The Preservation Of The Domesticated Woman
Theresa Fortune is the founder of Communion with the Community, an organization dedicated to connection and creativity, through drama therapy and a local kids’ camp. In Her new film, From the Ashes, she documents her own journey from postnatal depression to reclaiming her concept of motherhood.
Theresa Fortune, photographed by Rachelle Derouin
As part of REP CO’s mission to disseminate and elevate the stories of our subjects, we are proud to partner with the new magazine, MOTHER TONGUE, on the publication of this piece. You can find this story in the inagural print edition, available for purchase here.
Oakland-based Theresa Fortune is the founder of Communion with the Community, an organization dedicated to connection and creativity, through drama therapy and a local kids’ camp. Her new film From the Ashes, is a project five years in the making, in which she documents her own journey from postnatal depression to reclaiming her concept of motherhood. Here, she tells Anjelika Temple about the moment that led to her film, and the goals she has for fostering discussion about mental health, depression, and suicide in an effort to help heal some of the trauma that has weighed down Black mothers for generations.
Theresa’s daughter, Aaliyah, photographed by Rachelle Derouin
My daughter Aaliyah is what inspired all of this. If it were not for her ability to communicate to me about how she feels, I wouldn't be doing what I’m doing right now.
When I went through the divorce with her dad, in 2015, it was very, very difficult for all of us. She sat me down—she was almost four at the time—and she said: "Mom, I don't feel pretty, and I don't know if you and daddy love me, and daddy’s having a new baby that won’t look like me."
I thought that I was doing a good job, figured that the extent of my job was providing and project managing our schedules. I thought I was nailing it. I thought, "I'm doing this by myself. I'm paying the rent by myself. Mom, dad, I made it."
She snatched my attention, and grounded me in my truth: My paycheck was distracting me from my predominant self. I wanted to be a mom, and I didn’t want to struggle and think about the lights.
Photography by Rachelle Derouin
I remember I did not respond to her right away. I held space for her and I held her. It hadn’t dawned on me that life was really happening to her, too. I thought: Oh, ok, this is a totally different ballgame, and I didn't feel prepared. I booked a flight to San Diego, so I could take her to the zoo. I just thought: I need to respond to her in a very different environment so she'll never forget the conversation.
I didn't have a lot of money, but my homeboy worked at Southwest. So I asked him to use a buddy pass. "I need you to plug it." We got up at 4 in the morning. I had our backpacks packed. We get in the car. She goes, "Mommy, it's too early to go to school." I reply, "We're going to get some hot chocolate." And we pull up to the airport.
I have my little pouch with all the paperwork and her birth certificate and I’m wondering whether they are going to ask for it. We get through the line, and she asks me, "Why are we here?" And I said, "This is an airport." And she says, "A plane?"
I felt so accomplished. I felt so capable. I had made this happen. Growing up, I had only been on one vacation in my life, to Universal Studios. That was it, and it was the best trip of our life.
So Aaliyah and I board the plane, and it was a dream come true. As soon as we leveled out, I thought okay, this is my opportunity to respond. She was so shaken up from the turbulence that I knew she was open.
Photography by Rachelle Derouin
"I just want you to know that I really love your dad, I also like your dad's girlfriend, I really love that they're having a baby and you get to be a big sister. You're going to be the best big sister in the world." In my heart, I knew that she needed permission from me to be open to a new family.
Shortly after that trip, I transitioned out of my job, and put myself on welfare. Give me my money back, because my tax dollars paid into this bucket anyway. I've had jobs since I was 16 years old. And, yes, I'm going to utilize every possible resource to decompress and to address myself and to allow room for me to be a mother. Black people that are on welfare, we have this demeaning—or, they try to give us this demeaning—narrative, when really the system was created for most white women to stay home with their children.
I decided to start all the way over and to address my trauma, to address the postpartum depression that almost took me out, and to make room to be the mom that I actually want to be. I wanted to be present for my daughter—not just a provider, not just a scheduler. I wanted to be a mom that had time to sit down and make mud pies in the sandbox. I told her, “I'm never going to miss any of your events at school. I'm going to volunteer at your school.”
When I would go into her classroom, I would pay attention to other kids, specifically children of color, and I could see a very obvious difference in lifestyle. Among these kids, I could identify a child that may have had a single parent or a child that may be emotionally underdeveloped and their communicative skills were not there—partially because, I don't know, maybe their mom or dad doesn't have time to be present because she/he has to go to work. I'm showing up, but the price that I'm paying is I had to revoke my paycheck to find my purpose.
Photography by Rachelle Derouin
The nucleus of everything that I've developed looks towards the repair of families of color.
There are certain resources that we don't have access to. And that puts additional pressure onto the chemical imbalances that we typically deal with in motherhood.
When I decided to get on welfare, it was my market research. A lot of people don't understand that certain counties provide therapy for free. I called my social worker, and asked her to walk me through the resources, but she wasn’t aware of all the potential benefits available. So I figured stuff out on my own—I realized that my food stamp card gets me and Aaliyah into museums for free. So I get therapy, I get my food money, I get cash aid, my daughter gets free education. And I'm like, T, your income is less than $700 a month, but you have a different currency and that currency is time. How do you spend time as though you're spending money? Like you invest in stocks, how do you take this bucket of currency and invest it, and how do you find your return?
I became fascinated with the struggle, and I challenged my perspective to see it as an opportunity. And it worked, it’s working.
Photography by Rachelle Derouin
I can manage $20 for the week and be very satisfied. I have a cup of coffee. I have my mind. I have time with my child. I have the ability to to create from a place of passion and not just survival.
I'm deeply in love with life, and I know that every breath that I take is a measure of success, because I know what it feels like to not want to take another one. I also take ownership of the emotional spectrum. There are days where I can be grounded, and days that I feel high or low. My goal is to try to level. Let's just be steady. Let's pace it.
It is the strength that is required of me as a black woman and a black mother to always have to figure it the hell out. Even if you don't have the resources or the mental-emotional capacity to do that, you don't have a choice, because you have to survive.
Everyone has yin and yang energy. And oftentimes as women, we get sucked into the yang of life, and we're robbed and de-feminized by the amount of pressure that we have to take on just to make ends meet. I'm tired of predominantly walking in my yang, because it robs me of the warmth for my child, for my partner, and for myself. What does self-care look like when you're constantly gunning it?
Photography by Rachelle Derouin
I am an advocate for the preservation of the domesticated woman. I don't mind being strong, because I can do anything that anybody else can do, male or female, white or black. Even if it takes me a little bit longer and it requires more of me to get it done, I can do that. But I'm also exhausted by the domesticated woman being looked over as though she's just like a stepping stool for somebody else to win. Nah. I take total pride in being a mother, in being warm, and also being a businesswoman. I've found the harmony because I've honored my "why" and that has allowed me to land in a space of fulfillment.
I can be everything. I would just prefer to have permission to take the cape off when I see fit, because I still have to take care of myself, and I do want the gown.
Just because you look feminine doesn't always mean that you have the luxury of feeling it, and that's what the gown represents. In all actuality, I'm just wearing a heavy-ass cape, and I want it to come off, and I want to walk with a gown. I want that embedded in my skin. Take that other stuff off of me.
