Total pages in book: 118
Estimated words: 109178 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 546(@200wpm)___ 437(@250wpm)___ 364(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 109178 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 546(@200wpm)___ 437(@250wpm)___ 364(@300wpm)
All of this confusion is designed to once again keep women in check. Trying to use so-called medical evidence that is skewed and proven unfounded to drive a weak point home. Trying to use divine intervention and religion. Trying to use guilt trips. All of these are tools of the game. The tactics are endless. Pimping at its finest. We say: How dare you question me, woman! Your brain is smaller than mine. You’re mentally slower than me. You’re too damn emotional. You’re a nincompoop, and thank God that I am here to guide you, or there is no telling where you’d be! Uh, happy. That’s where they’d probably be.
Nadia burst out laughing.
We tell women: You are too weak to build and create. You need me to tell you what to do and how to do it because you have no direction and are easily confused. And you know what? All around the world we say this shit, and we get away with it. This all started because of our own insecurity, but now we’ve placed the disease of insecurity onto the backs of our lovers, forcing them to carry the weight.
The Black woman is the first portal of life on the planet Earth. We’ve convinced her that she’s less rational than us. We’ve convinced her that she needs us to direct her every step of the way. We even have her going to church mostly by herself, so more of the same scare tactics can be driven into her head. We trained her well, like a dog. All we ended up doing in the long run is teaching her how to walk right the fuck out of our lives. We’ve become the bitch to our own egos. Stop reacting. Don’t yell. Don’t cry. Don’t martyrize. Don’t hit. Don’t threaten. MOTHERFUCKER, JUST DO BETTER!
Nadia paused and shook her head, fighting tears of elation. Some things that her mother said, Saint was saying too, only in a different way, with a better explanation. Mama may not be wrong about everything after all.
Most of the time when a heterosexual woman is insecure, it is tied into the approval, validation, or endorsement of the male gender. She feels she isn’t pretty enough. Her hair isn’t nice enough. She’s too fat. Too skinny. Too short. Too tall. Her ass is too little. Her breasts too small or too big. It’s always something. She compares herself to other women and will fight another woman for an unworthy man who is playing both of them. She’s trying to meet unrealistic expectations, imposed by someone who doesn’t even know where the hell her clitoris is.
Nadia burst out laughing again, from the gut.
The majority of the Black woman’s trauma, in America in particular, comes from two roots: Racism and Men. Black women traded in one slave master for another. Can you guess who that is? ‘Well, that’s not fair, Dr. Aknaten!’ I hear that shit all the time from men. I don’t give a shit about something not being fair if it is accurate. The truth is not fair, men. It is not unfair, either. It simply IS.
So many men have approached me, upset when I make that statement about women’s suffering. This is a biological male problem, regardless of race, ethnicity, or creed. I am talking about all of us. All men feed into the dysfunctional system of controlling our women. We first have to understand what we are doing, then the second step is to understand WHY we are doing it.
Another reason, besides insecurity, is because we’re threatened if they don’t help us. If they don’t give us what we want, when we want it. We are intimidated if they start to collectively think for themselves. Some of the men at my seminars and conferences say, but Dr. Saint Aknaten, how can you say all of this when there are horrible women out here, too? There are mothers having children that we didn’t want, and raising them wrong. Teaching them how to take advantage of men, and not taking care of their responsibilities. How can you say that, Dr. Aknaten, when there are women lying, scheming, keeping our children away from us, and playing us, too? It’s not just us.
They scream this from the rooftops. They call me a panderer, and a simp. Never to my face, but online all day and night, because they are cowards and don’t have the fucking balls to look me in my eye and say this silly simple Simon shit. I’m not above beating a mothafucka’s ass, but I digress. All jokes aside, I really don’t care about name-calling from boys masquerading as men. You’re a damn child. You’re nowhere near my level if you have this sort of remedial reasoning. And I don’t care about your fucking feelings, either. Fuck a feeling. Feelings don’t change shit. They improve nothing. They are completely unreliable. I care about logic, facts with substantiated data, and reality when it comes to decision making and accountability. I care about making improvements, rather than pointing fingers at the wrong shit just so we don’t have to do the work of self-improvement. We are not victims. We are perpetrators.