NEWSFLASH: You’re NOT a B*TCH!

NEWSFLASH: You’re NOT a B*TCH!
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By A Comeaux

Whew! I’ve wanted to scream that at the top of my lungs for some time now. Apparently that’s frowned upon in public.

Nonetheless, this has bothered me for multiple reasons because somewhere, somehow, we’ve become numb to being disrespected. I’ll use ‘we’ as to not alienate You, my sister, my reflection, my fellow feline in this jungle we call life.

Allow me to re-introduce myself, I’m A Comeaux. Mother. Writer. Paradox.

I’m the perfect shade of gray dressed in all black.

And I don’t want us to support nor answer to this retro progressive notion that disrespect is OK. I want us to become socially responsible by what we introduce our children to and how we allow the media to address and represent us. Let’s reflect. Remember back when B*TCH was the absolute worst name you could be called?

That was an automatic, shoe-kick-off-earring removal-girl hold my bag-type of situation!

Today? It’s in songs as a testament to our street-credibility. It’s on TV as a term of endearment. It’s tossed around like a friendly game of catch among comrades.  I’m not gone crazy or conservative. I’m genuinely concerned. We’re confusing our community by teaching and accepting treatments that suggest we condone being degraded. WOMEN! We must wake up. We must take our stand and let no rocks move us.

We’re strong and beautiful and driven and accomplished and wounded but not broken. We’re scarred but we still must believe… There ARE better days ahead, but we must plant the seeds. We’re sowing sorrow in the hearts of our children. We’re sowing grief in the hearts of our elders. This isn’t how we are to be addressed; this isn’t how we’re to address each other. I used to. I used this word among my selected ‘special’ friends. I’m guilty. Until I used it in front of my Sun, and the look in his eyes was that of shock, hurt and disbelief. I can’t tell him not to call women this word and I use it. I can’t tell him to honor and respect women when I let those I love call me a B*TCH. Sidebar: I have a few women who I’d bleed for, who have NEVER under any circumstance allowed me or anyone to use that word in Any capacity concerning them. Not joking, not playing, not at ALL. Kudos and Thank you.

Ladies, let me ask you this: Where did our voice go? Where did we lay down our shield and welcome the blows of degradation? How’d we get from an esteemed stance in our homes to being identified by our waist lines and price tags?

Maybe I’m trippin’.

Maybe I’m having a moment. Allow me to. Allow me this epiphany. All I ask is that you go with me.

Let’s go on this ledge together and let’s see if two voices can ring louder than mine alone. Let’s dare four to join us. Let’s brave this ideal that we are WORTH it. Not because of what a rap song says, but because we are Queens. Let’s try and see if we can teach others how to love and respect us by US loving and respecting ourselves.

Let’s begin by erasing the B-word.

Instead, may I call you a Queen?

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