Balance By Denise Bolds MSW, CD (DONA) November 4, 2015

“It’s always a black and white thing with you!” Randy Patterson of Pro Doula.

I get this a lot. Goddess Randy said this to me in a parking lot in Kansas earlier this year. In her New York accent and with tons of love, we fell over each other laughing freely. I’m a NYC, I immediately understood where Randy was coming from. I knew it was said in love and she was merely busting my balls. She get's it.

Fast-forward a few months…

As my time in this profession as a black birth doula evolves, I’m noticing a pattern of rhetoric around my blackness; my being a doula and my freedom of speech.  I have several venues of writing on social media: my professional, Bold Doula and my personal: The Audacious Black Woman.

As black woman in a predominately white world of maternal health, I am constantly faced with hyper-scrutiny that comes along with being who I am in the place I am in. Maternal health is homogenous in white domination of doulas, teachers, midwives and the like. Education in the maternal health arena is often white driven, the leaders are mostly white and the beliefs reflect whiteness overall.

In the deluge of trainings, I’m often told that I must forsake and renounce my master’s level education and ‘just be a doula.’ Hmmmmm. No, sorry. I cannot do that. After almost 20 years as a MSW social worker, there’s no way I could possibly undo the education, the ability to assess and the level of professionalism I hold myself to as demanded by my clients and peers as well as many who have barely completed high school let alone obtained a college degree. My master’s degree has opened some cracks for me to slip through. My clients benefit from my education; in no way am I crossing the boundaries of a doula and that of a clinician.

I am also told not to be an advocate in maternal health justice. My being an advocate is seen as a ‘threat to medical professionals.’ Really?  I’ve also been told: “You post too must stuff about blacks on your social media.”

Well I’ll be damned.

I am many things; first and foremost, I am black, I am a woman. Sojourner Truth begged the question “Ain’t I A Woman” hundreds of years ago; today I do as well. I simply cannot and will not forsake black woman and childbirth. I have birthed while being black; there are some huge disparities.  I’m not the only one. My fellow doula peer and goddess Ebony Milkah Jackson just faced this very same thing on her Facebook page recently. Many are not aware of the maternal disparities when it comes to the black woman. I still experience it now as a doula. When I post black themed posts on my social media, I get ‘you post too much about blacks, why not post about all the races?’ 

Here’s the teachable moment.

Imagine if I were to keep you (white woman) happy by not posting about blacks, I would be denying the essence of who I am.  Many are simply not aware of the contributions made by black female slaves to gynecological and obstetrical medicine in the United States. All of the advancements made within these two areas of medicine, down to the basic speculum are the result of research and experimentation upon the black female slave without anesthesia. Let’s also not forget how the United States was built for free from the uteruses of the black female slave who birthed babies who were immediately placed into slavery. Every inch of this country was touched, built and developed by blacks. Washington D.C was built by black slaves. Period. Every single OB/GYN advancement and instrument used today is the result of a black female slave being experimented upon for ‘medical advancement.’

Black women lead in statistics for poor maternal outcomes of stillbirth, prematurity, c-sections, low weight babies, fetal demise and poor breastfeeding. Why are these stats so dismal and remain so in the 20 years I’ve been in the health field? Know history of the black woman, know maternal justice discrimination and know economic discrimination; you have your answer, if you dare to face the truth.

Still don’t get it?

The black woman is not at the table of birth justice and maternal resources. Many white birth workers do not reach out to black women as potential clients. I’ve had a director of a local agency in Pougkeepsie, NY gleefully inform me: “doula services are the best kept secret in the Hudson Valley.” I’ve lived here for over 20 years and as a black woman, I never knew this resource existed. She wanted me to work as a doula in her agency for free; meanwhile she gets a salary.

I had birth workers tell me to my face: “Black women don’t feel pain. They were built to birth. They don’t need the support.” There’s another fugly discrimination in maternal health: economics.

Economic discrimination dominates in the birth world. Many white women have spouses who earn substantial salaries so these women can afford not to work full time and they can afford the trainings/certifications this field demands. Black women on average earn less than white and Latino males. Many black women simply cannot afford the thousands of dollars charged to obtain trainings to evolve their doula practices. For example: Birth Arts Institute charges $2,500 to train you to be a trainer, Nick Olow charges $5,949 to attend his 12-month training in accu-pressure certification and Our Baby Class Teacher training costs $3,000… there’s many more, the list goes on. I get tons of invitations to trainings and every time I ask these trainers if they offer any kind of scholarship to a woman of color to participate – very few do. If they do, it’s rarely publicized. 

So, my counter-questions to all those who ask why do I post so much about about blacks: do you realize I’m black? Ask this same question of your Latina and Asian friends. Where’s the awareness of the huge disparities that exists in black maternal health and what is being done to close them? Until that Grand Canyon wide disparity is closed, I will be posting as the educated, professional black woman that I am.

As for my clients, they hire me because of my intelligence and my professionalism. They hire me because of my loyalty. They hire me because when its time to push; when that baby is crowning, they want Bold Doula right beside them. So, I can laugh with goddess Randy, because I accept the work that is before me.

Jump

Denise Bolds, MSW, CD(DONA) October 13, 2105

26 years ago I was at Cross County Mall, Yonkers NY calling my mom on a payphone. I told her my virus was the pregnancy kind. My marriage of less than a year was over; here I was, black, suddenly single and pregnant. I was having an out-of-body experience.

My mother went into empowerment mode; she told me I could do this, I would be a great mom and I could raise this baby; she and my father would be with me every step of the way. My marriage was over before it began; the man I gave my egg to and took a vow with was weak and unaccountable. I wanted a marriage like my parents. Now this?

I spent the next few months walking through a nightmare of dissolving my marriage, securing healthcare and keeping my head above water all through morning sickness and early pregnancy. It wasn't until I went into pre-term labor at 5 months when my midwife, Paula Duran sat me down and said: “Either you want this baby or your marriage; you are under tremendous stress, you can’t do both.”

I chose my baby.

After being discharged from the hospital after another pre-term scare, I prayed one night before sleeping.  Holding my big belly in my hands, I prayed to God for my son to be born healthy and mine. God answered me as I slept; we had an amazing conversation: I was in a high, bright place that was warm and peaceful all around me. God’s voice surrounded me and went through me every time he spoke: Me: “God, I want this baby, please don’t take him from me, I lost my marriage. I don’t want to loose him too.” God responded: “If I give you this life, it will forever change your life. You will no longer be the same as you are now.” I agreed to God’s intervention.  It took me along time to keep my word, but God always kept His.

After two days of back labor, I gave birth naturally to my son on September 13^th. My birth was traumatic and riddled with medical discrimination.  My mother and dear friend Maureen were my labor coaches. I was lucky to have my midwife assist in my birth; I was a Medicaid PCAP pregnancy and OB’s only wanted private insurances.

It was love at first sight when I laid eyes on my son as he was being born. I breastfed and cloth diapered him; I also suffered from post-partum depression that went undiagnosed for months after I gave birth. Another one of the results of medical discrimination. It was the only time in motherhood I was actually afraid.

The next 25 years were some of the most challenging, amazing tumultuous, growth times of my life. I grew up along with my baby, we grew super close. As I grew as a mother I also grew as a woman, I also grew spiritually. My father passed away when Jordan was three (a huge adjustment). I earned three college degrees, survived domestic abuse, miscarried a few more babies, owned a home, married again, divorced again, lost my home, filed bankruptcy, had my car repossessed and worked my ass off with my higher learning. My leap of faith I took into motherhood resulted in my growth as a person in spirit not just in this world, but this universe.  I failed well and repeatedly; my son was always there, cheering me on; playing with his toys in the back of the classroom as I sat in my college classes. My son sacrificed for me as I did for him.

Jordan is an amazing man. As a child he was highly intelligent, creative and very funny in his own sensitive, Virgo way. Jordan is an old soul, as a baby I would sing to him. Now I only sing for God.  Jordan also has his master’s degree, he is unique in both character and creativity; he taught himself how to surf (in Australia) and take photographs (since age 8). He loves music first and photography second. I introduced him to rock music and Michael Jackson. My son is very popular and he loves to travel. Apple does not fall far from the tree, Jordan is also fearless.

I am indeed grateful to this son of mine who has changed my life. I am grateful to my ex-husband for his biological contribution. I pray I never loose sweet memories of Jordan and I doing the coolest things while he was growing up. I love being his mom.

It was only fitting that Jordan and I go skydiving this year, 2015: I am now 51 and having fun. Jordan is a black man 25; and is still alive. We dived on a beautiful sunny day without a single cloud in the sky. I made Jordan go before me. I was the last one to leave the plane.

Watching my son fall from the plane attached to his tandem diver, my internal maternal gut reaction clenched for a moment, then my faith took over. I know Jordan would be all right without me. I have given him a strong foundation to be a good human being, a man and someday a father. Jordan didn't just jump – he dove! Just like he is doing with his life.  My son theVirgo did a perfect dive.

I was the last to jump out of that plane; it was a dozy.  Not only did I jump but being the Leo I am, I also did a summersault mid air! I came full circle. I did look back as the picture shows.

Looking back, I was saying good-bye to the old me; to all the sadness, disappointments, hardship and failures. I jumped into my faith, my strength. I jumped with my wisdom, bravery and fearlessness that I learned in 26 years. The jump initially took my breath away, just like 25 years ago when I first laid eyes on my baby boy as I pushed him out into this world.

My landing was one of grace and giggles. My son, was there to greet me. We both made it; breathless and exhilarated. I wouldn't have it any other way. I was meant to be Jordan’s mom. I took a jump 26 years ago, my God catches me every time without a parachute!

Here is the link to video of my jump:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pdamILNs4Hc

Impressionable.  

By Denise Bolds MSW, CD. February 18, 2015.

The news is rampant over Bobbi Kristina Brown being found face down in a bathtub unresponsive. This scenario eerily repeats of her famous mother Whitney Houston who was also found in a bathtub unresponsive and declared dead of a drug overdose February 11, 2012.

What was it like growing up with TWO celebrity parents? The wealth and actions a young impressionable girl witnesses. What impressions were formed and how did that chain of impressionism become a noose around the necks of both Whitney and her daughter Bobbi Kristina?

The term impression is a noun and is defined as:  “An imitation of a person or thing, especially one done to entertain.”

Many times it has been said that “Impression is a form of flattery.” What does this mean for a young Black girl? I can remember Whitney Houston’s mother Cissy and brother Michael were interviewed by Oprah after Whitney’s death, on national television Michael admitted to being the one to introduce Whitney his younger sister to drugs. The look on Cissy’s face was priceless. I don’t know how Michael Houston sleeps at night. A younger sibling is always enamored to the older brother/sister and is highly impressionable of that sibling.

 I can remember my own young years (mid 70’s to early 80’s) all too well, it has a similar tune to Whitney and Michael Houston. I have a sister who is seven years older than me, growing up I adored her. To me she was perfect in all ways and she is beautiful. I wanted to be like her; cool in all ways, graceful, fashionable; she could dance her ass off and braid hair like nobody else. My beautiful sister whom I adored was also heavily into drugs (cocaine).

I wanted to be with my sister as much as possible; go everywhere and be in everything. In my tender adolescence she was godlike to me. We did many things together, then my heart broke, my big sister became distant; we no longer hung out and did things together, she had other friends and they were doing things that I was not a part of and my sister did not expose me to.

Fast forward to 2015: I am 50 years old and successful in many ways (college graduate, professional, parent). I have not spoken to my sister in over 20 years but I know drugs (cocaine & marijuana) have been a part of her life for a very long time. My sister met my son (her nephew) when he was a baby, she gave him “Bear” a toy my son slept with for years and I now keep for his future children.

The epiphany came to me after hearing about Bobbi Kristina Brown: What if my sister introduced me to her life style of drug use? At the highly impressionable age of 12 and onwards I would be an easy, compliant participant because I idolized my sister dearly, I would have used or did anything she requested of me. The miracle is my sister did the complete opposite; she pushed me away from her, the resulting estrangement saved my life.

What would have become of me if I did follow in my sister’s footsteps of drug use? Would I be the person I am today? Would I have my son, my health, strength and integrity? Would I be alive? As impressionable as I was, if my sister gave me drugs to use in my youth I would have; my parents would have lost two daughters not one.

I posed this very same observation to my mother in a phone conversation a few days ago and her response: silence. For me, I think of my sister daily. I want her to see the woman I've become, I owe my success to her ‘abandonment’ of me; had I stuck around and did the “Every Little Step” (As Bobby Brown sang) as she did, my life would be completely different than it is today.

Thinking about Whitney Houston and her brother Michael’s testimony on national television: was there an ulterior motive? Sibling rivalry? It sure was present in my family as my beautiful sister was dark complexion and I was light. I am also the apple of my parent’s eyes, not my choice. Neither my sister nor I asked for this schism by skin color, it is just another avenue in Black family dysfunction.

Did Michael Houston know the possible outcome of his introducing his baby sister Whitney to drugs? Did Michael consider her death and the addiction spreading to his niece, Whitney’s daughter Bobbi Kristina?

As a Black woman I put this very personal blog out to raise awareness and promote positive communication of the destruction of the Black family as a result of drugs: drugs alters lives, separates lives and takes lives. Our young family members are just as vulnerable to their own kin as they are to the world they face every day. As for me, Whitney’s most famous song “I will always love you” resonates so clearly for this Black woman who still loves her sister and misses her each and every day. I remain grateful for my sister's decision of estrangement even in it's severity. What a heavy price to pay. Many Black families have also paid as well as Whitney and Bobbi Kristina. In this case, it is better to just walk away. 

Unhappy? Clap and Get Ready to Change!

“If you’re unhappy and you know it clap your hands! (Clap! Clap). If you’re unhappy and you know it clap your hands! (Clap! Clap). If you’re unhappy and you know it and you don’t know how to show it, if you’re unhappy and you know it…. Clap your hands!

There’s a song very similar to this little ditty I used to sing as a kid. Funny how now older and wiser, I know that clapping my hands during a time of unhappiness/negativity changes that unwanted vibration and introduces a change for the better…..

How many of us are unhappy at something in our lives? I know I was. As a Black female with a master’s degree in corporate America it became blaringly evident that I would have to work 15 times harder, get paid less and never ascribe to the career greatness as my white female peers do effortlessly. I was systematically being shown the presence of racism and I didn't like it.

What once was an awesome career opportunity became a noose around my neck: it got so severe that I would sit in my car in the company parking lot for almost an hour talking myself into going in for another 8- 10 hours of hell. It was getting fugly.

Suddenly, I didn't see the big picture, I didn't speak their language (I am an native American), no one could understand me; I was not a team player. I was given cases that involved people of color because ‘I could understand them.’ The writing was on the wall, the line drawn in the sand. It was time for me to make that change, but how? I didn't know anyone else who experienced what I had or made a change for the better. What was I to do?

It took me a few years, a good therapist, a good labor attorney and a couple more failed tries in the corporate world; I got myself de-branded (It’s like being de-brainwashed after being in a cult) and I rebuilt myself. I explored for a bit and started my own business twice and failed before I gave it another try and I hit success.

BEFORE success I faced many challenges: spiritual (I had to submit fully to my God and faith, I was a consummate control freak who had to surrender control), social (I lost friends who did not support me in my dreams, I am STILL single), financial (gave up many luxuries like cable and eating out) and of course professional (the racism is present in ALL avenues of professions). I learned about my faith and about myself more than ever in my life. I let go and stepped out into the unfamiliar; as a result I became a citizen of the universe – who knew? J.

Another colleague of mine is now at the beginning stage of what I just went through for the past three years. She and I held the same job with the same organization at different times. We shared our stories together and we both agree the job and the people left both of us extremely traumatized.  My colleague gave me praise for stepping out on my own. In just a few months she too did the same: walked away from TWO master’s degrees, a job and career to start up her own business working with animals – she’s white.

I immediately got on the phone to her after receiving her resignation email announcement and I cheered her on and gave her my rousing and sincere support. While many of our peers used her story as fodder for speculation (“all that education and she’s working with dogs…), I immediately understood what happened with this woman and why – the same happened to me. I know her journey will differ from mine; there are still black/white paradigms to cross but there is a bond in the fact that we both made a conscious choice to live outside of the box – to diverge.

It doesn't matter how many degrees you have or how great the job is – at the end of the day if you are not happy with you, if you have lost your vision/dream/big picture, if you are so branded by your profession that gives you a paycheck yet you have no idea whom you are, if you find yourself sickly, depressed, overweight, unfulfilled or UNHAPPY, clap your hands together, then get ready to take action! There IS life outside of the box – YOURS.

The Ni@@er and the Teachable Moment

Denise Bolds, MSW

June 24, 2013

 

 

Once again I am riding the wave of obscurity with the Paula Deen incident. Being partially raised in the south and Black I am astounded at how the media and many Blacks are completely blowing past the teachable moment here. Paula Deen is a southern woman raised in the south – okay -we get that. And at Paula’s age, you can be sure she has and still probably does use the n-word. THAT is part of the southern culture; Django could not have emphasized this concept any more clearly: Blacks did not have names in conversations or communication; a Black person male, female or child was addressed as ‘ni@@er’. Period.

What’s missing from the media is Paula Deen and her cooking empire; Paula Deen Enterprises are being sued in a $1.2 MILLION DOLLAR lawsuit for sexual and racial discrimination by former employees who happen to be white. What the media does not bring forth is how Blacks in this day and age are still being mistreated in the workforce by the good ‘ole US of A.

Paula’s revelation came through a deposition – remember that. Under oath Paula Deen admitted to what is considered by many to be mainstream vernacular. The fine line here is Blacks in the music industry have basically prostituted themselves and the n-word in entertainment for large sums of money = Rap Music. The n-word has no place in the work place especially being used in a derogatory manner by whites as alleged in the lawsuit against Paula Deen Enterprises.

So, the response from useless pontiffs in the media is: “Paula is doing what Blacks do to themselves regularly, it’s called rap music! Ha! Ha! Ha!” Here’s where the teachable moment comes in:

Yes, the word ni@@er is used mainstream in rap music, and I do not agree with it. If I had my way as many other Blacks feel, I would have marched and protested vehemently as the white music producers and executives allowed this oppressive word to become mainstream. When Michael Jackson used the word “Kike” in one of his songs in 1996, Jackson’s record label had to recall and edit CD’s due to the ‘outrage’ by the Jewish community. 

Blacks should be following the Paula Deen incident as a red flag of what occurs for Blacks in the work place and the hostile environment Blacks face for employment every day. I don’t hear the useless pontiffs’ speaking about THIS. Paula Deen and Paula Deen Enterprises should be mandated to undergo a HUGE employer racial sensitivity training  as part of the settlement; I don’t hear Blacks demanding this either. It’s not enough that Paula Deen was let go from the Food Network Channel and lost several endorsements, she will rebound. Firing Paula Deen is not doing anything for Blacks unless it is identified that being Black does not places a bulls eye on one’s forehead for workplace hostility called racism.

The Paula Deen incident has left the media spotlight – but as time reveals, there is more to the atrocities and racial targeting Black employees endured employed at Paula Deen Enterprises. When will the media admit the hostilities Blacks face being employed in America. Don’t believe it? Look at the barrage of racial slurs and disgusting pictures about first Black president of the United States Barack Obama. Many of these outrageous emails and publications came from supposedly educated, elected officials – all white.

Teachable moment: I don’t care where you grew up or how you were raised; derogatory words such as ni@@er does not belong in the work place. For myself and the many Blacks I interact with, many agree with me that ni@@er doesn’t belong in a song either. It’s time for Blacks to stand up, step out and put the n-word where it belongs – OUT of the common, mainstream of America. This word is and will always shall be a title of oppression that was over 400 years of darkness in America called slavery. Imagine if Blacks were outraged as the Jews and Native Americans are? We would have restitution, federal scholarships for our children to attend college and profits from casinos. I’m Just Sayin…

 

 

 

Why I Will Not Celebrate July 4th



Denise Bolds, MSW July, 2013

Another July 4th is upon America, land of the free and home of the brave. The national holiday that stops all postal, banking and business is to commemorate the adoption of the Declaration of Independence from Great Britain. The Declaration of Independence gave freedom of the 13 colonies from the ‘rule’ by Britain 237 years ago.

Independence is freedom, respect and equality, as an African American I don’t see these concepts readily for my people. Last week as America celebrated a gain for marriage equality, blacks lost vital voting rights. With a black president of the United States of America, blacks are still behind; having the highest rate in unemployment, school drop-out, teen pregnancy, crime, incarceration, infant mortality and mental/ medical illness.

As an African American woman and single parent I have been called nigger, followed in stores, denied housing and jobs because of my ethnicity, stereotyped, called ‘angry’, treated as though I am invisible and most of all blamed for the travesties of my black race. I cannot celebrate Independence Day July 4th because I am black and the Declaration of Independence did not and does not include me.

Would I fare better in another country? There is that chance. I cannot forget my ancestors were taken hostage from Africa, brought to a cruel continent where they were denied their language, culture, religion and rights as human beings and forced to endure the cruelest forms of oppression for over 400 years. I cannot forget and put aside the 400 years of oppression called slavery. I cannot celebrate Independence Day July 4th. July 4th 1776 blacks were still slaves in America.

For every black man incarcerated for a crime he did not commit.
For the Moynihan Papers.
For the Rockefeller Laws.
For Stand Your Ground.
For every black family that is fractured.
For every gun and liquor store in predominately black communities.
For every black baby born underweight or prematurely.
For every black child wrongfully assigned to special education.
For every Oscar Grant, Travon Martin and DJ Henry killed with little or no repercussion.
For every black female wrongfully processed by USA judicial system.
For every dollar the record and media executives earn by exploiting the word ‘nigger’ and the misrepresentation of black culture.
For every job I am qualified for but refused because I am black.
For every bit of black history that is not mainstreamed in America that was built on the backs and wombs of blacks.
For every black child on the pipeline from the education system to incarceration.
For every aspect of black history that is carelessly thrown into dumpsters.
For every health disparity both mental and medical received by blacks.
For every police officer who utilizes excessive force and kills blacks without any punishment.
For the hypocrisy that is white entitlement.
For every black man, woman and child ascribed to a life of less than because they are black.
For every black man, woman and child who have forgotten black history and the lives paid for what we are today.
For every black man, woman and child who cannot see the black humanity crisis that is evident.
For every black man, woman and child who remains silent and complacent.

For the fact that in 2013; I feel compelled, because the sign of the times to write such an article. I cannot celebrate July 4th Independence Day. 237 years later with all of the contributions made by blacks, we are still destroyed, denied, distracted, disenfranchised and devalued.

If You Want a Michelle – Then Please Be a Barack…

If You Want a Michelle – Then Please Be a Barack…

By Denise Bolds, February 7, 2010

As the discussion of relationships between the black man and black woman continue, I hear black men lament: “I really want a Michelle Obama.” It is true; First Lady Michelle Obama is someone I greatly admire: a strong black woman who is educated, family focused and confident in her deep brown complexion. I find myself praying more for her and her daughters than I pray for her husband.

Michelle Obama is very comfortable in her blackness and she speaks very clearly on her values – she even wears her clothes more than once. I say in response to the black man who desires a Michelle in their lives… Please be a Barack: Step up to your Michelle with your education and earnings potential intact, with no baby mama drama, no incarcerations or drug use. Be ready to woo and court your Michelle and ask for her hand in marriage. Be ready to be a father who is present in the lives of your children, be able to contribute to your community, be humble, and be a good listener and not a lecturer but a speaker. Be ready to participate spiritually.

Black man who wants a Michelle – please be ready and able to tell the world that your Michelle is your best friend; how you would not have made it without her, let the world see your face light up as you look at her. Let the world see you step up, protect and provide for your Michelle. Black man, of you want a Michelle – please make damn sure YOU are a Barack Obama.

Black woman if you want a Barack Obama – you better be a Michelle: humble, educated, family orientated. Please be willing and able to believe and see your Barack’s dreams: work with him, be ready to sacrifice and put your own dreams on pause for a bit, be a present mother to your children and put away the tally sheet of ‘honey-you-must-do’s’. Black woman be ready to stand up for your Barack and work shoulder to shoulder. Black woman be ready to be your Barack’s extra eyes and ears, be ready to do your very best towards your Barack so that he is on point. Black Woman if you want a Barack, please leave sexuality in the bedroom and maintain intimacy and respect in the eyes of the world. Black Woman please be ready to be that rib of Adam - so that your Barack says: "Finally!"

                      To the black man and black woman – if you want success be ready to sacrifice.