Member-only story
America, The Land Overflowing With Victims
Apparently I am a marginalized, oppressed person because I am a black woman. I didn’t just wake up one morning and rename myself as such. Nope. Random people across all backgrounds who do not know me gave me the identity of victim without my consent.
Never mind the fact that I am healthy, intelligent, able-bodied, of sound mind, and self-employed.
Never mind the fact that I grew up in the suburbs in a large house. I had my own extra-large bedroom with a king-sized bed and queen-sized bed (yes, I had two places to lay my head each night). I also attended private school all my life, all while being raised by two parents who both hold masters degrees and have earned six figures each.
While we are at it, I should also attest to the fact that I had a father in the home. Years ago an emotionally unhinged black woman actually screamed at me and said I was privileged because I was raised in a two-parent household complete with a father, so I will add that in as well. I am rolling my eyes right now.
With that being said, please do not assign me any damaging identities that I did not personally choose. The only ones that I go by are as follows: black, single, childfree, woman, and best of all, free.
People see my black skin and make all kinds of assumptions. When I was living in…
