You Don't Look Native...Enough

“You Don't Look Native...Enough”
What does it mean to be Native when people tell you that you don’t look Native?

In this raw and reflective episode, Katelyn gets personal about growing up in the blurred spaces of identity — where community pride and outside perception don’t always align. From childhood moments of humiliation to rejection within her own Native spaces, she opens up about the pain of proving her existence and how healing came through the voices of Indigenous women who reminded her: you are already enough.

Whether you’ve been questioned, misjudged, or told you didn’t belong — this episode will meet you there.

🌿 Topics in this episode:
– Blood quantum, identity, and colonial aftermath
– White-passing Native experiences
– Community rejection and generational silence
– Reclaiming belonging through matriarchal connection
– Teaching our kids they don’t need to prove anything

You’re not a fraction.
You’re a whole damn ancestor in the making.

🎧 Listen now, and don’t forget to follow @MatriarchMindsetPodcast on Instagram to join the conversation.

Transcript

SPEAKER_00: 0:00

Hi, everyone. I'm Kay, and welcome back to The Matriarch Mindset. Now, this episode, it's for everyone who's ever been told they don't look like they belong and for those who know better now. So let's dive in. Now, this isn't a flashy topic. It's not trending, but it's something a lot of us carry quietly. It sounds like a question, but it lands like... a stab. It's when people say, you don't look native. Have you ever heard that? And not just heard it, but felt it in your gut. That comment for me was one of the first moments I realized that identity isn't always accepted at face value, especially when your face doesn't match someone else's idea of who you should be. And this is a deeply personal thing for me because there were years that I struggled with this and The first comment that really stuck with me was when I was around 10 or 11. We had just moved to Anchorage, Alaska after my parents divorced. I was the new kid in elementary school already feeling like I don't fit in by starting the new school in a big city and having to make friends all over again. And I remember it clear as day because this teacher had the class interview me as a way to get to know me. And looking back, that's traumatic by itself, right? As a kid being in front of the classroom and being interviewed. So I was up there on a stool and the normal questions are rolling through. What's your favorite color? What is your pet's names? Do you have any, you know, and where are you from came up. And I said, I'm from Juneau and Hoonah, Alaska, and I'm Alaska native. And this boy, I won't name names in case he ever does listen to my podcast, but he looked at me and said, you don't look native. And it was not like a joke. It was more of like a directional comment, like a dig. And the whole class took it as a joke and just laughed. And what was I supposed to do? Right. And I laughed too.

UNKNOWN: 2:37

Right.

SPEAKER_00: 2:37

Because I didn't know what else to do. And I was probably just nervous, right? There's people that laugh out of just being nervous. But I was so embarrassed. I felt singled out for not looking like what I was claiming to be. And maybe I shouldn't be saying it out loud to people if I didn't look a certain way because they wouldn't believe me. And that moment, it didn't just sting. It settled in for a long, long time. I didn't have the words for it then, but I know I felt it. It was doubt, confusion, silence. I mean, it's nearly 20 years later, and I still think about that moment. And that wasn't the first time it happened, and it sure wasn't the last time. Fast forward a bit to middle school. I told one of my friends that I'm Tlingit. That is a whole topic I have for another day of people not understanding what being Tlingit is. But she tilted her head and she was like, you don't look native. You're blonde. Sound familiar? And I remember getting more frustrated because she was one of my friends that I thought would understand my background. My parents, you know, my dad is of the Scandinavian descent and my mom is a mix of everything and Tlingit, Alaska native. So instead of taking the time to sit there and explain away DNA and how things, you know, divide up with genes, I I thought I would save time by reaching into my wallet and pulling out my BIA card. And that is your card that you're issued when your parents enroll in the Bureau of Indian Affairs. And it's kind of the native proof card, right? You use it to be able to get benefits through your native corporations, to be enrolled, to get healthcare through the Indian health system, But I thought that proof card, my BIA card was going to settle it as if that was the permission slip that I needed to exist in the native world. And it's wild to think about now. Who else in this country has to carry proof of their identity in their wallet just in case someone doubts them? And honestly, it's just for the government, right? To be able to know who's indigenous and who's not and who gets the benefits and who does not. I look back at that moment now and I think, I shouldn't have to do that. None of us should. So let's zoom out. Where does this even come from? This idea that we have to look a certain way to belong is That didn't start with us. It started with colonization, with blood quantum requirements for systems that made our identity a number, a fraction, a checkbox, a document. The government couldn't erase who we are, so they tried to erase how we see ourselves and what we are able to receive in the future. And that legacy is still very much here today. I see it in classrooms. I've seen it in boardrooms, in some native corporations, in our communities, and even in our mirrors. Have you ever wondered where your doubts come from? Like, why do we second guess ourselves so quickly? We have this card that says we're a quarter or we're an eighth or we're three sixteenths, whatever it is. This is not by accident. It's by design. I want to tell you about my grandmother. She's from Hoonah. She's half Tlingit and grew up during World War II. She was part German, part native and Both parts were targets at the time. It was unsavory to be German and downright wrong to be indigenous. She had told me when she was alive, we would sit down and she'd just tell me stories about her past and... She admitted she never talked much about being Alaska Native because she wasn't ashamed. She was hiding it because it was safer for her at the time. And she was trying to protect herself. You know, when you're walking down the street and there's signs all over the place saying no Indians allowed, no Natives allowed, no dogs allowed, that was... just awful. That was real, real discrimination. And I know I don't see her silence as shame either. It was pure survival. And I think about that a lot. What did she carry in her silence? What did she give up? But what did she give up so that I could speak, right? Take a moment and Do you have someone in your family who stayed quiet to protect themselves, who maybe never got to fully claim their identity out loud? Oh, that's just awful. I think we all know someone who couldn't speak up for themselves and claim their full identity. So one of the hardest moments came years later when It didn't come from, so to speak, the outside, right? This one's hard to say, but it's real. I was working for my Alaska Native Corporation, a place that felt like home to me. I was proud to be working there, proud to be a part of something bigger and working for my people. And in my job there, I did a lot of paperwork. And an elder came in one day and looked at me and said, where are all the Native employees? I didn't even catch what that question meant. When she said it, I was just smiling, customer service. Hey, we have many Alaska Native employees. There's a lot of shareholders that work here. And she looked at me dead in the eye and said, all I see are white devils, clay cars, and clay cars, white person in Tlingit. And I know I sat there and I tried to convince her that I was Alaska Native. I tried to start to tell her where my family's from and who they were, but she refused what I was saying. She refused my help, refused my presence. Even after I told her I was native, she continued to yell at me and walked out. I was so taken back by this individual because you're taught from an early age that in Tlingit culture and Southeast Alaska in general, you respect your elders, but how do you respect someone who clearly didn't respect me simply for how I looked and that I was working for my own people? Now I know coworkers heard what she said to me, but did absolutely nothing. What do you say? It's so controversial, right? Um, And I needed a break and I went and sat in my car afterwards and I thought about this moment and I just cried. That's all I could do. I couldn't comprehend it. I couldn't accept it. But here's the thing. I think I cried so hard because when rejection comes from inside your own community, it hurts differently. It's not just doubt. It's not just disconnection from generation to generation. It's the thought of being disowned. It's not just that, right? What hurts too is the stares, right? When I walk in to seek healthcare at Native clinics or the whispers at community events, that always got to me. And always being questioned, like, why are you wearing that regalia? And do you have permission to talk about that or wear that regalia, right? Even though it's my own clan. And that starts to eat away at who you thought you were. And your pride and even your appearance, like, should I be wearing this? Should I talk about being indigenous when I don't fit into their stereotype, right? And that got to me and I stopped showing up to events because I didn't want to be thought of as an outsider, right? You live in this middle space where you're too much for one world and not enough for another. And that took a while to work through. So what helped me, what brought me back were women. I'm being honest here. I started talking about it. I opened up having heart to heart conversations. These are close to my chest conversations with some pretty remarkable indigenous women over the years. I started telling them all the hard parts, the doubt in showing up to these events, the, I don't feel enough. I don't feel like I should be there. I don't feel like I belong. Pointing out the stairs to them when we were together in person and unnecessary questions and comments. And they would see some of it right in front of me when they were introducing me to people in the room and And they would correct those elders or they would share, right, that, oh, this is my Duc Dainton sister, my clan sister. And they reminded me, you come from a history of strong indigenous women. Don't ever question that from how you look, because they would never. They would know. where you came from and who you were related to. If they were still here, they started bringing me in and conversations. They were including me more sticking up for me in public more. They lifted me up and honestly, they saved my pride and just being there for me and showing me the way, showing me how to be a matriarch in the making. So let me ask you something. Who are the women in your life? that hold space for your truth? Who reminds you that you already belong? Now, if you haven't had that yet, I want this to be a moment to be your first. I want to share with you that you belong here. And I hope you find a community of women that you feel comfortable in talking to because that's what we all need. We all need to support one another and lift each other up when we're feeling down or out of place and remind each other, Hey, pull up a chair. You belong at this table. And that is true healing. So in my thirties, I have a new perspective and And I channel my grandma's matriarch energy, right? I call it my matriarch mindset. And every once in a while I doubt myself, but I have to bring myself back to that and remember everything she had to go through and remember those conversations of belonging and not apologizing for it either. Not apologizing for pulling up a chair to the table. I don't reach for my bia card to prove my blood quantum to anyone anymore i speak names i speak places i speak of my family because my identity is not a percentage it's a pulse it's a memory it's lineage that goes back further than any government document could track. I carry that with me every day. I carry my grandmother, my grandmother's DNA. So now I want to turn this back to you. Have you ever tried to shrink to fit someone else's idea of who you should be? Have you ever bit your tongue when someone questioned you just to keep the peace? Now, what would it feel like to stop doing that? If you've ever felt like you were too light, too mixed, too different, too not enough to belong, this is for you. You don't need to look a certain way to carry your ancestors. You don't need permission to be who you already are. You are native enough. You are more than enough. Because this isn't just about us. It's about what we pass down to our children. If we keep letting appearance define identity, we are repeating the same tools that try to erase us. I know I want my daughter, my son, my future babies to never feel the need to defend who they are because they came from me, my mother, my mother's mother, and on and on and on. And if we raise our children to know that being native is not a look, but a way of being, a set of values, a deep connection to the land, culture, and people, then we are giving them something no one can take away. So let's do that together. Because our children will look different. Their features, their stories, they'll be layered and blended and beautiful, and they'll be no less native. Because being native isn't about fitting into a photo, a checkbox, so to speak. It's about carrying your ancestors' memory, movement, and meaning forward. So who are you really? Not who people say you are. Not who they've tried... to make you be to fit in. You don't owe anyone proof. You don't need to fit someone else's checklist. You are a whole damn indigenous ancestor in the making. And I'm honored to be walking beside you. So the next time someone questions you on how native you are, breathe and say it in your head, even if you can't say it out loud. I am native enough to be here. I am native enough to belong, and I am native enough to carry this story forward. My friends have been so helpful throughout the years. And I have to share this one TikTok that my friend sent me. And it's this indigenous woman being questioned on how native is she, right? So the person asked, how native are you? And she goes, oh, I'm native. And they're like, well, really, how native are you? She said, oh, so, so, so native. And The person said, well, are you a quarter? And she says, no, I'm not a quarter. I'm a whole damn person. And that is the energy of I want you to carry forward. You are not a fraction. You're a force. So thank you for being here today. If this episode made you feel seen, share it with someone who needs to hear it too. Follow us on Instagram at matriarchmindsetpodcast. I love to hear what you think and what came up for you. I'll see you next time.