Role Models Banned

Reflecting on My “Role Models Banned” Essay from Chicken Soup for the Soul’s I’m Speaking Now – Black Women Share Their Truth in 101 Stories of Love, Courage and Hope

In 2021, I wrote the essay below that was published by Chicken Soup for the Soul. The essay explored how, in my 30s, I finally understood another one of my mom’s seemingly crazy teachings. She had banned me from having role models.

My mom wasn’t saying I couldn’t admire people, rather, she was teaching me how to be conscious and intentional about freedom dreaming for myself. Was I dreaming or comparing myself to others? Was I speaking my truth or manifesting my fears by qualifying everything I did, said, or imagined for myself?

I often ask myself these questions now (thank you, mom!), and I encourage you to ask yourself something similar: “Why do I tend to compare myself to others or discredit who I am as my default or norm?” Feel free to write out your thoughts, talk to a friend who can hold a safe, honest, and reflective space for you, or identify a way that allows you to sit with yourself and reflect deeply. Come back to this reflection routinely until you start becoming conscious of your comparison thinking and the behaviors.

Thrive Architects’ Coaching and Rest Programs explore our concept of liberating rest and challenge you to think differently about yourself, like addressing those limitations that make you qualify your dreams and keep you in paralysis from a life where you can thrive. Thrive also offers rest programs on freedom dreaming for BIPOC professionals.

---

ORIGINAL ARTICLE

My mom, known as “Momma Weekes” by my friends, was the fiercest protector of my dreams. When she and my dad immigrated to the United States from Barbados in the 1970s, they saw themselves raising a child who had endless possibilities within her reach.

Growing up, Momma Weekes had rules for the home that seemed unconventional and just plain crazy. I certainly was not the envy of my high school friends when it came to household rules. My curfew was too early. I was only allowed to watch television two or three hours a week. In the summers, I had to write book reports for my mom in addition to having a job or participating in a leadership camp.

One rule I blindly obeyed was Momma Weekes’s ban on having role models. Like most of Mom’s rules, I attributed this to her being West Indian. She would always say, “You are allowed to respect certain qualities and characteristics about a person, but you can never place that person on a pedestal.” Mom would then lecture me and explain that when you idolize people, their greatest accomplishments can unintentionally become the ceiling of your dreams.

So, while I loved Oprah as a 1980s child, Mom refused to have me strive to be like Oprah. She forbade me from having posters of Oprah or anyone else taped to my walls. The only concession was that watching The Oprah Winfrey Show was excluded from my weekly television time quota.

Instead, Mom would ask me, “What are the qualities you like about Oprah that you think make her successful? Why are these qualities important to you? What else do you think you need to be successful that Oprah may not be showing or telling you?” And after her interrogation, she would always say, “There is only one Oprah and only one Dana. So, what are you going to do with your life?”

Even at a young age, I could feel the gravity of my mom’s words as her eyes bore into my soul. I would feel unsettled, until eventually her rants began to comfort me and take hold over the years. “Envision your own success, Dana. Don’t let Oprah do it for you.”

In my late twenties, after graduating from college, working in politics, and graduating from law school, I lost touch with Momma Weekes’s lesson. I succumbed to the hustle and bustle of the legal and policy world, and I prioritized striving over thriving. I wanted to be the best, and I exhausted myself trying to make real the visions others had for me. It had become second nature and I was collecting notches in my proverbial belt.

Many times, I was rewarded for mirroring others’ lives or meeting their benchmarks of success. That led to bonuses, promotions, accolades, likes on social media, and other affirmations intended to make me feel accomplished. Of course, after my sugar high of accomplishment wore off, I came back to my secret reality of feeling empty, uncertain, and a bit bitter at myself. But I would still put on a smile or post something witty on social media.

Little did I know I was distancing myself from the person who knew me best—me.

I had freely given permission to friends, colleagues, mentors, and even strangers to impose their ideas of success on me. I let the people I knew and loved dictate the course of my life when they spoke about my career, my desire to be married, my health, my happiness, and pretty much anything else about me. When it came to the people I didn’t know, I used the image they projected of their lives to serve as my GPS.

In my mid-thirties, I began to comply with Momma Weekes’s longstanding ban against living out other people’s intentions. I now understand that Mom didn’t want any person—no matter how successful—to have dominion over my thoughts, dreams, and aspirations. It was her prayer for me to trust and protect my inner callings, rather than make them vulnerable to the successes and failures of others.

Now more than ever, there is a need to recreate ourselves from within—to become our authentic selves. It is still important that we learn from those who have come before us. Yet, their stories should help to inform our visions, not become them.

As my mom said, “All the tools you need to live your calling are already within you, Dana. No one else can live your life’s purpose better than you.”