By Jenn M. Jackson
In the months prior to Vice President Kamala Harris’ nomination to the Democratic presidential ticket, I felt a lingering fear in my body about what it would mean for Black women and femmes if she ran for the highest office in the land.
Harris is pro-Israel and pro-punishment. Recently, at a campaign event in Detroit, she showed attendees how she feels about pro-Palestinian protestors when she shut them down by saying, “If you want Donald Trump to win, say that. Otherwise, I’m speaking.” A week later, Harris offered a more conciliatory tone when protestors interrupted her in Arizona, stating, “Now is time for a cease-fire in Gaza.” So, while I am heartened that Harris’ team seems to be listening to the cries of those demanding an end to this U.S.-backed genocide (maybe), her politics have never thrilled me. Despite that, a part of me found the possibility of a Black woman POTUS exciting. Another part of me grew uneasy as I considered how her elevation would be fuel for blowback against Black women all over the country.
In my book Black Women Taught Us, I explain how many Black Americans were concerned about President Barack Obama’s safety after his election. Obama began receiving death threats as early as 2007 when he was still a junior U.S. Senator in Illinois, prompting the Secret Service to place him under protection. Many Black Americans are similarly concerned today, not only about Vice President Harris’ safety, but also for the safety of Black women and femmes everywhere as the election has already revealed the deeply racist and misogynoiristic ideas many white Americans, including Donald Trump himself, hold about Black women.
In this social moment, when self-care has become such a central focus for many Black, Brown, disabled, queer, and trans communities, many people have emphasized rest, manicures, massages, and other activities that are physically restorative. While these are habits we should all prioritize, they are insufficient in addressing the underlying effects of exhaustion, stress, emotional burnout, and mental distress that typically stem from the burden of white heteropatriarchal capitalism. We are actively fighting fascism. Many of us are doing so in our personal and professional lives simultaneously. We also have to contend with the fact that the Black woman the left has chosen has not proven that she will protect those most vulnerable among us. The political environment has only heightened the daily violences that many Black women and femmes are expected to endure just to survive. We can’t control any of the ephemera around us. But we can absolutely build safer spaces around us that protect us from the wear and tear of everyday life under this white heteropatriarchal capitalist nation state.
One of the most important steps I took in creating a healthy space between my mental and emotional life and the violence of the world was enacting boundaries. Nedra Tawwab’s path-breaking book, Set Boundaries, Find Peace, has been an essential handbook for me along this journey. What I learned from Tawwab’s book was not just that we should have boundaries with others, but also that some of the most difficult boundaries to set and keep are the ones we create with ourselves. At this moment, I am fortifying my boundaries with my social media usage, my engagement with toxic people, and my commitment to healing and personal growth.
In 2022, I was in a toxic relationship with a woman who frequently used social media to monitor my behaviors and control me. During that time, I had a major anxiety attack after I found out that her friends and family members would monitor my social media posts and report back to her, creating storylines that linked my comments to our relationship, and instigating ideas that our relationship was struggling. After being harassed by racist trolls in 2021, I realized that people’s actions on social media frequently reflected the ugliest and most violent internal narratives they held about others and often about themselves. It also helped me realize that I could simply remove these people’s access to me permanently. While I had “purged” my friend lists before, I came to the conclusion that these removals of toxic people would have to be a regular occurrence. Annually, in fact.
Every year since, I examine who I am connected with on Facebook, Instagram, and Twitter (now known as X) to ascertain whom I am allowing to shape my thinking and enter my psychic space each day. I agree with a writer at Salon who suggests that if anything on social media makes you feel bad, it’s OK to eradicate it. But, beyond that, I learned from therapy that any relationships I maintain out of a sense of obligation may potentially be unhealthy. Keeping people around who never interact with me, don’t show any interest in my work or interests, or whose content makes me uncomfortable just because we sat next to each other in 11th grade trigonometry is one way I inflict stress on myself. Cutting my Facebook friends list from nearly 3,000 strangers to 470 friends and colleagues was one of the best things I did for my mental health.
To protect my psychic energy, I have also refrained from engaging in political conversations with people who are committed to misunderstanding me. I put this into practice years ago when I realized that, while I had always assumed that these people would always be angry, racist, white people, there are also, in fact, many people committed to misunderstanding me who look, love, and believe just like me.
There was a time when I felt drawn into confrontations with other Black and queer people. I felt obligated to teach them, to offer them grace and kindness even when they had extended none toward me. I allowed myself to be controlled by other people’s emotions and their insecurities, mainly because I had successfully convinced myself that I was responsible for soothing and pacifying other people. I finally set a boundary that I would no longer be performing emotional labor for others from a place of guilt and a sense of duty. That energy, I have decided, should be reserved for me.
Taking personal control of my life and my choices rather than living in response to the whims of the world around me has created the safety and protection I deserve. It has also opened up space in my life for study. I have found in my own Black feminist work and journeying that reading and meditating on the words and works of other Black feminists and queer thinkers has served as both a balm and a site of training.
This election cycle, I want Black women and femmes to create personal and professional boundaries around themselves that allow them to be their best selves each day. It’s our birthright. And it’s time for us to claim it.
This article was originally published in YES Magazine!
