnastics of processing subtle racism and other annoying blind spots when in social situations with white folks—on top of feeling disconnected from my own community. 

My essay broadly focused on interactions with the white women I’m acquainted with, but this is not really about them as individuals. 

I wrote that essay because I was tired and overwhelmed, and I miss having ease of access to women who are most similar to me, even just seeing them on the streets. 

I needed space to share my truth, and that space is and will always be through my Art. 

I knew I would inevitably step on some toes, because most of my subscribers are white.

This is not my design, preference, or intention—but it is the product of being an integral voice in a cultural discussion where white people are the dominant speakers. 

I attract people from various backgrounds to my Blog through my gender-critical writings. While some of those people may appreciate select, refined, and compartmentalized products of my humanity such as the essay on Pauli Murray, not all of those people are equipped to bear witness to that same humanity in its fullness.

Regardless, my blog is one of my creative homes, and it’s meant to be a safe container for all of my expression. As such, it’s important for me to have an authentic relationship with my work, and my audience. 

Sometimes, that means sharing ideas and personal truths that I know will make some people angry.

I have an internal rolodex of groups I know will upset or turn off based on what I plan to share in the future.

The men who will get angry when I talk about misogyny, the white folks who get mad when I get real about my black experience, the radical feminists who will be disgusted when I share my pole dancing and nude art photos, the indoor cat owners who will feel confronted by my views on indoor cat ownership, Right Wingers, black conservatives, random people who will find something to pick on, gossip, and say mean things, etc. etc.

Oh and of course, the Wokies and the violent Trans Rights Activists.

The list just never fucking ends. 

Sometimes this scares me, but my commitment to freedom of expression always trumps the fear.

Even if it means that it spills out all raw and ugly, and I hide under a rock afterwards to recover from a vulnerability hangover. I eventually find the courage to do it again, like a karmic vessel. I was born for this. 

The irony is, that those who abruptly left the building upon micro-dosing on my raw honesty, don’t fully respect that I had to be 100% willing to piss people off in order to produce the work that attracted them to me in the first place. 

This particular blog only exists because I pissed people off to the point of them retaliating against me, and because I decided that the gifts I have to share with the world are worth the risk of even more social ostracization.

Y’all would not even have the privilege of being so royally disappointed in me, if it weren’t for my blatant willingness to be disliked.

I’ve low-key become a Pariah in order to live truthfully—and they eat that shit up, yet they are mad when I don’t conform to their standard of who they think I should be. 

Isn’t that ironic?

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The white folks who blasted me out for sharing my challenges in forming deep relationships with white women— are the most hypocritical of them all.

I’ll bet money on the fact that none of those people have any black friends beyond maybe a single, long-suffering, self-hating token Negro.

Maybe.

Based on their reaction to me, they have demonstrated that they too, will have difficulty forming any genuine, deep, and authentic relationships with black people—albeit for different reasons than what I am experiencing.  

The things I had to say in my essay are things that so many black women feel, but choose not to say in mixed company, because it would be a huge waste of their energy.

But those white folks don’t have the awareness to see that because they’re so profoundly disconnected from black realities, and they’ve made zero effort to make that connection, beyond engaging with black perspectives as a dilettante.

At best.

Yet, they have the audacity and entitlement to get upset when they witness a black person who isn’t on some saccharine Kumbaya shit with white folks—even if that’s not truly beneficial or realistic for us.

We don’t owe you Kumbaya. 

When someone like me disrupts their narrative, it makes them uncomfortable. 

Race has shaped my life, and it influences how I form community. I’m genuinely able to connect with people from various backgrounds, and I do. However, for me, deeper relationships require various layers of likeness and mutual understanding.

It’s not impossible for me to have a close white friend. However, there are significant barriers, and it’s not something I would actively seek out. I love black women.

Sue me.

My goal is not to upset people, but I accept that I will do that in the process of expressing myself authentically and growing as a person. 

I am always grateful to those who listen and read my work with an open mind and heart, who appreciate my voice on a holistic level, and who can sense my true spirit beneath the various layers of my writing—whoever that may be. 

I appreciate y’all, and I am here for you.