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My Garden Taught Me To Love Myself
As a Black, queer woman still unlearning the respectability politics of my youth, growing plants has helped me grow, too
My mother, a Black woman, and a single mother of three Black children, demanded excellence for as long as I can remember. Teaching us excellence was her way of arming us against white supremacy. Throughout my childhood, she taught my siblings and I that if we were excellent enough, that if we existed without error, then we could circumvent the pain and trauma of racism.
After reading Black feminist and womanist literature, I know that the framework of perfection that my mother offered us is problematic. Respectability politics, or the belief that Black people will be humanized when we achieve hegemonic markers of success, cannot save any Black person from the trauma of white supremacy. The very nature of white supremacy is that it works to erase Black humanity. My achievements will not save me when I am already invisible upon entering the room.
Coming to terms with the humanity of one’s parents, and the unintentional violence of their parenting, is a common but painful experience. Though I know that my mother’s propensity for perfection is problematic, actually unlearning that perfectionism is an arduous process. It is splitting myself open in order to uproot the weeds that are lodged within. It is in this process of shedding of what does not serve me, that my garden has saved my life.
I began gardening in June of 2019, and I instantly fell in love. Having just graduated graduate school, for the first time in my life, I invited myself to take a mental and physical break. As students of all degree levels know, academia is spiritually, emotionally, and physically depleting. Before taking a job, I carved out intentional time to rest and recover. Time to come back to myself. During this time, I challenged myself to try something new, not to be good at it, but because I truly enjoyed it.
My thirst for rest and renewal brought me back to my mother’s house in my hometown of Sacramento. Initially, my quest for a fun hobby led me to the couch where I watched a glorious (and copious) amount of Netflix. After a couple weeks of witnessing my Grey’s Anatomy binge, my mom asked…
