Finding Pieces of Myself — A Review of Viola Davis’s Finding Me

Some members of the BIBC already listened to Davis’s memoir, so I decided to dive in while we were between reads/listens. I am thrilled that I did, when I did. I feel like I will sound cliché saying this but Davis’s story is riveting. Though I never experienced the depths of poverty that she did, I still felt a lot of her emotions. Like a true storyteller, she left no sense untouched. She vividly explained what she saw, what she heard, what she smelled, what she tasted, and how everything felt to touch. As I listened to her stern, clear voice, I was transported to times and places I’d never been—where I still found some familiarity.

First off, I’ve been intrigued by Davis since first seeing her in Antwone Fisher. There was a rawness in her that I could relate to. Her role was short and completely unglamorous, and she reminded me of the women in my family. None of us had ever hit times that hard, to my knowledge, but one thing I was used to seeing around my house was messy hair, oversized t-shirts, no bra to hold up drooping or supersized boobs, and no makeup. In fact, that might’ve been just how I looked when I first watched the film, just add on a pregnant belly.

After Antowne Fisher, whenever I saw Davis’s names in the credits, I was sure to watch. I was elated to see her play the part of Mrs. Miller in Doubt. The film was shot in my “hometown” The Bronx. Her dramatic scene, snots and all, was shot not far from where my family lived in Parkchester. Next, I fell for her no-nonsense, but complying character in The Help. I really related to that character because although I’d never experienced racism directly, on that level, I knew what it was like to get up and push myself every day for people who saw me as a worker ant in their empires.

Years later, Davis starred in the Shondaland hit, How to Get Away With Murder. Every Thursday night I made sure my daughter and I had dinner, we were showered, and she was in bed. Then I would sit up in bed with my snack of choice and allow myself to become part of the world where Prof. Keating spun tales to defend clients and prove innocence on their part. Again, Davis’s character spoke to me, with strength and bravado on the outside and soft vulnerability behind closed doors. Of course, like most Black women, I appreciated the vanity scene. It was my real life. I don’t work with a full face of make up every day, but when I get home at night, I pop off my gold hoops, take a face wipe and clean off the pencil that fills in my brows. Depending what I’m doing with my hair at the moment, I either wrap it, plait it, push it into a bonnet, or tie it down with a du-rag. Who I am and what I look like at work is completely different from who I am and what I look like at home—very much like Annalise Keating.

While BIBC took a mini break, I was happy to hear for myself what so many discussed in Davis’s memoir. The combination of her voice and the stories she told held me captive on my morning commute to work. Many of the women in my family have deep voice. When I was a child, I was told my voice was deep and I went out of my way to make it sound higher because women and girls at school also seemed to have higher voices. Davis’s voice was soothing to me, because her tone is so much like my grandmother’s. One of the first things she tells us is that her family is from South Carolina. My maternal grandmother’s side is from South Carolina as well. She said her mother had a phrase, “And everything like that, like that.” This was hilarious to me because my grandmother uses damn near the same phrase. Her’s is just shorter. She says, “everything like that,” and not nearly as often as Davis’s mother. Still, it was another familiar factor for me.
​I think I was the most speechless as she discussed her childhood. These were the experiences that kept me fighting tears on my drive to work. Though my family was from South Carolina as well, I was raised a certain way that’s hard for me to describe. Like I said before, we are/were known to walk around the house in house clothes, no makeup, etc. but the house had to be spot cleaned daily, thoroughly cleaned weekly, and deep cleaned monthly. Seasonally, my mother and grandmother would make over the house with different curtains and table cloths as well. To hear about the rats eating the faces of her dolls, and literally biting Davis and her siblings broke my heart. Growing up, we didn’t leave the house without a bath, shower, or the minimum—washing up at the sink. Our skin had to be moisturized, clothes had to be clean and ironed. And hair—hair was such a big deal. Let’s just say, if it was straightened a ponytail was unacceptable. Nobody took the time to straighten or paid money to blow out hair just for it to be tied up in a ponytail. Images of a young Viola Davis going to school in sour clothing, with an unclean head and body broke my heart further. I currently work in an elementary school, so children coming to school unkempt is not completely foreign to me, however I know that if I could afford it, no child would go to school like that. Its representative of the parents and I almost can’t believe that Davis’s parents didn’t think about how they were being represented outside of their home, but I had to realize, when you know better, you do better, and they just didn’t know enough at the time.

I like the fact that later in life, Davis’s parents had the chance to somewhat redeem themselves as parents as they had to take in their grandchildren. By then, they were at least no longer physically violent with each other in front of children, but they still lived just above destitution.

Naturally, the themes here were hard work pays off and where you come from doesn’t necessarily determine where you’re going. Davis worked hard not only in her career as an actor, but on herself. She made so many inspirational strides in her personal life as well as her career. I loved hearing the love story between her and Julius. It reminded me much of my own. There’s nothing like a man to be direct in his feelings and intentions, willing to share loads with you in life. It was still up to Davis to be intentional and be open about what she wanted in a romantic partnership so that she could receive it. She is fiercely independent and it’s natural for women like that to self sabotage because they’re trying to avoid experiences worse than they’ve already had.
​I think it’s obvious that I enjoyed this memoir from beginning to end. I am a Viola Davis fan through and through. My mother is an appointed family historian on one side and voluntary historian on the other side, so I’m going to ask her to check and see if we’re related to the Davis family in any way (lol). Nah, this was a 10/10 read and I hope you all give it a chance and find inspiration.