I walked into the theatre with a dashiki pulled from my father’s closet. A matching kufi kofi cap adorned my head like a crown. I didn’t care what anyone thought of my Black Panther getup. I didn’t care what they questioned about my ethnicity or Afro-centricity. For once, I was unapologetically Black.
I, like many other black women, have grappled with the reality of desiring to be unapologetically black, but toning it down for the sake of not making others uncomfortable and not making ourselves a target. We embrace our true selves on the weekend — when we can control our surroundings, and are possibly among like-minds and equally as proud black friends — but come Monday when it’s time for work, we’re back to the whitewashed ideas of professionalism. Tying our hair down to hide the locks we just embraced on Saturday and Sunday. Silencing our strong-willed personalities to appear less intimidating to our colleagues and society at large. Ignoring our lingo to appear educated and well-rounded — as if the words we use dictate our knowledge and ability to produce at work.
Many of us suppress our true black selves to be validated by those who will never understand us. Many of us say the words unashamed and unapologetic, but don’t truly feel it. We say it with hopes of living it one day, but haven’t truly conquered that feat. We wear natural hair (or relaxers, or lace fronts, or sew-ins) and bamboo earrings, flaunt our melanin-rich skin tone and wear “black girl magic” tees, but constantly wonder what our white (and even black) counterparts will think of us. We wonder how we’ll be received and if we’ll seem “too woke”. Too aggressive. Too strong. We work on timidity and toning down the truth as to not offend those uncomfortable with our blackness.
These behaviors start in childhood and develop well into adulthood if not recognized. Our identities constantly monitored to not draw attention to ourselves and to not appear to be the problematic black folk…the ‘bad kids’…the ‘ghetto ones’.
Today, I let that bondage go. Because the stereotypical views of blackness says more about those passing judgment than it does the people they’re judging.
Today, I didn’t care. I refused to tone down my blackness, and the very present reality of black excellence to appease those around me.
I walked into my suburban theatre, in a white neighborhood, with a full-length dashiki and a matching cap. I walked past the white concession stand workers and the crowd of Latin teens playing in the arcade. I entered the theatre and took my seat proudly. I reclined the chair, pulled out the Chic-Fil-A I smuggled in, and situated myself accordingly. Ready. Excited.
Today, amidst the black excellence I was getting ready to witness on the big screen, I embraced my own black excellence. I embraced the black excellence of my bloodline — both African and Caribbean ancestry. Not just by wearing a dashiki — I’d be foolish to think that my borrowed wardrobe confirmed my blackness or enhanced my feelings of identity — but by being liberated enough to do just that; to step out of my comfort zone to portray a huge piece of who I am: an unashamed black woman. An unapologetic black Queen.
That’s the point of representation like this. That’s why it’s important for black people to see black excellence on the big screen, on the tv screen, in media, and in our neighborhoods. Because black excellence, in many ways, serves as a form of liberation that encourages us and inspires us to be truly proud of our heritage and our ancestry. Because seeing black people do great things negates all other images of blackness society tries to drown us with. Because being among other unapologetic black folk reminds us to be unapologetic about our blackness, too.
This weekend, I’ve seen images of black people liberating themselves and being unashamed to show up and show out for this movie. Black people, worldwide, delighting in representation and the beauty of their blackness. I hope this trend continues. I hope we liberate ourselves so much that we no longer reduce our blackness, but we embrace it. Not because we have to (who can’t see that we’re black?) but because we choose to. Because we are so grateful for the work of our ancestors and the greatness of our heritage that we finally find courage enough to delight in being black. I hope that we find comfort and joy in enlightening the ignorant minds around us. I hope that we learn about ourselves and our bloodline in ways that encourage us to feel better about our black existence in this world — refuting the lies told to us in grade school and finding the truth. And I hope that, amidst this new (yet long overdue) recognition and representation of black excellence, we begin to affirm the black excellence within ourselves.
I walked into the theatre with a dashiki and a matching kufi kofi cap. This black girl from the suburbs strutted into the theatre in African regalia to represent a movie that would display the brilliance of blackness. I walked into that theatre not worrying for one moment what other moviegoers would think, say, or do. Today, I was celebrating the beauty of my black skin.
Feeling both liberated and unashamed, I decided that I will never apologize for my black mannerisms, my black lingo, my black 4C hair, my African American & Caribbean American heritage, or my black excellence, ever again.
These past two weeks have been challenging for many people I know. The recent death of a well-loved 28-year old to suicide, led many people to an instant state of shock, grief, and sadness. It led me to my knees on behalf of people, in ways that I have never been led to before. Not only did this death shake my life - due to my own personal bouts with depression and suicidal thoughts [read about that: here] - it shook the many people around me.
Instead of just extending my condolences to those directly affected by this loss, I decided to fervently interceded on their behalf.
In the midst of grief this taxing, It's incredibly important to pray for those around you - no matter how close the friendship is. Many times, the pain makes it hard for you to advocate for yourselves in the ways you need during the hard times. Because of that, intercession is critically important.
What is intercession? Great question. Intercession is the act of intervening (in this case, in prayer) on behalf of another person. When you intercede, you step in for them in prayer. As we work to be better Christians, and overall better women, it's important to identify some of the best (and not so best) ways to intercede in the lives of others.
Here are a few:
1. DO pray immediately. Life happens in a split moment, and you never want to miss that moment by waiting until you get home or settled. It takes nothing to say a quick "God, bless them, protect them, guide them," while you're driving in your car, or are in between thoughts. This quick, immediate prayer, is meant to hold you over until you can get into your more desired posture of prayer and intercession. Until then, pray immediately. Your quick prayer may be the difference between someone becoming completely irate, and someone finding divine comfort in Christ.
2. DO NOT try to figure out what's wrong (especially if they're not a close friend). It's not only intrusive, but it appears to be insincere. There are a few prayers that cannot steer you wrong, and that don't require you to know the details of that person's situations. Pray for healing, pray for God's perfect will, pray for peace, pray for clarity, pray for comfort, pray for love.
No matter what people are enduring, these 4 things really cover all the bases. If the person is hurt: healing, peace and comfort helps. If the person is confused: God's perfect will and clarity will take the cake. If the person is battling their own self-loathing thoughts: love, healing, and comfort are a present help. Regardless of what that person is enduring, these cover a multitude of battles. And they do not require you to get all in their business to do so.
3. DO pray for them, with them. After you've prayed immediately and/or in your own desired posture, and time permits, pray with the person. Allow them to listen to your prayer and get it in their spirit. Allow them to believe it and touch & agree with you on it. You can never go wrong with double the faith.
4. DO NOT wait until they ask your for prayer. Take the initiative and intercede with, or without, their permission. If you feel your friend's aura is off, just drop to your knees on their behalf. That's the beauty of prayer, you have the right to do it freely, without anyone's approval.
When I was going through my battle last year, I was so far from God that I didn't want anyone to pray. When people asked me if they could pray for me, I'd immediately turn them down. Ironically, I know it was the prayers of those who knew I needed it (even with me fighting about it) that kept me going.
**BONUS** DO commit yourself to being a present help. A lot of times when we intercede on behalf of others, we only do so in prayer. In fact, there are physical ways you can intercede, too - the most beneficial of which is to be a present help. Let them know that you are there, willing and available to help in any way you can. Show them you are there, by actually being there.
Words can't express the power of intercession in the lives of others; especially in the midst of their season of 'going through'. Dedicate yourself to caring for others in the ways mentioned above, and watch their lives transform through your prayers. Continue to be a blessing unto others.
Since the beginning of 2018, I've felt new and redeemed and whole, in ways I never knew were possible. You may have heard (or read) me pour out my soul about the troubling 2017 I had, but this year is looking and feeling brand new.
However, I'd be doing a disservice to you, and myself, if I wasn't honest about how 2017 contributed to this newness. Frankly, God had to tear me apart to put me back together. And while it was a grueling process, I admit, it was totally worth it.
In this episode I explain the process I underwent to go from pain to peace. I share how refreshing it is to now be on the other side of what I thought would destroy me. And, I offer some mild encouragement to those of you who are currently where I was last year. I even get a little emotional in between.
However, I'd be doing a disservice to you, and myself, if I wasn't honest about how 2017 contributed to this newness. Frankly, God had to tear me apart to put me back together. And while it was a grueling process, I admit, it was totally worth it.
In this episode I explain the process I underwent to go from pain to peace. I share how refreshing it is to now be on the other side of what I thought would destroy me. And, I offer some mild encouragement to those of you who are currently where I was last year. I even get a little emotional in between.
I haven’t had much time to prepare a third-year blogaversary post. Instead, I've been preparing for two speaking engagements I locked in for this weekend.
I hadn't even realized my third year was approaching until yesterday. “OMG! I haven’t even drafted a blogaversary post!” I wasn’t as bothered as the exclamation mark eluded. I’m actually quite pleased. Because three years ago this is exactly what I set out to do: start an online foundation to one day change the lives of women, up close and personal.
I knew that DEAR QUEENS could only thrive online for so long before I was no longer satisfied with inspiring women from behind a computer. Doing it this way forever was never the goal. This was just the start. I was determined to grow beyond an internet presence, but I knew I had to start by getting my thoughts on paper (or online). I had to establish myself, and this blog, as a reputable brand dedicated to encouraging women through their lows, to empower them to go get their highs. I had to be creative and passionate. I had to be determined and dedicated. Launching this online space—where I exposed my vulnerabilities and shared my narrative in hopes of inspiring others—was merely the beginning.
It's been three years of tireless work, event planning, holiday initiatives, merchandising, playing around with GarageBand to record my podcasts, and dedicating myself to healing in women who sought me out for counsel. Three years of trial & error, lessons learned, and notes to self. Three years of honesty, transparency, authenticity, and internal work. Three years of God shifting my life to be able to serve Him in this way. Three years of work for me to get out of my own way and really do this; really show up and advocate for black women struggling spiritually and mentally; really be present for those longing for love and purpose. Three years of consistency, and fight, and drive, and passion, and love. Three years of surrender.
Yesterday, when I had the audacity to remember that I hadn’t started writing a post to honor DEAR QUEENS, I realized that this is why I started it. That being busy with collaborations and networking events, guest appearing on podcasts, and preparing to speak at workshops and seminars, is what my vision feels like manifested. This is what I conjured up to do over three years ago when I began planning this launch. This is the work I was purposed to do, and I am finally doing it. I am fully immersed in it. And it feels good. So good.
On this anniversary, as I prepare myself to talk to a group of over 50 women about purpose and process, I realize that this dream I had, three years ago, is in its second phase of full implementation. That in this third year, I'm right on target with what I envisioned. That in this third year, my message is resonating with more and more women, and lives are being changed—not just online but in person. That in this third year—not being sure how I'd be consistent enough to make it here—I am here. I have arrived. And I am not leaving.
HAPPY THIRD YEAR, DEAR QUEENS! I love what you're becoming, and I cannot wait to see what this year will bring.
