I’ve decided to start a school entitled, “I Know Who You Are.” I know it’s a very weird name for a school, but it encapsulates the purpose of the school. I am going to teach little girls how to recognize predators not only the predators that walk down the street and abduct them as they are walking to school or the predators that creep into their bed as they sleep, but predators that come in a non-threatening, “I love and worship you . . . I will give you the world . . . trust me I am your Prince/Princess . . . I will make everything right” manner, but who’s very presence is sinister and downright starved for the light that naive girls and women emit. Because their light tells a story of trust without boundaries, devotion without commitment, care without concern. Yes, they are what I call P.O.W.s—Push Over Women.

And, let me be honest, I can’t stand P.O.W.s. They irk me. All, I want to yell to them is, “Put your big girl drawls on and fight, shit . . . whatcha crying for, you better woman up.”But, I realize that sometimes this type of “I am a strong black woman” motivation is not the most effective in training P.O.W.s on how to recognize and fight predators. But, I result to such tactics because I know what it means to be a Push Over Woman and the daughter of a Push Over Woman. It means making men the center of your life. It means never listening to your inner voice . . . your intuition. It means loving a man who fundamentally hates himself and who can only experience fleeting moments of happiness when he is beating you senseless. It means meaningless groping and touching without mutual intimacy. It means telling your daughter to never depend on a man but showing her your constant dependence. Yes, I know what it means to be a P.O.W. an untrained naïve woman . . . a woman who does not realize the power she has.

And, let me tell ya, that type of existence sucks!

Well, Alice Walker once wrote in In Search of Our Mother’s Gardens that our mothers were artist who went crazy because they lacked an outlet for their art. The same can be said of P.O.W.s. They become prey for starved men and women, they become prey for never ending responsibilities, they become prey for negative inner thoughts because they were never trained—given an outlet—to recognize when people and things only come into their lives to steal their stuff. I wholeheartedly know for a fact that we do not train women to protect their stuff because we prefer for them to be as Sleeping Beauty is, as Little Red Robin Hood is, as Snow White is, as Cinderella is—prey.  Not just prey, but easy to catch prey, “Girl, just take you some Valium and go to sleep for a 100 years in this isolated forest where no one lives for miles on in. Prince Charming is going to come . . . one day.” Easy and stupid prey.


And, you see for a certain type of starved man, a certain type of self-debilitating inner thought, a certain type of depraved spirit, and a certain type of needy mother the aroma of P.O.W.s is an intoxicating nirvana that smells of “unbridled, untold, and unrecognized purpose.” Our daughters need to know that there are starved forces in the world that seek to consume them—their mind, their body, and their spirit. Honestly, I write like a crazy old woman at this very moment because I wish someone would have told me when I was a little chocolate round girl that being “seen and not heard,” polite and reserved, damsel in distress, the wing beneath his wing, that everyone loves a cute girl, that I should love everyone was a farce, a lie, a way to keep me from listening to my inner Spirit Woman and protecting my “stuff” (i.e. My passion, My creativity, and My Spirit of Fight) from predators.

I wish someone would have taught me to say: “These are my boundaries that you will not cross and if you do I will not cower away and lick my wounds. I will fight you. Do you hear me. I will fight you.” You see it is this spirit of fight (i.e. big girl drawls) that I seek to cultivate in P.OW.s. I want to teach them how to maintain their position in a street corner brawl where their reputation, body, occupation, family life, self-esteem, and most importantly their inner voice are on the line.

Yeah, I am getting old because I blogging my inner rants. But, the fact remains that if we do not train girls to recognize predators they will unwittingly fall prey and never taste . . . savor on the tip of their tongue the power/intuition of knowing and stopping beguiling but ever starved approaching predators. For when a woman is able to see a predator for what it is, she has decided to live a life of getting back to what India Arie refers to as the “middle”—the center of who she is.

So, the question is today, do you know if you are being pursued by a predator (i.e. a man starved man, negative thoughts, past failures, needy parents, limitless responsibilities, etc.)? And if so, can you share your story and tell how you learned to see it for what it was?