Also, while women of all races and socioeconomic classes are typically expected to be mothers, American history has shown that the mandate to have children for the social, political, economic, and, yes, racial benefit of this nation was a specific directive for white women. Better known as pronatalism, it was not a concept promoted to women of color. In fact, quite the opposite happened as the bodies of WOC were violated in order to maintain white dominance. For example, we oft hear about the post–World War II baby boom, which led to an estimated 78.3 million Americans birthed during this period. But looking deeper at this time period reveals a different story for non-white women. Desegregation was a threat to eugenics believers who felt the country would improve greatly if Anglo-Saxons and Nordics bred. Therefore, anyone who didn’t fit in either of those categories—Blacks, Native Americans, and, yes, some poor whites—was sterilized in order to “control” those populations. University of Michigan professor Alexandra Minna Stern writes:
In North Carolina, which sterilized the third highest number of people in the United States—7,600 people from 1929 to 1973—women vastly outnumbered men and Black women were disproportionately sterilized. Preliminary analysis shows that from 1950 to 1966, Black women were sterilized at more than three times the rate of white women and more than 12 times the rate of white men. This pattern reflected the ideas that Black women were not capable of being good parents and poverty should be managed with reproductive constraint.
But as we’re all aware, these actions haven’t been left behind in the past. Unfortunately, they’re still prevalent today. For instance, Dawn Wooten, a nurse at the Irwin County Detention Center, which is an ICE facility, became a whistle-blower in 2020 when she came forward with allegations of medical neglect at the center, including ICE failing to contain the spread of Covid-19 and coercing mass hysterectomies. More than just who is allowed or encouraged to have children, the topic of motherhood is a significant part of the culture wars. Senator Mike Lee (R-Utah), in response to the proposed Green New Deal, suggested the following: “The solution to climate change is not this unserious resolution, but the serious business of human flourishing—the solution to so many of our problems, at all times and in all places: fall in love, get married, and have some kids.” This statement, of course, was backed by a photo of Luke Skywalker on a tauntaun. Yeah . . . women are supposed to follow the good word of a grown-ass man presenting us with a picture of a fictional character in the equivalent of a Canada Goose down coat, riding a fake creature in the heart of winter, as the prediction of what America and the world’s future could be like if women don’t hurry up and fall in love with somebody, anybody! and have kids. Y’all, I just know aliens are watching us and quoting reality TV star NeNe Leakes, one of the great scholars of our time, when she visited her frenemy Kenya Moore’s new home in what NeNe considered a less-than-desirable neighborhood: “Whew, chile. The ghetto! The ghetto, the ghetto.” Seriously, aliens probably don’t even feel like it’s worth killing us to inhabit a place that has been drenched in foolery and buffoonery by our so-called leaders. A buffoonery that is, of course, never aimed at men.
While I’ve spent the majority of my adult life trying to figure out why there wasn’t a dull ache in my heart because I didn’t want to have children, my boyfriend has not. When he’s asked if he wants to be a father, he simply replies, “No, I’ve always known I didn’t want to be a father.” No one has follow-up questions, no one reassures him that he will change his mind one day, and no one is upset over this choice, as though he is not “contributing to the greater good.” They tend to accept his feelings at face value and move on, because fatherhood is never thought to be a fulfillment of man’s purpose and evidence of his selflessness. Similarly, his not wanting to be a father is not considered selfish. He is just seen as a person who analyzed his life, weighed the pros and cons of parenthood, and came to the conclusion that’s best for him.
Obviously, this reaction to BB’s choice is not groundbreaking. We’re all aware of the double standard women face when it comes to parenthood; however, it’s important to note that the perception is that women who are childfree are losing something. And perhaps that might be true for those who want to have kids and for a multitude of reasons cannot. But, for Baekoff and me and, I imagine, for countless other people, I believe I have gained by not having kids. To not have kids in the face of a world that chastises those who make that decision is to know oneself deeply. To trust my decision-making skills in a society that has trained me to doubt any choice I make that is not in service to the patriarchy is profound. Not that you can’t feel that way if you decide to have kids, but it is clearly much more widely accepted and celebrated and a choice that is more prevalent, so it’s easy to identify with. The decision not to isn’t.
And that’s what a lot of the topic of motherhood boils down to in a lot of ways, right? Identity. More often than not, our identities are defined by either what others do or don’t have, what qualities they do or don’t possess. I’m good because this person is not. I’m happy in comparison to my friend who is struggling. I should strive for more because I saw one picture from a classmate I haven’t talked to since high school graduation who has a different life from mine, so maybe they are doing it right and I’m not. And when we sense our identities don’t align with others, instead of accepting that, we look for fault and attempt to get rid of whatever we deem to be wrong.
Well, there’s nothing wrong with me. There is nothing wrong with the life choices I’ve made. I’m happy in ways that people with children aren’t and vice versa. I think people forget that. It’s not that voluntarily childfree people are just crowd-surfing through life (although that may be the case for some) or that parents feel that raising kids is their calling and they wouldn’t trade that for the world (although that may be the case for some). No one is 100 percent content in their choices all the time and doesn’t wonder what their lives would be if they chose differently. We’re all in that boat together. What we all, women especially, have in common is the what-if. That no matter what we choose, we’re going to have moments of imagining a drastically different version of our lives. That’s fine. Hell, I encourage it. Fantasizing doesn’t mean you’re unhappy. It means you’re human. So making peace with our ability to dream of a different life for ourselves without it meaning the life we did choose is tinged with regret is something that ought to be one of the most natural things to do in the world.
Because if I’m being honest, writing this essay has naturally stirred up feelings in me. There are moments when I look at British Baekoff and imagine how good of a father he would be. The way he is with my niece and nephew is touching, and once in a while, I feel a slight twinge of sadness that he’s not going to mold a human being. I’ve also occasionally thought about baby names. The thought of how much our parents would dote on our fictional kids (we really did hit the jackpot with loving and giving parents) makes me feel warm inside.
But seeing how good he is with kids isn’t enough for me to want to be a mom, and me being a nurturing boss at work isn’t enough to make him yearn for fatherhood, and we’re both fine with that. And I think that is sometimes what people who have kids misunderstand about us childfree folk. The misconception that not having kids means that we live at the extremes of either deep, painful regret or that our lives are perfect and every day is just cartwheeling and doing light rhythmic gymnastics like the heauxes in the IUD commercials. Actually voluntarily childfree people such as myself, while very content, can feel the totality of all the emotions yet land on the side of “out of all the choices in the world, not being a mother is a decision that will help increase my chances of reaching peak happiness and peace.” And without children, I will have the freedom I’ve dreamed of, the free time I’ve always enjoyed. I will be the woman I’m destined to be. And that’s what I want for everyone, especially every woman reading this.
I haven’t written this essay to brag about how brave I am or how great my
life is because I don’t have kids, although I do feel both of those things. But that’s not the point. I write this because like most things I do in my career and/or my life, I don’t want anyone to feel even a second of the doldrums, the misery, or the anxiety that I’ve felt when it comes to motherhood. It’s important to me that people who don’t want children for any other reason than it’s not for them to feel that choice is legitimate and not a cop-out. I write this in the hopes that these words will embolden you, so you don’t succumb to pressure from your families, friends, and partners as if your life is not your own. I write this so you don’t have to feel alone or cry yourself to sleep because you’ve been conditioned to feel like not being a mother means you are a failure, incapable of love, incapable of making the world better than it was before you entered it. I write this so women can free themselves from the pain and anguish of feeling like they don’t know how to be a person. You are a person. You are worthy. You are whole. You are healing while you are whole. You are recovering from every comment, snide remark, and hurtful attack on your womanhood. I see the scars and they are healing. And after the healing is over you can go on living, or start living for the first time, the life you have dreamed for yourself.
Guide to Being a Boss from Someone Who Has Been Building a Mini Empire for the Past Two Years and Counting
Almost a year into the pandemic, The New York Times published an article entitled “Arizona Man Is Accused of Faking Own Kidnapping to Evade Work,” in which they detailed how nineteen-year-old Brandon Soules faked his own kidnapping, stuffed a bandana in his mouth, bound his wrists behind his back, and planted himself by some dusty-ass train tracks (talk about commitment!) all because he wanted time off from his job at the Tire Factory. When I read this story, I reacted the way a dog does when looking at itself in the mirror: I am you, Brandon! And you are me!
Growing up, I watched many Black actresses in interviews say they didn’t feel seen until Diahann Carroll’s historic turn in the titular role on Julia, the first American TV show starring a Black woman in a non-stereotypical role. Well, I didn’t feel seen until this white man wasted taxpayer money and police resources all because he wanted a time-out from slangin’ tires. I repeat: Slangin’. Tires. By the way, I’m not implying that being a tire salesman is small potatoes. Responsibility is responsibility, whether you’re an entry-level employee or the CEO of a Fortune 500 company. And when you’ve had enough, you’re through, and, clearly, Soules was so fed up with being in charge of tires that the only conceivable way for him to take a breather was to call the po-po with a fake-ass request to get Liam Neeson to come find him. Let that sink in for a sec. Soules wasn’t aiming to finagle ransom money. Or blackmail anybody in hopes of ruining their reputation and life. Or trying to fulfill his desperate need for attention by making up this kidnapping. Brandon Eugene* Soules was just WEARY! Do you know how tired you have to be in order to write, produce, wardrobe-style, and star in your own independent movie called When You’re Born with a Dollop of White Privilege But Still Find a Way to Fuck Your Life All the Way Up? The answer is extremely, and I feel that tiredness deep down in my Adele-fresh-off-a-breakup, Paul-Robeson-“Swing-Low-Sweet-Chariot,” drama-calling-Mary-J.-Blige-from-a-burner-phone soul.
Truth be told, I’m low-key impressed with Soules. He did something I’ve dreamt about but never had the audacity to do. Well, not the faking-a-kidnapping part, but the blowing-up-my-life-spectacularly-so-I-can-get-out-of-work-for-a-few-days bit. What Soules attempted to pull off requires gumption, unwavering self-belief, and tenacity, which are key qualities I look for in an employee, so normally, I’d offer him a job, but we all know he wouldn’t show up, then I’d get a call days later about how he was kidnapped by a Mexican cartel and I’d have to be like, “Isn’t that a season four plotline in Ozark?” #FoolMeOnceBitch. In all seriousness, what Soules did was irresponsible, reckless, selfish, self-destructive, and ridiculous, and yet . . . I understand it! Because the stakes only get higher the further one gets from an entry-level gig like selling Michelins, which is something I know about.
I’ve worked my way from being a receptionist at New Line Cinema in 2006 to being the founder of my own production company—Tiny Reparations—and literary imprint—Tiny Reparations Books—on top of maintaining my stand-up, podcasting, and hosting gigs. Often, and especially when I’m in the thick of it, I take stock of my career. The businesses, the never-ending to-do lists, the decision-making, the copious amounts of reading and writing I do on a weekly basis, the countless meetings / phone calls / Zooms, delivering bad news, receiving bad news, the victories and nice surprises, the stress and anxiety, the learning on the fly, taking ownership of mistakes, managing personalities and expectations, the pangs of guilt that someone or something is being neglected because I have to tend to another project, the delicate dance of being fully present yet also thinking one, two, and even five years in advance, keeping myself motivated when I’m dog-tired, because as the boss, I definitely cannot be the one who throws in the towel and gives up.
As I look at the list of all the aspects of my professional career I have to juggle, I can’t help but be impressed. Proud. Curious if I’m capable of putting more on my plate. And the fact that I continue to build and want to expand into other arenas is proof that, on some level, I welcome and enjoy the pressures that come along with being a leader. I’d even go as far as to admit I love being a boss.
Still. Almost every day I’m wondering, HOW. CAN. I. GET. OUT. OF. THIS? WHO MADE MY WORLD LIKE THIS? CAN I SPEAK TO THE MANAGER BECAUSE I WOULD LIKE A REFUND FOR THIS LIFE OR, AT THE VERY LEAST, SOME STORE CREDIT FOR WHEN I SEE A DIFFERENT LIFE THAT TICKLES MY FANCY AND MIGHT BE INCLINED TO TRY THAT ONE OUT? I know it sounds like I’m joking, but I’m serious. Take this book, for example. Every single week of the nine months it took me to write it, I thought to myself, What if I don’t turn the manuscript in to my publisher? What they gon do? Ask for the advance money back? Well, I’m not gonna give it back. So then what? They’ll sue me? Well, SUE ME then, bitch. WUT?! I sweat when a TSA agent asks me to reconfirm my birthdate because I’m convinced that even though I’ve done nothing wrong, I’m about to be shipped off to Guantans aka Guantánamo Bay, but I’m out here pretending I’m big and bad enough to welcome litigious energy into my life.
See, this is what happens when you’re new money, but acting like old money. Like, just because I’ve set my bills to autopay, signed up for Seamless+, and have a plethora of S’well water bottles to choose from with which I can obnoxiously make a production out of hydrating myself by unscrewing, sipping, and rescrewing the stainless steel top back on during Zoom meetings, I’m acting as though I’m financially stable enough for Penguin Random House to serve me papers. Y’all, I cannot afford more than a fortnight of billable hours from a lawyer, and even within those fourteen days, I’m praying the lawyer takes half days and that their Verizon Fios Wi-Fi, cell phone, and landline are jank, so they’ll stop working for hours at a time. Obviously, I do not have the money or emotional strenf to deal with a lawsuit, but in moments of weakness and exhaustion when I have to choose between ruining my career and honoring my commitments, blowing my life up doesn’t seem like that bad of an idea, which is why I understand how so many people in the public eye and/or in the C-suite self-sabotage their lives. The stress is too damn much!
When we witness CEO after CEO and corporation after corporation indulging their worst capitalistic and law-breaking impulses and not settling for stealing a little (which is still absolutely reprehensible behavior, by the way), but embezzling funds to such a comical degree that it’s impossible to ignore, the idea that they operated as though “they were too big to fail” gets thrown around. Hmm, maybe. No doubt that some of these folks’ reckless behavior was the direct result of unchecked arrogance, but I suspect that a good number of them subconsciously wanted to fail precisely because the crimes had gotten so unmanageably big. Because they couldn’t envision a way to get off the hamster wh
eel of corruption, being found guilty either in the court of law and/or the court of public opinion could, in its own bizarre way, be a salve when carrying the secret of misdeeds proved too mentally and emotionally taxing. When Tiger Woods was outed for spending years being the Jehovah’s Witness of thottery by spreading the good Word aka his peen, everyone was confused. I wasn’t! He’d been playing golf since before he was one year old, was expected to be the faultless face of brands, be the example of a morally perfect person, rarely acknowledge his race in any meaningful way (which means he also couldn’t address the micro- and macroaggressions he endured either), win every tournament big and small, and help line the pockets of agents, managers, lawyers, etc. Not that any of those circumstances excuse him for repeatedly cheating on his wife, but when one lives in a gilded cage of pressure, they’re liable to destroy their life in dramatic fashion like . . .
Please Don't Sit on My Bed in Your Outside Clothes Page 5
