The Labor of Our Liberation: A Rebirthing Story

“Freeing yourself was one thing, claiming ownership of that freed self was another." -Toni Morrison

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I wanted to deny her again, but she waited so patiently. My response was ready. I press my tongue to the roof of my mouth to give the word a voice. Despite my conditioning, I can no longer continue to restrain her.

These are the creation stories we must never forget—the ones that Black women must pass down from generation to generation. We must not share the moment of our rebirth -when we finally decide to stop saying no to ourselves- but the pregnancy and labor that produces our liberation.

Before a new woman is born, she is first conceived in our minds.

Like any other fetus, for some time, it is invisible to the woman who carries it. It is too small to be noticed. Too immature to be taken seriously. Only felt through fleeting thoughts, this version of our self is laughable. In a world where we are consumed with being useful, this self is often mistaken as a daydream, a joke or a wistful desire. it will need to grow and persist in order to be recognized by a woman engrossed in her assigned role to serve, to give, to listen, to understand, to learn, to perform, to build, to create, to placate, to reform and to repress. 

Her life is a testament to how a human can do everything but live. And thus, she is dying. She is dying in the doing. 

She knows this, but she is unable to stop. How can a woman who knows everything know everything but how to live? She can't do it because she was not born to. 

She was forced to remain barren and to believe that she could never give birth to her true self. She was forced to believe that who she is had been all she was meant to be. 

It is in the moments of challenge, when she is denied her voice, separated from her needs, and demonized for her desires, that she starts to realize there is someone else there. 

She starts to uncover that there is someone waiting, someone she must give birth to. No test is necessary. Her soul is changing and she finally recognizes that she is pregnant- carrying her next self within her. She is on her journey to be reborn.  

The transformation is painfully slow in the beginning. Her belly slowly expands with new ideas that quickly coalesce to become a new vision for her life. The vision gains form and grows so quickly that she struggles to stay upright. 

She mistakes this for exhaustion from her current life. It is the fatigue of balancing an existing life that no longer aligns with the one you have always dreamed of. 

She can no longer wear the same shoes that she has always worn. Her feet are swollen from trying to maneuver paths that have always been too narrow for her.  She's no longer able to walk with the others. She must fly, and at this point in her journey, she finally realizes that she can do it.

The normal is now strange and the familiar foreign. 

At its best, this process is uncomfortable. At its worst, it is tormenting. Each day she grapples with the reality of trying to find a comfortable position in a society that no longer understands her. At night, she pushes pillows into the crevices of her body to create a space that can give her peace. However, she is confronted by the realization that the comforts of her past will no longer suffice. She will have to settle for an illusion of rest or the patience of creating a new restoration space of her own making. 

While the months before birth are never easy, the ones preceding an impending rebirth are next to impossible. As the time gets closer, she finds it harder to breathe. The new self is larger, more dominant and struggling to find room within a body that now seems so ancient. It does whatever it takes to survive, pressing on our lungs, making backs ache and joints buckle.

The revelation that rises to the surface is the knowledge that one can only hide the burden of carrying a completely formed new self, with new beliefs, goals and priorities, for so long. How does one tolerate the anguish of having a self that is longing to emerge and change the world forever, and one that will certainly die because the labor will never allow her to exist as she once was.

This next phase must happen. Labor must begin. 

We writhe. We beg. We curse ourselves for allowing the possibility of evolving to become entrapped within us. 

We are in the throes of labor now. It truly is work. We know these petitions are useless, because we have witnessed our sisters experience this. We have seen them pray for another way. We have seen them bargain with God to go around, over and under, any other way but through. The road to their next self, their best self, their truest self is only through.

Even at this point, we still try to remain invisible. We attempt to labor silently, trying to keep this change to ourselves and not let it affect the others who surround us.We maintain the tortured belief that has been ingrained in us because our Blackness and womanness have already been defined as disturbances. 

We were trained never to expose ourselves. We will ourselves to stay composed and certain. One last ditch effort from our former self to maintain control. It will fail.

The turning point arrives. Our bodies will no longer placate our minds because our souls are on the table. This is the part of the labor where we absolve ourselves from thinking and instead tap into our feelings, senses, and intuition. 

Our sisters said we would know when the moment arrived. They were right. Despite our best efforts, we cannot control when it will happen. We feel our organs shifting to ensure that everything is set into motion. There is no more waiting. The soul we are rebirthing can no longer stay confined. 

There is movement—uncontrollable shaking. It is the force needed to move the process along but also remove those who can no longer have access to us. These are people who have always taken. Now we are no longer the giver; without reciprocity, we must also receive. It is the only way she can survive.

It is breathtaking. To see our bodies caring for ourselves. Our bodies in such control of the moment that our mind feared for so long. It hurts so much but relieves so much pain. 

We breathe and push,

we write and speak,

we draw and build,

we sing and dance, 

we connect and curate. 

with each contraction. 

The head is out and the vision is clear. We cannot stop here, there is more to unleash.  

We remove the remnants of the old self from this new self.  A few more mountaintops and valleys, testimonies, and tribulations are the contractions that push the body through. 

This new woman is naked, exposed and ready to be who she is, not who she was told to be.  She moves uninhibited. 

And with one last push, the final crisis that she was never meant to survive, she emerges. She is no longer fearful. 

We cut the cord. The old self falls away. Here she lies—loud, crying, angry, and cold. She knows what she wants, and she will not stop until others know it as well. 

She makes herself visible, ready to receive what she deserves. After so long, she has torn through the spaces that could no longer hold her. 

It is messy and there is blood. 

This time, she is not here because it was ordained. This woman stands here because she fought for this life and liberation.

The past was theirs, but this life will be her own. 

And she is never going back.

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