That Black Chick…and How she Caused Infertility

I’ve been her a lot.
In fact, MOST of my friends have had their experiences being “that” black girl before.
THAT black girl is the stereotypical chick.  The neck-rollin, lip-smackin, “GIRRL, LET ME TELL YOU”, chick.  We avoid her at all costs.
The Sheneneh, the Mammy, the Sapphire…we work hard at not being her.  We cringe when she speaks out in class, and we disassociate ourselves from her the minute she answers the teachers question with a loud lip-smack.  The instant she shows up to the job with that neck-rolling, hands-on-hips attitude…we take a trip to the ladies room.  We work hard at making sure we aren’t linked to her in any way.

I was thinking about this anxiety last week.  This fear of being labeled, or of becoming our stereotype has probably been a major part of many issues that are attacking us on the other end.

My brother is fifteen years younger than I am. That much of an age difference leads to a more guardian-like relationship than just sibling.  When he was a baby, he spent a lot of time with me while my mother worked.  At first, I was more than comfortable with showing off my shiny new baby brother, and took him with me everywhere. Then it started to dawn on me how we appeared to others.  I realized that the people in the mall or in the neighborhood who looked at me with curiosity, were assuming that he was my son. This bothered me more than you know.  I didn’t like the feeling of having complete strangers judging me as “that black teen”.  The one who barely made it out of school before she started on baby #1.  In my mind it wasn’t enough that this was untrue, I was annoyed that it was even a thought in their minds.  I would go so far as to make mention of “his mother” if someone was in earshot while staring.  I know, pathetic.

I would venture to say that phobias like that one, grow with you as I have more than one friend in my adult life who is uncomfortable being out with their children if they’ve forgotten their wedding ring at home.  None of them wants to be “that black chick” with the brood who’s climbing all over the store with no father in sight.  The single mama stereotype is one that we have also grown to hate.

Now, I do want people to know that many black women seek to achieve great things in their lives and set many personal goals for themselves.  This is something I don’t want to make light of.  However, I also believe there is much to be said against those of us who set these goals primarily for the sake of avoiding the myths/stereotypes.

Those of us who push our way through school just because the stereotype says we won’t get there.  Those of us who practice serial monogamy just because the stereotype portrays us as bed-hopping.  And most importantly, those of us who hold off on babies in exchange for careers, because we don’t wish to succumb to the myth of Big Mama.  That black chick has done nothing to preserve her fertility.  She assumes it is already overused.

One of the largest hurdles for African Americans dealing with infertility to overcome, is the myth that we are super-fertile “earth mama” types.  That very idea is one closely tied to the Mammy/Sapphire stereotypes. It is also one that is believed by people both inside and outside of our cultural community.  Just as much as we don’t want strangers believing these things about us, we also must fight to keep our own families and community from thinking the same thing.

It’s a slippery slope we’re on.

Some of the comments I’ve had from Black women regarding The Egg:

“Ooh girl, I don’t need to hear nothin with the words fertile or reproduce in the same sentence!”

“LOL Aren’t we just about fertile enough?”

Misguided and rude, these comments are not uncommon.  Which leads me to the danger of this all; we’ve begun believing our own myths.  We have begun to believe that all it takes is for someone to breathe on us in tenth grade, for us to get pregnant, so we try and wait a bit longer before even discussing children and marriage. We’ve started to believe that only white women go to (or have money for), fertility clinics, so we don’t even look into them.  We are under-represented in the infertility community but over-represented in the reproductive justice aka abortion groups.  And THIS, is what I think makes this liable for infertility and has caused this great chasm of silence about it.

In waiting later to have babies, or even think of our future fertility, we are increasing our incidences of fertility complications.  By fighting so hard to not become the teen mom, we avoid the issue of our fertility, period.  In fact, we avoid every conversation that will require a closer look at the stereotypes we are running from.

That black chick, and the image of her has not only made us an after-thought in the support and awareness arenas, thereby limiting our resources, but she has also made us ignorant to the epidemics that plague us.  We have to work harder at removing the stigmas that our own race has put on fertility discussions and activism.