The Peoples’ Advocate (unable to fight for herself)
What does advocacy even mean?
Advocacy is defined as “any action that speaks in favor of, recommends, argues for a cause, supports or defends, or pleads on behalf of others.” With that definition in mind, I’ve been an advocate for others since birth.
Growing up in Haiti until age 5, I would advocate for any child or animal who had less than me (trust me we did not have much). I would give half of my lunch to other kids in my classroom who came to school hungry. I was known to sneak around the neighborhood when my dad wasn’t looking to feed the stray dogs.
One year my mother (who was living in France at the time) sent me several pairs of new shoes and new clothes. I was so excited and figured that meant I could give all my other shoes and clothes away. So there I was, a four-year-old girl walking around my village handing out my clothes and shoes to other girls who had none. When my father found out, he didn’t know whether to discipline me or commend me, so instead he laughed and told me my heart is so big, sometimes way too big.
As I grew older, my need to give back never stopped. But I realized that having a big heart has helped and harmed me over the years.
Marie, age 4
Having a big heart left me open to being used by others with bad intentions. I had to be strong enough to not allow others’ selfishness to change me. Now, that can prove difficult at a young age, with peer pressure and the urge to be accepted by others impacting my judgment. However, even when I was feeling low or negative about myself, I still focused more on advocating for others.
Sometimes we focus so much on helping and advocating for others that we forget about ourselves. For a long time, I was often the quiet one, the one that didn’t want to “start problems.” I didn’t want to be seen as “argumentative” or “problematic.” In other words “The Angry Black Woman.”
When I became a mother, I suddenly found this voice that was hidden deep inside for years. From the moment I was pregnant with my son, I advocated for him. Sometimes that would include advocating for myself to make sure his needs were met; however, I still struggled to put my needs first.
On the day-to-day, I would allow myself to be pushed around, judged, and disrespected without ever speaking up for myself. I never spoke up when I needed to breastfeed and there was nowhere in my office for me to go. Coworkers would often walk into the supply closet to find me breastfeeding there. I never spoke up when my boss at the time would touch my hair without asking first. I never spoke up when I heard comments made about my race and culture. I would silently walk away.
“There comes a point in your life when you become tired. Tired of all the bullshit. ”
After quarantining for months, a lot of people became VERY tired. For me, the specific moment was watching George Floyd on video crying out for his mother while being brutally murdered for the color of his skin. I held my son and cried. At that moment, I became REALLY FUCKING TIRED!
Quick story: When I found out I was having a boy, I cried, not because I was excited to have a boy, but because I was scared of raising a Black boy in America. This is shortly after the murder of Philando Castile, where Castile was shot multiple times in his car while his girlfriend and four-year-old daughter were in the car. How can I keep my Black son safe in this world?
Even with all these feelings, I would never have imagined that I would need to advocate when returning to work after the quarantine was ended. I assumed after what we had experienced, people would be more sensitive to racist remarks being made, especially in the workplace. But I assumed wrong. When I witnessed a colleague make several racist comments, I took action and reported it.
When you do a good deed, you’re hoping to be rewarded or at least not face negative repercussions for that good deed. Well, being a Black woman, reporting issues of racism will cause retaliation. These tactics were meant to break me, so that those who bullied me could feel that they were victorious. And at first, it did. I mean it did for sure, mentally. However, I wasn’t going to allow them to win. If I let this keep me from continuing to speak up and advocate for myself and others, then this world will never change. Then the chances of my son being another George Floyd continue to increase—my greatest fear.
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One of the worst feelings is feeling like you have no control over anything in your life. When something bad happens to you, it can either defeat you or you can own your trauma. When I acknowledge my trauma, I am allowed to utilize the hurt, anger, fear—and all the other feelings—to give me the strength to help others like me.
Experiencing this level of racism gave me the strength to leave that place of employment and open my own practice. My practice is specifically designed to provide mental health services to individuals in the Black and Brown community. Having my own practice allows me to provide training, attend speaking engagements where I can share my story, gain insight, and use platforms like this to create change.
When you find that thing, that “muse” that pushes and encourages you to go after the things that matter, it changes your life. As life usually does, when you’re on a high, sometimes something kicks you in the shins with the hopes of knocking you down and laughing at your pain.
While life was going great and my business was thriving, with the snap of a finger I experienced a heartbreaking miscarriage and probably the worst medical care I have ever received. In a place where my voice should’ve been heard, it wasn’t and I quickly began to recognize what was going on around me.
““If I don’t speak up for myself here, I’m going to die, they will let me die,” is all I could think to myself. I knew it was important for me to yell or scream in order to get the medical care I needed. ”
The next morning waking up in the hospital, no longer pregnant, grieving my daughter, I was also full of anger. Angry that my voice didn’t matter in a place where it should. I knew I had to advocate for myself, my daughter, and other BLACK women who have experienced similar situations. So while in pain, I spoke up. I advocated for—no, I demanded—change so this doesn’t happen to another.
The Center for Disease Control reports “In 2021, the maternal mortality rate for non-Hispanic Black (subsequently, Black) women was 69.9 deaths per 100,000 live births, 2.6 times the rate for non-Hispanic White (subsequently, White) women (26.6). Rates for Black women were significantly higher than rates for White and Hispanic women.”
So what can I say about advocacy? It’s great to advocate for others, but it’s even more important to advocate for yourself. I found that by advocating for myself in several situations, I was also advocating for others. Speaking up at my job may have led to greater stress for me, but it allowed changes to be made to protect others.
USE YOUR VOICE TO MAKE CHANGE HAPPEN!
