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.
One morning, I spotted my new “friend” from a distance. She appeared busy, sorting through some papers.
I decided to wait until I was close enough to greet her, but I was met with a cold shoulder.
She completely ignored me as though I wasn’t standing right next to her.
I touched her lightly on the back and said “hi.”
In response, she barely acknowledged me and muttered something under her breath.
She even went so far as to greet my husband, but she completely ignored me.
I was taken aback.
Imagine my shock!
What had I done to upset her?
My mind raced back to the last time I saw her, as I tried to piece together what I did or said that could have possibly offended her.