Being a Black woman living abroad is something I used to have to think about once in awhile.
Now, it feels like my home country isn’t really my home at all.
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Must be happy with that choice, huh?
Im thrilled, I deadpanned and took my ticket.
Most days, its a light load, but lately it has been unbearable.
…
The blatant racism in America is indefensible and the questions I have been asked have been thoughtful but exhausting.
Reliving past traumas has been taxing and the work that needs to be done is extensive.
Why would I want to support that economy?
Perhaps, the saddest feeling is that my home country simply doesnt want me.
Is America still my home?
But also, is Germany my home?
It feels as if Im in an emotional tug of war with where I belong in the world.
As a Black American woman walking the streets of Munich, I get looks.
)Most often it feels like people are trying toplacemefigure out my story; figure out where Im from.
Or it could just be that theyre enamored with my beauty, right?
Thats what the optimistic side of my brain thinks (and uses as a shield).
This isnt my first time living abroad.
Not only as a Black woman, but as a woman.
This is largely the same in Germany.
(Or at least, it was.)
Somedays, I do.
We video conference twice a month so that I can check in with how Im feeling.
The emotional unloading and rebuilding of oneself is priceless.
Its okay to try out different therapists until you find the right one for you.)
I was on my bike coming back from the grocery store with fresh bread and flowers in my basket.
In that moment I smiled to myself and saved the moment of pure joy in my mind.
Its easy to feel like these moments dont exist right now but trust me, they do.
When we feel like we have to have everything figured out we steal joy from the process of learning.
Fresh flowers once a week.
For me, this is always and forever.
I dont know where Ill end up and thats okay.
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