Monáe's Musings | Fabulous and Fortunate Podcast

Although Mother’s Day is a capitalist holiday, I don’t need a Gregorian calendar holiday to say this. But how beautiful it is to have been given the gift of life in this exact moment and time in space. As a proclaimed Daughter of the south, I know a few things about sacrifice. Being in the south whilst being a black woman puts you in positions you never thought you’d be in. I wonder if the ones who came before me had the same thoughts or even the same experiences.

I’ve been thinking, what do you say when words sometimes just don’t seem to ever be able to express how you really feel? How I really feel coming from a line of black women who have poured their all into their own daughters and those who came after. It’s not enough to be called daughter, not enough to be called a daughter of the south. I’ve realized this is a legacy. A legacy of heritage, knowing, sacrifice, and love. As I ponder love in the context of being a daughter of the south, I realize it’s nuanced.

Honestly sometimes I forget my mom was just 16 when she had me, 15 when she was pregnant. This piece of my history that has led me to be the person I am today. It would be foolish to deny this beautiful piece of my identity. Yet while confronting this imposter, she told me that it’s not an imposter, it’s apart of my extraordinary story in this life. But I can’t help but to wonder how does having a baby while being 16 in the south truly affect you. What memories and stories will I never hear about because they are just too painful? What stigmas did my mom face when growing up with a daughter at home whilst being young and getting to know herself as well? Yet, a mere 100 years ago it was quite common to have children at that age. It’s a badge of honor if you ask me, not a stigma. I’ve never seen my mom as a stigma. I’ve always seen her and my grandmother as warriors. I’ve never seen me as a stigma either. If anything it’s a blessing to be born so unorthodoxly. I see us as goddesses, never stigmas.

So, I say this to say screw the stigmas of being born in the south to a teenage mother. The way I see it, it’s an honor and a privilege. I am so glad she gave birth to me. I am so glad my grandmother gave birth as well.

Mother’s Day has always been more than just that to me, it’s always been a celebration of my life. A celebration of me; freely, beautifully, radically, and curiously. Because is being a daughter of the south not an experiment in sacrifice itself?

Sometimes I wonder if I’ve always been an overachiever in school because of the supposed stigma, the stigma I felt in my mom’s womb when she was pregnant with me. Wondered if the girls at school talked about her, wondered if that hurt her feelings. Yet, I knew I was always loved. That’s the duality of it, the love has always been there. Then I wondered if shame can be passed down. I hope not, our daughters don’t deserve it. If I could eradicate all the shame in the bodies of daughters of the south, I would. I would tell them all that they’re beautiful and I’m so glad they’re here and to never let anyone make them feel ashamed of anything. No matter what. But I suppose I’ll start with myself as shame no longer lives in my body. Honor has etched itself in its place.

*Siri play “Sending My Love” by Zhané*