To give a bit of background, I moved to the USA from Ghana to a brand new community 7 years ago, I was pretty bummed out about moving here not only because I was leaving moving for the fourth time in 6 years but because I was stepping into a culture very different from my own with different norms and expectations. Growing up in Ghana, I understood gender roles in a certain way. Men did this and women did that, everything felt clearly defined. Moving to America, it became clear that the roles didn’t need to be so rigid and limiting to work.

In the new community, gender roles weren’t as straightforward. I saw many women in leadership positions at high-valued jobs that didn’t have to do with cooking, cleaning, and things as such, and men were involved in things I’d always associated with women. t felt like everyone could wear different hats, and it really made me start to question what I had grown up believing about what men and women “should” do. It wasn’t a simple adjustment either, not like going to the optometrist and getting a new pair of lenses after your old pair doesn’t cut it anymore. It took me time to realize how deeply those ideas had been embedded in me.

I couldn’t shake the feeling that maybe if I had stayed in Ghana, my views on gender roles wouldn’t have changed as much. Back there, no one questioned these things. They were just the way things were. In the new space, I was confronted with a different reality, one where gender wasn’t always tied to a specific set of expectations. It was like learning to see the world differently, and just like when my vision was blurry, I needed time to adjust.

I learned through all of this, though, that support makes all the difference. My family members, mostly my sister help me understand and navigate the cultural differences along with my schoolwork. Now, I’m still figuring it out, both my attention span and my understanding of gender roles. I know that with the support of my family and friends, I can keep learning and growing. Moving to a new place didn’t just change where I lived, it changed how I see the world and myself. And for that, I can say that I’m grateful

Mother are Dying. All across the world mother are dying. Black Mothers especially. The world is so cruel to black mothers and black women. Everyday black women endure the emotional labour of constantly having to “tone” themselves in order to not be perceived as aggressive or “loud and annoying” this is coupled with the fact that we are never taken serious no matter what we do, whether it be in the workplace, or a hospital we are never taken as serious as our white counterparts. Malcom X says “The most disrespected person in America is the Black woman. The most unprotected person in America is the Black woman. The most neglected person in America is the Black woman.”. This quote rings true today, yesterday, and everyday due to the misogynoirist society we’ve cultivated. This weeks materials included the documentary aftershock which detailed the painful and traumatic loss that occurred due to the loss of the black maternal figure in those families. Seeing the documentary made me think about my mother and how much she’s worked in this how much physical and emotional labour she spent on providing for us while also being forced to conform to western society as an immigrant. I thought to myself if my mother were die tomorrow what would it all be for? She slaved a way for a system that has no plans of taking care of her. The documentary also made me think of my aunt who came to this country to receive medical care for her colon cancer but was met with negligence and disregard and ultimately lost in her fight against cancer as a result. Even I as a black women wonder why I do the things I do. Why am I self conscious of how loud I am or how my hair looks or whether or not the way I’m dressed can be precisely as “ratchet”. Why do I let such a unempathetic system dictate my actions and thoughts.

All of this to say I hope we as a society can learn to be kinder to black women and hopefully I can learn to be a more accurate representation of my true authentic self-no code switching.

It shouldn’t be, really, but it is. I’m reminded of it quite a bit recently. Being incapacitated is embarrassing. Having cooties is embarrassing. Getting cooties is embarrassing. Evidence you touched something unsanitary is embarrassing. Admitting to the urgent care doctor you don’t have a primary care physician is embarrassing. Staying home is embarrassing. Getting behind on obligations is embarrassing. What even is “embarrassing”?

Racism in healthcare is not a new issue; it runs deep in this country. This problem is especially evident in women’s health, particularly in maternal care, which stems from a long history of exploitation and neglect. Goode and Rothman talk about how, during slavery, Black women’s bodies were often exploited for medical experiments without their consent. This history of racial inequality in healthcare hasn’t disappeared; it’s still seen today in the way women of color, especially Black women, are treated during pregnancy and childbirth. Studies show that women of color are statistically more likely to die during childbirth, a disparity better understood when we consider that medical providers are often more likely to perceive Black patients as more aggressive or negatively. From personal experience, as a woman of color, I’ve had many positive experiences in healthcare and received decent care. However, certain events have made me wonder if the color of my skin has impacted the treatment I received. As someone who has dealt with years of chronic pain, like many others, I’ve experienced frustrating doctor appointments where it felt like my concerns weren’t taken seriously. I have had doctors dismiss my concerns, often attributing my issues solely to anxiety and suggesting that what I was feeling was likely all in my head. This kind of dismissal, particularly for someone who has dealt with chronic pain, only adds to the frustration and makes me question whether my concerns would be taken more seriously if I didn’t have the skin color I do. 

Pregnancy and childbirth are profound experiences, deeply influenced by the intersecting ideas of gender and race. These factors can shape how individuals navigate the healthcare system and how they are treated within it. Too often, the voices and experiences of marginalized groups are overlooked, leading to disparities in care and outcomes.When discussing who is “in charge” of the laboring body, we must consider the dynamics of power and autonomy within the healthcare setting. Ideally, the pregnant person should have control over their own body, making informed decisions supported by medical professionals. 

However, the reality is that systemic biases and power imbalances can undermine this autonomy.
From a young age, I experienced my own form of race based —————————————– experience in a hospital setting. Doctors assumed I had protein in my urine, leading to extensive and costly testing. Instead of taking the time to talk to me and understand my situation, they silenced my voice and provided false information. This not only drained me financially but also left me feeling disempowered. If they would’ve asked I would’ve told them that i’m on my last few days of my menstrual cycle, that could be the reason for the random particles of blood.

My story is just one of many. Women of color, in particular, face significant challenges in the healthcare system, including higher rates of maternal mortality and morbidity. These outcomes are not solely due to biological factors but are aggravated by biases and inequalities in medical care. Addressing these issues requires a fundamental shift in how we view and treat pregnant individuals, ensuring their voices are heard and respected.

So, who should be in charge of the laboring body? The answer is clear: the pregnant person. Medical professionals should act as allies, providing support and expertise without undermining the individual’s autonomy. By fostering an environment of respect and understanding, we can work towards a more equitable and compassionate healthcare system.

-Santana

There’s something so dystopian about having a body in this world. As much as we claim to have autonomy we’ll never be free of the eternal shuck and jive. We all know Butler’s claim of gender performativity, but is every action we take not a performance? We’re all forced to act a certain way, stifle our truths, and perform. Take your pick of which puppet master is pulling the strings for the day (hint: it’s all of them). Whether it’s religion, white supremacy, the patriarchy, or capitalism we’re all told what to do, what to say, how to perform. Today my gripe is with capitalism (when is it not). 

There’s a blatant disregard for what these meat puppets can do. The body isn’t meant to work two jobs, go to school, and maintain an internship – sorry. Sorry, there are days when the thought of getting out of bed to work is too daunting to fathom. Sorry, I have a chronic illness. Sorry, my chronic illness flares up in times of stress. Sorry, I’m stressed all the time. Sorry for having a body. 

There’s so much more I want to say, but this puppet has worked all week and it’s tired.

(Ft. the movie that terrified me as a child about a puppet all strung up)