Member-only story
All Skinfolk Ain’t Kinfolk
Dear Black woman, I’m rooting for you. Please do the same for me.
A few months ago, I met a woman who reminded me a lot of myself. She was black, a millennial, a similar height and build to me, a wife and mother, who had taken time out of her career to raise her children — all of which were attributes I had. We even had similar aspirational goals — we both wanted to empower women by setting up support groups where women could congregate and discuss shared interests.
I was particularly fond of her because, through our conversations, I sensed that we were both in the throes of motherhood - exhausted by the busyness of everyday life and simply trying to survive the ups and downs that come with mothering.
Naturally, I assumed we would make good mom friends — at least that’s what I thought.
In hindsight, I was probably a bit too enthusiastic and slightly misguided.
Blame my optimism.
We exchanged contacts and chatted on several occasions. Our conversations mainly centered around our children, motherhood, and our dream and hope for the future.
I was always pleased to see her as I considered her a friend in the making — if you will.
But the events that unfolded next, made me question my initial optimism.
