No matter what it is—a role I’m playing, a phase in my life, a part of my identity—I typically find that I have two sides vying for my attention. I’m pulled equally in both directions, internally suffering from the friction each side causes.

When I was a kid, my Blackness wrestled with the fact that I was raised around white kids.

My music tastes were forever at odds.

My hair styles were always too Black, but never Black enough.

My outfits screamed Avril Lavigne meets Destiny’s Child.

My body fit somewhere in between the “ideal body for a Black girl” and the “ideal body for a white girl,” yet never beautiful, or “hot,” enough for anyone to be attracted to.

Now…

My perfectionism battles my nonchalant, IDGAF-ness.

My stoicism battles my deepest, innermost emotions.

My goals and dreams battle my reality and humanity.

My body battles between being healthy and constantly attacking itself.

My mind battles between self-loathing and self-love.

And I sit somewhere in the middle of it all.

More practically, this looks like:

Desperately longing for a career while deeply committing to homeschooling my children to the best of my ability.

Thinking that every single week I should be that “type A,” perfectionist, locked-in goal getter, only to know that it’s not normal—or human—to function that way, but I still try (and fail) anyway every single time.

Having the most average sized body with belly fat, bloat, and hormonal issues despite working hard toward being my healthiest self even though I know all of the wellness propaganda is B.S.

Wrestling deeply with internal self-loathing that has existed for as long as I can remember, yet having many days loving the woman I see in the mirror.

Never knowing a moment of true success, but never meeting a moment of true failure, either.

Looking “accomplished” from the outside, but struggling with the “accomplishment” being solely my husband’s income. (Even though I know my unpaid labor is just as important as his paid labor.)

Wondering why I was so passionate and dream-filled as a kid just to become a mother who pours the majority of her energy into her children’s dreams instead of her own.

Wanting “societal success” even though I know that “success” was written by white supremacy cultural standards and not being willing to sacrifice myself to achieve that success.

And knowing I’ll probably never reach the level of success I dream of because I’m not willing to make those sacrifices.

And feeling deeply guilty for both wanting that success and not going after it the way I feel like I “should.”

Feeling confident in my mission, passion, and work, while equally questioning all of it, wondering if I’m just doing what I “think I should be doing” because I don’t know what else to do.

Honestly, I could go on. But, I think you get it.

Here I am—in the middle. The tension raging war in my spirit, causing waves of doubt and insecurity to explode within.

I’m always changing my mind about how I show up here—never feeling like I can hone in on anything because nothing feels “right.”

And all I know is that this “middle” I’ve always sat in causes me to question everything.

Question what’s normal. Question what society told me I should do and who society told me I should be. Question whether I actually know myself or if I know only the version that has just tried to comply with society. Questioning why we all still comply with society–allowing it to strip our individuality, purpose, and humanity. And equally questioning if I should just “roll with society” because what else is there?

I have a lot of questions, and not a lot of answers.

But, right now, I'm allowing the questions to be the mission.

Because for some reason, normal infuriates me. And the more I witness what society has conditioned us to believe is “normal,” the more I want to just…rebel. But, not loudly. Quietly. Like, society says I shouldn’t eat dairy, so I’m gonna go buy the milk. And society says there’s only one way to educate my kids, so I’m going the opposite route. And, society says I should define my life by my habits, routines, productivity, and appearance of “success,” so I refuse to do that.

And society says I should be stick thin, so I'm going to become as strong as I possibly can, just because I can.

Society says I should hustle and grind to be successful, so I'm going to find some way to prove that I don’t have to do that.

Society says there’s no way for me to be successful and homeschool my children, so I’m going to rebel against that, too.

And society says I should count every step and track every macro, so that’s a no for me.

But, here’s the thing.

I’m still sitting in the middle, even as I rebel.

Because I want the success society tells me will make me valuable, even though I want to rebel how society tells me to attain it.

I want the body society says will make me the most beautiful, even though I know that body is not healthy or attainable.

I want the full-time, mission-driven, profitable career, even though I know this is all capitalism and white supremacy culture speaking and it’s impossible to do while raising kids full time.

I want to use all the planners, goal-setting methods, habit stacking, and self-improvement practices, even though I know those standards were created by white supremacy and implemented by capitalism and have nothing to do with my value as a human and are not natural to the way humans were designed to exist.

The middle. The middle. The middle.

Oh, and I also want to write highly researched, educational essays about white supremacy culture, and I want to just create simple lifestyle content because that feels easier and more palatable and even more fun.

I want to work for myself because that’s the only thing that feels doable for my lifestyle, and I wish I could just find someone to work for who understands my circumstances, talents, skills, and allows me to earn money without having to do it for myself.

And. And. And.

Where am I going with this? I’m unsure. I’m processing. Venting. Discovering.

But I think it has something to do with the middle and a quiet rebellion from it all.

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Every week there seems to be a new conversation circulating the internet. And while this week is no different, the recent conversation around society’s resurgent obsession with thinness has been ongoing for several months. From prominent athletes promoting GLP-1s, to Hollywood celebrities becoming alarmingly thin overnight, to an entire subculture of TikTok known as “skinnyTok,” it is clear we have done a complete 180 from the body positive movement of the 2010s.

After several decades of damning beauty and body standards in the ‘90s and ‘00s, many of us breathed major sighs of relief in the 2010s when we felt free to put that harm behind us, embrace the natural jiggles and wiggles of the human body, and eat a pizza without “guilt” for crying out loud. We started drinking dairy again, eating real bread, and saying an unapologetic “yes” to our sugar cravings. Finally, different body types were represented in media, clothing brands, and pop culture—helping us realize what a normal body actually looked like.

While things weren’t perfect—inclusive body representation still heavily favored those who were lighter, brighter, and held curves in a more “favorable way”—it’s safe to say that it felt like the generational trauma of fat-phobia and the thinness obsession was starting to end. We still had work to do, but we believed we had finally reached the light at the end of the tunnel. I don’t think any of us could have predicted where we would be just a decade later.

Now, it’s a decade later, and the obsession with thinness has returned with a vengeance—and it’s more terrifying and dangerous than ever.

Thinness has not only “returned” as the latest standard to strive for, but malnourished bodies are being doted as “normal,” “toned,” and “the healthiest (x) person has ever been,” which has the potential to have even more a maleficent effect on the the latest generation of young people than the heroine chic era of the ‘90s had on millennials and Gen X. Especially with social media exponentially multiplying how often images and videos of these trends are jammed into our brainwaves without our consent.

Thankfully, we are talking about it.

Many are quickly catching on to what’s happening and raising concern about how quickly disordered behavior around food, fitness, and bodies is becoming normalized again. We do not want a repeat of the horrors we grew up with that we are still healing from. (To this day, I can’t look in a mirror without doing a scan of my body to see if it looks any smaller than it did yesterday. 😩)

(Note: I’m not supporting speaking about individual celebrities bodies and picking them apart. I am in support of discussing the overall toxicity we are seeing in beauty culture in hopes of putting an end to it before it gets even more out of hand.)

But, there’s a major part of this discussion that’s missing, which is inadvertently causing further harm. Everyone is talking about how “thinness is back,” but very few are stating why thinness was ever the standard to begin with.

Thinness Was Never a Trend

While it’s true that societal and cultural trends tend to come and go, oftentimes in a cycle only to resurge every few decades, we must be careful not to treat thinness as as trend that simply resurfaces like capris or bell-bottom jeans. (Also, can we not?! I will not be wearing capris again thank you very much.)

Thin-obsession is not simply a trend that just appeared out of nowhere in the ‘80s and ‘90s. Like every cultural standard, there is a root cause—an ideology that strengthens overtime to cultivate the normalized narrative we know today. And even when we were experiencing a bit of a break from that obsession during the body positive era of the 2010s, thinness and Eurocentric body standards never fully “went out of style.”

Even then, curvier bodies still had to meet a standard to be considered acceptable. Curves had to exist in your hips and not your belly. Your waist still needed an hourglass shape to be seen as “sexy.” If you existed in a bigger body, your hair, skin, and nails better be the embodiment of perfection. Rarely did we see someone with darker skin and a bigger body represented in the media. And the biggest bodies never received the same acceptance as the midsize bodies that were considered closer to the “cultural standard.” What we now know as a healthy-sized body was considered plus-sized in the ‘90s ad ‘00s, so representation of those bodies in the 2010s was considered “inclusive,” but a size 10 was typically where the line was drawn.

But, back to the point.

Eurocentric beauty standards—which point toward a thin, slender, restrained body as a more “worthy and desirable” body—are not simply cyclical trends that reappear as quickly as the wind blows. They are deep-seated mechanisms of hierarchal reinforcement, designed specifically as an extension of anti-Blackness and a means to reinforce the supremacy of whiteness.

And when theres’s a resurgence of those standards?

That’s white supremacy working overtime to re-exert itself as dominant, which almost always coincides with a rise in more authoritarian, conservative, and political turmoil.

If we aren’t being honest about this in our conversations, the cycle will never actually break. Just like we were fooled in the 2010s, we will be fooled again, and again, and again.

Thinness Became a Moral Virtue

Standards, norms, beliefs, and other cultural ideals don’t just pop up out of nowhere, but the majority of us treat them like they do. When something has become so normalized, especially when it’s harmful, we rarely question where it came from. It just feels like a way of life, or the way things have “always been.”

Fat-phobia and thin-obsession, in my opinion, is the most normalized expression of white supremacy culture today. We have generations of conditioning telling us that fat = bad, and anything slightly larger than a toothpick is fat. This is so normalized that most people don’t think twice about commenting on other people’s bodies, judging other’s bodies, creating entire lifestyles and personalities around fat-avoidance, treating bodies like never-ending projects, and so much more. No matter your race, class, gender, job-title, or any other identifier, the worst thing you can be—according to society—is fat.

Here’s the kicker: this anti-fat ideology was constructed solely out of anti-Blackness. 1

When Europeans began “othering” Africans and creating the concept of race to justify racism and slavery, weight became one of the stigmatized markers of inferiority. Due to the natural curvature of an African body, Europeans used their “weight” or “size” to claim they were lazy, gluttonous, and unintelligent.2 These false depictions were not only used to justify colonization and enslavement, but as a precedent for physical standards that Europeans should adhere to. Written media strongly encouraged white Europeans to maintain their thinness and docile nature to separate themselves from Black people. The goal was to ensure there were as many justifiers for the supremacy of whiteness they were building.

So, white people—especially women—were instructed to eat as little as possible to demonstrate discipline, intellect, and moral superiority. Religious superiority also played a major role, as the Protestant movement used food restriction and thinness as a way to pressure congregants to showcase evidence of piety and refinement. And whiteness.

The more those narratives spread, the more fatness was linked directly to Blackness. The message? “If you’re fat, you’re just as lazy, gluttonous, and dumb as those N-words.”

(This is not a direct quote, but an illustration of the mood of the time.)

To avoid ever being placed in such a low position of society, food became something to control. The thinner you were, the more disciplined, virtuous, and worthy you appeared.

The Same Lie, Reinvented

The moral superiority around thinness hasn’t gone anywhere. It’s simply reinvented itself with each generation—a new trend, mechanism, or reason for reaching the “ideal body” becoming the latest tool wielded by the capitalist-driven white supremacy machine. Even though the trends and standards themselves have slightly shifted with each decade, the foundation of it all has always been the same: restrict, control, and contort your body to prove that you are “more morally superior” than the person next to you.

And remember, moral superiority is just a proxy for whiteness.

We would be remiss to act as though the thinness obsession began in the ‘90s and ‘00s. What we witnessed during those eras was simply those decades’ version of what had been solidified into our culture’s DNA centuries prior: prove you are a good, respectable, disciplined, and civilized member of society—and separate yourself as much as possible from Blackness by fearing fat and controlling your body.

And yes—this still held true during the 2010s. It was just a sightly more acceptable, slightly less thin-obsessed version of this narrative. Diet culture was still reinventing itself as it does with every decade. There was just more open pushback against this narrative because of the visible harm it had caused so many for so long. That doesn’t mean the narrative disappeared. It was just met with a bit more resistance and alternative ways to still strive for that standard without, perhaps, knocking on death’s door to do so.

When Power Feels Threatened

The early to mid 2010s was also much more politically balanced time than the early 2000s. We had elected our first Black president in 2008, and again in 2012. The economy was rebounding from the Great Recession of 2008. Many socially progressive gains were made that brought hope and opportunity to marginalized communities. Gay marriage was legalized. Social media was still a place to share dimly lit photos of a tree you saw on your morning walk. Michael Jackson and Whitney Houston were still alive!

People were happy.

The mood surrounding society was generally optimistic for the future. And when the political climate is more stable, people are more likely to let loose a bit and stop focusing on every way they can control themselves to feel a sense of security. When a society feels secure, its constituents let go of the need to create their own safety. When society feels unstable, one of the first responses to that instability is to find a way to control yourself in a way that feels protective, and that often begins with your body.

Society also knows this, which is why the narrative around body image often shifts when things begin to feel politically uncertain. Economic downfall and political unrest is almost always met with renewed messaging around weight loss, body image, and control. It often begins with a new gimmick or fashionable way for people to access, or buy into, something to help them control their bodies.

A few historic examples of this:

• In the 1920s, during a period of post-war instability, intentional weight loss became a newly celebrated symbol of virtue. Fatness was once again re-defined as a failure of self-discipline and self-restraint and thinness became evidence of those virtues. Prior to this era, the standard came from the Victorian era, which honored a bit more of a curvier frame (though still slender—remember that underlying foundation).3 When instability occurs, whatever standard was before it breaks down, often leading the pendulum to swing in the opposite direction. We can see this presently, as we are in a post-Obama era backlash, post-pandemic, and post-human-and-civil-rights-actually-existing society.

• During the Great Depression, when many people were literally starving, thinness became the inevitable consequence, causing the more elite classes to stray away from looking too thin, which would indicate suffering. However, and this happens all the time, Hollywood and media packaged up that thin, boyish stature and labeled it as the standard to strive for. We see this often during economic instability—the aesthetic of the lower classes becomes the marker of “chic” with the notable ones. You can currently see this with the bare nails trend, no mascara trend, less makeup trend, and yes, the resurgence of thin. The standard becomes a competition between who looks like they are choosing restriction (discipline, moral superiority) and who is just “surviving it.” Discipline is only virtuous when it's optional. 4

• When we get to the 1990s, the “heroine chic” era rose in popularity during the rejection of 1980s materialism and economic stagnation. After the 1980s entertained an era of unrealized aspirations, the economy responded with a recession in the early ‘90s. Just like during other recession eras, the response was to turn literal struggle into a status symbol—a sign you were rejecting the excess and indulgence of the era before it. This era also idealized drug dependency, making it look sexy to suffer with addiction. The ‘90s brought with it a sharp increase in disordered eating behavior amongst women everywhere who desired their bodies to be as thin as possible.5 This is the era we are seeing revived today, and it just so happens we are experiencing economic and political uncertainty, signs of recession, and authoritarianism. Except, this time, the drug of choice is GLP-1s—advertised everywhere as your solution for getting the desired body, and status symbol, you’ve always desired.

Thin obsession not only surges during economic uncertainly, but as a response to women and marginalized people gaining a bit too much power for white supremacy’s liking.

The ‘60s and 70’s are an example of this, as is today. (Yes, I think today’s response is both economic and a rejection of power and freedom.) The ‘60s and ‘70s are known for movements of resistance, fights for Civil Rights, counterculture, gender equality, and sexual liberation. These “socially progressive” wins dared to challenge the authority and standard of white supremacy.

The thin ideal remained constant during these two decades, but for different reasons. In the ‘60s, much of the thin standard came from rejecting the more voluptuous, curvy aesthetic of a traditional housewife from decades prior. A more androgynous style and body type represented more freedom. However, once the ‘70s hit, the thin standard shifted from freedom to control as backlash to the progress made in the ‘60s, and post-Vietnam war political upheaval, caused an end to an era of prosperity. Second-wave feminism was rising, and the result was to continue appealing to women to shrink their bodies, and therefore themselves. 6

Again, I believe we are seeing this today. Not only are we dealing with political turmoil and economic uncertainty, but we are also witnessing a rise in authoritarianism, an historic attack on women’s and civil rights, a rise in Christian nationalism and trad wife culture, silencing of marginalized voices, and so much more.7 So, it’s no surprise that, once again, the primary tool white supremacy uses to assert its power, is making an aggressive, calculated comeback.

I dive more deeply into the history of fat-phobia and Eurocentric beauty standards in my book, We’ll All Be Free: How a Culture of White Supremacy Devalues Us and How We can Reclaim Our True Worth. Chapter five to be exact.

If We Don't Name It, We Can't Stop It

History repeats itself because we have never disrupted the foundation it built. And we continue avoiding it. It’s wonderful that we are recognizing the toxicity of skinny’s return, and the detriment to our physical and mental wellbeing it causes. But, if the conversation simply stops there, we are doing nothing to prevent this very mechanism from making another inevitable comeback in a decade or so.

White supremacy has one goal and one goal alone: remain in power. And it will do so by any means necessary.

Keeping people, namely women, believing that they are only as worthy as the size of their waist circumference and how well you can see their clavicle protruding removes their power, voice, and energy to resist the system. It continues to feed the ideal that there is a social hierarchy—one pretending to be determined by “moral superiority” but really structured by race–and you can control your positioning within that hierarchy if you just shrink yourself. It’s a myth, but we still don’t realize it. It’s white supremacy oldest lie.

Breaking the Cycle

So, what do we do?

For one, we need to have the honest conversation. Move the chatter away from the celebrity gossip and toward the truth: thin obsession didn’t just happen to wander its way back into the trend cycle like low-rise jeans. It has always been the current beneath the surface of American culture. Most days, it's subtle enough that we hardly notice it. We simply learn to swim with it. But whenever white supremacy feels threatened, that current accelerates. What once felt like a gentle pull becomes something much stronger—dragging us back toward the same old hierarchy under the guise of health, discipline, beauty, or self-improvement.

It will find ways to disguise itself—taking the face of new fads, trends, and aspirations. And if you aren’t aware of its game, you’ll be entranced—falling for whatever new, shiny gimmick it waves in front of your face that will finally make you feel worthy.

Telling the truth about the root of this current, and its forever existence, will help more of us be prepared every single time it feels threatened and resurges. And hopefully, with each time it tries, we get a little better at catching it before it gets out of control.

And then maybe, one day, we can say we’ve defeated it altogether.

The work starts here.
With the truth.

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Footnotes:

I’ve been wanting to write this article for a while now, but I’ve put it on pause for many reasons.

One—life. If you’ve been following me for a while now, you know how difficult it is for me to keep up with content consistently. Working and full-time caregiving were never designed to coexist (though they should, but that’s another article), and I want to make sure I can deliver my best when I show up here. Almost every article I write is carefully researched, planned out, and edited a few times before I hit publish.

If I’m writing an article, I’m not likely doing much else in my work and vice versa. If I’m creating social media content, I don’t have the space to write here. If I have an Everygirl article due, all of my time is spent on that article until it’s done. If I'm brainstorming, planning, or doing back-end work, I can’t write here.

When you only have two-ish hours per day to work (if you’re lucky), you may get to complete one to two tasks per week. It’s as if one work day is spread out over an entire week. If you work full time, you are likely able to complete 2-3 tasks per day. If you’re squeezing work into 1-3 hour blocks every day in between kids, meals, homemaking, errands, etc., then it’s going to take you much longer to complete one simple task.

This is my reality.

And white supremacy culture tells me every single day that this is why I'm a failure.

Because in this culture, we are only worthy if we’re constantly producing and yielding endless results. Not taking your time because you’re also a full-time caretaker.

But, I digress.

Resistance Doesn't Happen Somewhere Else

I’ve been pondering for a while what article I want to write to ease my way back into Substack. On the back-end of things, I've been doing a bit of rebuilding and restructuring of my mission, message, and “brand.” (I hate the word “brand” because it sounds super capitalist, but I’m not sure of another word to use here to convey what I’m trying to convey.) I’m excited for how I’ve been refining things. I’ve been taking time to get in touch with who I am and how it merges with my mission of dismantling white supremacy, collective liberation, and full embodiment of the humanity and worth white supremacy has tried to steal from us all.

Because the truth is, I’m not a scholar with a PhD on any of these subjects.

I’m an ordinary person—a wife, a mother, a homeschool teacher, former special educator, journalism graduate, tennis and coffee obsessed regular-degular Black woman who was tired of not only constantly feeling unworthy and not good enough on a personal level, but also exhausted from receiving the relentless message from America that my Blackness and my woman-ness would ensure that I would never be enough by society’s standards.

That my Blackness and my woman-ness would always be justification for my exploitation, and the exploitation of my community.

I grew weary of accepting the scripts we’ve been handed without question, so I started questioning them. It started with “What the hell is white supremacy anyway?” and grew into “Wow, this entire time everything I’ve believed about myself and others was inherited from white supremacy? Is it possible to deprogram this? To choose differently? To dismantle this altogether? If so, how?”

And that is how all of this work was born.

It’s not perfect. It’s messy. It’s fully run by my curiosity, my thirst for knowledge and endless passion for learning, and my ability to take what I’ve learned and connect it to the everyday.

That’s what I do best—I see the connections between then and now. The “aha!” moment—THIS is why we do that, believe this, and operate this way. It fascinates me. It always has. If I could, I’d spend hours researching the history of every ordinary and normalized thing in society and find their connection to racism just for fun. (Racism is not fun. The researching part is. Just wanted to make myself clear.)

But again, I’m an ordinary person. I don’t have a fancy degree. This is not my full time work. I don’t have a publicist, or executive assistant, social media manager, or anything that most people have when they’ve actually built a career out of their writing, speaking, and advocacy. I spend the majority of my time at home, educating my children, making breakfasts and lunches, picking up crumbs off the floor, breaking up fights, helping my kids learn how to navigate their feelings, and squeezing in time to work wherever possible.

I’ve spent years trying to ignore this part of my reality. I’ve wanted my work to look like the work of those who are able to do this full time, and I’ve resented the fact that it can’t. I felt like if my work was “extra scholarly,” if my book was a best-seller, and if I was speaking all over the country about white supremacy, then my work would have impact.

But, not only is that not my reality, that’s white supremacy culture at work in my brain, whispering, “Your work doesn’t matter because it doesn’t look like this standard.”

And in my defeat, I give up. I feel worthless. I question if I should even be doing this. Because I’m not “successful” by society’s standards, which were set by white supremacy, I’ve believed the lie that I’m not worthy, my work is not worthy, and perhaps I just need to accept my place as a wife and mother and be done with it.

This is exactly what white supremacy culture wants from me.

It wants me to feel defeated. It wants me to give up trying to meet its standards so that I succumb to my place in the hierarchy–taking my place in line, head down, subservient and submissive. (Cue Handmaid’s Tale meme.)

White supremacy wants me to believe that my ordinary, human life is less-than the lives of those who are “extraordinary” by society’s standards.

And of course, “extraordinary” was defined by elite, white men and reserved for those who either look the part, can cosplay the part well, or who believe in the scripts white supremacy wrote and spend their lives chasing those standards—consequences be damned.

“This is how you become extraordinary,” we’re told. “This is how you become worthy.”

The truth is, most of us are ordinary humans believing we must chase extraordinary to be worthy, valuable, and hopefully change our position within the hierarchy. This is the lie we are sold. There is no amount of chasing anything set by white supremacy that will change your position within a hierarchy built on race, gender, class, and status. Even if I became the most compliant, assimilated, productive, and successful version of myself I can become, that does not change the fact that I am still a Black woman, and this society was built on the premise that my being a Black woman automatically demotes me to the lowest possible tier of humanity.

And yet, I have the audacity to keep chasing? To keep believing that I need to be extraordinary? Or that my ordinary isn’t already extraordinary?

And then it hit me. This work that I do? It’s for us.

The ordinary ones living ordinary lives.

The ones who still want to make an extraordinary difference.

The ordinary ones who have been sold a lie that our existence means nothing unless its extraordinary by society’s standards—that our advocacy, activism, and everyday actions mean nothing unless they are slathered in recognition as defined by white supremacy culture.

The truth is—my work is not separate from my ordinary life. My ordinary life embodies my work. My work embodies my ordinary life. And my everyday gets to be an act of resistance. So does yours.

There is no separation here. We are all living within this system, within this culture, that white supremacy built brick by brick. We experience the consequences of that every day—from immense pressure to perform perfectionism, to the terrifying realities of climate change, to the fact that we can't afford eggs, to the fact that Black people are still being murdered by racism. We are all living and breathing it in our everyday lives—and that’s exactly where the resistance and the liberation lives.

It lives in the daily, ordinary choices that we make to refuse to perpetuate systems that wrote definitions of humanity during colonization and enslavement.

It lives inside me, and it lives inside you.

And that’s what this work is becoming. Because it turns out resistance was never reserved for extraordinary people. It has always belonged to ordinary ones.

I’ve spent the last several years writing about white supremacy culture from an educational standpoint. That will continue, but I’d be remiss if I allowed my work to stay there. Because education is vital, yes. Education lays the foundation. But then we need the practical. We need the work that says, “Hey human, this is what resistance and liberation look like in the everyday. And your everyday matters just as much as the person leading the marches and the conversations online. Your resistance matters just as much as the resistance of those who are seen everywhere.“

Not only that, but your personal resistance is needed in your quest for collective resistance. Your personal resistance lays the foundation—not only serving as your personal freedom, but ensuring that you aren’t unintentionally perpetuating systems of oppression as you fight for collective liberation. Because how can you help anyone else become free if you’re not free yourself?

And how can you believe your neighbor is worthy of freedom if you haven’t deemed yourself worthy, first?

So this is what this work is becoming—and I’m excited. Because our lives are in the everyday—the everyday moments that are shaped by white supremacy culture, and also shape how you live your life. The every day, ordinary decisions we make that white supremacy’s inherited scripts tell us don't matter.

It isn't perfect. It's messy. It's driven by my curiosity, my thirst for knowledge, and my desire to connect what I've learned to everyday life. It will help you see just how you can make your ordinary moments ones of extraordinary resistance. And, if you ask me, there’s no better freedom than that.

If this resonated with you, I’d love for you to stick around.

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Thank you for being here. I’m so grateful we’re learning, questioning, and resisting together.

The last president my father witnessed before his death was Barack Obama, and as much as I miss my dad—and ache daily to hear his voice and receive the hard-earned wisdom he would have for living during these times of heightened white supremacy—I’m glad he got to leave this Earth while hope in America was still at an all-time high. A hope, I wonder, if we will ever see again.

I wonder if my dad would have been able to fathom a return to voter suppression, among other recent extreme acts to legalize modern Jim Crow, after living through the decades of American history he lived through. Would he have been surprised after feeling such hope during the Obama years? Or would he have been apathetic because of America’s pattern of extreme backlash after any kind of forward progress for Black people? And what would his response have been? How would he suggest we fight back in this modern era versus how they would have fought their version of this battle in 1957?

When I think about the stories my father told me about experiencing Jim Crow racism, fighting white supremacy, attending the March on Washington for Jobs and Freedom in 1963 during his tenure at Howard University, and his many accomplishments in his career making science and engineering more accessible and attractive to young Black students, I feel as though I have no right to feel “tired” of fighting.

How dare I?

This fight is nothing compared to the battles our ancestors fought so that we may see a more equitable future. Would I have had the tenacity our elders did in the 50s and 60s? Would I have had the resilience of our ancestors who escaped enslavement or migrated north during the Great Migration?

I’m not sure.

Because, here I am, feeling exhausted with yet another iteration of white supremacy in 2026. I barely have enough energy to make dinner.

The Fight Returns Again

I’m sure you’ve heard by now, but in case you aren’t aware of exactly what happened, here’s a brief synopsis:

On April 29, 2026, in the case of Louisiana v. Callais, the Supreme Court eviscerated section two of the Voting Rights Act, which served as a major protection for Black voters. By doing so, states are now permitted to use partisan gerrymandering to strategically remove power from the Black vote. Since this ruling, we have seen many states jump to take action by redrawing maps in predominantly Black districts.

Since then, the outcry has rightfully been angry, loud, and full of hurt. The Black community is grieving once again as we witness a dismantling of our civil rights that our ancestors risked their lives for us to have access to. As Black people, we keep receiving blow after blow, forcing us to have to rise up again, while wounded, and dedicate our lives to fighting a modernized version of the same battles our ancestors thought they had won.

To continuously witness this is to add fuel to the infuriating fire that us Black Americans perpetually carry in our spirits. And while those of us in our 20s, 30s, and 40s will never know the direct pain our ancestors endured during the Jim Crow era, we have inherited their trauma and exhaustion while our current reality continues to echo their suffering.

I Didn’t Have Time to Fall Apart

When I first saw the news about the Supreme Court decision flash across my screen, I immediately swiped away from it. My children were near, and I didn’t want them to see my anger and devastation as I read the headlines. The anger was there, but so was the numbness, because that was the only way I could fathom carrying out my never-ending daily task of keeping two small humans alive and well.

I’ve gotten quite used to burying my anger lately.

I bury it so I can keep performing. I bury it, because I also feel the pressure of showing up as the perfect mother—tending to my kids’ every need. I bury it because someone needs a snack, summer camps need to be signed up for, and the dance recital fees are due. I bury it because I have two heads full of hair that need to be washed, detangled, and braided for the week.

I bury it because I worry that if I don’t, I will spiral. I will feel hopeless. I will succumb to the evils of white supremacy and just…let it win. Why bother fighting anymore? Our ancestors fought, and fought, and fought for centuries and this is where we are—still fighting the same battles that are simply dressed in modern clothing. What is the purpose when it is clear that white supremacy will never be overthrown?

And it is this exact response the system is trying to evoke. It is this response that is proof of the system working exactly as designed.

The system is banking on that exhaustion, mixed with the realities of survival also caused by the system, to keep us from ever challenging it again. When we succumb to that exhaustion, we officially wave the white flag. When we think to ourselves, “I can’t even process this right now. I have to make dinner tonight,” we are handing the system its victory.

The Culture That Keeps Us Too Tired to Fight

The system of white supremacy that has gutted our voting rights is the same system that convinces us that the pain and exhaustion we feel is only due to our inability to have a perfect 5:00a.m. morning routine.

The system of white supremacy that gutted our voting rights is the same system that has conditioned us to believe that perfectionism, hyper-productivity, individualism, and urgency keep us safe from societal harm. Society markets these cultural standards as keys that set you apart from those that have been forced onto the lower tiers of the humanity hierarchy.

This is the same system that convinces us that our independence is more important than community organizing that will actually threaten power. We falsely believe that this independence is what keeps us on the side with power, not realizing that it is this very conditioning that aids in hoarding all power away from the majority of the population—including ourselves.

This same system conditions us to believe that the urgency of the emails in our inbox are more urgent than the violence democracy is wielding on its people. We are too busy optimizing our lives, shrinking our bodies, and obsessing over our schedules to have any energy to fight for the rights being stripped from us. Not only do we believe this optimization-obsession will somehow “save us,” but we are clinging desperately to it for our survival as well. Society knows we need to feel some sort of control with everything around us feeling so out of control, so it pushes this messaging and pressure even more—knowing we will fall for it because of how badly we want to feel a semblance of power.

And in all of this chasing, society gets to deplete and exploit us in plain sight. But, we can’t see it. We’re too exhausted from spinning in circles and chasing a false sense of security to see clearly.

And if you believe your worth is tied to your output—rather than seeing the truth that these standards are all rooted in racism—how can you have any margin left to fight for anyone’s freedom?

You can’t.
You don’t.
And that’s the point.

The Beliefs That Keep the System Alive

We often believe that every single fight against injustice, racism, and white supremacy is strictly a structural one, but it’s not. It goes deeper than that. These systems have been building cultural beliefs, standards, and conditions since the beginning. These beliefs are what people hold dearly—regardless of truth—that causes them to make decisions that revoke rights from one group of people. These beliefs are why we continue to be a society that fueled off of anti-Blackness—using this fuel to maintain a pro-white elite social hierarchy at whatever cost.

The cultural conditioning and racist systems have always worked together. From the plantation (racist structure) where stillness was punished and community was criminalized (cultural conditioning), to the Protestant work ethic (cultural conditioning based on the systemic structure of ceaseless production during the Industrial Revolution that served to further separate Black and white people based on class and labor), to the manufactured scarcity from very real systemic structures that keep us fighting for continually withheld access that is also rooted in racism—white supremacy cannot be dismantled without the dismantling of the cultural beliefs that fuel the system.

But it's those cultural beliefs that keeps us too exhausted to dismantle anything.

We Picked Up the Hoses Again

I keep coming back to this moment that the 92% of Black women who voted for Kamala Harris had on November 5, 2024. During our lament, we vowed to stop being the ones to put out the fires white supremacy continues to ignite. We vowed to take a rest, to focus on our community, and put our energy toward collectivism rather than a nation that will never value us. As far as we were concerned, we did not light this fire so we would no longer bear the responsibility of putting out this fire. This country has continuously lit fires with the purpose of burning Black people and People of Color—not caring that the fire will eventually engulf them as well.

As Black folks, we’ve always been the ones to fight for this country, knowing that when we finally receive our freedom, everyone else is also freed. When fires are no longer ignited to burn the Black population, there are no fires burning anyone. We’ve always been the one to step up and fight to put out these fires, not only because we’ve been the most disadvantaged by them, but because we know just how much we are all liberated the moment Black people are liberated.

And yet, just over a year into this presidency, Black Americans find ourselves on the front lines once again. Just 61 years after the march for voting rights across the Edmond Pettus Bridge in Selma, Ala., thousands gathered to march over the same bridge for the voting rights the Supreme Court just gutted from us.

Two photos.
Two marches.
One in black and white.
One in color.
Same fight.

Even after vowing to rest, the moment we see the flames of white supremacy, we get to work. Again. Because no matter how exhausted we may be, we know that we do not deserve to perish in a fire we did not ignite.

Our lives depend on our fight.
Everyone else’s live are saved by our fight.

But picking up the hoses while running on empty is exactly what the system is counting on.

The Inner Work Is Not Optional

Here's the thing: I think we all knew we would pick up the hoses, put our gloves back on, and get back in the ring. We value ourselves, our freedom, and our people too much not to fight for our right to exist equally as every other American citizen. Our ancestors built this country, and we will not let their labor, or their fight, be in vain.

We will never relent until our freedom is won.

However, we cannot show up to battle depleted, exhausted, and still subscribing to the standards that these oppressive, racist systems have conditioned us to believe in.

Radical self-care and deep liberation work is integral in our fight for freedom. It is not a luxury. It is not insignificant. And it is not something to be ignored. The inner work is just as, if not more, necessary than the outer work. Just as an athlete must fuel their bodies before performing on the field, we must fuel our minds and spirits before fighting these battles.

The internal work is what makes sustained resistance possible. You do not decondition yourself just so you can feel better inside a burning building. You decondition yourself so you have the strength, fortitude, and tenacity to carry people out of it.

This is why I will continue to make internal liberation feel as accessible as possible for anyone who wants it. We are often so quick to jump to the physical, systemic work of liberation without having done any sort of dismantling of the conditioning within us. When we do this, the system continues to win. White supremacy continues to reproduce itself because we are not only too depleted to challenge it, but because our conditioning often leads us to feed the very system we believe we are fighting against. Without liberating ourselves, we are literally doing white supremacy’s work.

Your Exhaustion Is Not a Personal Failure

Maybe you’re a bit like me lately—you see the headlines, you feel the devastation and anger, and you immediately numb yourself because you’re barely keeping up with life as it is. You feel the weight of the world in one headline and you feel the pressure to constantly optimize your life in the other. You’re beyond fed up with racism, war, and the persistent removal of civil rights, and you’re bombarded by the influx of messaging about everything you’re not doing “perfectly” in your life. Whether it’s parenting videos, skinny culture making a raging comeback, or the rapidly changing economy making you feel immense pressure to up your hustle, finding an iota of energy to fight for liberation feels impossible. And while you may feel the urge to rush into activism with posting online, looking up your nearest march, or signing a petition, that exhaustion is asking you to pause and recognize that liberation work must start within. It is your fuel. It is your clarity. It is your freedom and the freedom of those around you.

If this resonates with you, but you don’t know where to start with your internal liberation work, I’ve created a free resource to help you get started. It’s called The Liberation Audit. It takes ten minutes or less, and will help you gain clarity about which white supremacy culture script you subscribe to the most so you can begin taking small steps to unsubscribe from it altogether. Click here and I’ll send it right to your inbox.

Remember, this is the where the work begins. This is not a luxury. Its is a necessary first step that white supremacy culture is convincing you to skip. Don’t let it.

The Liberation Letters is a reader-supported publication. If you receive anything from my work, please consider becoming a paid supporter. Your paid support allows me to continue writing essays and creating resources to help support our liberation journeys together.

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If you’re beginning to realize just how deeply these systems have shaped the way you see yourself, my book, We'll All Be Free: How a Culture of White Supremacy Devalues Us and How We Can Reclaim Our True Worth, will help you start connecting the dots—and reclaiming the parts of yourself these systems taught you to abandon.

This happens cyclically. I get a burst of energy paired with a random vacancy in my schedule, and I build something for my work that I delusionally think I can keep up with during routine life. I’m constantly trying to figure out what the exact formula is for building work that actually feels like more than a glorified hobby, but an actual career that helps people work toward liberation while also liberating myself.

Yet, the harder I try, the more I find myself wrapped up in the very conditioning I’m trying to liberate myself from. Hustle, grind, perfectionism, hyper-productivity—more, more, more. And as usual, my realities prevent me from doing anything I planned to do. Instead of juggling every ball with precision like my mind envisions myself doing, I drop every single one of them.

Planned work blocks get replaced with a kids’ meltdown, grocery runs, and closets that need organizing.

Intended articles remain merely ideas as the time to write them is replaced with household management tasks that cannot be ignored.

Hopeful morning routines attempting to magically squeeze in a solid workout sesh and time to work before the kids wake up meet the reality that I can either work or workout in the morning, but not both.

Evening work blocks go ignored as dinners run late, kitchen clean-ups take longer than anticipated, and kids need help with a routine they should be able to do independently.

Attempts to sneak away on a weekend morning fail as a kid always finds me the moment I finally get into a groove.

Before I know it, it’s been weeks, and I can see the proverbial dust forming on my Substack, subscribers dropping left and right, and browser tabs left open as hopeful projects sit untouched.

Frustration, anxiety, and depression set in as I look at myself in the mirror and see my hormonal acne making a return. I look down at my body and see zero progress from the workouts I never miss. I scroll through social media and my algo conveniently reminds me of all the girls who seem to be “locking in” on their goals.

Even though I know that the majority of these women aren’t mothers, I still feel that deep sense of shame that society and culture want me to feel. Something is wrong with me.

Why can’t I be more efficient? More productive? Get more done?

If I was serious about the goals I have, I wouldn’t let yet another day go by where I accidentally sleep in until 5:30a.m. instead of waking up at 5:00a.m. I would grab another half hour of work time rather than read my book before bed, even though my eyes are already heavy and I don’t even make it through half a page before passing out.

I would track my calories and macros rather than winging it with random workouts, hoping for the best. I would be up at 4:00 in the morning on a Saturday to get more done rather than sleeping until 7:00a, allowing my body to recover from the sleep deficit I accrued during the week.

Oh, how quickly my quest for liberation—and passion for equipping others in theirs—turns right back into succumbing to white supremacy culture. It feels impossible for it not to—not when you’re living in a society that places unattainable demands on mothers within a system it designed for our (failure or something else).

The Spectacle of Motherhood

Modern motherhood has become somewhat of a spectacle. A performance. Perfectly decorated Pinterest-worthy parties filled with pressure to outdo years’ prior. Activities, extracurriculars, and competitions from the earliest years so your kid can become the next child prodigy. Gentle, conscious parenting with expectations for 100% presence and attention at all times. A generation of grandparents and other extended family who are largely uninterested in being the village previous generations grew up with. And millions of eyes on you and your children as our lives are all subject to constant documentation with social media as the norm.

I could go on. This is just the tip of the iceberg. And I’m sure you’re aware of all of this.

It’s no secret that mothers are exhausted. We have been stripped of our village, only to have it replaced with services that are only accessible if you can afford them. We have little to no access to protection in maternal and women’s healthcare, our careers, or childcare. Life has become virtually unaffordable for the majority of families, leaving most parents depleted and stretched thin—especially mothers.

We have desires to be full people, thriving in our personal wellbeing and ambitions, just as any other human. But in this society, such fullness is only possible if you either have amassed abundant financial resources or you hustle and play the game society conditions you to play.

In other words, you are successfully convinced that your inability to thrive is solely your fault, and if you wanted fulfillment badly enough, you would become a more perfect, more productive, and ultimately more weary version of yourself. And if you can’t do that, basically, you suck. You’re a failure. And not only is your lack of success your fault, it is also a drain on society, because, oh yeah, mothers and their children are the economy’s “biggest burdens.”

The institution of motherhood has gotten so unsustainable, many mothers are taking to social media to admit that, if they had to do it all over again, they would not have children. Nothing could have prepared them for the burnout, overwhelm, mental load, or self-erasure that motherhood causes.

Is Motherhood Inherently Oppressive?

Since becoming a mother and enduring struggles I couldn’t have fathomed back when I was anxiously awaiting a positive pregnancy test, I’ve been wondering whether motherhood is actually inherently oppressive or if we’ve been conditioned to accept an oppressive version of it.

It baffles me.

Women have been becoming mothers since the beginning of human history. The act of reproducing, pregnancy, and childbirth is one of the most natural functions our bodies are designed to do. And I believe the majority of women have a biological maternal instinct leading to the desire to become a mother. (Not all women, of course. But I don’t think we produce children for millennia without women having that intrinsic desire to bear children.)

On the other hand, bearing children is the most physically and mentally taxing experience women endure. And that hasn’t changed no matter what era of history we are in. Women’s bodies have always been women’s bodies. Maternal mortality, postpartum complications, nursing, sleepless nights…none of that has changed. Yes, we have more medical care now, but the physical and mental toll of bearing children has always existed.

Then those babies grow into children, and raising them holds just as much responsibility as it always has. Teaching them, guiding them, feeding them, worrying about them—this has always existed. And for centuries, the burden of rearing children has mostly fallen on mothers. How can a mother ever experience self-fulfillment, joy, and personhood if her role has always been to be a primary caregiver? Did we once experience true fulfillment in caregiving? Was this once our destiny until modernity evolved that? Or, has motherhood always been oppressive? And if so, why would something so intrinsically natural for us feel so entrapping?

When Motherhood Became an Institution

I don’t have all the answers, but I do know a few things. We can’t say that motherhood has ever been solely fulfilling for women. There’s no evidence to prove that. However, motherhood wasn’t always viewed as an identity the way it is now, and it certainly wasn’t performative or used as a way to measure one’s worth based on “how well they mother.” Motherhood was, simply, labor—and it was labor that was done in community.

Mothers have always worn many hats and contributed to both paid and unpaid labor in the home. But historically, none of that labor was done in isolation, as multigenerational households, communal villages, and both domestic and economic labor were happening largely within—or near—the home. Mothers weren’t expected to parent their children in isolation—carrying every sole responsibility on their shoulders without any time or space to continue pouring into their wellbeing as humans.

However, patriarchal systems have been present for a large part of the historic timeline, as most of us know that patriarchy is nothing new. It’s the development of these patriarchal systems over time that has contributed to the majority of the oppressive structures of motherhood. Motherhood went from being a communal human experience to an institution, and it maintains an institution to this day.

Why Women Wanted More Than Domesticity

Another question I’ve been grappling with is why women wanted to enter the workforce. Not because we shouldn’t want to—I, myself, desperately want fulfilling work outside of motherhood. However, I’ve always wondered what happened to contribute to this overall shift in women’s desires. Or was working outside of motherhood always innately a part of us—and patriarchal systems stripped us of it as society industrialized, strengthening social hierarchies, isolating mothers, and positioning men as the primary face of productivity and economic growth?

I have more research to do on this, but I think it’s much of the latter.

(And let me just say this—there is a stark contrast and disparity between the reality of Black and white mothers here, but more on that later.)

Historically, as women were raising children with fellow family and community members, they were also working in an economic capacity, too. This looked much differently, obviously, as labor wasn’t seen as something to be connected to passion or self-fulfillment, but rather necessity. However, something tells me that even necessary labor outside of caretaking contributes to overall fulfillment regardless. I believe humans have an innate need to feel useful, productive, and contribute to society in some way. Even if labor wasn’t necessarily a “passion” for women historically, having something to do outside of just raising children—I think—would have helped women’s mental health tremendously. Especially doing any kind of labor amongst family, friends, and community.

And that’s what life looked like. Women were farming, making textiles, gathering food, and trading goods. Their husbands often worked within the home, as business and trade was largely performed within or near the home. It wasn’t until industrialization that we began to see a separation between work and home, leaving women to become more isolated in childrearing privately as men went to work in the public sector. If you’re left alone to raise your children, all of the sudden your ability to do other work slips away, and you’re drowning in the isolating, self-sacrificing work of 24/7 caretaking. (Source)

(Note: I’m not referring to wealthier women who had nannies to raise their children, living lives of social luxury that were fulfilling because their children weren’t around. And I also want to note that Black women, women of color, and poor white women were left sacrificing the wellbeing of their own kids to care for children of the elite classes.)

I think it is this…forced erasure of productive and stimulating work that led to women fighting for our rightful place in the workplace.

The problem?

The workplace was designed to accommodate men and has never changed. The communal caregiving evaporated—replacing it with glorified rugged individualism that shames mothers for our inability to perform every role once performed by many. And we’re stuck performing within that workplace—trying to contort ourselves to fit into a system that was designed to keep us out. A system that only profits from the free labor of mothers. Kind of like how our nation could only become the wealthy nation it is on the backs of unpaid enslaved labor. But, I digress.

(Another note: I’m not comparing motherhood to enslavement, but noting that oppressive systems that hoard power toward one group of people only work if they have free or cheap labor to benefit from in some capacity. The free labor of most mothers is a major part of what allows this society to continue to function as it was designed.)

Why So Many Women Are Opting Out

I read comments all the time on social media from women who either regret having children or have reconsidered having children after watching their mothers, friends, and other families struggle with the loss of self that motherhood often brings. (There’s also discussion about bringing children into the world when it’s economically and politically unstable, but that’s another conversation.)

But honestly, I get it. While I don’t regret having children and would still choose to have them knowing what I know now, I completely understand why many women would choose differently. Patriarchal systems, greed, and capitalism—all which exist under the larger umbrella of white supremacy culture—have turned motherhood into one of the most oppressive institutions that modern society created. And we’ve had no choice but to accept it.

It’s not that motherhood is inherently oppressive—it’s that motherhood exists within oppressive systems that use motherhood to extract labor, reinforce self-sacrifice, and maintain social control. It has become an oppressed institution rather than maintaining the sacredness and humanity that it inherently is.

(Note: I don’t want to suggest that motherhood was once all a woman needed for fulfillment, before the existence of these oppressive systems. I believe that motherhood has always been, and always will be, the most taxing role a woman will endure. But when done in community, with support from a society that values and protects motherhood, it’s bearable without forced self-erasure.)

The systems that have turned motherhood into an oppressive institution have existed long before the 21st century expectations of modern motherhood. Motherhood has served as a way for women to feel trapped for decades, if not centuries. But with the performative spectacle of modern motherhood, and overall life itself, the oppressive weight has multiplied exponentially. And that is where we find ourselves today—to the point where many women are choosing to withdraw from something that used to be so innate within us, or regretting it altogether.

Like I said, I get it. I don’t remember the last time I’ve felt pure ease and joy in motherhood. But I don’t want that to continue to be my reality—or yours, if you resonate. I truly believe that liberation belongs to us—that motherhood was never supposed to feel like an oppressive trap where women either have to choose self-fulfillment or raising children, never both. Just as every other oppressive system was never supposed to exist, motherhood was never supposed to become an oppressive institution. And I believe that we can reclaim our power within motherhood—liberating ourselves one day at a time.

That’s why I’m somewhat starting my brand—or work, or whatever you want to call it—over again, and living it out in real time. Now, this isn’t just for mothers, but all women (and men, too) who are freaking done playing by the rules of a system designed to exploit our humanity. I’m sick of it—of trying to play the game, of falling for all of these beliefs and pretenses about how I “should be” living if I were disciplined enough. I know these rules are a trap. I know that there is no “winning” inside these systems.

So, I’m starting over. I’m auditing myself—my perfectionism, hyper-productivity, urgency, and individualism that society has conditioned us to believe are traits that bring about fulfillment and success rather than traits that dehumanize and disconnect us from ourselves.

No more trying to fit my very oddly shaped life into the “perfect square” society claims is the answer to my problems as if I’m a wealthy white male.

Motherhood, and life in general, was supposed to feel human. Not easy, per se, but sustainable and supported. It damn sure was never supposed to rely on women erasing themselves inside of it to function for the sake of capitalism and societal performance. And I’m done letting it.

If you’re done, too. I have something for you. I’ve created the audit I’m giving myself and I’m giving it to you for FREE. Just click here and I’ll send it right over.

And then stay tuned—I’m creating another resource that will help us take steps following the audit to begin unsubscribing from this life and living our way.

Motherhood won’t get easier, or magically become fulfilling, but I will become a fulfilled mother, woman, and human. And so can you.

If this piece resonated with you, there are a few ways to continue supporting this work and going deeper with me.

If you’re able, consider becoming a paid subscriber. Your support helps me continue creating thoughtful essays, research, tools, and conversations centered around liberation, self-worth, and reclaiming our humanity from systems that profit from our depletion.

You can also:

• download my free Liberation Audit to begin identifying the beliefs, pressures, and patterns keeping you disconnected from yourself

• purchase my book, We’ll All Be Free: How a Culture of White Supremacy Devalues Us and How We Can Reclaim Our True Worth

• share this essay with another mother, woman, or human who may need the reminder that exhaustion is not a personal failure

I’m also currently building more resources around liberated productivity, self-worth, motherhood, and deconditioning in real time—so stay tuned. We’re figuring this out together, one day at a time.

In fact, we’re here every day. The patriarchy is proving itself to be more rampant than ever—diminishing the realistic and human needs of women, our truths held against us as if our humanity is proof that we belong in a subservient position to men. Because, how dare our needs differ? How dare we not want to burn ourselves out just to prove our morality, character, or ambition? In fact, how dare we want to play our various roles in our homes and our careers without either role becoming our sole identity or purpose on this planet?

Once again, we are only asking these questions of women. Only women—especially women who are mothers—have to deal with persistent judgment as we navigate intentional systemic barriers designed to keep us from accessing success in the workplace and with our children. No matter the needs we have—the burden we carry, or the exhaustion that embodies us from sleepless nights with children—we are expected to perform twice as much as our male counterparts just to receive less opportunity and pay, and more than double the burnout.

During the pandemic, we saw the slightest glimmer of hope with the rise of work-from-home culture. When the world was forced to operate from home, many parents realized just how much their burnout reduced with being able to care for their children while working.

Was it easy?
Of course not.

Most parents would argue that they are able to work best while their children are in school, or in someone else’s care. (As a homeschool parent, I can attest to this. I barely have a career because I’m still with my kids 24/7, but more on that later.)

However, the ability to work from home and be there when your kids get off the bus? The ability to work from home and comfortably get them to school without the stress? The ability to work from home and not have to pay for aftercare? Save money on gas? Incorporate a bit of respite before the evening activities? Priceless!

Most women who desire to continue working while raising their children don’t want to trade one role for the other, or feel expected to perform each role as if the other one doesn’t exist. We simply want to fulfill our roles well—our work providing opportunity for our families while allowing us to keep a semblance of identity outside of being a caretaker, and be more present with our children than perhaps our parents were able to be. That’s it. These are natural, human, maternal instincts that should’t be diminished.

But, they are. Because this is not a matriarchal society that respects women. This is a society that views women as merely subservient human incubators, existing only to fulfill a man’s desires and polish his (unearned) crown.

And if you’re a Black woman? You might as well be invisible unless you are over-performing.

The Conversation We Keep Getting Wrong

While this conversation is an incessant part of our daily internet discourse, the recent uptick in this topic results from a viral interview of Emma Grede (co-founder of Good American with Khloe Kardashian) on the Baby, This is Keke Palmer podcast. In the clip, Grede states that work-from-home culture is killing women’s careers—claiming that choosing the comfort of the couch is costing you the promotion, higher pay, and job title you desire. She also mentioned something about a corner office, because we all know that corner office is all we've ever wanted. (Insert side eye.)

If you spend any time online, I’m sure you’ve seen the discourse. Many women are up in arms—claiming furiously that Grede’s words are incredibly harmful for women, especially Black women.

And, there are those, of course, who agree with Grede. But, I’m not here to present both sides of the case.

The truth is, we’re having the wrong conversation—failing to address the root cause of why any work culture is a deterrent to women’s success. And why it was designed that way.

This Was Never an Accident

Without writing a history text book (you can read my book for more of an in-depth here), we are so often ignoring the fact that we did not end up with this culture by accident. This is all connected to white supremacy culture, and always will be.

White supremacy culture exists to do one thing: hoard all power to white men and remove as many opportunities for equality and equity as possible. Then, blame those of us who are directly (oppressed) by white supremacy for our own inability to access that success.

The lie society tells? The success of the most powerful is simply because they are better, more qualified, and all around more valuable than the rest of us. It’s not their fault that their worth is “higher than ours.” If we were as worthy as them, we would be able to perform at “their level” and access the same success.

And with patriarchy being one of the drivers keeping white supremacy sovereign, the distinct biological needs of women are used to justify our inferiority. Rather than see our womanhood as what makes us more powerful, capable, and intuitive, it simply used as evidence that we are less than because our production output varies and our needs require flexibility.

Many women still fall for this. And Emma Grede is proof of that.

Rather than use her success, status, and platform to advocate for workspaces that allow women to show up fully in each of their roles, she is shaming women for not showing up as men “supposedly do,” supporting the ideology that it’s up to women to work “twice as hard” as their male counterparts to access their success. (She doesn’t have to say these words outright. This is what her messaging is communicating.)

Never mind the fact that if men are the ones working from home, utilizing their privileges, and performing less than those laboring under them, they are still revered as if their merit, productivity, and dedication are why they have the success they have—not the system that hoards it in their direction.

In Grede’s eyes, hustle culture is the only way—and if we wanted it badly enough, we’d do it. The needs of our families, mental and physical health, and womanhood be damned.

The System Isn’t Broken—It’s Working

The infuriating aspect of all of this is that we know this system will not change. This is a reality I’ve had to face in my work—and my own life—lately. I once believed white supremacy could fully be dismantled. Sure, it would take a while. I wrote about a brick-by-brick approach in my book. And while I still believe in our power to dismantle certain belief systems around us—mobilizing more of us to rebel against the system—I no longer believe the overall system is dismantle-able. It’s simply too rooted and too powerful. Not only does it exist, it continues to grow exponentially no matter how many progressive steps we make toward change.

We can have online dialogue until the cows come home, but unfortunately, the system is still going to system. And perhaps, this is a bit of what Grede is referring to. She does mention in her interview that this isn’t an argument about whether or not the system is “right,” but rather the reality that if we want access to the success the system hoards, we must figure out how to play the game to access it. Thus, persistent visibility, overtime hours, and hustling in hopes that it somehow leads to success one day.

The choice then becomes ours: do we want that success or do we choose to “liberate ourselves from desiring it” by refusing to pay the price required to access it.

However, that refusal comes with a caveat: we must be at peace with having less access to wealth, power, and resources in a society that only makes it available only to those who play the game.

It’s either that, or move out of the country. And as lovely as that sounds, most of us cannot realistically do that.

So, we’re faced with figuring out if there is way to live liberated by refusing to follow every rule society says to follow—accepting that refusal comes with it’s own cost.

The Cost of Choosing Differently

I’m personally paying that alternative price right now. And it’s not always an easy price to accept.

I stubbornly want to believe that I can access an amount of success I desire while taking the non-traditional approach to parenting and working. And everyday, my life reminds me that I cannot have both. I can either provide liberating education to my children or put them in public school and head back to work. As much as I try to build something from home, I just can’t. There aren’t enough hours in the day unless I sacrifice my mental and physical health, and then there is no difference between the burnout I would experience working from an office.

And honestly, I still do that anyway. With what little energy I have, I utilize early mornings and surviving off of six hours of sleep to do some kind of work and keep my body somewhat in shape. No matter what, a woman pursuing both a career and motherhood will experience a level of exhaustion that only we understand, unless access to a paid village is readily available.

These trade offs of exhaustion exist no matter what a woman’s circumstances are because our society built systems to make healthy, safe, quality womanhood inaccessible. Something that should be our human right—the right to exist, mother, and work without self-erasure—is only accessible unless we perform like a man just to make half of the money they make, and spend it all on a village that should be free.

Because even though it is my choice to homeschool, it is only a choice I’ve made because a major part of the so-called village (the school system) has been proven unsafe for my children. And I don’t have private school money–not that that’s any better.

But, I digress.

So what is the answer?

I don’t know. I don’t think there is one. Perhaps that’s what the internet is responding to. Either way you spin it, women are harmed by the structure of this society that was designed to keep us in a subservient, human incubator and caretaker cave. We’ve been fighting for our freedom from it since it was established, and sometimes it just feels like we’re only moving backwards.

As “freeing” as it should feel to homeschool my children and “write my own definition of success,” there are many days I feel more trapped than ever. I’m still mothering, and woman-ing, in a society that is not designed for my well-being, safety, and success at all levels. Choosing a “more liberated path” for my children and rejecting society’s expectations of me to “work like a man” doesn’t make it any easier. In fact, I’d argue that it’s harder. It’s always more difficult to go against the status quo because it feels like you’re in a perpetual upstream battle. At the same time, playing the game of a patriarchal society as a woman also feels like a perpetual upstream battle, but for different reason. Either way, we’re in a battle—and the chances of winning by society’s standards are slim to none.

True feminism, I believe, lies in the ability for women to choose what path they want to take in life without suffering ridicule, judgment, or unnecessary barriers. If a woman wants to choose that girl-boss lifestyle, more power to her. If a woman wants to become a homestead queen, have at it. If a woman wants to simply live her life well, playing all of her roles without paying the price of burnout, she should be able to do that. That is what true liberation looks like. It could really be that simple.

Instead, we continue to ridicule every woman for every choice she makes, berate her for not being able to perform with the same capacity as men, and destroy every shred of self-worth she has by telling she is a failure no matter what way she turns.

No matter what, we can’t win, which is why there is no “right answer” or “right path.” We should not have to burden ourselves with trying to either fix, or work within, the system. We should not have to spin our wheels trying to play a man’s game—blaming ourselves when we ultimately lose because of a rigged system.

I’m not saying we should accept defeat. We’re too resilient for that. I’m simply saying that the answers do not lie in us trying harder, playing the game smarter, or even throwing our hands up to say “eff it all,”—and we have to free ourselves from the burden of believing that we just haven’t found the answer, yet. That burden just allows us to continue believing that we are the problem. And we were never the problem.

The real answer is freedom.

As women–and especially my fellow Black women—I believe that our only responsibility lies in freeing ourselves from the standards of this white supremacist, patriarchal society. We cannot win the game with extra effort, the perfect morning routine, showing up more, working from home, working from an office, having kids, not having kids, getting married, not getting married—you get the picture. So, let’s stop trying.

Society’s standards were created to never be reached by anyone in a marginalized identity, so why are we bothering ourselves with trying to reach them? The goal post will always move. The finish line will always get further away the moment we think we’ve found the answer. The standard will change the second it feels like we might just reach it.

Let’s free ourselves from all of it. We were not designed to work or live this way. It is the antithesis of our femininity; our humanity. The world will annihilate you whether you choose freedom or you choose the play the game, so why not choose freedom? Even if you chose to play the game, play it your way. Refuse to fall for the lie that your struggle is your fault. Set the rules that serve you, and then follow them.

And for the men reading this? If you claim to be for women, do everything in your power to make sure the women around you get to freely live by their own rules. Use that privilege. Any dismantling of any oppressive system starts and ends with you—the one with the most power.

I’m 36 today. Three. Six.

Is 36 still your mid-thirties or are we officially in the late-thirties? I had this same question when I was 34, but rather if that was mid-thirties or still early-thirties. It feels like just yesterday I asked my Threads and Substack communities that exact thing.

And now I’ve blinked, and two years has gone by.

We’ve reached yet another birthday.
And, once again, nothing much has changed.

Perhaps this could be a good thing. I am blessed that I haven’t faced anything too tragic, jarring, or life-threatening lately. But if I’m honest, that also scares me a bit. The more time that passes without a tragedy, the more I think about how I’m a day closer to when the next one will strike. Am I crazy for thinking that way?

Waiting for the Other Shoe

Losing my father almost 12 years ago caused that shift in thinking for me. I can’t help but hold my breath every time the phone rings and it’s my mother or Godmother calling.

“Is it my turn to endure another tragedy? It’s been too long since the last one, and I’m sure that’s not fair. I don’t deserve this peace, so I’m sure a storm is coming.”

These are the thoughts that swirl in my brain. I feel like I haven’t been “good enough” or “grateful enough” for my seemingly mundane, provided-for life to earn this safety. I’m sure the other shoe will drop at any moment. Why wouldn't it? This is the inevitable tax with getting older, right?

A Shell of Myself by 8:00 A.M.

I’m know many people would envy the monotony of my life. “I’d give anything to not be facing something hard right now,” they’d tell me. “That’s what you’re complaining about? Not being fulfilled? Not having any accomplishments? How shallow can you be, Caroline?”

I know. And I am so very grateful for the life God has provided me thus far. I have the best kids on the planet, and I know I don’t deserve them. I know I don’t handle much with them the way I’d like to—always second guessing if I’m being too hard on them or expecting too much when I’m asking them to perform a morning routine independently for the umpteenth time. I know I’m not as happy as I once was—barely mustering a smile some days because I feel so…empty.

I try my hardest to maintain my kindness and patience so I can focus on their care. I slip into a shell of myself just to make sure I don’t get frustrated with the constant bickering, problems, whining, and sometimes (read: every day) screaming in my face when a kid is unhappy with something. Sometimes I feel so beaten down by 8:00a.m. that I don't know how I’ll make it through the rest of the week.

I begin questioning my worth, my purpose, my existence. It shouldn't be this hard. Why does every other homeschooling family seem to enjoy it so much and I’m so miserable? What am I doing wrong?

And, why do my kids still love it so much even though we have some days where everything feels flat-out miserable? Why do they tell me they want to be around me everyday when I feel like someone they should hate at this point?

Liberating or Sabotaging?

I lean in for the hugs and kisses even when I’m touched out. I try to be as patient when a child throws a pencil across the room because a lesson feels too hard. I hold them in the midst of their anger, while silently wondering why this is all my life has amounted to.

I’ve held out hope year after year that this would be the year things feel better, and they never do. My children age, but I’m still I’m knee-deep in the throes of what feels like toddlerhood most days.

Is homeschooling wrong because of this? Am I causing this? Would they be happier in school with other kids? More willing to learn? Less likely to throw a pencil and a fit because their mommy is their teacher? Am I sabotaging their education instead of liberating it?

Then, I see all the commentary about how children are performing in schools these days, and I remind myself that this is why I’m doing this. My children don't display illiteracy or an inability to follow directions. They can focus longer than most kids their age and they aren’t addicted to screens. This is why we do this, right?

But, so many days I’m a shell of myself, pouring from empty, and feeling like I’ve disappeared inside my own life most days. I must be failing. I must.

The Broken Promises of 35

When I turned 35, I told myself that this would be the year I grabbed ahold of my life. I would finally free myself internally. I would turn up the notch on my liberation work, and actually build a career for myself so that I not only felt less resentful homeschooling, but can finally make the difference I desire to make in the world. I told myself that this would be the year I become the healthiest version of myself—not only getting fitter, stronger, and more energetic—but mentally thriving and taking care of health concerns I’ve put off for too long. I told myself that this would be the year I found joy and felt a sense of purpose and fulfillment in my days. I told myself that this would be the year I build more community and get involved in some Black mom groups or even become active again in my sorority.

By 36, I wanted to be unrecognizable. I wanted my kids to look at their mommy and be like, “Wow, she’s so happy! She’s so radiant!”

Last year, I wrote out a conversation with myself for my birthday, and in that conversation, present Caroline told past Caroline, this:

You will leave this version of you behind and finally step into the woman you’ve been neglecting. The past decade of ignoring her will make you even hungrier for her. You won’t allow yourself to stop until she fully emerges from hiding.

365 days later, and that hasn’t to happen.

Here's the problem—I’ve tried. I’ve tried so hard. I try every week. Every single week I say “This is the week everything changes.”

I write the new routine. I commit to waking up even earlier to try to squeeze in that workout and that work time, but only the workout ever happens because I still snooze until 5:30a.m.

I’ve written and re-written business plans, income-earning plans, and ideas that I hope can finally become “my thing.” I’ve scoured job boards thinking that perhaps I just need to find work I can do from home that align with my skills and moral compass. I’m not married to working for myself—this is just the only thing that feels within reach right now because I can only manage an hour or two of work per day. Who’s going to hire someone who can only commit to such a small amount of work? Not in this capitalistic society!

But, the other reality is that the only way to get my work to do anything is to constantly market myself and I don’t have that capacity either. I can’t win. Not for myself. Not as long as I’m homeschooling.

What If This Is It?

Perhaps the answer is to finally stop trying. Accept my fate. I mean, fully accept it. My role is wife, mother, and home educator. And that’s all there is to it. Who cares if I wanted more? Clearly God has been telling me for years that “more” is not my portion, and perhaps my lack of success is the result of disobedience to His will. I’ve always felt like God’s will for me was never what I truly wanted anyway—and that I’m not supposed to be happy following His will. If His will is raising and educating children—all other skills, talents, and dreams of mine be damned—then so be it. I just have to surrender, right?

Everyone tells me that I have the most liberating work there is—motherhood—and I’m choosing to go about it in the most liberating way. I should be proud of this work and satisfied with it. It should be fulfilling. Just put everything else to the side right now—it will be there when they’re grown.

But, what about the Caroline that lights up when she’s on stage, commanding an auditorium with her speaking presence? What about the Caroline that won award after award for being one of the best speakers in the state—and the nation—in high school? What about the Caroline that interned at the top news stations in Washington, DC while attending Howard University? What about the Caroline who acted in plays, played the hell out of her flute, and was serious about her future? Why can’t that Caroline exist, too?

At the same time, why am I asking her to? I’m provided for aren’t I? My husband has an amazing career that allows us to live, eat, be clothed, and homeschool. That should be enough. I should just shut up and be grateful. I should stop trying to make each year the year I finally become x, y, z version of myself and accept the version that I am, even if it’s not a personally fulfilling one.

Or, perhaps I need to figure out how to make it fulfilling.
Maybe that’s the missing piece.

I guess we’ll see what I’ll be saying on my 37th birthday.

Will it be the same story as this year and years prior? Will things finally change? Will I finally accept my fate and let go of dreaming, hoping, becoming? Or, will I finally…become?

We’ll find out in 365 days.

In the meantime, I’ll spend today shopping and playing the Sims.

At least my Sim is a bestselling author. She can have it all, even if I can't.

Thank you for reading The Liberation Letters. I’m so grateful you’re here, engaging with this work and this community. If you want to continue the conversation, go deeper into the ideas we explore here, and support the work, you can subscribe to receive every essay, grab a copy of my book We’ll All Be Free, or even buy me a coffee. Every action, big or small, helps keep this work alive—and keeps us all moving toward liberation, together.

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Actually, let me run that back. My brain is spinning. Always spinning. The amount of things on my mind constantly are enough to send anyone into a tailspin. The responsibilities, tasks, and problems are endless.

I feel like I’m constantly in a state of reactivity rather than proactivity, which makes me feel like that control I have over my life is nonexistent. Every other minute, a problem a tapping me on the shoulder.

A kid is unhappy.
Now the other kid is unhappy.
I haven’t set up this appointment I need.
I need to get my finances in order.
I wish I made money.
What do I have to do to have a real career?
The taxes are due.
Summer camps need to be registered for before they fill up.
I need to get my deck done.
I need to get our windows washed.
The finish is peeling off of the bathroom cabinets.
I need to reorganize the pantry.
I need to workout more.
I need to get up at 5:00a instead of 5:30a.
My acne is coming back.
My heart is racing again.
Anxiety?
I hate the way I look.
I wish I could get my hair done.
I need to cook dinner. Again.
Gas prices are up because of this stupid war we didn’t vote for.
I should stay home more.
But I feel stuck at home.
I wish I had somewhere to be everyday.
A real purpose.
I wish I didn't have to homeschool.
But it’s so good for the kids.
But it shouldn’t have to be this way.
I shouldn’t have to homeschool.
War with Iran.
What’s going to happen now?
ICE.
I wish I could just ignore the plight of the world.
Why should I care?
I didn't vote for this.
But this is destroying us.
But we’ve always been destroyed.
This is just magnetized and accelerated.
Of course now that the world is falling apart, it will be impossible to grow my career.
Or start my career.
Why even bother?
I’m about to be 36 and I’ve never had a meaningful career.
I’ve never done what I really wanted.
And now it might be too late.
Heart is racing, again.
Anxiety, is that you?

This is the true state of my brain. All. Day. Long.

So, no, my brain isn’t blank. But, my ideas are. My desire and motivation are gone. My spirit has been depleted—there is nothing left to pour into words, shape ideas, and lead thought. At least, not consistently. And I apologize for that. I know I’ve lost a few subscribers because my articles are not consistent. I am truly doing the best I can.

On the back-end up things, while I’m navigating everything I stated above, I am trying to create something for those of you who are just like me. For those who are caught up in the throes of perfectionism and hyper-productivity because it feels safe. The world around us is collapsing, and we feel helpless. Hopeless. And honestly? Terrified.

Of course we want to tighten our grasp around what we have control over. Of course we’re hyper focused on flattening our bellies, dialing in our calories, and shrinking our bodies. Of course we’re turning our anxious energy into vigilant productivity so that we can feel useful, purposeful, and justified in a world that tells us we are worthless unless we do so. Of course my our own humanity feels unsafe, because it exposes our vulnerability in a world that was designed to prey on it to disguise its own evils.

So, hyper-fixation here we come. Because that is the only action that feels like a solution right now. That is the only thing we have to grasp on to. We can’t control the fire around us, but we can do everything we can to fire-proof ourselves while we wait to see if it will eventually dissipate. The problem is, we’re often doing the wrong things, believing they are the right things. We’re obsessing and hyper-fixating on perfectionism, productivity, and shrinking our bodies thinking that these are the ingredients to fire-proof ourselves. But, we’re not. We’re making ourselves more vulnerable to the fire instead—distracting ourselves from the real solutions, and making ourselves weaker and wearier so we are void of stamina to help extinguish it.

As much as I wish liberation was a linear journey with a distinctive feeling of freedom, ease, and perpetual joy, it’s not. It looks much like this wrestling. Wrestling with the realities of the world, the demands of society, and the human needs for control, purpose, and a sense of autonomy. So, if you’re wrestling right now, just know I’m right along with you. I see you. I am you. It’s okay if liberation feels non-existent or unattainable.

I promise you, it’s there.

It’s there because you are wrestling with it. It’s there because you are choosing to figure it out. It’s there because you feel the weight of subjugation and you hunger for the world you know we all deserve.

Even in the questioning, the endless tasks, the pressure, the standards, and the weariness, you are closer than you think. (I’m talking to myself, too.)

Rest, recharge, and stay in the fight. We will be okay.

I’m working on something that will help all of us with this complex, emotional, yet necessary journey to liberation. And while I’m already working on some things, I’d love to know what you think will help you most in this journey. What is the hardest thing about liberating yourself from society’s conditioning and systems of oppression? If you could have any tool or resource to guide you, what would it be? Please let me know in the comments.

As always, The Liberation Letters is a reader supported publication. While my work varies in consistency, the dedication, research, and quality of my articles will always be present. If you are impacted by my work in any way, please consider becoming a paid supporter.

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Lastly, I have my heart set on writing a second book, soon, but I cannot do so until sales numbers for my first book increase. If you haven’t already, please consider purchasing a copy of my book, We’ll All Be Free: How a Culture of White Supremacy Devalues Us and How We can Reclaim Our True Worth. Not only will that support me tremendously, it will guide you on your liberation journey from start to finish—complete with history, action steps, journaling prompts, and more.

There is something I must admit.

Something that has been weighing on my heart.

Something that I…fear I may have passed on to my daughter. Something negative. Like, maybe I’m not breaking generational patterns after all. And I’m fearful that it’s too late to rectify this.

See, I’ve never been able to see myself in much of a positive light. I’ve never felt brilliant, beautiful, gifted, or talented. I’ve never felt like I had that…special something that other exceptional people have. You know—the people who just ooze beauty, grace, and radiance? Or, those people whose genius seems to echo through a room the moment they walk in it?

I’ve always longed to not only feel remarkably confident, but to feel like I was placed on this earth for something extraordinary. But, no matter how much I’ve gaslit myself into believing I was extraordinary with endless co-curricular activities, advanced classes, and the perfectly polished outfit, I’ve always felt substandard. And the more I tried to fake my confidence, the more my actual confidence took a downward spiral. Every glimpse in the mirror mustn’t turn into a prolonged stare, otherwise I will be forced to confront my reality: I still don’t love myself.

Hell, I don’t even like myself.

And this is something I fear I may have passed on to my eldest daughter. I’m not sure how. I try not to negate myself in her presence. Even on the days when my confidence is literally in the toilet, I pay careful attention to how I show love for myself and the effort I bring to my day so I can model as much resilience as possible. Above all, I encourage her to make mistakes often. We homeschool, and I advise that she is free to make mistakes here. There is no comparison. There are no grades. She has nothing to be afraid of.

We’ve practiced affirmations on both good and bad days. I'm doing everything I can to try to prevent her from turning into who I was as a teenager, which is my biggest fear. As a teenager, I was deeply depressed, felt extreme self-loathing, and often wondered what the purpose of my existence was. My hope in having daughters was to prove that girl teenage-hood didn't have to look that way, and I would do everything in my power to prove otherwise. My daughters as teenagers would love themselves and see their brilliance and talent as nothing short of amazing. They would look at themselves in the mirror and revel at the creation that is them.

Yet, at just the tender age of 9, my daughter has started to put herself down when she makes mistakes. She sometimes self-deprecates when she is corrected. And the perfectionistic tendencies are creeping in.

Have I inadvertently passed my internal self-loathing onto her? Is this an inevitable part of raising a child the same gender as you—passing your insecurities and unhealed wounds onto them? Or, is this an inevitable part of living in a society that profits from our self-loathing so it encourages and magnifies it from every corner?

Most importantly, am I fool for believing I could ensure my daughter always saw her own brilliance when I’ve never been able to see my own?

Are we fools for believing we can put an end to the self-loathing cycles of future generations when our society cannot function without profiting from the insecurities it fabricates into our being?

As much as I’d love to believe that my self-esteem challenges were unique to me, they were not. Most of us have wrestled with some form of self-doubt because we are conditioned to believe we are flaws, or projects, in need of constant fixing. This is deeply embedded into our society and culture—a seed that was planted from the earliest days of colonization and the creation of a human hierarchy based on the supremacy of whiteness.

Our society does not profit from us loving ourselves. Our society does not profit if we can look in the mirror and see true beauty, brilliance, and whole humans who are not in need of fixing, but simply worthy for existing. There cannot be a profit if there is no standard-based hierarchy to measure ourselves against. Not only can there not be a profit, but there is no way for those in positions of power to maintain their power if a hierarchy no longer exists. A hierarchy can only exist if there is full belief that some humans are more worthy, or more valuable, than others.

So, perhaps it was inevitable that, no matter how hard I’ve tried to protect my daughter from low self-esteem, it would eventually catch up to her? Especially if, at 36, I’ve been unable to crack the miraculous confidence code in myself.

To this day, I cannot see true goodness in myself. I try. I really do. I continue to cosplay as someone who believes they are a brilliant, credentialed thinker. I curate a version of myself online that makes it look like I never question the purpose, qualifications, and worth behind the work that I do or the life that I live. I wear outfits that scream, “confidence is my middle name.” I put on a full face of makeup because it makes me feel like a version of myself I wish existed in truth. I brainstorm ideas that never come to fruition because the true confidence needed to carry those ideas out is nothing but mere wish.

How am I even qualified to write this essay? To ask for paid support? To create programs, resources, and curriculum to help others liberate themselves from this culture that has convinced so many of us that chasing standards of whiteness is the only way to feel worthy when I’m still fighting this very battle? When I haven’t even been able to make sure my own daughter can see her brilliance?

I can’t see my brilliance, but I’m trusting it exists (and you can, too)

I just finished a 6-week group coaching/therapy program, and if you know me, this is something I don’t normally do. Invest in my growth? Spend money on myself that’s higher than like, $50? Nah. Not worth it. But, I happened to be in a desperate state of depression when this opportunity fell into my lap and I knew I needed to do something different. So, I invested.

Toward the end of our time together, one of my fellow cohort members said something to me that I haven’t been able to let go of since hearing it:

“Caroline, you are so brilliant. You just can’t see it, yet.”

Me? Brilliant?

I immediately felt a rush of emotions. My inner child began poking her head out, eager to share why the adult version of us has never felt anything substantial, let alone brilliant.

Me? Brilliant?

I’ve been striving toward brilliance since I can remember. I never thought I’d actually arrive.

But, I’m learning that brilliance is not a destination awaiting our arrival. It is innate in all of us. Society, culture, and generational conditioning do everything possible to strip us of our ability to not only see our inherent brilliance, but trust it.

Resistance and liberation happens when you trust that your brilliance and your worth exist, even when you can’t feel it or see it.

This is me trusting that it exists. I could lie to you all and act like I have 100% confidence and belief in everything I do and offer. But, I don’t. I’m learning just as much as my readers and community members are, and that’s the beauty of this work. We get to be on this liberation journey together, as liberation is also not a destination, but a continuous journey that requires practice. Especially when you live within an oppressive system that exists to separate us from the liberation that is rightfully ours.

I claim my liberation with every word I write, and every draft I hit ‘publish’ on. I claim my liberation when I trust the brilliance within me and stop letting the feelings of imposter syndrome stop me from doing the work I’m most passionate about.

That is what this space is for. Trusting, remembering, and reclaiming what is rightfully ours—what is innately within us that society has tried to steal.

our inner child was caught in the crossfire

Remember when I said that when my cohort peer told me I couldn’t see my own brilliance my inner child wanted to pop out and share a word or two? I don’t want to negate the importance of that. Just for a moment. Even though my focus is largely on societal and cultural influences, I would be remiss if I didn’t acknowledge our hurt inner children who were caught in the crossfire of society, culture, and familial pressure that was typically the result of the first two.

Many of us were not told by our parents that we were brilliant. Many of us felt that our parents worked overtime to criticize us, amply our faults, and downplay our positives. Many of our parents believed in the concepts of tough love, no-excuse discipline, and finding fault in developmentally appropriate emotions and behaviors. However, we usually stop there when we consider the effects of our childhood on our mental health status today. We don’t typically stop to consider the grave impacts of institutionalized white supremacy and racism on our parents, and how their coping mechanism for the same trauma we endure was to parent us in such a way that they believed was preparing us for an unkind, inhumane world.

Why overly hype up your child just for them to enter the world and fall flat on their face? If you utilize harsh discipline and “tough love,” at least you can ensure that they will be prepared for the reality of the world, right? Their parenting styles were a direct reflection of the intersectionality of oppression they faced, whether that be racism, classism, sexism, ableism, or a combination. It doesn’t make it right, but it does provide context, understanding, and a bit of freedom. Just as we are trying to navigate the throes of white supremacy in real time, so were our parents and/or guardians. And our inner children caught much of the fallout in the process.

Just as my child is catching a bit of my fallout as I work through my own wrestling with white supremacy culture. Maybe your children, if you have them, are too.

And if that is the case, I need you to know that it’s okay. Because awareness exists now. An active choice to liberate ourselves exists now. We are the generation that is doing the work that our parents and grandparents weren't able to do because much of their work was based in systemic injustice and survival. When survival is all you can think about, there is no room in your nervous system for emotional and mental liberation.

And while we are facing a fresh revival of systemic white supremacy through a fascist government that makes almost every decision based on the Great Replacement Theory, we have to acknowledge the fact that the survival we are fighting for today still leaves room for us to fight for a version of liberation our ancestors could only dream of. And we have their fight for survival to thank for that—just as our children will have our liberation fights to thank for a bit of ease in theirs.

liberation happens in small moments

I just finished having a talk with my daughter before tucking her into bed. I told her that I noticed language of perfectionism and how unhealthy it is to think this way. I heard her out, acknowledging where some of my frustrations with certain behavioral challenges have contributed to her feelings. Sure, I try like hell not to negate myself in front of her, but I’m a human who gets easily frustrated when things aren’t running smoothly, and she’s felt that.

I told her that everyone is perfectly imperfect, including her and including me. Our mistakes make us perfect just as much as our brilliance does. But, I’m determined for her to see that brilliance in herself. Funny enough, she sees it in me and I see it in her. My hope is that, together, we can help each other see our own brilliance.

We discussed strategies for improvement on both ends, but most importantly, we affirmed who she was created to be. Someone who’s imaginative, creative, and full of joy and life. Someone who is wicked talented beyond her years and who will touch the lives of everyone she interacts with. Someone who is brilliant.

I wish one conversation could erase systemic, cultural, and familial damage caused. If that were the case, damage would have been erased years ago. This isn’t the first time we’ve had this conversation, and that’s a generational change I’m making in this liberation fight. The conversations are happening, the repair is occurring, the reflections are frequent and impactful. That counts for something. That is liberation in real time.

Tomorrow, when I ease into her room to wake her for the day, I will whisper affirmations in her ear: you are brilliant, you are beautiful, you are wonderful as you are.

I will keep choosing liberation—trusting the brilliance in myself when I cannot see it.

And if I can do it, so can you.

It may feel like nothing is working, but we’re planting seeds.
We’re watering them.
Roots are beginning to spread beneath the surface.
And fruit will bear. In time, it will bear.

And we will be able to see our own brilliance.

If this essay resonated with you, consider becoming a paid subscriber to support this work and the deeper writing I share here. In the coming weeks, I’ll also be sharing more about a new space I’m creating where we can practice this work together—learning how to trust the brilliance within us and reclaim what systems of domination have tried to take.

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And if you’re ready to go deeper right now, my book We'll All Be Free: How a Culture of White Supremacy Devalues Us and How We Can Reclaim Our True Worth explores why so many of us struggle to see our own brilliance in the first place—and how understanding the systems behind that struggle can be the first step toward real liberation. You can grab your copy here.

Whatever that means.

Perhaps you’ve seen this debate circulating your Threads timeline. Maybe you’re lucky your algorithm has protected you from the foolishness. Unfortunately, mine hasn't. Somehow, I’ve found myself smack dab in the middle of this conversation and it has disturbed my spirit ever since. I’ve never experienced something so divisive and so antithetical to the very spirit and celebration of Black History Month and our beautiful Black diaspora.

When Black History Month Gets Gate-kept

I’ll be honest—I don’t have a full understanding of this argument, but according to some people on the internet, Black History Month’s original intent was the highlight and center the history and contributions of Foundational Black Americans, or in other words, Black Americans whose ancestors arrived on U.S. soil when captured for enslavement. Apparently, Black History Month is not for Black Americans whose ancestors were brought to either Central or South America for enslavement before migrating to the United States post-enslavement. In their mind, Black History Month should not center any person who has made contributions to United States history if they, or their ancestors, “originated” from countries outside of the United States. This also includes Africans who may have immigrated here post enslavement.

To them, it doesn’t matter that once you arrive on this soil, America considers you a Negro. It doesn’t matter that America’s definition of Black has always been anyone with a majority, or near-majority, African ancestry/DNA regardless of ethnicity. It doesn’t matter that a significant number of our heroes in Black History who have paved the way for so many others were children of Black immigrants, but assimilated into Black American culture all the same. It doesn’t matter that other immigrant communities consider themselves Americans once they’ve immigrated. Supposedly, members of the Black diaspora with ancestry outside of the United States are no longer included in Black History Month celebrations because they aren’t “Black American.”

“They have their own month,” they say.
”Caribbean Heritage Month exists. They can celebrate then,” they say.

Read more

“My parents didn’t work their butts off to set me up to pursue a career beyond my wildest dreams just to be a grown woman whose entire life revolves around making lunches, chauffeuring my kids to all of their activities, and spending hours every day begging my kids to listen to me.”

I continued with:

“Don’t get me wrong—I love being your mother and I chose to stay home and educate you so you would have the best education possible. BUT, I was not put here to be only a mother and I refuse to continue letting that be my story. I will find a way to work from home and build a career I love while I homeschool you. I will make sure I’m giving myself as much attention as I give you. I will not let another decade of motherhood go by where I look up and wonder where my life went while I pour into everyone else’s life.”

There are many people who won’t agree with me telling my daughters this. There are people who will shame me and tell me that I never really wanted to be a mother, because to be a good one, you must desire to sacrifice your whole self for your children. You must want to trade your former life for the full-time job of caretaking and find complete fulfillment in it. Maybe some people will think I’m making my daughters feel guilty. Everyone is entitled to their opinion.

I have a wonderful relationship with my daughters and they are old enough to handle such conversations. I have these conversations so my daughters understand that their mother is a human, just like them. That, she too, has dreams, desires, and goals, just like they do. And that a woman’s identity, life, and personhood does not pause because she became a mother.

We must stop treating motherhood like it is the only identifier a woman is allowed to have once it happens.

We must stop expecting women to desire a role of 100% caretaking and shame them if they don’t find fulfillment in that.

I believe every woman starts off as a little girl with some kind of dream that has nothing to do with marriage or motherhood. Society just tells us that this should be the only desire, or the most important desire, we have—that the best mothers “die to themselves” to realize the dreams of their children.

But what kind of example does that set? Does this really set our children up to realize their dreams as they mature? Or does it show them that they, too, must lay those down should they choose to have children?

My daughters are ambitious girls with ambitious dreams. And as of right now, they desire motherhood, too. If I throw my dreams away because of them, they will do the same when it’s their turn. All of the wonderful dreams that fill their heads now will be distant memories in a few decades if I allow my dreams to be a distant memory now.

After the conversation, they agreed to work harder on their independence so I would have more time to work during the day. This morning, they woke themselves up without my having to pull them out of bed and set goals for their routines. They were making breakfast within 15 minutes rather than the hour it normally takes. This is just one day. They are kids, and I’m sure I’ll have to remind them every evening of this conversation. But, baby steps.

Life felt smoother this morning. I finally exhaled. I got to write this reflection.

All because I spoke to my kids like they are human and so am I.

Looking for your go-to guide for breaking up with white supremacy culture? My book, We’ll All Be Free: How a Culture of White Supremacy Devalues Us and How We can Reclaim Our True Worth, is for you.

At the beginning of every week, I somehow convince myself that this is the week I will not only operate at my highest self, but my most liberated self. THIS is the week that my jaw will unclench, my shoulders will drop, and my tension will ease. I will move through life filled with peace, patience for my children, and an immense amount confidence in where I am and where I’m going. I will be “that girl.”

To make this happen, I over-prepare for the week. Planner—filled in. Every moment scheduled. Workouts—planned. Food—prepped. Laundry—done. Affirmations—written. You name it; I’ve prepped it.

Yet the moment Monday morning hits, I wake from my exhausted slumber in a panic, already “behind schedule” — rushing downstairs to work out so I can get back “on schedule,” then racing upstairs to wake the kids, get dressed, make breakfast, and start homeschool, all on time.

I know. It sounds crazy. Or maybe it doesn’t—who knows? If you’re a mom reading this, you probably get it. But, I think most people hearing something like this may tell me to stop scheduling everything so tightly because we all know that nothing ever goes according to plan with parenting—or life, really. There will be meltdowns, refusals, defiance, illness, or whatever else your kids—or life—decide to throw your way to remind you that you have zero authority over yourself.

(This morning it was the 20 minutes it took me to get one eyelash out of my eye, successfully eating away at the hour window I had to get an ounce of work done. It’s always something.)

But, I can’t help it.

As much as I’d love to have as little care as my snoring husband who will get every ounce of sleep he can get—morning routine be damned—I know that as a mother who has chosen to educate her children from home, my only chance at maintaining sanity is to have every moment planned, sacrifice an hour of sleep, and often move at a constantly rushed pace in order to make it all work together.

Sure, I could not workout, nor put attention and care into my outfits, and go barefaced with the same mom-uniform that every other mom around me wears. (Not that there’s anything wrong with that. It’s just not me.) But, I don’t want to. I want a semblance of my autonomy, my womanhood, and my wellness prioritized even if it costs distress to my nervous system and squeezing every inch out of every day to make it happen.

However—and this is where the insanity kicks in—while I do all of these things to maintain a level of “sanity,” I still walk through most of the week with a clenched jaw, tense shoulders, and persistent stress. There are days I go without mustering a single smile. I exist in a chronic fight or flight mode because my soon-to-be 7-year-old still has angry outbursts multiple times a day. I remain numbed and even-keeled, existing in a basic state just to keep myself from reacting with my own outburst. (There’s often throwing of objects, or even of hands, involved. Yes, I know this could be a sign of neurodivergence. No, I don’t need advice, thank you.)

The reality is, the entirety of my life is the caretaking of others: my children, my home, and yes, even my husband. (This isn’t to say that my husband doesn't do his part—he does—but as the at-home parent, much of my role is managing things that he cannot because he is primarily out of the home.)

Almost every place I go, and every thing I do, pertains to caretaking.

I put on the flyest outfits to take my children to their classes, co-ops, and activities. I do a full face beat to go to the grocery store. The majority of my days are spent providing my kids with an academic education that spans beyond reading, writing, and arithmetic.

By day’s end, we’ve had conversations about Black history, generational healing, and emotional regulation. We discuss what respect looks like, why it’s so important to be a happy helper, and why I refuse to let them succumb to some of the habits of their generation—like screen addiction. I’m teaching life skills—supervising my children as they make their breakfast and lunch, involving them in household chores and errands, and even backseat driving lessons on what different road signs mean.

I am never not “on.”

And I do all of this with a perpetually clenched jaw, a tension I forget exists because it feels so normal, and a deep-seated loneliness as I watch the woman I so desperately want to be slip further and further from my grasp.

(But, hey—my outfits are cute, though!)

And yet, at the beginning of each week, I still believe that this will be the week that feels different. This will be the week where I loosen that tension, move throughout my day with ease, and somehow feel fulfilled in the wonderful work I’m doing with my children.

Insanity.

No matter how well I stick with my schedule, prepare for every logistic of the week, check-off every workout, and follow every wellness ritual, the moment I’m thrown into the thick of caretaking, I spend the rest of my day operating from a place of hyper vigilance.

It’s the fact that I’m operating from that place that makes me feel like a hypocrite in my work.

How can I write about liberation when I feel like I spend the majority of my time living so…un-librated?

How can I write about liberation when I’m still driven so much by colonized thinking—believing that I’ll feel more fulfilled if I had my dream career, thriving social calendar, and a certain level of success?

Part of the reason we homeschool is because we want to provide our children with a more decolonized, liberated education and learning environment. Yet, while I provide that for my children, I rarely provide that for myself. The isolation of being at the mercy of my children all day—sneaking moments of writing and career efforts and feeling diminished as I squeeze my womanhood into the cracks of my motherhood—continues to make it feel nearly impossible to be my most liberated self.

If I feel like I’m living the opposite of a liberated life, how can I write and build a career around helping others reclaim liberation in theirs?

I’ve wrestled with this block since shifting into this liberation space—feeling as though my own struggles prove why my book and other work has only yielded subpar results.

Sure, I may research and write well—making connections to history, white supremacy, and society that many others struggle to—but my life doesn’t feel like it reflects the liberation I write about. That negative energy must be the reason, right? If my life looked like my work, surely it would perform better, right?

This begs the question: what does actual liberation look like in daily life?

What does it feel like?
Sound like?
Taste like?

How do we navigate the very real obstacles of everyday life in a white supremacist, capitalist system designed to deplete and exploit us and still…live liberated?

Is that even possible?

The Hard Part

Here’s an honest truth and a messy middle I wrestle with: our self-liberation journeys will never come to completion until collective liberation is achieved. While we can adopt certain practices in our lives, and do the work to dismantle our internalized white supremacy, we will never live in true liberation while our society—and the world—are the architecture of oppression.

Also, if we aren’t careful, our self-liberation journeys can take on individualistic characteristics, which is just white supremacy finding a way to re-manifest itself. (More on that another time.)

Every single thing we navigate in our lives is the result of white supremacy:

• the capitalist system in which our careers must bow down to

• the isolation in our neighborhoods, zoning districts, and lack of public support and services

• unequal educational access as a result of racism, classism, and redlining

• mothers, mothering in isolation without access to services, parental leave, affordable childcare, and flexible work options

• what goods, services, and retail our neighborhoods do or do not have access to

• loss of community after decades of racist riots, highway expansion, and eminent domain destroyed Black neighborhoods

• whether our neighborhoods are easily accessible to our jobs/commute

• the pressure we feel for our bodies to look and function a certain way

• the access, or lack thereof, we have to quality, nutrient dense foods

• I could go on, and I’m sure you can add to this list, too

It’s easy to forget just how much of an effect these systems that uphold white supremacy have on us. None of us are immune to the effects of these systems, no matter how much internal liberation work we do. Unfortunately, much of our liberation work is about recognizing the harm caused by the systems so that we can take some of the pressure off ourselves, recognizing that we aren’t at fault for our limitations no matter how much white supremacy tries to convince us that we are. Our healing work won’t cause the burdens of white supremacy culture to magically disappear—it will allow us to recognize where white supremacy is at play and develop a practice to try to either mitigate some of those effects or regulate ourselves through navigating it’s inevitable effects.

The fact that I am mothering mostly in isolation is an inevitable effect of white supremacy. Caretaking was never supposed to be a solo act. Individualism is not natural to our human instincts. We were always meant to do life, and raise our children, in community—with our fellow neighbors or villagers. Black Americans have always carried this cultural tradition with us, which is why our neighborhoods have always been so communal. But, the destruction of many of those communities, and the under-resourced reality of what’s remaining, has contributed much to the individualism we are forced to endure.

And, while white Americans who are gung-ho individualists may not know this, they were also never meant to live in isolation. None of us were. But, individualism protects white supremacy, so it’s touted as a badge of honor and marker of success. The more you can do solo, the more worthy you are.

The reality? The more you do solo, the more you need to feed capitalism by purchasing a good or a service that would normally be done by community.

The more capitalism is fed, the more wealth lines the pockets of elite white men, and the more the rest of us suffer.

The tension I carry in my shoulders, the clench in my jaw, and the numbness in my gaze have little to do with actual motherhood. (Little, but let’s not act like motherhood isn’t the ghetto.) It’s the fact that I’m doing this alone. I’m playing the roles of educator, nurse, mediator, counselor, housekeeper, personal chef, executive manager, appointment keeper, chauffeur, and so much more—and I’m doing so largely unsupported.

These are all full-time roles—roles professionals are typically paid for and expected to perform within teams. But as mothers, we’re expected to do all of them at once, often in isolation. We don’t have colleagues to brainstorm with, commiserate with, or tap in when we’re overwhelmed. We don’t have a village. We have a culture that tells us to do it all—and quietly.

This is not how motherhood should be done, but white supremacy has forced us into this unnatural reality. '

And this is what prevents me from fully living in liberation. I can’t deny that.

We cannot deny that our circumstances, environments, roles and the expectations that surround them are the byproduct of white supremacy. Systemic white supremacy produces and fuels cultural white supremacy, and it’s everywhere. We cannot escape it. We can only learn how to live within it—finding ways to practice resistance whenever and wherever we can, while accepting that our healing from the harm of white supremacy will also be a lifelong journey.

Living Liberated in an Un-liberated World

Returning to the questions: What does liberation in daily life look like? And, does my life reflect that?

I’m realizing that there is no one right answer, and accepting that is where true internal liberation lies. Now, I don’t believe this is the answer for systemic, collective liberation.

We know that collective liberation can only occur under the following circumstances:

• When Black liberation is achieved. Period, full stop.

• When there is no longer a hierarchy of humanity in both our society and global society.

• When there is no longer an ability for one group of people to oppress another group of people.

• When human rights is no longer a controversial debate.

But, internal libration? Liberation in daily life? That will look different for each of us, and we mustn’t succumb to pressure to make our liberation “look like” something specific.

The truth is, living liberated will often still result in our days feeling tense, exhausted, unsupported, lonely, and even battling feelings of depression and anxiety. This doesn’t mean your liberation journey is failing or that you’re doing it wrong. It means you are trying to resist a pervasive system, and while resistance is liberating, it’s still hard. You’re still swimming up current in a raging torrent—getting hit by boulders, logs, and other debris with every stroke.

You will feel that weight every day. Some days will feel easier, even lighter than others. The weather will be calmer that day. You will make more progress, swim a bit further, perhaps reach a new point upstream you thought you’d never make it to. Other days, the storm will rage, intensifying the current, magnifying the debris, and causing you to feel more defeated than ever.

You’re still living liberated because you are refusing to quit resisting. To quit swimming.

And, while this will often feel excruciatingly hard, you will also feel stronger in the best way, more prepared for everything the current throws at you as you keep swimming, and you are freed from believing that the tension and hurdles are your fault. You know the truth about the current you are fighting against now—you are no longer at the mercy of what the system tries to condition you to believe.

You know the truth, and that is the most liberating of all.

Most importantly, you are freed from ever letting that current take over, sending you downstream to your undoing.

For it is only when you succumb to hopelessness that you stop living liberated.

It is only when you quit resisting that the current takes you.

This Is Liberation (Even When It Doesn’t Feel Like It)

I will probably never stop feeling like my life is the definition of insanity—at least, not in this season. It’s just not realistic. I’m attempting to swim up-current in isolation, navigating a role that was never meant to be performed without support. Not only that, much of what encompasses that role are decisions I’ve had to make because of other societal and cultural harms of white supremacy—like the decision to homeschool.

Of course I’m tense. Of course my jaw is clenched. Of course I have days where I can’t remember the last time I fully smiled.

I’m resisting everything society has designed to defeat me, and I’m teaching my daughters to do the same.

That is the true liberation.

The true liberation lies in the fact that I no longer believe I need to be perfect in every aspect of my life—mindlessly filling my task list because I define busyness as a sign of worth.

The true liberation lies in the fact that I’m teaching my daughters to love themselves fully in a world designed to make them hate themselves. I’m also educating my daughters in a more in-depth way than they would receive at their local public school right now—so their foundational skills exceed average baselines in a world that wants them to fail.

I’m living liberated because of this article I’m writing. I know that this work doesn’t lead to an easy paycheck, and typically yields more hatred than acceptance. Still, I choose to do this work anyway. I choose to continue fighting for my liberation and yours.

And, I know that my self-care, my joy, and my rest is the ultimate resistance.

Yes, I often exist in a state of chronic stress—my nervous system rarely knowing what regulation looks like. Yet, I know self-care must occur if I am to not only continue this work, but continue succeeding in my roles that I must perform within the confines of this system while actively resisting it. I used to ignore self-care and now it’s a daily nonnegotiable.

I may struggle daily, but I succeed daily, too.

I succeed because my children are happy, free to be themselves, well-educated, and feel safe in the arms of their mother.

I succeed because I choose to dedicate time and energy to get to know myself better now that I no longer let the demands of white supremacy culture dictate who I am.

I succeed because I finally love myself—no longer interrogating my Blackness in the mirror, questioning why God made me so imperfectly.

The truth is—liberation in daily life is a battle. I wish I could tell you otherwise, but that would be dishonest. It’s a battle, and it will remain a battle. But as long as you—and I—remain in the battle, we are winning.

And slowly, breath by breath, we are learning how to let our jaws unclench.

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P.S. My book WILL change your life. You will finally break free from internalized white supremacy. For good. Founding member subscribers get a signed copy of my book for free.

Graphic photos of Black women sipping their coffee while they watched the world burn went viral. In fact, I talked about that moment in this essay:

“Other Black women are appalled at the virality of this photo, expressing concerns about ignored privilege and classism that serve as underlying messages in this photo. As Black people, especially Black women, we cannot ignore the fact that we will be engulfed in those same flames. We cannot ignore the fact that those flames will more severely burn us, just as we are always disproportionately affected by every policy and action within this society. We cannot afford to ignore the fact that 2025 is going to be just the beginning of a detrimental wake-up call and we must be prepared.”

Unfortunately, but not at all surprisingly, that last sentence aged well. 2025 was the beginning of a long-overdue and detrimental wake-up call, and now that its 2026, we are knee deep into the very violence and fascism Black America predicted would be our fortune. A fascism that white America still thinks is “new” while Black America continues to shout that this is simply a modernized version of Jim Crow. And now that we’re in the thick of it, Black people, especially Black women, are faced with the very tension we grieved just over a year ago: is this fight ours?

Black folks, especially Black women, are exhausted. We have tried, and tried, and tried again to save this country from itself. And, we continue to be ignored, unheard, gaslit, and abused in the process. Many of us felt like we did our part in this fight by being the only group to show up in droves and vote for Kamala Harris in the last election while the rest of the nation, once again, let us down. With that defeat and grief came a clearer boundary from Black women: we will no longer carry a country that keeps choosing to abandon us:

“We’re tired and we are done helping anyone who doesn’t look like “me and mine’s.” We’re being protective and selective of who and what gets our energy. We are no longer pouring our energy into saving this society from itself when it has made itself clear that it does not want to be saved — that whiteness and white supremacy will always be worth the flames. Perhaps the best we can do is separate ourselves and make sure the magic of our Blackness only benefits our community.

Is that the answer, though? Is it possible to ignore society and only protect and serve our community? Is it possible to build a flame-retardant bubble over the Black community so that we can watch the rest of the world burn without getting burned ourselves? Is the answer as simple as minding our Black business?”

Because, here’s the truth: any fire that has been ignited by white supremacy will always engulf Black people the most. White supremacy exists because of anti-Blackness. Period.

Right now, much of our focus is on the invasion of ICE in our cities—namely, Minneapolis—and both the brutal kidnapping of our immigrant neighbors and the unlawful murders by ICE of lawful observers. And, since a few of those lawful observers murdered were white people, white America has finally begin to “wake up.”

This moment has caused much of the “this is not our fight” argument to resurface. For some of us, it’s about time white people finally get a true taste of what it feels like to exist as a Black person in America—to forever be the target of state-sanctioned violence and to live in constant state of rage and fear. Perhaps this will finally be the moment white people realize that they must be the ones to dismantle the system they benefit from—and it requires literally stripping themselves of their whiteness, and possibly risking their life, to do so.

For others of us, we can’t turn our backs on humanity, no matter how exhausted we are from carrying humanity on our backs for so long. Not only is humanity, humanity, and deserves our attention no matter the circumstances, but we don’t want abandon anyone suffering under oppression the way everyone else has consistently abandoned us. As difficult as it may be, we know that if our response is to ignore suffering, we are no different than those who actively participate in our suffering.

And, of course, there’s the reality we all know to be true: every single act of fascism under white supremacy is rooted in anti-Blackness. Anti-immigration is anti-Blackness because anything that is not white or does not uphold whiteness is coded as Blackness. Blackness and whiteness is a spectrum, and Blackness is what white supremacy was built to subjugate. Attacking—or eradicating—Blackness is the ultimate goal. It has always been the ultimate goal.

This space exists to tell the truth without compromise. If you value having a source that refuses to look away—and want to ensure this work remains sustainable—I invite you to join us as a paid subscriber.

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Who Actually Gets Burned?

As I’m writing this, several Black journalists—including Don Lemon—have been arrested for exercising their First Amendment right to a free press when they were covering a protest at a church in St. Paul, Minn. (They have since been released.) I don’t think it’s a coincidence that only the Black journalists and Black organizers of the protest have been arrested and not the majority of the white protestors in attendance. While both the protesters and the journalists were well within their Constitutionally protected rights, white supremacist fascism has used this particular protest as an opportunity to target the Black community. Additionally, there have been more Black and People of Color murdered and harmed by ICE, but the attention remains on the two white individuals—further contributing to the routine erasure of Black lives.

Black people are being just has burned by the flames of fascism as white people, immigrants, and other marginalized communities—if not, more. Our ultimate harm is written into the foundation of our nation. There is no escaping this.

However—given how true this is—the question still remains: is this our fight?

Should Black people continue to endure the emotional violence of always being right about this country while our warnings go unheeded and our labor further exploited? Should we continue to put our bodies on the front line, just as we’ve done for decades, knowing we will always bear the ultimate consequence?

I cannot stop grappling with this question.

Of course, with my work being in liberation, I don’t think I could ever back away from this fight. I’ve tried before. Many times. Over the holidays I sat down with my iPad, some music, and a lot of prayers while I reimagined what this work could look like for me because I felt like I was getting a bit tired of talking about white supremacy. Not only did it feel like no one cared about white supremacy anymore, but I was burning out. I felt like I couldn’t show up as my whole self—which is so much deeper, richer, and more interesting than white supremacy—because it wasn’t what I built this space around. Anytime I tried to do so, the response was crickets. No one cared about anything else I had to offer unless I was educating about white supremacy. So, I wanted to draft a plan to evolve away from white supremacy—or, at least, shift white supremacy to being just a part of what my work involves.

Yet, the more I drafted and redrafted my 2026 plans, and the more I prayed over this work, the more I realized that liberation from white supremacy will always be the core of what I do. Once work like this finds you, you don’t escape it. You can’t. There is nothing more important than fighting for the liberation of all people.

However, if I hadn’t entered liberation work five years ago, would I do so today? Would I continue this work after enduring the continued the trauma of being burned, ignored, and betrayed by white America?

Truthfully—I don’t know. I know I would outwardly and passionately support my home state of Minnesota during this specific tragedy. That’s a given. And I know I would share about the atrocities of ICE and everything else humanity is facing right now. But, would I be in the fight? Would I write the articles I’m writing and post the content I’m posting? Would I continue to endure the emotional labor of fighting white supremacy when doing so feels like punching a brick wall?

I say ‘continue to’ because, let’s be real—whether we’re directly in liberation work or not, Black women have carried this labor for generations, and each generation inherits that leftover exhaustion and burden while having to add to it with today’s fight.

As Black women, we are mothers who are scared for our children—having to educate them about navigating a system that was set up for their demise. As Black women, we are wives—having to carry the emotional burden of our spouses as we become their unloading dock and safe space after enduring an anti-Black world. As Black women, we are—in fact—Black women, who have to withstand a world that sees us as the lowest tier of humanity with no one to hold that space for ourselves, except ourselves. We have been conditioned to be the strong ones out of pure survival while being the soft place for everyone else to land.

It is out of that strength born of necessity that Black women have historically been the backbone of liberation since the beginning of this fight. Our desperation for survival in a world that treats us as disposable has left us no choice but to be the thankless, invisible backbone of movements, boycotts, and defense of human rights. I don’t say this to discredit our Black men, but behind every notable Black man in the fight for civil rights has been multiple Black women carrying the emotional and physical load, innovating and strategizing behind the scenes, and doing so without recognition or protection.

The Invisible Backbone

Our history doesn’t begin with the Civil War, but I’m going to start here with just a few examples of Black women serving as the pillar of our generations-long fight for liberation.

During the Civil War, Black women were laborers who served as “spies, regimental cooks, nurses, laundresses [and more.]” 1

During the Civil Rights Movement, Black women played crucial roles at every level. It was Pauli Murray, a law student at Howard University, who began strategizing a way to overturn Plessy v. Ferguson. It was her work that is credited with helping to “lay the foundation for the arguments in Brown v. Board of Education,…that ruled that segregation in schools was inherently separate and unequal.”2

If it wasn’t for the unwavering bravery and strength of Mamie Till Mosely, mother of Emmett Till, we would have never known Emmett Till’s name, let alone have his story be what helped ignite the Civil Rights movement in 1955. 3

Artists like Nina Simone, caught between her burgeoning fury and the uncertainty of how to wield it, used her gift in music to contribute to the liberation movement by bringing articulation to the complexity of emotions Black Americans are always wrestling with. Of course, she’s not the only artist to do this—she is just the example I have time for in this essay.

Shirley Chisholm dared to be the first Black woman to run a presidential campaign. Black women were pivotal at the core of the Black Power movement and the rise of Black feminism, or womanism. And there is so much more. From African queens to the women who organized in the basements of churches or quietly in their living rooms after their children went to bed—Black women have never relented in this fight for liberation.

We’ve historically predicted white supremacists tactics before they’ve occurred. We’ve always been several steps ahead of white supremacy in our masterful strategizing and organizing. Black women have always played their role—writers doing their thing, activists doing theirs, songwriters, theirs—but we’ve always expanded those roles, too.

Our work has never stopped with just one thing—we work, we push the limits, and we work some more.

Ida B. Wells didn’t just write about lynchings—ensuring the world knew about these atrocities that would otherwise go unreported, covered up, and silenced—she used her platform to organize economic boycotts, exposed truths about r*pe allegations between Black men and white women, and helped to found the National Association of Colored Women. 4

I could go on.

Are We Allowed to Walk Away?

The fight for liberation has always started with Black women. Some have received their due credit; many more never will. Their names may never be spoken, yet their tireless, thankless, life-sacrificing work pushed our people—and our nation—forward.

So, considering the legacy of our ancestors, do we have the privilege of taking ourselves out of this fight? Of growing weary? Of saying, “Y’all got it from here. We’re done carrying this unceasing burden on our shoulders.”

Did our ancestors have such a privilege? Surely, they too, were burned by white men and women who appeared to stand with them in the fight for justice only to move, vote, or revert in their own self-interest of whiteness instead. Did that stop them from fighting? Or did the resulting anger reignite a dimming flame?

On the other hand, should we continue in the ways of our ancestors—or is there a moment when a new strategy becomes the best way forward? Would our ancestors be telling us that our time to put our bodies on the front line has finally come to an end? That, just as the Civil Rights movement gave way to the Black Power movement, it may be time for the movement of Black people—on the front lines and behind the scenes—to finally take our long overdue, well-deserved rest? Is it finally time for us to “stand with our white counterparts on the sidelines,” just as they have always stood on the sidelines watching our fights?

A major difference? They were typically on the sidelines shouting racial epithets and citing violence. Very few white people stood on the sidelines and cheered us on. Sure, there were some. But, a majority? We know that answer.

In this case, our passiveness would simply be reclaiming the rest we’ve ignored for generations—recognizing that we’ve entered a stage in history that can no longer rely on the labor of Black people, especially Black women, to carry us through. There was always going to ultimately be a time when our nation would exhaust Black women’s labor for the last time. Was that final instance on November 4, 2024?

Rest as Political Warfare

Choosing rest, while it may seem passive, is an active form of resistance—a fervent fight for Black liberation that preserves our humanity and safety. And this is something I’d argue that has always been a part of our strategy.

One of Audrey Lorde’s most famous quotes says, “Caring for myself is not self-indulgence, it is self-preservation, and that is an act of political warfare.” Rest has always been an act of resistance against the systems that exploit our bodies and our labor. Black women have long-known that the only way we can show up in the Liberation fight is to do so from a place of rest. However, that rest was almost always followed with more work in the fight than any of our counterparts. Is now the time to shit from rest being a part of our strategy to being the core of our strategy?

Or, must we keep going just as our ancestors did—keeping rest as a pillar of our strategy, but maintaining the action we’ve always taken? The vigorous, brilliant work we’ve always done? Full liberation cannot be achieved until Black liberation is achieved. The question is, can we achieve Black liberation if we take our rest and leave this fight up to the beneficiaries of white supremacy? Can we trust them to fight for ALL liberation?

Maybe this moment is about shifting the burden—or finally sharing it—rather than releasing it altogether. Perhaps it’s time we refuse to shoulder this weight alone—no longer allowing the rest of the world to benefit from our fight without having to join us in it. Perhaps its time to demand that white people, and other people of color with a closer proximity to whiteness, take the brunt of this fight on their backs so that our participation in the fight is not only less heavy, but no longer sacrificing our bodies to bear the brunt of the violence as we always have.

Here’s the brutally honest truth: white supremacy will never be demolished until white people realize they must strip themselves of their whiteness to do so. This can’t happen while Black women keep carrying the sole burden of this fight—keeping white folks in their comfort zone to both admire and exploit Black women’s labor from the comfort of observation.

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We Don’t Have to Hold The Whole Sky

I don’t have an answer to the original question: is this our fight? And I think that’s okay. There is so much nuance here, and we must have grace for the exhaustion, anger, and trauma we carry as Black Americans whose entire existence has revolved around not only our fight for freedom, but our fight for survival. Especially after fight tirelessly to prevent our country from sliding backwards only for our efforts to be discarded. We are all going to have a different response, and a different capacity, for this continued fight. We are allowed to sit in this nuance, this tension.

And I think it’s 100% okay for us to tell white people that it is time for them to step up and hold the majority of this burden. Not just because white supremacy has finally proven poisonous to them, too, but because an oppressive system can only truly fall when either the oppressors surrender it or the oppressed rebel and force its collapse. Either way, whiteness must be stripped, erased, dismantled.

I also think it’s 100% okay for many of us to refuse to relent. As Black women, our power is undeniable. We know we have always been the antidote to the world—our souls, our spirits, a balm for humanity. Our presence, our refusal to disappear, our fight is the ultimate disruption. It’s okay to recognize this and continue working toward that liberation, even if it’s selfishly for ourselves.

However, I do think every single Black person (not just women) should prioritize our rest more than we normally would right now. I think it is not only imperative to our survival, but our liberation. We don't have to save the world. We don't have to remain on the front lines of every fight. We’ve carried too much for too long. We’re allowed to take a step or two back. It doesn’t mean we are out of the fight completely. It just means we are protecting ourselves. And we’re allowed to do so.

I wrote my book for the people who are tired of being the moral backbone of a country that refuses to grow one. For the ones who are done performing resilience while quietly breaking. If you’re ready to interrogate what you’ve been taught to carry—and what you’re finally allowed to put down—I hope you’ll find yourself in these pages.

Thank you for reading The Liberation Letters. I am deeply grateful you are here, engaging with these hard, necessary truths.

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Works cited:

I don’t have the perfectly polished political jargon to capture the horror we are living under right now, but I’m going to assume you know. I’m going to assume you’ve seen the eyewitness videos, the news reports, and the accounts of those who have been personally attacked by ICE in Minnesota. And while this is not specific to Minnesota—ICE has been deployed across the country—what’s happening here is not only a targeted attack, it is a testing ground and blueprint of what’s to come as the United States continues its descent into fascism.

Before I go any further, I need to say this plainly: this fascism is only new to white America. State-sanctioned violence, authoritarianism, and disposability, has been the reality of Black and brown Americans since this nation’s founding. Fascism is simply white supremacy fully realized.

And yet, as we endure this collective trauma—living in a near-constant state of hyper-vigilance—we are still bombarded with pressure to embark on our new year glow ups, 75-hard challenges, and productivity regimes. It feels ignorant at best, and dystopian at worst, to scroll through Instagram and watch white supremacist violence seamlessly alternate with the next wellness trend.

But this has always been the American way: convincing us that perpetually optimizing ourselves is the path to safety—that if we become disciplined enough, productive enough, impressive enough, we can prove to this system that we are too worthy to be harmed. And when we inevitably fail under these pretenses, we’re taught to blame ourselves rather than interrogate the near-impossibility of self-optimization within a system that exists to exploit, extract, and discard us.

This self-blame is how white supremacy finds a way to quietly maintain its status quo so that when its violence intensifies, it oddly feels normal—or at least easier to blame on the individual or community who cannot, or refuses to, assimilate to the system.

Again, this has always been the reality of Black and brown people in this country. The system was built so that our survival depends on assimilation, while simultaneously ensuring that true assimilation is nearly impossible. We spend our lives pushing ourselves beyond human limits—enduring both overt and covert racism, contorting ourselves to meet shifting expectations, and running headfirst into systemic barriers deliberately placed the very survival and access we’re told to earn.

We exist in a perpetual state of generational exhaustion—bodies and minds worn down by the physical, structural, and psychological violence white supremacy has imposed on us.

And if you’re not Black or brown, there’s a strong change you’ve believed in—or at least benefited from— the system’s requirements as a form of protection in some way. In many ways, adhering to those requirements does offer a measure of safety. That’s not an accident; it’s how the system was designed. But that protection has never come without a cost. The cost is often burnout, slow and subtle dehumanization, and the creeping belief that you, too, are never quite enough.

The biggest lie of white supremacy is that adhering to white supremacy culture will protect us from its harm.

Not only is this false—it’s dangerous.

The myth: self-improvement as safety

We are fed this myth from Kindergarten: hard work + self-improvement = safety. But let’s take an honest look at this for what it is:

1. A justification for racism toward Black and brown people

2. An incentive for you to buy into capitalism (as another tool to maintain the hierarchy of whiteness)

3. An excuse for state sanctioned violence as individual blame

Let’s break that down.

In a white supremacist society, “hard work” is not a neutral concept. It is defined by elite white men who created the system and continue to hold disproportionate power within it. Their definition of hard work has long been treated as the standard, while the labor that actually sustains society—often performed by middle and working-class people, disproportionately Black and brown—is devalued, ignored, and rendered invisible.

From the plantation economy to the Gilded Age to the Industrial Revolution, elite white Protestant men shaped not only how we define “hard work,” but who is deemed worthy because of it. They positioned themselves as the embodiment of worth and merit through either inherited wealth, political influence, and exploitative economic schemes—abusing laborers to hoard wealth and power.

And still, their version of hard work was elevated as ideal—the one to not only admire, but emulate, and ultimately, worship. America was sold as the place where “anyone” could achieve that level of value and status if they just worked hard enough, conveniently ignoring the fact that the system was designed to ensure that only some ever could.

This is the core logic of white supremacy: demand assimilation while making assimilation impossible, then use that “failure” as justification for control, punishment, and violence. We have been falling for these lies for generations—believing that if we just self-optimize correctly, our success, and ultimately our value, will finally be secured.

And, sometimes, it appears to work. There are people across races, genders, and classes who have found ways to maneuver within the system and benefit from it. But their success does not render the system harmless, fair, or non-existent.

We also have to be honest with what those successes often require. They rarely come without surviving trauma, harm, and violence from said system. And no amount of assimilation or self-optimization has ever guaranteed protection from white supremacy or state-sanctioned violence.

Just as no amount of obedience will protect you from an abusive partner—because abuse is not caused by disobedience but by the desire for control—no amount of productivity, excellence, or compliance will protect you from an abusive system. That system will always find new standards, new thresholds, new reasons to justify harm.

So let’s be clear:

Hyper-productivity doesn’t equal protection.
Excellence doesn’t equal immunity.
Assimilation doesn’t equal safety.
And compliance doesn’t equal freedom.

(If you’re looking for a more decolonized approach to self-improvement, goal-setting, and life design—one that works with your humanity instead of against it—my guided workbook, Your Liberated Year, was created for you. You can explore it here.)

The development: self-improvement as the standard (and the hierarchy-justifier)

I always center my work around this core question: where do these ideas come from?

This is how my work began—with curiosity and a determination to connect the historic dots to present-day beliefs, behaviors, and lifestyle. So, where did this idea that self-improvement, hard work, and constant productivity are not just admirable, but required, actually come from?

When did climbing a social ladder become the measure of a life well lived? And are these ideals universal—shared across cultures and continents—or are they distinctly Western, shaped by specific histories and power structures?

Read more

There is only one place that has ever felt like home to me, and that is the beautiful state I grew up in. Minnesota. I’m a proud Minnesotan through and through. Ask anyone who knows me in real life what my three biggest passions are and they will tell you: coffee, tennis, and Minnesota. I no longer live there, but have always dreamt of the day I would return. I think about it daily—longing for the kindness of Minnesotan neighbors, the positive energy Minnesotans carry, vibrant colors of the diversity, the skylines of both downtowns, and the crispness of the cold air. I know hometown love is nothing new—most people would say that their hometown is the best hometown—but there is no denying that there is something special about Minnesota. I think the nation is finally starting to see what we’ve known all along.

My beautiful state has experienced so much turmoil lately, as I’m sure you are aware of. There is no need to recap here, but from the murder of George Floyd, to the mass shooting at Annunciation, to the recent murder of Renee Good by ICE agents, we’ve been through so much. (Yes, I still say ‘we’ because home is home. My location is just semantics.) I’ve never seen Minneapolis on the news as much as I have in recent years. I always said I wanted Minnesota to be more well known, but not for this. However, through the tragedies, I am glad more are becoming aware that Minnesotans do not play about each other. Or human rights.

Our state is under attack because it’s progressive, almost socialist, policies are seen as a threat to the fascist regime that currently controls our federal government. Our state leads with compassion and protects human rights boldly, which is the very antithesis of our federal government’s mission to restore white supremacy back to its 1776 origins. This is why they are targeting our beautiful Somali community (among other things). This is why ICE has been sent to a city that has been minding its own business while passing state laws to counter the government’s attempts to obliterate civil rights.

While Minneapolis isn’t the first place federal agents have been deployed in ways that racially target communities, the murder of Renee Nicole Good — a 37-year-old mother of three killed by a U.S. Immigration and Customs Enforcement agent during a federal immigration operation — was one of the first widely seen eyewitness accounts of how the militarization of our federal government to uphold systems of power and white supremacy has officially harmed someone who is white.

What we witnessed on Wednesday was tragic, infuriating, and confirmation of every warning Black and brown people have been issuing for generations.

But it wasn’t surprising. At least, not to the Black and brown people who live with this America as the reality of our America. This is the America that we not only know, but have had to find a way to endure and survive for centuries. This is the America we know better than she knows herself. This is the true America—one that gaslights us for naming her, even as she proves us right again and again. This is the America that white people like to either pretend they cannot see, or believe doesn't exist because when it happens to Black and brown bodies it looks normal.

We’ve been warning white people about this America for decades, and still, they refused to listen.

“We’re being dramatic.,” they tell us.

“It’s all in our heads,” they proclaim.

“This is the America we experience because we are at fault by our own actions, not because America was designed this way.”

We shout.
We scream into the void.
We beg and plead for white America to simply wake up.
We warn white folks by saying, “Just wait. You’re next. White supremacy is coming for you, too.”

And still, white America refuses to hear us.

And then it happens.

White supremacy harms someone it was designed to protect. And it’s caught on film.

The world tunes in.

And all of a sudden, “This is not the America you know.”

All of a sudden, the outrage punches you in the gut. You’re crying the tears we’ve cried since we landed on this soil. You’re screaming the screams we’ve been screaming for generations. You’re living the nightmare that is our daily reality.

All of a sudden—
you see it now.
You feel it now.
You understand it now.

You begin to realize that this isn’t a break from American values—it’s a fulfillment of them. Fascism didn't just arrive, it’s simply expanded. It was hiding behind democracy before, waiting for its turn to emerge. It’s been primed for decades—centuries even—for this very moment. Fascism is simply the inevitable evolution of the white supremacy that has long ruled the lives of Black and brown people. It has just finally caught up with the white people it was supposed to exempt from its violence.

The outrage isn’t wrong. But, it is late.

your outrage alone will not end this

Listen. I’m glad you're mad. Not because I want anything like this to happen, but because it unfortunately takes personal proximity to finally understand the magnitude of harm caused by oppression when you’re not typically the group that experiences it. Let that gut-wrenching outrage be your guide. Don’t let this moment be fleeting. Understand that the only way white supremacy—and fascism—is dismantled is when the group that is supposed to benefit by those systems takes it down.

However, your protests in the streets is not enough to abolish these oppressive, violent, abhorrent systems. Don’t get me wrong—they’re a vital start. I’m a firm believer in exercising your right to protest. The Civil Rights Movement built its foundation on protests. However, protests alone will not abolish the system. Protests are noise-makers and movement starters—they are not system disruptors.

System disruptions happens with rebellion.

System disruption happens with refusal.

System disruption happens with redistribution.

Rebellion looks like refusing to protect violent systems with silence. (Many of us are already doing this. Protest, social media commentary, conversations in your homes and businesses—this is noise.)

Refusal looks like disrupting the comfort economy. This means walking away—and refusing to patronize—from the institutions, businesses, and organizations that are funding—or complying with—oppression. This is paramount. Most changes to civil rights in America have only come about when the economy was widely compromised through boycotts, sit ins, and other forms of protest that directly impacted the white man’s dollar.

Redistribution looks like investing in Black, brown, and indigenous institutions that have boots on the ground in dismantling white supremacy—and coming along side them to do the work. This also includes supporting mutual aid efforts on a continual basis (if financially able) and donating to immigration defense services, bail efforts, and other necessities to aid liberation efforts.

And then, there’s where my work comes in. The internal dismantling of the culture of white supremacy that resides in all of us—the culture that stems from centuries of systems and institutions that have normalized dehumanization.

This looks like refusing to see productivity as a proof of worth. (Yes, this is connected.) Productivity is often masked compliance in these systems that harm us. And we’re conditioned to view those who aren’t compliant—or productive—as unworthy. This doesn’t mean never be productive—this means a certain level, and type, of productivity has been weaponized as a marker of worthiness in society to justify harm, oppression, othering, withholding of human rights, and more. Especially since we are taught that the “superior” version of productivity is aligned with elite, white men versus different versions of productivity that may be more aligned with communities of the global majority, women, or disabled people.

White supremacy is obsessed with control, clean narratives, clear “villains” (justifications for oppression), and emotional detachment.

Rebellion is refusing to be controlled by it—and that looks like letting go of the control we’ve been conditioned to believe will make us superior in the eyes of power.

That control looks like perfectionism, urgency, and hyper productivity, and rugged individualism—all things we’ve normalized to believe we have control over our lives, when in reality, white supremacy uses our obsession with them to control us and the institutions that uphold it. This is how white supremacy convinces us to buy into it. Even when we see the harm it causes on a broader scale—like what happened in Minneapolis—we still uphold the system by adhering to its cultural characteristics.

This is where I focus my work. Because, we can’t do it all. None of us can do everything to dismantle this system, but we can all focus on 2-3 things that create real disruption. And, I wholeheartedly believe that one of the things we must focus on is that internal dismantling. Not only is it something we can all do because it’s internal, it’s the work that will allow us to approach the external work that much more equipped, prepared, and liberated. Many of us don’t realize the harm we continue to perpetuate when doing external liberation work because, internally, we are still upholding the very values we claim to be resisting.

rebellion starts now

What happened in Minneapolis was not an anomaly—it was the inevitable result of white supremacy fully realized, working as intended.

If you are white and newly awake to the violence of this country, I need you to understand this: staying human in this moment is not passive. It is a daily, intentional refusal to become the kind of person these systems require you to be. The kind who values order over people, comfort over conscience, legality over morality, and conformity over humanity.

Rebellion is both the quiet, yet radical work we must do within and the loud, in-your-face collective disruption of protesting, boycotting, and civil disobedience. Both are equally dangerous to power. Both work in tandem to tear the system down, even if we can’t see it happening yet.

And if you want to go deeper—if you want tools and guidance for doing both the internal and external work of rebellion—my book We’ll All Be Free explores exactly that. It’s about understanding how these systems shape our sense of worth, teaching us who is allowed to be human, and giving concrete ways to reclaim our power and humanity. Reclaiming freedom isn’t just about outraging against what’s wrong—it’s about practicing liberation in every choice, every relationship, every day. If you’ve read this far and felt the weight of what happened in Minneapolis, this is the work that meets that urgency with action, reflection, and hope.

Lastly, stay tuned right here at The Liberation Letters. Because this is where I will bring the work, practice, challenges, and experiences of liberation work for the every day. Some days, the essays will be educational—providing you with another nugget, tool, or insight you can use to grow in your journey. Other days, it will be reflective and personal, as I’m on this journey with you and the fight is far from easy. My hope is that this community grows with humans who are passionate about liberation for every human and will endure the messy, sometimes infuriating, but always worthwhile fight to make it happen.

Thank you for reading The Liberation Letters. I’m so grateful you’re here, engaging with this work and this community. If you want to continue the conversation, go deeper into the ideas we explore here, and support the work, you can subscribe to receive every essay, grab a copy of my book We’ll All Be Free, or even buy me a coffee. Every action, big or small, helps keep this work alive—and keeps us all moving toward liberation, together.

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I have been silently asking these questions for as long as I could remember. As a little girl, I could feel the racism in my bones, but I didn’t have words for it. I saw the supremacy of whiteness everywhere, but I didn’t have a name for it. I internalized an inferiority that was biologically false, but true by society’s design, and learned to accept the fallacy as truth. Overtime, it became something I learned not to question. That’s just the way things were. It was what it was. I either had to learn to play the game of proving my worth to our white-dominated society or allow the waves of white supremacy to sink me. Those were my two choices.

I chose the former. I became obsessed with success. Success would be my ticket to survive—and hopefully, thrive—in a society that wanted nothing more than to see me fail. While my original mission was survival, somewhere along the way, I fell in love with success. I fell in love with the idea of becoming an adult and living out every dream my little girl heart imagined while making enough money to sustain myself. I loved the feeling achievement gave me and did everything I could to chase that feeling again and again. The more I achieved, the more I felt like I was the filling my worthiness void. Eventually, I figured, achievement would cause that hole to close for good. So, I continued to chase. And chase. And chase.

And the line between chasing achievement for worthiness and enjoyment blurred.

Achievement not only gave me a sense of worthiness my little girl heart longed for, but it was fun! From writing in my planner with multi-color gel pens to winning awards at national speech competitions, I loved to be productive and I loved the feeling of accomplishment that solidified a job-well-done. Productivity and accomplishment became my entire identity—an identity, I figured, that would guarantee my success as an adult. Obtaining a career I loved post college? No problem! Making more than enough money? Easy. Never doubting myself because my accomplishments put a stamp on my confidence? Absolutely.

Well, once I entered adulthood, I had the last laugh. The last laugh, indeed.

Without going into too many details that would be more suited for my second book, I did not experience career success post college. I worked retail for a number of years and joined a teaching fellowship program out of desperation for a real career. One minute, I was confident I would be the next big news anchor in Washington, DC, and the next, I was giving up on my career dreams entirely as the reality of adulthood—and bills—smacked me in the face.

It’s been 13 years, and I’ve been seeking the feeling of accomplishment ever since.

Over the past 13 years, I became a wife, a mother and stepmother, and learned all too quickly that this world was not designed for the dreams and desires of little Black girls. The chasing and panting I was doing in my teens and early 20s had little to do with real success and much more to do with trying to keep up in a society that defines success by the access, privilege, and a false sense of grind that elite white men pretend is the reason they are successful.

As a woman, especially a Black woman, I would never win. I would never be able to keep up. And that’s exactly how they designed it. I am supposed to feel dismayed by the barriers that stand in front of my dreams and give up on them all, falling for the lie that my limitations are personal failures instead of structural design.

Please note: this isn’t to say that Black women aren’t successful. Black women are some of the most successful people in our society. However, that success comes at a cost—typically a cost of humanity, dignity, letting racism and micro-aggressions slide, and immense sacrifice of family, femininity, and softness.

In short: if you want success, act like that elite white male with privilege and maybe you’ll get a fraction of what they have. Maybe.

Having these realizations has resulted in quite a bit of emotional turmoil, as I’m sure you can imagine. The five stages of grief have been grief-ing. One minute, I’m anti-success. Mad at it, even. The fact that society has convinced all of us that our key to happiness is constant success infuriates me. It infuriates me even more that I still want that success even though I now know the root messaging behind that desire. I feel like I shouldn’t want it now that I know the truth, but I do. And it saddens me that society’s recipe for obtaining said success is exactly what I mentioned above: the immense sacrifice of my femininity, softness, family, and humanity.

What do you do when you learn the truth behind our desire for success, but you still desire that success?

How do you navigate wanting something so deeply that was originally designed to not only strip you of your humanity, but maintain a hierarchy of power within race, class, and gender?

This is the crossroads where my knowledgeable adult self and innocent inner child—who still finds achievement quite exciting—stands. And I’m wondering, if you, dear reader, feel the same way.

If so, I invite you to keep reading.

This tension between acknowledging my deep desires of wanting more, and knowing the systemic truth about why those desires exist, is what I’ve been wrestling with this entire year. Especially since the barriers I face as a Black woman, who is a wife and full-time mother, have been especially statuesque for several years.

I know why my achievement (per society’s standards) has been lacking. I’m aware of the barriers, the historic roots, and the systemic injustices that stand in my way. And, I know that one of the most liberating things I could do is rid myself of any desire for success and simply live my life as the worthy queen I am. Wouldn’t it be so easy if that were simply, enough?

So, why isn’t it?

I’ve tried for a few years to be okay with accepting my fate as a woman who simply cannot do more than raise my children and maintain my home. I’ve attempted to be content with this, telling myself that being home with my children was the most revolutionary thing I could do as a Black woman, that rest is my portion, and that “doing more” no longer needs to be in my vocabulary.

And, yet…I want more.

I can’t help it. I want the dream career that makes more than enough money to provide comfort and generational access for my family. I want feelings of accomplishment again, whether it’s winning an award or being granted access to some incredible opportunities. I want everything that those elite white men receive just by combing their toupee in the right direction.

But, I want it all without sacrificing my humanity to obtain it.

That is where I draw the line.

I will no longer sacrifice my humanity, my power, my dignity, my femininity, my softness, or my beliefs to gain access to the success I desire.

THIS is the liberation I’ve been seeking.

For so long, I tried to convince myself that the liberation was in no longer desiring, or attempting to obtain, what the success society convinced me was required for my worth. I tried to let go of it, maintaining that the freedom was in no longer trying.

That’s not where the freedom lies.

The freedom lies in obtaining everything that wasn't meant for you anyway, and doing so without selling your soul.

How do we do this? Well, therein lies the question. And, I’ll be honest: I don’t have all the answers. I’m not writing on the other side of said success with some blueprint to sell you. I’m writing this from the journey, and inviting you to journey along side me if you see yourself in this story.

This is the official launch of my new Substack newsletter: The Liberation Letters, where together we will heal, seek liberation, and decolonize our beliefs about how we live, work, and dream.

Here you’ll find soft rebellion for the everyday, thoughtful provocations, and words for those who want to build beautiful, meaningful lives without submitting to systems that were never built for our freedom. Also, a bit of personal, just for the hell-of-it essays, too. Because true liberation is in writing whatever heals my soul, not keeping myself in a box.

I won’t have all the step-by-step answers, but I will provide insight into how we can desire more while taking soft, rebellious baby steps toward achieving that more without abandonment of ourselves or our rebellion. This space will also hold space for the tension between wanting more and resisting the systems that define “more;” help you uncover ways to reclaim freedom, creativity, and joy while acknowledging the restraints of society; and connect history, culture, and personal reflection to real life.

My hope for you and me? A gentle exhale that allows us to want more for ourselves and our community without losing ourselves in the process.

Thank you for being here, and welcome to The Liberation Letters.

A few tools to help you get started on your liberation journey. (I’m using these, too, right along with you.)

1. Your Liberated Year: a gentle, guided workbook for living free

2. Reclamation Reset: a focused reset for anytime you need to, well, reset

3. We’ll All Be Free: How a Culture of White Supremacy Devalues Us and How We can Reclaim Our True Worth (a book that deserves to be a best-seller because your life will change)

4. And, of course, subscribe here! Each month, I will write one free essay that explores the intersection of society, culture, and daily life and one paid essay that takes those topics deeper to help us both on our liberation journeys. (There will be some months I can’t keep up with two essays and some I can deliver more. That’s my reality and my humanity. Owning that allows the barriers to exist with them defining me.)

*This is a community supported publication. If you love my work, please consider becoming a paid subscriber, purchasing a copy of my book, or buying me a coffee. Thank you!

Subscribe now

On the one hand, I’ve always resisted conforming to society’s definition of success. Ivy Leagues? Overrated. 4.0 GPA? Doesn’t make me more valuable than a 3.0. Climbing the top of the corporate ladder? A recipe for burnout, not happiness.

On the other hand, I crave success with my whole chest. My soul aches for it. I have been chasing a feeling of success since I can remember—and have been quietly envious of anyone who seems to have an ounce of what I’ve always yearned for. Whether it’s the woman who can magically keep a flat stomach while eating Doritos or the person who manifests their career dreams like it’s nothing, I always find myself asking: Why not me? Why don’t I deserve what they have?

The key word here is deserve.

I was raised to believe I had to deserve everything I wanted. If I wanted to hang out with friends, I had to do something to earn it. To deserve it. I had to prove that I completed the necessary tasks, and then some, to deserve the permission I was seeking. I couldn’t simply want something just to want it. I couldn’t desire fun for the hell of it, or simply, because it was a human need. I had to deserve it.

This rule didn’t apply just to “fun.” It applied to anything that I was striving for that didn’t pan out. If I was working toward an A in a course but managed a B instead, it was because I must not have worked hard enough. There must have been something I did—or didn’t do—to fall short. If I had deserved that A, I would have gotten that A. The same went for test scores, speech competitions, tennis matches, and college scholarships. Whatever goals I had—or whatever expectations were placed on me—failed because I must have deserved for them to fail. It was never because my best efforts just happened to yield those results. I was never told that I was deserving of those things, but sometimes the layers of life, humanity, and systemic barriers prevent us from getting what we deserve. I was told that my shortcomings were only through my own fault, and had I just worked harder, I would have deserved success.

This messaging has been engrained into my brainwaves and I’m not sure I can rewire it at this point in my life. Not to be pessimistic‚ just honest. I’ve literally written a book about how our society’s obsession with measuring success is rooted in white supremacy culture, and yet I can’t seem to undo my own conditioning. I still can’t help but to look at my body in the mirror with disgust, wondering what I’ve done to deserve this stomach. I still look at my lack of success and tell myself it’s because I didn’t work hard enough. I use Instagram stories as my barometers of comparison: See, she’s working out at 9:30p and 5:30a. You should be doing that, too. Never mind my exhaustion or the way my body clearly tells me she cannot operate like that. I still berate myself with every swipe of the thumb, which simply replaced the turn of a Seventeen Magazine page from 2006.

I’m 35-years-old, and to this day, I don’t believe I’ve ever experienced what I would call real success. But I’ve never tasted the success that comes from accomplishing the things I truly wanted. I never won the tennis tournaments I trained for. I never won the state speech championship I practiced endlessly for. I didn’t receive the scholarships I worked so hard to earn. I didn’t get the GPA I was promised would lead to a full ride. I never became the news anchor I dreamed of being. None of the businesses I started ever took off. I feel like a flop of a first-time author, and I often fear I’ll never get to write a second book. I’ve never lost weight without slipping toward disordered eating. I’ve never had the flat stomach I’ve wished and prayed for since I was 13.

I could go on, but I’d prefer not to spiral today.

Yes, I’ve been successful in other ways. I’m happily married to a man who will do anything to see me and our daughters safe, happy, and cared for. I graduated college. I “successfully” teach our daughters everyday and have somehow managed to not fail their education. My daughters still love me when I mess up—which is often. Somehow—even with my freakout-and-yell moments—I’ve created a world where they feel safe and loved.

These are all “successes.” But they’re not the kind of successes that come from setting a specific goal, taking the steps, and reaching the finish line with pride. That has never happened for me.

And considering the one message I received as a child—success is yours when you deserve it—you can imagine what this lifetime of “almosts” has done to me. I must not deserve success. I must not be good enough to see that kind of success. Maybe God thinks I wouldn’t handle it well. Maybe I haven’t worked hard enough. I’m not enough. I’m not enough. I’m. Not. Enough.

So here I am, stuck at the intersection of “success is a myth / I’m anti-success” and “God, I wish I could be successful just once.”

Heading into 2026, I have to get honest with myself: Is my work on white supremacy culture just an excuse for my lack of success? Am I calling out perfectionism, hyper-productivity, rugged individualism, and urgency as a way to avoid blaming myself for not getting the results I want? Do I truly believe in the work—or does it just sound good?

The truth? I still (kind of) want to hustle. I want to “lock in” on all of my goals and finally experience the success I’ve been longing for. I want my workout plan to finally give me that flat stomach that seems to be the marker of a “woman’s true worth”. (Sarcasm, because I know this is white supremacy propaganda, but I can’t help but still feel like I’ll be my most worthy, beautiful self when my belly is finally flat.)

I want to make the career plan that actually works for me and leads somewhere. I want to “manifest my best year ever” and actually experience it. I’m tired of feeling like my only purpose for existing is motherhood. Yes, it’s one of my purposes—and will always be my greatest purpose—but I didn’t have dreams as a little girl for nothing. I was the kid who was eager to grow up because I couldn’t wait to have a successful career—and not having anything to show for it hurts more than words can express.

Yes, I want success. And it feels…conflicting to admit that out loud. Not only do I fear that this admission makes me hypocritical to my work, but I also know that the reason I feel unworthy unless I am successful is because this is the messaging of white supremacy. Deep down, I know this. And deep down, I know that I will never render “enough success” to be…enough. The system is set up to profit from my feelings of inferiority. I know this, yet I keep falling for it.

I go through this cycle every single year. I say, “Forget my humanity—let’s make this the year.” And every year, my humanity whispers, “Girl, you don’t have it in you. You don’t deserve it.”

Every year, I set the workout goals, career aspirations, and health metrics. I write multiple versions of daily routines—trying to find the perfect formula for fitting everything into my day so that no minute is wasted.

“If I just wake up on time and get the hour-long workout in, then get dressed in only thirty minutes, then have forty-five minutes at my desk before I have to make breakfast, then I can do this and that and thus-and-so, and then I’ll homeschool the kids until this time, and then we’ll do something social and get out of the house, and then I’ll work from 4–6 p.m., and then I’ll cook dinner, and then I’ll do this and that and thus-and-so again, and then I’ll do another thirty-minute workout because that hour in the morning wasn’t enough because I still didn’t get my steps in, and then I’ll get in bed by 10 p.m. so I can try to get the hours of sleep I need, and then — finally — I’ll have the perfect routine.”

And every single day…every single week…I fail. I only get thirty minutes of workout time, homeschool stretches longer than it should, and when I do get work time, it’s never enough to actually move anything forward. And when I do manage to move something forward, it’s never enough to yield real results. I say I’ll be consistent with Substack or a newsletter, and then I fall off. I try to make money, but no one likes the umpteenth idea I’ve thrown into the void…lather, rinse, repeat.

It’s this hamster wheel I’ve been on that has made the last five or six years feel…stagnant. I’ve thrown so much spaghetti at the wall for nothing to stick, you’d think I would’ve stopped making the damn spaghetti by now. And don’t get me wrong—I know things could be worse. I know how blessed I am that I’m not desperately trying to find a job in this market (although I’ve tried that too, to no avail).

But I’ve been searching for success my entire life, and I’ve never actually experienced it. I thought that understanding the way we frame success in this society—through the lens of white supremacy culture—would free me from the shackles of believing I needed success to be relevant. It didn’t. If anything, the lack of success from this very work has made it even harder to believe in the work I’m doing.

If I were good at this work—or if it were…correct, or impactful, so to speak—wouldn’t I be successful by now? Ah. Maybe my success has flopped because my work is a flop. Just like it always has been.

Then again…does my brain think this way because I’ve been conditioned to believe my worth as a human is contingent upon my success?

These are the questions I keep circling back to. And I don’t know how to continue, or pivot, or quit my work without answering them first.

I hope…I really hope…I can come back here soon with the answer.

And if you happen to have any answers, I welcome them with open arms.

Thanks for listening.

We’ll All Be Free is a reader-supported publication. Please consider supporting my work by becoming a paid subscriber, buying a copy of my book, or buying me a coffee. Thank you for being here.

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The truth is, I’ve been sitting at this crossroads for years. I’m planted right at the intersection of “my worth isn’t in what I produce,” and “but if I really believed that, I wouldn’t be making excuses.” Actually, it’s more like a chaotic four-way stop I’m stuck dead center in. The other roads? “You can’t escape your circumstances, so just accept it,” and “I want more than this—does that make me hypocritical?” And then there’s the forbidden fifth road: “You were never good enough for this work anyway.” That’s the one I have one foot on right now, but I haven’t committed to walking down it.

Let me explain. Buckle up—I need to give you a backstory.

I often feel like this work I do is…made up. I didn’t begin in white supremacy culture research. I don’t have credentials in society, culture, or self-worth. My degree has nothing to do with the brand I’ve built. I’ve reinvented myself so many times it feels like I’ve been hobby jumping for a decade, trying on identities like coats that never quite fit. None of it has ever felt “real” because (a) I don’t have credentials or the capacity to get them, and (b) I’ve made very little money from any of this. It’s a glorified hobby I dress up as “work” so I feel like I matter.

Hypocrite, party of one?

To understand why this hits so deeply, let me go back. In my book, We’ll All Be Free, I talk a little bit about my adoption story. I won’t rehash the whole thing, but the overview matters here.

Yes—I’m adopted. And my origin story is…wild. What do you mean both of my biological parents were intellectually disabled? Why was I placed in the womb of a woman who could never care for me? Why was that the doorway I entered the world through?

Learning that your biological parents were not only intellectually disabled but also wards of the state, living in poverty—it does something to your psyche. You grow up believing your existence was a mistake. I wasn’t the product of a joyful, awaited pregnancy. I wasn’t even an “unexpected but welcome” surprise. I was the result of two people who were never meant to conceive, and the baby no one quite knew what to do with. No deep ancestral roots. No intergenerational story braided together with love and intention. Just me—a burden, a baby who didn’t ask to be here and wasn’t supposed to be.

Adoption didn’t cure my sense of existential displacement. On paper, yes—my life became a kind of miracle. I was a happy kid, raised in a stable middle-class neighborhood with great schools, competitive tennis, Jack and Jill, and community theatre. The random, she-wasn’t-supposed-to-be-here girl survived her unlikely beginnings and went on to live a picture-perfect suburban childhood.

From the outside, you’d think that would fix it. That if I wasn’t supposed to be here, maybe being “saved” from my circumstances was proof that I actually was. But that’s not how adoption wounds work. They don’t get erased with opportunities or a nicer zip code. I could’ve been adopted by Beyoncé herself and still carried the same primal wound: the wound of being separated from my mother the second I took my first breath. That wound doesn’t heal. It oozes. I’m 35, and it still does.

So I grew up with these thoughts:

“There must be a reason I’m here. If I find my purpose, maybe my existence won’t feel like a mistake.”

“How can I prove I was worth saving?”

“There’s no way I went through all of that for nothing. I must be here to do something profound.”

These thoughts aren’t unique—our culture praises productivity, status, and “success” as the only paths to worth. But when you’re adopted, that pressure has an extra edge. I wasn’t supposed to exist—so I had to prove my existence was worth it.

Pause.

I COULD ADD ANOTHER LAYER TO THIS BEING A BLACK WOMAN WHO HAS TO PROVE HER EXISTENCE EVERY DAMN DAY IN A COUNTRY BUILT TO DENY IT—OFTEN THROUGH OUR OBSESSION WITH EDUCATION, ACHIEVEMENT, AND “EXCELLENCE” AS A SURVIVAL STRATEGY—BUT WE DON’T HAVE TIME TO TURN THIS INTO A BOOK.

Back to the point.

Now that you know my story, it might make more sense why I’m mentally spiraling as a woman who hasn’t yet “made a name” for herself. I earned a degree in journalism from Howard, then spent five years teaching out of fear and necessity when journalism didn’t pan out. I got married, had two kids, and have spent every day since trying to build a career from home—trying to feel worthy—while simultaneously learning about the racist roots of tying worth to productivity.

Ironic.

Figuring out my perfect career is how I show up for that little girl who questioned her existence every day. She’s still begging me to find the thing that says, See? This is why I made it. This is why I’m here.

My entire life has revolved around one belief: I am not worthy of existing unless I prove it.

Which is why I’ve wanted to build my work around worth itself:

• Why do humans chase worthiness?

• What does “enough” even mean?

• Who set the bar?

• Why do we believe productivity equals value?

• Why do we feel guilty when we rest?

• Why do we think our existence needs a purpose to be legitimate?

This is the heart of my passion. And ironically, the more I try to do this work, the more I wrestle with the very ideas I want to help people dismantle.

I started talking about white supremacy culture because it was the first connection I made between society and our obsession with worth. If someone had told 12-year-old me that my self-hate was rooted in racist beauty standards, I would’ve exhaled. It wouldn’t have fixed everything, but it would’ve told me the truth: I was never the problem.

But when I made this my work—pivoting away from motherhood coaching—I suddenly felt trapped by the very thing that once liberated me. I felt like a fraud. I didn’t have credentials. I wasn’t successful. And I barely had hours in the week to do the work while raising and homeschooling two kids.

The more I tried, the more unworthy I felt.

But, I’m done running on that hamster wheel.

So I’m ending the year with some important questions:

1. Is this the work I truly want to be doing?

2. If so, is this the way I want to do it?

3. Does the world actually want conversations about worth anymore?

4. Does my connection between worth and white supremacy resonate with anyone besides me?

5. How do I honor the little girl begging for purpose without becoming obsessed with success as proof of worth?

6. If I took a few months off and returned as the most authentic version of myself, who would she be?

I don’t have the answers, but I’m taking the rest of the year to find them. My presence here will be inconsistent. I’ll write when I feel pulled and stay silent when I need to turn inward. I’m giving myself permission to wander.

A few months ago, all of this reflection led me to create a resource for anyone feeling similarly exhausted by the grind of society and culture. Instead of “locking in” or “leveling up,” this is your permission slip to pause, breathe, and reclaim your humanity.

It’s called The Reclamation Reset, and you can learn more about it here.

This isn’t a marketing ploy. I’ve been planning to share all of this for a while now. I just happened to create something for anyone who resonates. If you feel called to end your year in a way that brings you home to yourself rather than chasing another version of yourself, I hope the Reclamation Reset gives you exactly what you need.

In the meantime, I’ll be walking my own reclamation path—messy, slow, inconsistent—until I finally feel…free.

And one more thing: if any of this hits home for you, can you let me know? If you struggle with worth, tell me how and why in the comments. Your presence here matters more than you know.

We’ll All Be Free is a reader-supported publication. If you love this content, please consider supporting me by becoming a paid subscriber, purchasing a copy of my book, or buying me a coffee. Thank you!

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It was always expected that I would get a good education that would lead to a good career. I was primed for college from an early age. There was never a question of if I would go to college—just where. From about 14, I knew it would be an HBCU. From 16, I knew it would be Howard University. And that’s where I went.

By the tine I was 16, I knew I wanted to be a journalist. Well, I thought I did. By then, I had discovered a love for speaking and writing, and since my high school had a broadcast studio where we produced live newscasts, I fell in love with anchoring and figured that would be my career. I was naturally good with the camera, speaking, etc., and could easily envision my future as a news anchor.

Fast forward to attending Howard, I declared my major as Broadcast journalism and hit the ground running with building an impressive resume. I joined the broadcast network, student government, and pledged a sorority. I was also in the concert band because I also loved music and believed in doing what you love. I’ve always enjoyed a life filled with productive things that fulfilled me.

I interned at the local news stations in DC to prepare for my career. Created a reel of my work to send to new stations. Did all the “right things.” Then, I panicked senior year. I had a tumultuous break-up, my mom had been in the hospital, and I had a few internships go downhill. I didn’t think i was cut out to be the journalist I thought I would be. So, I stopped pursuing those jobs. I graduated, but I never sent a reel anywhere. I was too afraid to fall on my face in the middle of nowhere…

At a small market, so I essentially “quit.” I worked in retail until I could figure out my next move. But, that didn’t come easily. I didn’t find a job in communications so I resorted to a teaching fellowship. I started to believe I wasn’t good enough for the career I envisioned and allowed myself to do something I wasn’t passionate about just to feel like I wasn’t failing.

Fast forward…it’s been over ten years. I’ve gotten married and had two babies. Those babies ae now 8 and 6 and we homeschool because we ended up living in an area that didn’t feel comfortable sending the kids to school. (Plus the needs of my children proved homeschooling was best for now.) I no longer teach, but I’ve been trying to build a career from home ever since I started staying home when my youngest was born. I’ve tried selling products, coaching, writing, you name it.

And I’ve pretty much failed at all of it. All in the name of trying to have the career I always envisioned having. A career that made me feel good, productive, fulfilled, and provided for. That’s all I’ve really wanted. Granted, I ALSO wanted to be an amazing mom. I wanted my kids to love me and feel loved by me, feel close to me and cared for. I didn’t have that growing up and I knew I wanted to do that for tthem. I’m beyond glad that’s what I do now. They are loved, safe, and well educated.

But, I’m 35 now, and all that work I put into my education from elementary through college has not amounted to anything I was hoping for. And i feel like an internal failure every day. I know it’s revolutionary as a Black woman to put her babies first. But, being successful in a career is ALSO revolutionary as a Black woman. The Black women in my life are always asking me “what’s next? Gonna go back to school? You know, you could have THIS career.”

I used to hate that, but I get it! I worked SO hard to have…nothing for myself. Yes, I’m a successful wife and mom, but that should be a given and I WISH it wasn’t at the expense of a career for myself. No, a career isn’t my worth or my identity, but having a profession that made a difference, fulfilled my passions, and utilized my skills has always been my dream. And it pains me daily that I’ve never made it happen.

For the past 5+ years, I’ve had the same conversation with my husband: maybe this will be the year I figure it out! Maybe THIS will be the year I figure out how to get my career, to actually make some money and have some opportunities. To actually sell the book I wrote so I don’t look like a joke. And week after week I just chase trying to get “something done” and week after week so much else is demanded of me that it doesn’t happen. And I fail, again.

So, is it time to hang it up? For good? Do I finally realize this is the definition of insanity? That a career isn’t for me? Because maintaining this “presence” online feels like an honest joke. It feels fake. I write things, people share them, that’s it. It leads to nothing that I can bring back to my family. It leads to no opportunities nd few book sales. All because I keep trying to create a career. All because I chickened out of journalism 15 years ago. I wish I would have never done that.

Many people believe that eugenics is either a “thing of the past’ or specific to racism.

Neither are true.

Eugenics-based science may have been debunked after WWII, but its beliefs added to the foundation of our societal and cultural thoughts and behaviors. Ableism, racism, classism, sexism, and homophobia all have its roots in eugenics, which, itself, is rooted in white supremacy. To understand how eugenics-based thinking is still a driving force in our society, we must take a look at its history and how every movement contributed to how we see the world today.

A Brief History of Eugenics

Eugenics was first coined by Francis Galton in 1883. As defined by Galton, “the study of agencies under social control that may improve or impair the racial qualities of future generations physically or mentally.”

Galton believed humanity should be improved by selective breeding, and that certain races, classes, and differently abled individuals were inherently inferior to the white (Anglo-Saxon) race.

In other words, Eugenics didn’t classify whiteness as just a skin-color based race. Any human that was Black, Indigenous, non-white, poor white, and/or disabled/neurodivergent was not considered “white” in accordance with superiority theory.

The idea of whiteness—and who counted as white—was about white, elite, able-bodied, and Protestant (or Protestant-behaving) people, not just skin color alone. Eugenics has always been about preserving what is deemed as “the perfect body. Whiteness = white, thinness, able-bodied, neurotypical, and middle/upper class. The more of these boxes you check, the more worthy, desirable, and valuable you’re perceived to be. While we understand whiteness to be more vast today—you are afforded white privilege even of you are not elote, able-bodied, or protestant—there are still unwritten hierarchies to whiteness that we follow as a society.

This is why we view certain body types, intellectual abilities, professions, elite classes, and even the image of being “productive” as measures of worthiness. Each of these categories, and more, all linked directly to how “white”—and therefore, worthy—you were considered within society. To assume these beliefs just disappeared overtime is to ignore the impact a foundation has on a structure. Foundations do not disappear. They shape the entire building.

Francis Galton believed health and disease, as well as social behaviors and intellect were based solely on heredity and the concept of race. Meaning, race, which was believed to be based on scientific and genetic inferiority, determined every marker of your humanity, and whether you and your offspring were deemed valuable enough to be a member of society.

A TIMELINE OF EUGENICS PRACTICES:

1883 - term coined by Francis Galton

1886 - Connecticut passes first U.S. marriae restriction law targeting people lableed derogatory terms for disabled at the time.

1907 - Indiana passes first sterilization law and dozens of other states follow (30 states would eventually pass these laws leading to the forced sterilization of ovr 60,000 people)

1934 - Immigration Act restricts immigration from southern and Eastern Europe, as well as Asian immigrants

1927: Buck v. Bell Supreme court case upholds sterilization of disabled individuals

Early 20th cent - autism and other developmental disabilities are studied through eugenics lens

1933-1945 – Nazi Germany uses U.S. Eugenics practices to create sterilization and euthanasia programs, murdering people, and later the Holocaust

1940s/Post WWII - Eugenics practices lose mainstream scientific credibilty, but sterilization laws remain

1950s-1970s - forced sterilization of Black, Indigenous, Latina, and disabled women continue

Present - Eugenics legacy continues in immigration practices, disability/neurodivergent beliefs/practices, and racism

Eugenics Today

We are still conditioned to view one type of human more worthy than everyone else. It is written into our societal structures and cultural DNA.

Yes, there have been apologies, and even reparations, issued by some states for forced sterilizations, but that doesn't indicate the end of eugenics. Eugenics has been one of the most pervasive tools of white supremacy used to justify anti-Black racism, homophobia, and ableism.

• Forced sterilization behavior still exists—ICE detention centers, involuntary birth control, lack of access for disabled populations

• There is still a prevalent “worthiness hierarchy” —valuing white, neurotypical, able-bodied, conventionally attractive, high-performing people over others

• Parenting achievement pressure: “do everything to make your child succeed” can reflect subconscious internalized eugenics logic—belief that “success” and “ability” are inherited and/ or make you more valuable than others

• ADHD, autism, and other neurodivergent conditions are viewed as “problems to fix” rather than simly part of being human

• Healthcare disparities: poorer outcomes for BIPOC, disabled, and neurodivergent peoples is the result of historical devaluation of bodies deemed “unfit”

• Environmental racism: exposing marginalized communities to toxins/inadequate resources

• BELIEVING TYLENOL CAUSES AUTISM

Eugenics never disappeared—it evolved. And it is still a driving, foundational force in how our society operates. Modern society may not use the word eugenics as often, but the ideology runs deep in our policies, culture, and everyday values. Incidents such as the outlandish accusation that Tylenol causes autism is just one of the more obvious signs of eugenics, but eugenics also infiltrates our culture more than we care to admit. Criminalizing Blackness, treating disabled and neurodivergent individuals as burdens, and even obsessing over shrinking our bodies can all find roots in eugenics-based thinking. And it all comes back to a society built on the premise that whiteness is not only superior, but should be the only race in existence.

So, How Do We Move Forward?

Better yet, can we move forward? Can we force eugenics-based thinking out of a society built on those beliefs? I don’t have direct answer to that question, but I do believe that our continued fight and resistance counts for something.

Every time eugenics practices or beliefs rear their ugly heads, we must speak out against it. We must call it for what it is—no sugarcoating allowed. We must show the leaders of our society that we will not be fooled. We recognize the game and we will not fall for it. As much as it feels like simply speaking out does nothing, it makes more of a difference than we know. And we have to trust that our work is bearing fruit even if we can’t see it, yet.

We must also believe in the power of our own resistance in our daily actions and interactions—they hold more weight than we realize. Question every cultural norm that gives you an ick and refuse to uphold it. Teach your children, students, nieces, and nephews differently. Continue believing science that is actually true rather than fabricated from so-called powerful men who don’t have the credentials to speak about anything scientific. Believe that your voice and your actions are making a difference in your sphere of influence. And remember that true liberation means that every single life is valuable. Period.

(If you want to learn more about how to dismantle white supremacy culture in your own life, my book We’ll All Be Free walks you through how to do just that. Trust me—it will all begin to make so much sense when you read it.)

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