(ThySistas.com) Whether it be minutes, hours, days, months or even years, toxic blood has always been around. We experience toxic blood all the time. In this case, toxic blood can be described as emotion, time, place, character and the power to notice something wrong bringing about change or a “difference“. Some may get exactly what I’m saying while others may still be clueless.
As a proud black woman, I try my best every day to fulfill the duties and purpose of a woman. As a black person, I am faced with the social dichotomy of being black first and foremost. The repetitive looks of “Why do you exist?” or “Who told you that you can be somebody?” are enough to make one say that it is tiring just being black, let alone being a black woman. Black women have been told what we have to be, what we should be doing and how we should be doing it. All of these feelings and emotions are stacked on top of the constant neglect of our bodies. The topic of toxic blood hits closer home than you think.
Have you ever had full support from a family member? Of course, you have, right? As a black woman we’re constantly getting help from the other powerful women in our family, right? On some fronts, we as black women not only have been misled, but the amount of toxic blood from the very women in our family has led me, and other black women down a dark path. Much of my existence, like most black women, have been influenced by those very same women that claim to know it all and can’t tell you any wrong. Blinded by lies starting as a child, most women endure a lifetime of the “proper” information only to lead them down the path of a dangerous life and awkward standings as a woman. Of course, we accept our elder’s gifted information believe it as gospel truth. We want to believe that every word will prevent or even fix any situation. This is where you realize just how toxic family blood can really hurt you.
No black woman is the same and only certain advice can be taken to an extent. Personal experience with this toxic blood has led me and many others to only know one set of grandparents because of jealousy, has forced mothers to an early death and made life damn near impossible without asking for her help. They say you can tell a toxic person or one with toxic blood from a mile away but I beg to differ. How do we know we are being completely blinded by our own family? Easy, but yet again, it only becomes easy to identify when one has gone through great trauma or comprehension of/or who you are. Catering to people we think are our superheroes or want to be our superheroes, completely blinds us from who we’re supposed to be, and our mission. There’s no set mission for a black woman.
Ask any black woman on any given day what/how is she doing and she’ll just simply answer, “Just trying to make it“, “I’ll be fine“, or “Just one of those days“. All evidence of recurring toxic blood attacking your life and not trying to make it any better. Generally, 100 percent of the time, the family makes you feel this way. We’ve been conditioned as black women, as strong women, to deter these feelings and emotions from friends and strangers, but who really teaches us how to deter these emotions when it comes to family? Constant hurt, humiliation, deprived of sleep and left alone to regroup, is how many toxic people leave each other.
As if any of us wants to admit that they know nothing about being a “woman” and that we have it handled? From the moment I became a mother, even before, I’ve only wished to be just as much of a woman as those who raised me. Later, I came to the realization that when it came to some parts of life, nobody knew what they were talking about. The same toxic blood is in them because no one knew how to change their perspective or even care to step back and take a deep look at their feeling of something is not right. Instead, we’ve trapped ourselves in the mentality that once something doesn’t go right and just do something else. By followed by this thinking, we never fix the problem and only make it worse with neglect. We overlook and keep going down the same path and digging a hole that seems impossible to get out of.
Staff Writer; Jessieca Carr
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