“Because of the lack of care that I received that day, I almost miscarried three times,” said Grigsby. “After hours had passed, and they finally attended to me, they stabbed me in the back over 13 times with an epidural needle in the back while I was in labor because they were trying to ease me out of the pain. They told me that they had to poke me so many times because I would not hold still.”

Shamare Grigsby, owner of Alluring Array Doula Services by Shae. Photo courtesy by Shamare Grigbsy

In the aftermath of the epidural, Grigsby struggled with back issues that lingered for years.

“I felt that I was dismissed that much because I was young and inexperienced, and it hurt,” she said.

Shortly after her experience at Spring Branch Medical Center, and the delivery of her twins, Grigsby became interested in the birthing process and ultimately found her passion as a doula. She was determined to be an ally for other Black women who could find themselves in similar situations. Grigsby now owns Alluring Array Doula Services by Shae, a doula company that caters to clients who live in Houston and Austin, Texas.

“I feel like I made it out alive for a reason, and I wanted to be able to use that reason to help drive the outcome of disparities that Black mothers face during labor by giving them confidence and peace of mind throughout the birthing process,” said Grigsby.

Although multiple studies have shown that Black women in the United States have experienced tangible improvements in healthcare during the last century, the health disparities they endure remain. These health disparities are mostly a substantial reflection of the inequalities experienced by Black women on an array of socioeconomic factors.

According to the CDC, Black mothers are three times more likely to die from childbirth or pregnancy-related causes than white mothers. About two-thirds of maternal mortality numbers in the U.S. are preventable.

Doulas say that empowering clients to advocate for themselves through coaching and emotional support leading up to pregnancy and delivery can significantly improve their birthing experiences and health outcomes.

For Jessica Easter, a Certified Birth Doula and owner of Tennessee-based Abounding Grace Birth Services, LLC, a doula is essential to the birthing process, especially when the birthing mother feels a high level of stress and anxiety.

“In my work. I try to make sure that my clients feel well-supported and informed about the entire process. I give them evidence-based information to make sure that they feel ready and confident for the birth,” said Easter. “By doing this, I hope to help them to be able to advocate for themselves when they are in labor.”

Easter’s current client base is 95%, African-American women. She said her passion for her work is rooted in her determination to prevent women from having traumatic birth experiences. She believes that all women, especially those of color, need the proper maternal support before, during, and after birth. For Easter, her work’s mission is to mitigate maternal health disparities by educating, encouraging, and empowering women to make informed birth decisions while maintaining the necessary physical, mental, and emotional support that they need to have a positive labor experience.

“Through my work, I feel like I am making a difference in the lives of women who may feel as though they are not being heard or taken seriously as far as their pregnancy and delivery are concerned,” said Easter. “So far, I have not had any incidents of clients being ignored or dismissed because I try to make sure that they have all the tools and emotional backing that they need.”

Like Easter, many Doulas are committed to giving their clients and their loved ones peace of mind by educating them with evidence-based techniques that can set them up for success. Many of them serve as unwavering allies to their clients by encouraging them to ask probing, critical questions of their medical providers when they do not understand a situation and remaining firm and relentless in their quest for an accurate and reasonable answer.

Black doulas like Shonte’ Terhune-Smith, a health educator, International Board Certified Lactation Consultant, and founder of YOLO Breastfeeding Services, say that having the presence and guidance of a doula in the delivery room can be significantly soothing. That calming presence, according to Terhune-Smith, can also be empowering and liberating to Black mothers, especially those who have experienced discrimination in predominantly white medical spaces in the past.

“I feel like most Black women seek out the help of a Doula because they have felt mistreated in the past, and this has left them feeling helpless and without a voiceless to the situation,” said Terhune-Smith. “That is why I try not to advocate for them, but instead, I try to amplify their voices so that they can feel heard. By doing this, I feel like I am empowering them.”

Before becoming a lactation expert and Doula, Terhune-Smith worked for WIC, the Special Supplemental Nutrition Program for Women, Infants and Children, but she did not like the government program’s approach to addressing the needs of Black women.

“I created what I thought should be out there by starting my doula business,” said Terhune-Smith. 

Despite the bleak reports about Black births and historical healthcare disparity, Terhune-Smith believes there is hope and that Black doula services are more important now than ever.

“More Black women are starting their doula businesses to partner with Black birthing mothers, and this is a plus,” said Terhune-Smith. “A lot of people are more vocal about the injustices that Black women face in healthcare and are pushing for doula services to be included in health insurance coverage plans, and the government is passing laws like the PUMP Act, so there is some hope.”

The Providing Urgent Maternal Protections for Nursing Mothers Act, also known as The PUMP Act is a Bipartisan Bill that was recently passed by the House of Representatives to ensure Breastfeeding Rights for Working Moms. Terhune-Smith also believes that while Black doulas contribute their quota to alleviate the healthcare disparity Black birthing mothers face, the government can also expedite the process.

“If the government is going to invest in Black healthcare issues, they also need to invest their resources in those who are doing the brunt of the work,” said Terhune-Smith.

The post Black doulas are challenging rampant healthcare disparity appeared first on Pavement Pieces.

Although at that moment, I felt a sense of contentment and solidarity towards the family of George Floyd, something deeper lingered in my mind and hung above my head; the deep-rooted systemic racism embedded in American society and how on earth I would unearth that conversation with my son someday. 

Four months ago, I birthed a son, and while his birth was a life changing experience for me, it was also bittersweet. My son can barely talk now, and he doesn’t know the consequences of his skin color. Still, I am acutely aware that someday, somewhere, as long as there is life in me, I will have to have the difficult conversations with him about the ramifications of wearing a hoodie at night in a suburban neighborhood as a Black man or driving a car that attracts the attention of the police and to say that I fear for that day is an understatement. On the other hand, to pretend that these dangers do not exist in the world would rob him of the right to know of this evil condition in the world called racism.

As a Black mother, I am acutely aware that society demands me to be strong all the time, to take things in stride, and always walk a fine line between remaining composed in the face of racial terrorism and living in an America that has been so wicked to Black lives. If George Floyd’s mother was still alive today, I could not begin to fathom the blinding pain that would shoot through her heart upon having to endure the unjust killing of her son, a son she nurtured and loved a son with whom she was so close. As a mother, I get it.

As I type this, the picture of Emmett Till’s mother crying over his casket plagues my mind and is another bitter reminder of the dangerous poison that is racism. My heart also breaks for the mothers of the Alton Sterlings, Daunte Wrights, Trayvon Martins, and thousands of other Black men and people who have lost their lives in the crossfires of systemic racism and police brutality. No mother should have to explain to their son why thousands of boys that look like him are shot at and killed, year in, year out. Yet, Black mothers across the US consistently bear the brunt of this painful reality. 

I am certain that the hashtag #JusticeForGeorgeFloyd will live on in Cyberspace. When the day comes for me to explain to my son the injustices that have been leveled against Black men for years, I will broach the topic with honesty, grit, and fortitude. Although I wish that I could protect him from the perils of this world, the truth is that I cannot, and that is why Black mothers like me need to recognize that we are faced with a precarious situation: raising Black boys who will thrive in a society that has all of the odds stacked against them. Some day, when my son is older and wiser, I will tell him about George Floyd and his trial, not to scare him or harden his heart, but to make him acutely aware of what it means to be a Black man in America because ignorance is deadly. Being a mother to a Black man in America carries a special type of terror. As I write this article, I am mulling over the many different ways that I will talk to my son about his roots, heritage, and future. For the umpteenth time, I have decided that I will use my words to buttress him against the hate that exists in the world for people that look like him, and above all, I will encourage him to remain his authentic, true Black self.

The post I have a Black son: Here is how I will explain the George Floyd verdict to him someday appeared first on Pavement Pieces.

On December 21, 2020, I woke up around 12:15 a.m. with a painful ache in my abdomen. This ache rapidly spread across every part of my body but managed to remain concentrated around my belly. At the time, I was nine months pregnant and nine days away from my due date. Months before that day, I had taken multiple trips to the OBGYN office and was informed that my baby was developing steadily. Towards the later months of my pregnancy, the process of carrying a baby became increasingly difficult. In the 28th week of my pregnancy, I got diagnosed with gestational diabetes, a condition that affects how cells use glucose sugar in pregnancy and causes high blood sugar. To avoid further complications, doctors encouraged me to measure my blood sugar with an AquaLance Lancets device four times a day. As the weeks continued to progress, I measured my blood sugar often and followed a healthy diet plan, but most of the questions that I directed towards my healthcare provider were either met with passive aggression or barely vaguely answered. 

As a Black woman and an immigrant of African descent, I was operating under the belief that the U.S healthcare system was second to none. I tried to ignore the dismissiveness that I was subjected to and tried to remain as healthy as possible throughout my pregnancy in the months that followed.

After four hours of tossing and turning in bed, I told my husband that the pain was beyond excruciating, and at about 4:30 a.m., we climbed into our Toyota RAV4 SUV and headed for the hospital, about 30  minutes away from our apartment in Allendale, Michigan. When we arrived, I was transferred to a wheelchair and wheeled down the halls towards a hallway whose entrance read “Admissions.” Three hours later, I was in the labor room, getting prepped for labor. The nurses injected me with an epidural to help me endure the stinging pain of childbirth, and seven grueling hours later, I gave birth to my son at 2:39 p.m., and he weighed 8 pounds and 3 ounces. I took a breath of relief as I was wheeled to another room upstairs to recover, but the worst was yet to come. Four hours later, at about 6:17 p.m., I finally held my son in my arms for an extended time, and I was immediately overcome with inexplicable love as he fell asleep in my arms. Before long, my husband came to stand beside us and immediately froze.

My bed was drenched in blood that I didn’t feel leaving my body, and my husband immediately called for a nurse who came into the room and calmly said she would call the doctor to come in and take a look at me. I never saw her again after that day. Later that night, another doctor came into the room to check on me, and she immediately went white in the face, calling for the other senior doctor on call to attend to me. By this time, my entire bed was soaked, and before I knew what was happening, nine people were in my room, three doctors and six nurses, all clamoring around my bed and asking me my symptoms. At first, I was unalarmed because of the lax way that the first nurse had approached the bleeding and because I felt no significant pain. 

The doctors informed me that I was losing blood at a dangerous and rapid pace,  and needed to go in for a dilation and curettage surgery, a surgical procedure in which the cervix is dilated so that the uterine lining can be scraped with a spoon-shaped instrument to remove abnormal tissues. The doctors gave me a general anesthetic through an intravenous line (IV) into a vein in my arm that caused me to sleep throughout the surgery. I woke up from the surgery feeling disoriented, groggy, light-headed, and lethargic. My tongue felt like rubber, and I felt excruciating pain as I struggled to gulp. The room had the smell of rubber gloves and hand sanitizer.  I tried to speak but could barely make out a word as one of the nurses flatly informed me that my baby was in the nursery and my husband was in the waiting room. Before the surgery, I had two blood transfusions, and after the surgery,  I had four transfusions, making it a total of six transfusions. I could barely move my body as I was wheeled back to the recovery room. 

As it turns out, I am not the only Black woman who nearly lost her life due to a lack of care from healthcare professionals in the United States. And racism, unfortunately, lies at the core of this malpractice. Millions of women have suffered my fate or, even worse, died.

 In the United States, Black women are two to six times more likely to die from pregnancy complications than white women, depending on what part of the country they live in. This rests on many factors, including the racial divide in healthcare. When data obtained from 1979 to 1992 was analyzed by medical experts, the overall pregnancy-related mortality ratio was 25.1 deaths per 100,000 for Black women, 10.3 for Hispanic women, and 6.0 for non-Hispanic white women. According to the American Medical Association, these rates have not improved, and the leading causes of maternal death are hemorrhage, pregnancy-induced hypertension, and embolism. Black women have almost three times the risk of death from hemorrhage than white women.

Although the data exists to measure the maternal mortality rate in Black women, it wasn’t until recently that there has been national attention given to this issue. According to Dr. Neel Shah, an Assistant Professor of Obstetrics, Gynecology and Reproductive Biology at Harvard Medical School, medical professionals did not systematically measure the mortality rates in childbirth until relevantly recently.

“It was only in 2018 that we discovered that the maternal mortality rate of Black women in our country has been going up for 25 years, and the only way to try to understand that is through the lens of racism. A Black person, on average, is more likely to die from childbirth than a white person, and that disparity is even larger when you are in places like New York City where there is a lot of segregation not only geographically but in terms of opportunities to thrive,” said Shah.

He also said that racism in healthcare also affected the outcome of many Black women’s births.

“When it comes to Black birthing experiences, in particular, there are structural causes of racism, and there are also interpersonal stories of racism that we see play out in the media sometimes when people don’t get heard and feel dismissed,” said Shah. “There are systemic traces of racism that are built into this practice, and the way doctors are trained and some of that has roots that go back to slavery.”

Kimberly Sallers, the owner of Irth App, a nonprofit organization where Black women can find prenatal, birthing, postpartum, and pediatric reviews of care from other Black and brown women, said that education and status do not protect Black women from racism in healthcare.

“We can look at what happened to Serena Williams as an example. She had some complications during her childbirth and had her white millionaire husband was by her side, but still, she was dismissed,” said Sallers. Sallers also said that despite the stories of Black women who have died during childbirth or experienced traumatic birthing experiences and experience traumas, there remains hope.

“Although the narrative around Black birth is often painted as doom and gloom, we can’t just let this be a fear-based event,” Sallers said. “Using fear has been used as a tool to control Black people from time, but we should not allow Black births to be a solely negative event because there is hope for the future of Black births.”

The post Racism in Healthcare: A Black woman’s childbirth story appeared first on Pavement Pieces.

“I used to hate my hair, and it is kind of crazy when you have a little girl who grows up hating a part of herself,” she said.“I grew up seeing people in cartoons and movies with euro-centric features and straightened hair.”

Eva Bonsu’s perspectives on hair have evolved after years of trial and error. 2/22/2021. Photo courtesy of Eva Bonsu

Bonsu was a fan of Pocahontas who had brown skin, but hair was silky straight.

“I grew up with those images and felt that I needed to change that, and as soon as my Mom said that I could perm my hair to get it straight, I did it and it made me feel beautiful,” she said. 

Bonsu was 14 when she first felt the sting of chemical relaxers and the smooth hair that resulted. For years it made her feel confident, but she decided to cut off her hair and go natural because could not find anyone in the small town of Macon, Georgia who could do her hair and she became part of  the natural hair movement. 

The movement encourages Black women to embrace Black hair free from wigs, extensions, or chemicals that could cause damage to their natural hair roots in the long run. The natural hair movement began in the 60s as a political statement for Black activists. The movement permeated the 70s and dissipated in the 80s after Black people with afros started to be targeted for their activism against racial oppression. The trend took off again in the mid-2000s. It was accelerated when notable Black celebrities like Erykah Badu, Lupita Nyong’o, Janelle Monáe, Solange Knowles, Tracee Ellis-Ross, and Viola Davis began to wear natural styles.

According to Mintel,  a market intelligence agency, 40 percent of Black women reported that they were most likely to wear their hair in its natural form without any added heat, while 33 percent of Black women said that they would wear their hair in its natural form, but also use added heat to straighten their hair.

Although a Mintel study shows that hair relaxer sales have dropped by about 22.7 percent since 2016, and more Black women are wearing natural styles, it comes at a steep cost for some Black women in professional spaces.

Susan “Susy” Oludele, a Nigerian-American New York-based celebrity hairstylist who has worked on unique hairstyles for Beyonce and a bevy of other celebrities, said that many of her regular clients often complained about being discriminated against at work because of their hairstyles.

“There was a time when almost every other client I had would complain about the discrimination that they faced in the workplace because of their hairstyles, and I thought to myself, ‘this is crazy.’ I couldn’t understand it,” she said . 

Oludele said that there was a time that one of her clients had to spend over $800 on her hair because her employer disapproved of it.

“I did auburn-colored braids for one of my clients who works in the tech industry, and she paid $400 for those braids, but I soon noticed that she set up another appointment, and I later found out that she had to take down the braids I had just recently done and pay an extra $400 to have them re-done because her employer didn’t approve of the color,” said Oludele.

Because of the discrimination that many of her clients were experiencing, Oludele teamed up with OkayAfrica to draw awareness to the plight of Black women experiencing discrimination because of their hair choices.

Historically, Black workers alleging discrimination against their natural hair in the workplace have filled courthouses for over four decades. Still, these allegations often produced mixed results. The judicial rulings, intertwined with changing socio-cultural standards, have yielded a contentious and uncertain legal quandary. For decades, the social pressure to emulate eurocentric hair has permeated American society, especially influencing Black women’s hair and their grooming decisions. Despite this, some Black women have continued to stand their ground and maintain their unique hairstyles regardless of the mounting pressure that they receive from society.

Danielle Twum, a scientist with a Ph.D. in Cancer Immunology, said she has experienced microaggressions because of her natural hair. 

“While I was pursuing my Ph.D., an incident occurred in the bathroom with one of my professors,” she said. “I had on a crochet hairstyle, and I ran into her in the bathroom and after seeing my hair, she asked me how I could afford to do my hair, and change the styles regularly with the little graduate stipend they were paying me.”

Although Twum, like many other Black women, is aware of the prejudices that surround Black women and their hairstyles, she doesn’t allow it to define her.

“To me, hair is a fun way to express myself,” she said. “It’s a portion of me, but it is not entirely me. I am aware that as a Black woman, there are a lot of stereotypes surrounding my Blackness, but there was a reason I got a Ph.D. It was so that there wouldn’t be any doors closed to me.”

The post More Black women are choosing natural hair appeared first on Pavement Pieces.

Since announcing her plan to run for president in 2020, Kamala Harris has gained nationwide attention, particularly among black women voters.

“As a black women, and also as a biracial black women, looking at her there is so much that I identify with,” said Natalie Johnson, an associate producer at MSNBC who has long been following Harris’s journey. “I think she could really shake things up, and she is just a strong candidate.”

As a group, black women voters are widely predicted to be the most targeted demographic for Democratic hopefuls in the 2020 elections. As a black woman herself, and a member of Alpha Kappa Alpha sorority, which the oldest black sorority in America, Harris would appear to have a unique edge over other candidates. Yet, black women as a group are far from monolithic and have a diverse range of political opinions and priorities.

“As a black female, I am extremely proud that we are in a place and time in our country, and in a moment where a woman of color is able to say I am going to run for the President of the United States,” said Monica Johnson,  an Atlanta writer and founder of Maj Experts. “But we’re not a monolithic group, and so you have people saying ‘I’m not voting for her just because she’s black.’”

Despite this, many black women have been celebrating Harris’s announcement of candidacy—including those who are still deciding who to vote for.

“I won’t say I’m going to vote XYZ, because it’s too early and I don’t know who all my choices will be,” said Monica Johnson. “But it doesn’t take away from how important, historically, this moment is for women and women of color.”

If Kamala Harris were to win the presidential race in 2020, she would be breaking through several glass ceilings. Not only would she be the first woman president of the United States, but she would also be the first black woman president as well as the first Asian president. For many, her campaign is a beacon of hope for the future minority women in politics.

“Can you imagine if she was president, and a whole generation of younger black girls in this country only knew that the president of the United States was another black woman, or another woman of color?” said Natalie Johnson. “What a different world that would be to live in.”

One group that has been particularly vocal about their support for Harris has been her Alpha Kappa Alpha sorority sisters, who have continued to show their support on Twitter and other social media platforms. NAACP Vice President Jacqueline Labayne not only shares Harris’s home state of California, but is also in the Alpha Kappa Alpha sorority. For her, Harris was not only an idol while growing up, but was also one of her inspirations for joining the sorority.

“There has definitely been celebration [within Alpha Kappa Alpha],” said Labayne. “I think everyone is really excited, and social media has been going crazy. I’m proud to be a part of such an amazing organization, to where we have a hopeful presidential nominee.”  

Despite vocal support from many, Harris faces a tough road ahead. In an opinion piece for the Guardian, criminal justice professor Shanita Hubbard expressed skepticism about Harris, and urged readers not to assume that Harris will automatically have the support of black women. Like many others, Hubbard voiced concerns over Harris’s history as a criminal prosecutor, and questioned how her work may have contributed to the systematic harm against the black community.

“You might have some early momentum, but it does not mean that anyone is a shoe in.” said Dr. Sharon D. Allison-Ottey of Maryland, who is happy about Harris’s initial announcement but waiting to consider all of the candidates before making a final decision. “It is not a given because she is an African American female, that all African Americans should vote for her.

However, there is one major factor in the 2020 election that has proven to be particularly unifying for the black community: Trump. According to a poll conducted by the Associated Press-NORC Center for Public Affairs Research, 92% of African Americans disapprove of the current president. In a time when the midterm elections saw the most diverse results ever, and with women like Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez winning upset victories, this could be Harris’s chance to make history.

“Regardless of the outcome, I wish her well,” said Monica Johnson “But regardless of the outcome, she has still done something that is remarkable and will be noted in the history books at some point.”

The post Kamala Harris Sparks Hope for Women of Color appeared first on Pavement Pieces.

“Good hair” or “bad hair”, many African American women are tangled in society’s perception of how they should wear their hair. When “good hair” means enduring the burning, unpleasant smelling relaxer crème or flat iron and “bad hair” means letting it grow naturally, with worries about conservative employers, which do they choose?

Deciding the style for African American women’s crowning glory is an intimate, almost soul-searching process.

“We take our hair really seriously because it’s more than just hair. It’s a part of our identity,” said Beneque Cousin, 28, of Williamsburg, Brooklyn. “Black women spend more on their hair than anyone by a very large margin.”

For Cousin, her hairstyles show her eclectic personality. She has had it natural, long, short, pixie short, weaved, relaxed, and two weeks ago, the public policy student at NYU decided that she wanted to have box braid. Box braids incorporates synthetic braiding hair with natural hair giving an opportunity to extend her natural hair. This hairstyle is popular because of its low maintenance and protects the natural hair.

In 2014, Mintel, a market research firm, estimated that the market value of hair products targeted for African American consumers was worth $774 million, an increase of 12 percent from 2009. If the selling track continues, by 2019 the market for African American hair care will reach $876 million. But the whopping escalation of the market was not proportionate in hair relaxer, the only category not to see growth. In 2013, hair relaxer sales declined 28 percent since 2008, down from $260 million to estimate $152 million.

“I had it relaxed since I was in the third grade, so I was always kind of used to having straight hair,” said Alexandra August, 18, of Greenwich Village. “I never really knew what my curl pattern looked like.”

August took a huge step and decided to embrace her natural hair two years ago. It was a lengthy and effortful transitioning period when she had to straighten her hair every day, wear extension and regularly cut off the relaxed part of her hair. The Long Island native defined her current hairstyle as ‘wash and go.’ She literally washes her hair and she is ready to go. No more chemicals, no more ‘creamy crack’ as relaxer crème is sometimes referred to.

Despite the natural hair trend and its capability of shifting the market, some societies and work environment might still be unable to grasp the idea.

“A lot of African American women want to, kind of either, wear their hair straight or perm… relaxed, because of work,” said Audrey Pray Jr., 22. “We make a lot of decisions based on work.”

Last September, the Army released an updated appearance and grooming policy after being criticized by the African American service members. Before, hairstyles like cornrows, braids, twists and dreadlocks were strictly regulated or even bleakly unauthorized for women in the military. On the updated version of the policy, dreadlocks remain unapproved, but the Army removed the word “unkempt” and “matted” in describing them as it were deemed as offensive and insensitive.

Pray had her hair locked 15 years ago, when she was still in the first grade. Her style guru was her mother. Pray’s mother has been wearing locks for as long as Pray can remember. One day, when Pray was seven, she asked her mother to, “hook me up” with the locks hairstyle. So her mother locked her and her sister’s hair.

But in the 1990s, locks were part of hippie counterculture and the girls in her school in Maryland have never seen anyone with locks before. So, Pray was teased.

“They called it all types of names like ‘do-do twist’; some people thought I had a wig on. It was hard,” said the Upper West Side resident. “I even got into a fight on the first week of my middle school because someone was picking on my hair. I’ve been through a lot with my hair.”

Now, Pray is fine. A production associate for content development at Nickelodeon, she is working in an area where creativity is encouraged. Amusingly, Pray has been asked for advice on how to grow hair naturally and maintaining her hip length dreadlocks. She admitted pop culture has much to do with the popularity of dreadlocks.

“I would say to my younger self that ‘you are going to be a pioneer on something fantastic in the future.’” as her fingers ran through her locks. “So don’t trip about them.”

The post “Good Hair” vs “Bad Hair” appeared first on Pavement Pieces.

Trina House, 25, searches for love on match.com. Photo by Amanda VanAllen

With each swing of the restaurant door, Marcia Lane leaned forward and squinted to see whether she recognized her online date, JayMan45. He described himself as average-looking, but lots of fun. Lane appreciated his modesty and was excited to meet him.

After waiting 10 minutes, there was a soft tap on her shoulder. She turned around and nearly gasped for air from shock, but managed to conjure up an uncomfortable half-smile instead. JayMan45 was about also 15 pounds heavier and 20 years older than his profile picture on match.com. He also was balding.

Lane endured the awkward silences and forced laughter for about an hour and a half, but decided to skip dessert because of an “upset stomach.” She received two phone calls from JayMan45 after their meeting, but she never answered.

“It was your stereotypical online nightmare,” said Lane, 30, of Brooklyn.

Lane is part of a growing phenomenon among single black women —online dating. According to a recent study by ABC news, about 42 percent of black women never have been married — that’s double the percentage of white women yet to be hitched. So black women are turning to the Internet to find love.

Popular black dating Web sites BlackSingles.com and BlackPeopleMeet.com each could not confirm the number of profiles for black women, but both reported an increase in women looking for their soul mates.

Lane, who has been dating online for more than four years, said she is searching for companionship online because of the “combination of (her) busy schedule and (her) passionate desire to find love.”  She had profiles on match.com, eHarmony, Craigslist and is currently listed on CatholicSingles.com, but hasn’t had much luck.

Philadelphia Daily News columnist Jenice Armstrong found true love on match.com, the most popular online dating site with a reported 6 million first dates and 12 marriage proposals per day.

Armstrong put her profile on match.com as a story idea. After a couple of meaningless dates, she left the site, but decided to rejoin a few years later after several empty marriage proposals.

Within a month of returning to match.com, she received a message from Cameron Turner. He seemed to fit her criteria of a guy who could “teach a child to read one day and go scuba diving the next.”

“He just stood out,” Armstrong said. “I knew. I just knew. I mean, who goes online, puts up a profile and finds the perfect guy? We are coming up on five years now, and I still gush when I see him.”

He proposed in front of the statue of David while they were on an Italian vacation less than a year later. Armstrong and her husband were living in different states when they met online. She lived in Philadelphia and he lived in New Jersey. She believes Internet dating is the only place they would ever have been able to get together.

“My husband does not go out to nightclubs or parties,” Armstrong said. “He’s the kind of guy who goes home and cuts his grass. I never would have met him otherwise.”

Although there are plenty of stories like Armstrong’s, online dating is still a stigma to some in the black community.

Rose-Marie Clementine, 38, of the Lower East Side, is a single mother of two and is searching for love. Although she has been single for 12 years, she won’t try online dating.

“If we can overcome slavery, Katrina and Haiti, I think black women can figure out a way to get married,” Clementine said.

But Armstrong believes that many black women are not utilizing online dating because “there is a significant percentage of the black community that is not computer literate, and they just don’t understand.

According to a survey conducted by the Journal of Urban Health in 2005, only 47 percent of blacks in America owned a computer, and about 60 percent were women.

Armstrong says there are a decent amount of black men online, but a scarce few with impressive levels of education.

“There were lots of good-looking guys,” Armstrong said. “But too many with bad grammar and bad spelling.”

Only about 30 percent of black men graduate from college; that number is double for black women. But some black women still refuse to date outside their race.

Amiya Little, 27, is currently listed on BlackSingles.com. She is determined to find a black man and has turned to online dating for help.

“I want to marry a black man,” said Little, of Brooklyn. “If I can’t find one here in New York, then maybe I can find one across the world online. New York isn’t the only place in the world to find a good black man. I am sure he’s out there somewhere, and I will find him eventually.”

BlackSingles.com has profiles of more than 5,000 black women and claims to be one of the most successful black dating Web sites.

“I don’t have actual numbers, but I receive dozens of success stories every day,” said Tasha, a support representative from BlackSingles.com who was unwilling to give her last name. “It really is the best part of my job.”

Armstrong thinks, if nothing else, online dating allows singles to meet people they otherwise wouldn’t have met, even if they don’t form an intimate relationship.

“People can be very judgmental,” Armstrong said. “They act like online dating is stooping so low. I see them as the same people who won’t buy anything online, but you get more options when you shop online and at the mall.”

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