Hey Sis!

To carry the intersections of being black + a woman on the carousel of life while juggling the intersections of class + gender one must dissect the tradition of overcoming being a black woman. The black woman has endured destruction at every door + sometimes at the hand of her own mother, the mere reflection of her own likeness has been betrayed by generations of abandoned women. Unfortunately, even herself is not beyond her own suspicion. It’s complicated! She’s intelligent; but often insecure. She’s attractive, but often undesirable because her attitude reeks of rejection. She’s extremely loving, but unapproachable. She wears abandonment like cashmere; unemotional yet refined. Everyone has overlooked her; therefore, she must display a disposition of being perpetually guarded. God forbid she is exposed as false with all the blankets of contradictions. Striving in her career to overcompensate for the relationship she longs for. Playing interpersonal relationships like chess; never working with women who may challenge her for fear of being seen as an imposter. Dismissive at best; intimidated at worst. We struggle being seen because we have been overlooked for so long.

These are the conversations that are filtered in my inner circle with the women I love who are dismantling the struggles that suffocate authentic relationships + sabotage the restorative effects of unconditional love. We tend to forget that we need each other. We disregard each other because of these elusive competitions. Tethered to our own generational trauma; subconsciously hating our own likeness because we were used as sacrificial lambs. We crumbled under colonization. We dissolved under hot combs + not having enough. Our lack of provision, validation + nurturing turned us into our former masters. We smile but we hurt so bad.

To the women who ache for clarity, I send you wisdom. To the women who long for touch, I send you healing. To the women, who desire love in its purest form, I send you the Creator. To the women who crave genuine relationships, I send you the gift of self- love. To love a black woman, you must understand the plight of women who never knew appreciation or understanding. The head that is held high that screams for compassion. The foot that runs for fear of being left one more time. The hips that desired love but accepted nefarious acts dreading not receiving anything at all. Therefore, when you witness a black woman giving of herself genuinely to another woman, celebrate her for practicing forgiveness. When you observe inter- generational connectedness amongst two different women, praise them for bridging the gap. I now realize that every moment I love a black woman in any form, I am creating a sacred ritual that sanctifies the broken parts that never fully healed but were dying to be cherished.