For as long as I can remember the way my siblings were raised was never. Aspects of parenting displayed by my parents often never reached her because she was a girl. For a time this worked in her favor, no heavy labor, fewer responsibilities, and discipline were all things that we as siblings saw as normal. As they mirrored the society that we would soon step into, I was naive to think that the differences between men and women within our household would always be pleasant or necessary. When my sister got older she would begin to grow tall very quickly. Shocked, my parents decided she needed to eat less to stop her from growing. The cycle of body shaming started in her at such an early age I was unaware of the repercussions associated with this until I got older. Even more so when we discussed weight and its role in society and black women in particular. My sister was always an active person despite her weight and height. Se played 3 sports all throughout high school and continued on club teams after graduation. Despite her best efforts, our parents would restrict her food intake and when questioned by my sister my parents would say “You’re not like your brothers”. The stress associated with an early cycle of body shaming is associated with what we know about black women in society my sister is already at a mental disadvantage when trying to regulate herself. At a young age, I watched her struggle with self-love, identity issues, self-worth, and many other social concepts that she should not have had to entertain. As a brother, I was ignorant of what the effects really were because as a man I chalked it up to independent struggles, not a systemic issue. Her frustration with her body and its treatment is felt by many young black women as a way to ease them into patriarchal values.

My dad made it out and he made sure that I would be able to make a life for myself without the help of anyone but myself. The discussion we had as a class on black bodies in sports, specifically black boys, was one of the more influential discussions I’ve participated in. The significance of sports in the black community as a means of overcoming struggles and adversity has become the standard for black children who are facing hardship. The social structure built around that belief has caused an influx of black children to be drawn away from other means of escaping their circumstances, with the fear and belief that other avenues weren’t built for them and they won’t succeed there. Education is the route that is so overlooked because access and quality were never seen as pillars in predominantly black communities. The same can be said about small village communities in Africa where my father was raised. Instead of sports being the means out of poverty in Africa there was farm work as well as generational labor. Being that this is not what my father wanted for himself and his family he made sure that he got an education and a high level one at that. Education is the one thing that no one can take away from you, he used to say that all throughout my childhood. The goal of professional sports as a career has become so normalized despite the scarcity of spots to fill while education has become something that others are ridiculed for entertaining. When I read more about the origin of the abuse of young black bodies for entertainment I can’t help but feel that the goal was to turn them against education to keep them in lower positions of social status. When I was younger it was almost like he never wanted me to fall in love with sports as I played them in fear that I would repeat the cycle and focus more on them than on education. As I’m sitting in class though i’ve realized it’s taking me as much resolve as a student to graduate as an athlete trying to go pro. That resolve wouldn’t have been where it needed to be had I not seen education as a keystone to improving your circumstances.

It never clicked that I had a mental illness until way later than it should have, unfortunately. Then when it did I always made excuses for how my actions caused me to function so poorly in life, separating the illness from myself as if they could ever exist separately. Visible and invisible disabilities were never seen as equal in society. One was a valid reason for requiring aid and assistance, the other was a cry for attention or something synonymous with not trying hard enough. When you look at your own behavior through that lens and not for what it really is it diminishes your chances of finding peace in living or happiness. At young ages, we are forced to process our ever-changing minds and chalk it up to normalcy or puberty. But when you develop a mental illness and you lack the resources to properly process or understand the significance that track to disability isn’t as long as it seems. The debate about whether chronic illnesses should be seen and treated like disabilities means that there is a difference in the way the two live their lives. And that legislature will solve the debate, when in reality both parties are already living the same struggle. If the way I live my life isn’t indicative that I’m not behaving like a healthy and abled person then disabled would be the appropriate term. Calling myself disabled when I have all the tools to fix them just out of reach but no motivation to reach for them is an argument that I’ve had way before lecture. And one that I will continue to have after I’ve graduated.

I want to say the phenomenological perspective is something new that I’ve incorporated into my way of thinking but that wouldn’t be true. Analyzing, overanalyzing, and analyzing the results of what I just analyzed is how my brain thinks about people, life, and most consistently myself. whether I want to or not I think about the human experience and how the memories I have affect me on a daily if not hourly level. how did my memories and experiences cause me to turn out this way? that’s the question that I ask myself and as I read more about the first person experience and the importance of it I simultaneously understand it and don’t. my experience in life seems so mundane when I really sit back and think on them but at the same time because if them I feel like I’m am always at my breaking point. yet I look at people in my life who have experienced so much and they have the ability to seem hopeful for the experiences to come. so my question is what’s our breaking point?

our consciousness exists in the domain of experiences, perception, thought, imagination, emotion, etc. Through these experiences, we form our own personalized way of dealing with what we see. The spectrum that our methods of experience fall onto ranges infinitely. though is there a point on the spectrum where some fall short of adopting the necessary skills to deal with the unknown, not for lack of trying just out of chance? Every day I hyperfixate on the minute details of life for me and everyone around me trying to find something to fix how I am that may not even be there to be found. many of us have shared experiences and memories but the interpretation of them varies from person to person. if I were to think of my question mathematically there is a room with 30 people who just witnessed a traumatic event, of those 30 people use what you know about people vs the situation to determine how many people will be driven to the edge and how many will recover.

I really dont even know if phenomenology can answer my question but it’s propobably my best shot .