I recently told a friend, “I’ve spent my entire life not being black enough.” While it wasn’t the first time I’d ever said something to that effect, it was the first time that saying it out loud resonated with me so deeply as it was now. And it was the first time I really stopped to unpack it.
Growing up, people around me in my very homogenous, small town made it quite clear to me that I was different. Read: not white. I cannot tell you how many times I’ve been asked, “What are you?” or “Can I touch your hair?”
Or, maybe worse, not asked.
For some, it doesn’t matter who or what I am. One look at me and the one-drop rule tells them all they need to know: definitely black. There are plenty of stories I could recount as evidence of my blackness, including being called the n-word, having a makeshift cross burned in front of me at a party, and having my achievements reduced to affirmative action.
But, for others, I’m not black enough. My mother is white, so I’m dubbed an “Oreo.” I’m told I have “good hair” or that I “talk white.” I wish people wouldn’t reduce hair to being either good or bad, or reserve descriptions such as educated and articulate for white people, as though a black person can only ever be uneducated and ratchet.
So, here I am — Black enough to be discriminated against… but am I black enough to speak on it?
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What is Racial Imposter Syndrome?
As I’ve been wrestling with this idea of not being black enough, I was finally able to articulate this feeling to my husband by relating it to imposter syndrome. I explained the concept to him by putting it in the context of feeling like a fraud as a writer, because I lack writing credentials or a background in journalism. I also experience imposter syndrome in my leadership, wondering if I’m living up to the servant leadership I preach.
I’ve since come to realize that Racial Imposter Syndrome is absolutely “a thing” and that I’m far from the only one feeling this way. Racial imposter syndrome has crept in as I speak out about racial injustices and discrimination in 2020. Racial imposter syndrome almost kept me from confronting an inappropriate conversation about race in my workplace. And now that I have successfully confronted that and come out unscathed, it’s creeping back in as I’ve been asked to formally weigh in on diversity and inclusion within my company.
That’s right — I’m a minority in a position of leadership, I leveraged my voice very recently in my position, and advocated for others like me in the workplace. And I was heard and lived to tell the tale! Of course, I’m being asked to do it again. This is what comes next. I saw it coming and I’ve been bracing and preparing myself for it.
And yet, the opportunity still has me panicking. How can I be an advocate? Who am I to have a voice? Who am I to have a seat at the table? Am I black enough? Am I a fraud? An imposter?
Racial imposter syndrome has been telling me my entire life that I don’t belong. It has yelled at me that I don’t belong in all of the many rooms where I have been the only person that looks like me. And it has screamed that I don’t belong in all of the many rooms where I haven’t been black enough. Today, it would have me believe that where I don’t belong is as a black voice in the conversation around diversity and inclusion.
Jolie Doggett explains it well:
It doesn’t matter how qualified you are, how much experience you have or how much reassurance and positive feedback you may receive. With imposter syndrome, you can’t shake the notion that you’re just not as capable as others may believe you are and therefore you’re doomed for failure.
Is my voice black enough to be capable? Or are there others in the organization who are “more black” and, therefore, more capable and more deserving of this opportunity?
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Overcoming Imposter Syndrome
I am going to confront this. I have to. Why shouldn’t I have a seat at the table? Why shouldn’t I share my thoughts on diversity and inclusion within my organization? Absolutely I should. And certainly, since I’m being asked.
The conversations that are happening now are too important for me not to take part. The traction that is being gained is too critical for me not to add my foot to the proverbial accelerator. In order to further the progress of confronting and addressing systemic racism, it will take all of us. So, I remind myself that all of us includes biracial me.
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Embrace who you are.
I can’t be anyone other than me, so I’m going to be my most authentic self. Not whoever it is that imposter syndrome would have me think I have to be. Being multiracial is not new and I am not the only one. It’s complex and complicated and I’m bringing all of it with me to the table.
Speak your truth.
I don’t have to speak for everyone who is black; I have no desire to be “the black spokesperson.” To assume that I can or will be that, biracial or not, is inherently problematic. So, I will speak my truth and I will speak what I know to be true experiences for others.
Show up.
I do have something of value to contribute and I do belong. By simply existing as a woman of color in a position of leadership, I am creating space for someone else. I have to keep showing up and keep engaging in these discussions.
Be courageous.
None of this is easy. It’s hard to be the only person of color in the room, but I find myself in those rooms daily. It’s exhausting to bear the weight of explaining racism to a white person, while also trying to get them to understand that my blackness doesn’t make it my responsibility to teach them.
I’m tired. But, I will keep going.
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Previously published on “Equality Includes You”, a Medium publication.
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Photo credit: Noah Buscher on Unsplash