Reflection

Reading and writing is my ebb and flow. For the last three months I took time to dive into the words of Black women I admire in search of answers. Reading Barbara Smith, Gabrielle Union, and Jesmyn Ward in hopes that something in their stories will help me uncover myself. It did. Yet, it left me with questions about the way the world twists Black women into problems instead of people. I wonder how many Black women are taught that pain will forever be intertwined with our pleasure. It was a lesson I learned early in my girlhood. Learning to be comfortable with broken promises and the bare minimum because what else did I have? We become conditioned to endure neglect, trauma, and violence and find the love in it to survive. We pick apart the good from the bad and find something to anchor us in dysfunction. It becomes our normal to accept less than because we cannot imagine a world where we receive everything we want. Now, at twenty-one I am building that world for myself. It’s hard work because first I must repair the damage. I must sit with myself and learn where the broken pieces lay. It will not be easy, but this is the care I deserve.