The Black stay-at-home mom. Itโs a role I actually saw in action as a kid, but I never imagined it was a role that could potentially feel lonely and lack inclusion.
Here I am in the heart of suburbia. My local Target is a luxury car dealership on mom steroids. We are one of the only households of color in my neighborhood and I would bet money on me being one of the youngest moms when we moved to my area almost six years ago.
As I nestled into our new home and I became fully engulfed in the stay-at-home mom culture, I uncovered an interesting, hidden feeling that I didnโt realize would exist.
Lack of inclusion.
I noticed this immediately as I walked my daughter to school equipped with my coffee in hand, North Face jacket and black leggings. I anxiously approached the other moms chatting on the corner with their coffees, ready to exchange contact information, become good friends, meet for cocktails and brunch dates. To my surprise, as I approached, they began to walk ahead, leaving my daughter and me behind in an effort to catch up. Letโs not even begin to talk about the playground chats at the park, extracurricular activities, etc. Most times, you are left sitting alone and not invited into the โmom section.โ
Now, donโt get me wrong, I love my neighborhood and my neighbors. However, I am reminded that we are not one and the same. You see, being a Black SAHM typically suggests that you are in between employment or youโre a welfare recipient. Having a husband that has a salary that covers the home, well, that seemingly just canโt be the case.
Itโs OK. I can roll with the punches. However, itโs not really OK.
The lack of inclusion is staggering. I have been asked, โAre those your kids?โ or โDo you do hair?โ or โDo you need a waiver for registration fees?โ or โAre you sure you are at the right school (as I was trying to register my daughters)?โ Oh, and this one, โThatโs EBT, right?โ
Nevertheless, I hold my head high. I enter spaces because I feel I belong there. I donโt look to blend in, rather show up as my whole self, leaving not one thing about me behind. In these spaces I am typically the only African-American, or one of five in a room.
Itโs a lot to carry.
I represent an underrepresented population, and itโs kind of a big deal. So, for those who think that my life has been โwhitewashedโ by where I live, I stand humbly to remind you what my representation in the room means for all other Black women that are looking to come over to this side of the pond.
I show up! I show up even if I am not wanted. I show up because it is critical for my family. I show up because being silenced, well, I am not a fan of.
Moving forward, when you see a Black mama who happens to be a SAHM, donโt treat her as if she doesnโt belong. Sheโs where she needs to be unapologetically. She loves her children, her decision to stay home is just that and she is not the nanny (yes, I have experienced this).
We are not in between jobs or a welfare recipient. We are mothers.
We are not โwhitewashedโ with no sense of self awareness about our own culture or position in society. We are mothers.
We are to be respected and treated with the same ethos as our counterparts in the community. We demand inclusion.
Ericka L. Polanco Webb is a mom of five, a special needs advocate, doctoral candidate focusing on Strategic Leadership and Innovation at Concordia University Chicago and the woman behind the website and social media brand, Sinking Heels Of Motherhood.
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This article also appeared in Chicago Parent’s Julyย 2020 magazine. Read the rest of the issue here.
