My Name Is Jessamyn
I think I’m the first fat person on the cover of @yogajournal. A black fatty who doesn’t hate themselves on the cover of one of the whitest magazines in history. Well I’ll be damned. What does that really mean, though? What should I take from that?
I’m excited. Don’t get me wrong. I’m very happy about all of this. But what does it mean for me to strive for the approval of white supremacist institutions? What does that say about who I am? About who this would has trained me to be? In my happiness I see my desire to be seen in the light of whiteness. To be accepted by those who oppress me. To receive a mark of approval from those who will never respect me.
When will I learn that the mark of approval is unnecessary? When will I learn that I need not tap dance for the enjoyment of white audiences? When will I learn that my blackness is not for sale? When will I learn that my self-approval is not on the auction block?
I’m happy. But I’m critical. Because I’m practicing. And practicing is more than just poses.
When we do the actual work of #yoga, nasty shit comes up. Don’t run from it- this is the actual work. We all have a role to play and we must all accept our responsibility. Everything else is just make believe.
I’m on the February 2019 cover of @yogajournal and it’s in stores now. If you buy it, send me a picture- I wanna scrapbook it for my great-great nieces and shit. #representationmatters (at Durham, North Carolina)
See original article here