Fighting False Labels

By Zora N.

I walk through the halls… Everyone's eyes come up from their phones and shift towards me. Is it my hair? Is it my outfit? Or is it just me? Are they trying to get into my head or just curious about who this black girl is and what she's doing here. I still remember the first time I felt the weight of a stereotype. I was in third grade and I was waiting in line to get lunch. This girl behind me had said with a lot of attitude, “Why are you here, we should be in front of you!” My stomach flipped. All I could hear was my heart, beating 1000 miles per-hour. I remembered my dad said something about when I leave this house be aware of my actions and who I’m surrounded by. At the time, I didn’t really understand what he meant by that or what stereotypes really were… all I knew was that I wanted to be picked up early. I started to wonder even more after that encounter. Do they think I’m aggressive or angry like they’ve heard? Do they think my dad is a part of a gang just because he’s a big, black guy who has dreads? If I talk about my great- grandfather being one of the first Tuskegee airmen to go down in history, all they have to say about it is, “Of course you would know?... or “Who Asked?”  If you didn’t guess stereotypes are my nemesis are. Stereotypes are the things that no one ever thinks about writing or reflecting on, especially when it comes to the thoughts of the black community.   

Being a Black Girl in today’s society means I always have to fight to prove I’m more than the stereotypes people see when they look at me. Stereotypes are like the invisible monster you thought was hiding under your bed when you were 4 and you run to mom, making her come to your room… just to make sure the monster is gone for good. Stereotypes follow me everywhere, constantly judging me before one even gets to know my genuine personality. For black girls like me, they make assumptions about my hair, or my skin, or how I act. They think I’m overly “sassy” or “loud.” They think my resting face is me being disrespectful or even intimidating. If we share our opinion about something, people automatically think that we’re lying or just trying to get attention. It’s like our words are filtered through disbelief before they even reach people’s ears. When I speak up, I can see the eye rolls or smirks that say, “ Here she goes again.” It makes me feel like my honesty and confidence are treated as an attitude.  

Stereotypes wear invisible armor that tries to trap me in a small box. The power stereotypes have over me are all the false labels they spread that are extremely demeaning, and that part that hurts is when I start to believe them and question myself. They make me feel like I have to walk in a straight line just to be accepted – careful not to trip, not to speak too loudly, not to show who I really am. It’s like balancing on a tightrope where one wrong move makes everyone stare. They are just waiting for me to fall just so they can say, “ I told you she was weird.” or “She’s not like us.” And maybe they're right, I’m not like them. I’m not meant to fit into their box or walk on the line they made for me. Sometimes, I hold back my thoughts or ideas because I don’t want to be laughed at or seen as “too much.” When I wear my natural hair, yes I absolutely love my natural curl pattern. But at the same time, I don’t want to have to deal with all the looks and questions just because my hair looks different than the other girls.. I don’t want people to touch it without permission or make jokes on why it’s not as long. These stereotypes don’t just hurt– they limit how others see me. They make it hard to breathe, to laugh, to just be. 

My nemesis is a worthy opponent because it doesn’t want to fight me out loud. It works quietly, shaping how others see me before I even get the chane to speak. They know how to hide in plain sight. They’ve trained people to believe lies about me. Their strength comes from how long they have existed and how easily they are spread. It’s difficult to fight something that’s invisible, that lives inside of people’s thoughts.  

When I think of my role in this conflict, I realize I give stereotypes more power than it deserves. There are moments when I hold my breath instead of speaking up or when I laugh something off that actually hurts me because I don’t want to be called, “too sensitive.”  I straighten my back and put a smile on my face, when in reality I want to roll my eyes or walk out just to prove I’m not the stereotype they expect. I hate admitting it, but that’s how stereotypes win. When I start to shape myself around them, when I start believing that maybe if I acted a certain way, people would see me for who I really am. But, the truth is, I shouldn’t have to change who I am for someone to see my worth. I also know this fight didn’t begin with me. Stereotypes grew out of slavery, when Black people were seen as property instead of a human. When the world tried to erase their voices and beauty and creations. They spread through generations, these disgusting, “standards.” Even during the Civil Rights Movement, when my ancestors marched and bled for justice, they still had to fight these lies that said they were dangerous, lazy or uneducated. Those ideas didn’t just disappear. They changed shape. They hide in classroom discussion, workplaces or social media. Even the way people see me when I enter a classroom. 

My role now is to stop that cycle from repeating itself, and I know that might sound easy to do… but it’s not. I can’t control how people see me, but I can control how I see myself. I can choose to stand tall, speak my truth, and embrace everything that makes me different. I can be the kind of person my ancestors could be proud of – unapologetically smart, strong and willing to take opportunities. My job is to make the next Black Girl, walking those same halls so she doesn’t have to walk those same invisible lines like I do. 

Through all of this, I’ve learned to understand my nemesis better. Stereotypes feed on fear and silence. I refuse to give it to either of them. I’ve learned that power doesn’t always come from shouting the loudest; sometimes it comes from standing tall, even if you're the only one. I’ve learned that my success and confidence are all forms of resistance. Living with my nemesis is understanding that it never fully goes away, however I can choose to not carry the weight. I can live proudly in my own truth and use my voice as a form of rewriting the story for those who come after me. Every time I refuse to shrink is me taking my power back.

My nemesis might still be around, but it doesn’t control me anymore – I do. I am the product of a generation who fought to be heard, to be seen, to be free. Their strength runs through my veins every time I walk in a room and choose confidence over fear. I am my own kind of powerful and I know that my story doesn’t end in stereotypes…it begins beyond them.

I MY ANCESTORS WILDEST DREAM.

By Zora N- 8th