My whole life I’ve been called a busy bee. But as I’ve grown up I’ve lived up to the nickname. I started working at 15 years old, and have not stopped since, and I actually still work at my first job as the Supervisor.

Working is a part of my normal routine and relaxing is a luxury, and for some reason if my days off are not filled with things to do then this heavy weight lays on my shoulders of being guilty for not working if I don’t have anything to do. Taking a break is not easy for me because I am constantly always doing something. 

I almost get FOMO (fear of missing out) or feel shameful if I have nothing to do and I don’t go to work. I guess this explains why I get so anxious when there’s nothing left to do. I hate feeling this way though, because I literally have worked my whole life. When I was a child I would get up early and go to work with my dad on the weekends and then I was forced during the week to get up and to get to school by 630am because my mom worked at my elementary school as a daycare provider for the school. Once I got to high school I was told it was my time to get a real job, so I can “pay my part”. Meaning that I was no longer my parents responsibility and that it was time to fend for myself (to an extent). Since then I have been nonstop.

My parents forced college on me and my brother but didn’t realize that college wasn’t free. They were happy when I expressed my interest in wanting to go to college but were mad when I got accepted into a private thirty thousand dollar a year school. Then they were mad when my brother decided to drop out of college. It has been an ongoing war with my parents because no matter what me and my brother did or how much we worked it was never enough. My parents have watched me and my brother struggle financially numerous times and still continued to ask for our last dollar. My brother and I were the main source of income after we got jobs because my dad got lazy and my mom worked multiple minimum wage jobs just to make her part. 

Then I started college, and college students have it hard enough, let alone balance a full-time job or even multiple jobs with their studies. It has taken me 7 years to finish my undergrad because I’ve had to pay for tuition out of pocket and also balance my three jobs with my academics.

With all this being said, my parents loved the phrase you don’t know what “real stress” is. My parents still haven’t grown out of that phrase even though I work a full-time job, two part time jobs, and am taking 5/6 classes this semester. But, now I think from time to time that maybe they were right. Maybe what I am describing isn’t “real stress,” and maybe it’s just trauma. My trauma response is to crowd myself with so much to do that I literally get anxious and physically ill when I’m not constantly doing something.

Now, my parents aren’t horrible parents. Well definitely not my mom, but my dad is a different story. Maybe I am the way I am because my mom has always had multiple jobs to support my brother and I and my dad was always losing jobs and putting our family in struggle situations. So I can understand that aspect but, the diminishing of the feelings or obliviousness my parents had to the trauma they were causing on me and my brother and is something I can’t wrap my head around. My body to them is just for labor. One day when I have children I will ensure that they don’t feel the way I did/ do and their bodies aren’t just another body for labor. I stay motivated for this reason, because I will do anything to make sure my children do not ever struggle financially or emotionally the way my brother and I did.

I want to preface by saying that I have always been against the idea of children for a multitude of reasons. One main reason why I do not intend to have children is because it is what is expected of me by society. That’s the thing to do when you grow up, find a husband, get married and have children and provide for those children. I have always gone along with what society expects of me, however, this is not something I was going to given into so easily. As of recently though, I have found myself more and more open to the idea of having children. 

This new development is a slight possibility as I still sit with my many concerns that come with being a mother. One concern I would like to focus on is the maternal mortality rate for Black women. I was fortunate enough to take a Gender and Women’s studies class in highschool that has enlightened me to the struggles of women all throughout our world’s history. We discussed topics such as the women’s suffrage movement, gender equality, intersectionality, gender roles, gender and sexuality, female genital mutilation and last but not least Black maternal mortality rates. The discourse of maternal mortality rate in Black women specifically was a touching subject as I have experienced first hand how black women are ignored and pushed aside in health care. As I’ve gotten older, I’ve come to realize just how real and dangerous the situation is for Black women when it comes to maternal healthcare. The statistics are staggering—Black women are three to four times more likely to die from pregnancy-related complications than white women. What’s even more concerning is that many of these deaths are preventable. It’s not just about access to healthcare; it’s about the quality of care received. Time and time again, Black women’s pain is dismissed, and their concerns go unheard, contributing to this shocking disparity.

This issue is deeply rooted in systemic racism that plagues our healthcare system. Black women are often treated as less credible when they express discomfort or medical concerns, and that bias can have deadly consequences. High-profile cases, like that of Serena Williams, who almost lost her life due to medical professionals not listening to her about her own body, highlight the urgency of this problem. The fear of being ignored or mistreated by healthcare providers is something I would constantly have to consider if I ever chose to become a mother. This reality adds yet another layer to my apprehension about having children, and it’s a conversation we need to have more openly. Every Black woman deserves to feel safe, heard, and cared for in every stage of her pregnancy—and yet, that’s still far from the reality many face today. So, with all of this weighing on my mind, I can’t help but ask myself: Would I survive childbirth?

The Circle of Life

Have you ever examined certain aspects of life and wondered how everything comes together to form the circle of life? Many individuals are very mindful of the entire process of laboring a child. Many of these individuals spend years becoming educated in this particular field. They will spend hours and hours gaining clinical experience to gain experience in how labor works. These individuals are “medical professionals.” They may hold a lot of knowledge about how a woman’s body works during pregnancy, but they cannot account for those women who have different experiences than the rest. There are normal aspects of pregnancy that all women may face, but unknown symptoms should not be ignored.

Diving into the subject of labor, the question that comes to mind is “Who is in charge” of the laboring body? This question brings so many opinions and thoughts from every individual. It should be a shared responsibility of assistance from the medical team to provide their knowledge to best help the woman who is giving birth. However, there should be autonomy over her preferences of how she wants to give birth. There should be an equal balance of where the mother and medical professional agree to provide support for the mother’s needs.

In early times, the process of how women were taken care of for their pregnancy has completely changed even up to the way a child is delivered. In the reading “African-American Midwifery: a History and a Lament,” the Lamaze technique was mentioned which is “childbirth without pain.” This discussion spoke about the increased rates of “chemical stimulation of labor, episiotomies, cesarean sections.” Why should childbirth be done in a specific way? Why does it matter if a woman wants to have a pain-free birth? These ideas and concepts are still topics that are debated upon. Overall, women should be the only ones who get to decide what she wants. Medical professionals should only guide her if it will negatively impact her.

When I was around four or five years old, I was obsessed with ballet. Angelina Ballerina was my all time favorite show/book series, most nights I would end up dancing around my mom in the kitchen while she was preparing dinner, and I would religiously practice positions one through five on the weekends when I had nothing better to do. It eventually got to the point where my mom had enough and signed me up for beginner’s ballet lessons. 

I didn’t stick with ballet for various reasons, but to this day I’ve noticed a few things about my body that most definitely are a result from my ballet obsession. I’ve noticed that I’m more flexible than my peers, I have a better sense of balance than my friends, I keep a fairly good posture when I’m not thinking about it, and – most noticeably – I stand at a relaxed position two when speaking to people – my legs out wide with my feet pointed outward, instead of (what I’ve been told is) standing normally with of my legs parallel to my shoulders, and my feet pointing forwards. In fact my standing position is apparently so noticeable to the point where I’ve been called out about it, and my friends have made lighthearted jokes about how I stand. 

There are a lot more effects that ballet can have on the physical body. All things considered I seem to have gotten out lucky, but that fact that an extracurricular I decided to take on when I was five has noticeable physical effects on my body almost two decades on since I “professionally” danced, is at the very least notable in what it says about the body and how it is used. 

More recently in my life: I became elected, performed the duties of, and subsequently passed on the torch of the presidency of the A Capella group I’ve been a part of while I’ve been studying at UMBC. That entire year was extremely stressful, in no small part thanks to working on my capstone project during the second semester. As an anthropology major, it was my job to perform an ethnographic research study on a group I found interesting. After getting unanimous support from both my professor and the group itself, I was able to study my A Capella group. While I was originally unsure of what to focus my study on, I soon started noticing the emotional and unpaid labor that everyone – not just the group leaders – performed in order to keep the group functional and thriving.

 While I am no longer the president of the A Capella group, echoes of my presidency still linger on, despite my want to “retire” and enjoy the group as if I were a normal member, emotionally I’m still in “president mode”. People still come up to me asking for advice regarding the group, and I have a hard time not interjecting with my opinion when the leaders of the group are having trouble. In a way it reminds me of how ballet affects the way I stand, and I wonder if I’ll ever be able to break out of “president mode” when interacting with the group in the future.

Nothing is wrong with you is a term i’ve heard all my life,when experiencing feelings of sadness,anxiety worriedness and overall disappointment in my life.It was only at times when my parents saw behaviors and situations that they did not agree with is where I got the advice to drink more water start working out, eat less etc  My parents often repeated this phrase some much that when I hear it now I just roll my eyes and continue on with my day,But I never realized how much the phares “nothing is wrong with you” has effect me.Nothing is wrong with you  is such a simple expression that has affected my embodiment  both with my mental and physical health and it is something that I have never considered or realized till this semester.

From my point of view, when my parents used this term, it was often their way of moving past situations that required emotional effort to navigate. I understand why they were both juggling a lot. My mom worked a full-time job while pursuing her master’s degree, my dad put in over 40 hours a week, all while raising two kids under the age of 10. It was a lot for them to manage, and in their eyes,Taking me and my sister to activities  providing a roof over my head and food on the table were the essentials,and the things I needed most.Now i’m not saying that they didn’t care about my emotional needs, but I think their own exhaustion and focus on providing for us made it hard for them to fully engage with the deeper feelings I experienced during my childhood and own personal discovery at times.

As both my mom and I grow older, we’ve developed a stronger emotional connection. Recently, I opened up to her about something I’ve struggled to admit to anyone. I rarely get my period. As a biological female there’s a lot tied to the fact that your period often serves as an indicator of your overall health and what your body will and will not be able to do, in some ways, simple terms of one’s fertility. For a long time, I felt embarrassed to talk about it because it seemed to say some much about myself without saying a lot and most of it were things about my body that I wasn’t ready to face. What really held me back from making appointments and not self diagnosing myself was a part of myself repeating the phrase “nothing is really wrong with you” because I always found a way to justify how my body was moving through time.

Nothing is really wrong with you quickly became a way for my mind to override any negative emotions and what my body’s needs in my life.Which is why I feel like this assignment took so long for me to complete because I could grasp how scholars could contextualize both there unruly bodies fit into society and it not that they just so happend to be borning this way but society was constructed this way.

To end off on a more positive note, I’ve  gotten a diagnosis of my medical condition.This realization, combined with finally receiving a diagnosis for my medical condition, has helped me come to terms with the fact that something is wrong with me, and that’s okay. It’s comforting to believe that our bodies aren’t defined by moments of sadness, emotional struggles, or physical issues like irregular periods or hirsutism, but truly embracing that idea of having a body is  challenging.

As a feminine presenting person, I’ve often felt the weight of societal expectations placed on my body, and it’s a pressure that seems to evolve over time but never truly disappears. From a young age, I became aware that my body was not just my own, but something to be scrutinized, judged, and valued by others. There’s a constant narrative surrounding what a “perfect” body should look like; slim but curvy, toned but feminine, attractive but not overly sexualized. Around 8 years old, my father took this to heart. I was put on a diet and had regular weigh-ins to make sure I was not “getting fat”. At birthday parties and holidays I was denied cake and desserts, forced to watch all the other kids enjoy their sweets. This mental strain was and still is exhausting. Present day, I dare say this “trauma” has taken its toll on my body image. Even when I was at my most toned and fit it was still not enough. No matter how long I looked in the mirror, all I could see was someone too fat and not good enough. For years I struggled, and still do, with accepting myself and my body and not fearing the occasional sweet treat. The journey to reclaim my body as my own has been gradual and ongoing. I’m learning to love it for what it is; its strength, its ability to heal, and the ways it supports me. I try to remember that my body is my identity.