Black women

Reflection / June 25, 2019 by Bry Reed

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

Somebody Stole Alla Ma Stuff / March 26, 2019 by Bry Reed

I was robbed. For the vast majority of my life I have been expected to live, and live well, without the proper tools to do so. I have gone through countless years of school and it is not until this very moment in my third year of undergraduate study that I began to understand how much of my education is founded upon lies, violence, and a historical sleight of hand. Through grade school to now I have been robbed and suffered an ongoing violence of misinformation. An overwhelming number of the books I am given showcase one narrative about my existence: servitude. I have been told over and over that I have no right to pleasure, peace, or power. My place in the world is one of abuse, trauma, and accessory. I cannot stand alone. I cannot be violent. I cannot want. Overall, my issue is quite simple honestly: my imagination has been stolen.

The issue, however, is not merely with the theft of my own imagination. Though I am personally furious about my own robbery and brainwashing, I try to avoid speaking from a place of individualism. There is a larger problem implicated here for all of us. I am concerned with our collective imagination; the Black Imagination. Charlene Carruthers introduces the idea in her text Unapologetic: A Black, Queer, and Feminist Mandate for Radical Movements when she shows us how not studying Black queer feminists robs us of valuable history. She says that only studying Martin Luther King, Jr. limits the Black Imagination of children. But Carruthers’ point is not just applicable to studying social movements. Our continued erasing of figures from our collective memory is dangerous. It confines our understanding of Black life--past, present, and future--to what we are constantly taught. And these teachings, while valuable in their own right, are limiting when the majority of them only offer us one example of Black life: Black men.

A few of the culprits in the theft of our collective Black Imagination are some of Black literature’s greatest participants. I am thinking particularly of the Black Literati of the 1930s, which includes Richard Wright, Alain Locke, and Ralph Ellison. Each of these men held great influence over Black literature. This influence, however, managed to marginalize a large community of writers. As a general practice, it is startling to believe that any one person or group can dictate what is and is not acceptable for an entire genre. Yet, time and time again it happens. Wright, Locke, and Ellison took it upon themselves to write the rules of Black literature. It is even more startling to imagine the amount of praise these “gatekeepers” received for their criticisms. Now, my issue is not with the process of critique itself. In fact, I believe critique to be an act of love. The labor required to engage with someone’s work and give feedback is beautiful. This critique, however, should not be given under the auspices of some all-knowing expertise. This is especially true when the critique comes from someone with very little knowledge of the experience, the story, and the life of the art they are critiquing so vigorously. It is for this limited range and self proclaimed expertise that I hold Richard Wright, and others, accountable.

Literary criticism, especially in Black literature, has a duty to say something and this is where Richard Wright fumbles. He dissects Zora Neale Hurston throughout his piece Between Laughter and Tears, but his dissection is little more than the petty musings of a disgruntled Black man consumed with his own manhood. Until Black male writers, like Wright, are willing to depart from their own sorted battle with masculinity and explore themselves as more than men, their criticisms surrounding Black women and their work will always fall short of saying something (or anything) worthwhile.

By silencing Zora Neale Hurston (and countless other Black women) in the 1930s, Wright, and others, robbed us all of a vital piece of our Black Imagination. We, in 2019, are just beginning to dive into the full glory of Zora Neale Hurston’s fiction and ethnographic work. She serves as a shining example of the erasure so frequently felt by Black women at the hands of Black men pushing them to the margins. This is criminal. Due to the canonization of so many Black cis men and the silencing of Black women there remains an imbalance in our understanding of who’s voice is valuable. Yet, the clear assumption is that my voice as a poor Black woman is not. My voice is inherently devalued today because of the foundation set by Black men I have never met. I am still labeled as angry, too much, and loud for daring to be myself. The criticisms Wright and others had of Hurston’s work were not merely two-page critiques of one woman who they deemed unworthy, but became canonized trends of Black women being silenced in Black literature and beyond.

I will no longer be stolen from. Instead, I am committing to undoing the theft in the archives by giving credit to the Black women, and other marginalized folk, who were held captive in the margins by the Black male literati. The principle aim of my reclamation project of a Black femme centered library is simple: I am determined to exist. An essential portion of this reclamation project is unearthing the work of Black femmes who have always made it their business to give life to Black womanhood throughout their work. Black women writers such as Zora Neale Hurston and her literary descendants--bell hooks, Alice Walker, Barbara Smith, Paula Giddings, Ntozake Shange--have consistently explored the full glory of Black womanhood by exploring more than our status as subjugated--they bring us to life. We are so much more than accessories to the lives of Black men.

The larger project of rehabilitating the Black Imagination is one that requires us all to do work of investing in Black Women’s Studies. We must unlearn everything we believe to be the basis for Black progress and Black liberation that fails to include Black femmes. We must recognize the limits of our current Black literary canon. Interrogating this current canon, along with its biases, frivolities, and contradictions, is the start to undoing the violent pilferage committed by the Black male literati of the 1930s; I am reclaiming alla ma stuff.

Six Years of The Read: Black, Queer, & Excellent / February 1, 2019 by Bry Reed

As Black History Month begins, I am committing to hyping up all the Black creators who inspire me. So what better way to begin then diving into the podcast which is essential to my self-care routine: The Read. The timing could not be any better as the show approaches it six year anniversary.

The Read is a podcast covering pop culture, Blackness, and all the mess Black folk endure in our daily lives. Its hosts, Kid Fury and Crissle, are a queer Black duo trying to make it in New York. Imagine Will and Grace, but Black, both gay, allergic to respectability, and high almost all the time. Each week they unwind in the studio and dissect all of the foolishness erupting in the media. Topics range from Tr*mp to hip hop stan wars and everything in between. The two use their marginalized identities as a lense into the many varieties of ills plaguing the world today.

The name of the podcast, The Read, is itself a title rooted in the language of the Black and Latinx queer community. Thus, the title of the podcast pays homage to the queer community and guarantees queerness stays centered. Moreover, it is the perfect description of the show. To read someone is not simply just to insult them. You are tearing them apart with conviction and remained unbothered in the process. Crissle and Kid Fury embody this energy as they dissect the horror of politics, social media, and stan culture. Nobody is safe-- except Beyonce.

While The Read began as a podcast six years ago it has grown into a Black queer empire. There are now tours, event hostings, and merchandise to support the growing Read fandom. The two were even invited by Beyonce as VIP guests to her OTRII tour. If that is not the epitome of fame then I don’t know what more anyone could ask for. Their rise on iTunes podcasts charts have given visibility to Black queer folk who previously found themselves erased within a media world of white queer affluence. Crissle and Kid Fury disrupt the narrative. Their discussions of poverty, domestic violence, and informal education highlight the multifaceted existence of queerness.

The two hosts, however, never bask in their newfound fame. Instead, they shy away from it. Crissle and Kid Fury both talk open and honestly about how their mental health concerns impact their reception of praise. Essentially, they believe they’re undeserving. This reaction illustrates the larger issue of Black folk being conditioned to undervalue ourselves and our achievements. Can anyone blame us? Black folk, particularly Black Americans, have experienced this socialized insecurity for centuries. Our inventions have been stolen. Our movements co-opted. Our culture deemed subhuman. How can we expect to praise ourselves when controlling images constantly tell us the opposite? It’s an unfortunate reality that Crissle and Kid Fury showcase through their podcast.

At the end of each show both Kid Fury and Crissle deliver their weekly read. They dedicate the last 30 minutes of the show to ripping the biggest bullsh*t of the weak a new one. Often reads are dedicated to the big three: racism, homophobia, and transphobia. A recent topic that Kid Fury read was the suicide by nine year old Jamel Myles. His voice shook. You can hear his throat closing. Kid Fury, a Black gay man, is broken. He is confronting the reality of homophobia and its influence on children. He is confronting his own lived experiences of being a queer child. His tone is hopeless. The authenticity and vulnerability of every episode draws us into the show. We are here with them. We experience their ups and downs. We are in this together.

The Read gives us political and pop culture commentary we can relate to. Their language is accessible. They define sociological theory and apply it to our everyday lives. Don’t understand immigration policy? Kid Fury and Crissle break down Tr*mp foolishness. Don’t understand misogynoir? Crissle rips the pastor who disrespected Aretha Franklin’s funeral. They do not shy away from analysis. On the contrary, they make analysis hilarious and relatable. This fills a gap in political and pop culture analysis. Often the language used to analyze these topics in inflated and exclusive to college educated folks. Kid Fury and Crissle use accessible language and humor as tools to educate their audience.

The Read gives me everything I need to push through my week. It is truly an essential portion of my self care routine. Together Kid Fury and Crissle give us the collective sigh that we all need. They go through the weekly mess that makes the social media monster rage and the policies which threaten our human rights. Ultimately, The Read is a powerhouse of Black queer talent that is finally getting the widespread recognition they deserve.

The Cost of Being Brave / January 4, 2019 by Bry Reed

Nobody ever tells little Black girls the cost we pay for being brave. Our voices shake rooms and call ancestors from broken places, but nobody ever tells us the toll we pay for being brave. Our backs break under the weight of commmunities, big and small, but nobody ever tells us the tax we pay for being brave.

Instead, they lead us to chaotic waters. Bend our necks and tilt our heads to drink the kool-aid. We serve as test subjects for the anger they cannot let loose.

Instead, they push us to the forefront. They linger behind closed doors and half drawn curtains and wait to see how far we get. Then they come full force and beat us back into our troubled corners while they claim victory.

We pay their price in bloodlines. Generational trauma and poverty strip away our imaginations. The rest is left to our own minds to toil over…and over…and over. Nobody tells little Black girls that their sadness is not theirs alone to carry.

Nobody tells little Black girls the price their mothers paid for being brave. All we see left is the scar. One on her right knee and another on her wrist. Nobody tells little Black girls the price their sisters paid for being brave. All we see is her shadow.

Nobody tells little Black girls how to sing her own song in her poetry. We learn that in our bedrooms with the doors closed as we cradle pen and paper.

We learn the harshest truths when nobody is around to save us.

A Lesson in New Beginnings: A 2019 Reading List / December 31, 2018 by Bry Reed

As the end of the year swiftly appraoches so many of us are doing our year end recap. What wins did we have this year? What areas of our lives can we improve in 2019? These questions help us reflect on our growth and release negativity. One of my favorite activities for the end of the year is to create a list of books to explore in the new year. Welcome to my 2019 Reading List!

Reading is personal. Each book I read changes my life so I am very intentional with the contents of my library. Every page of these texts is political in their own way. My 2019 reading list centers Black authors, especially Black femmes, across non-fiction and fiction. Some of are new kids on the block while others are longstanding legends of the literary game, but they all deserve a look in the new year.

1. Becoming by Michelle Obama

Michelle Obama's Becoming is on the bookshelves of so many already this year, but reading this book to kick off the New Year is a must. Obama offers her life story up for us to learn from and assess critically. in 2018 I began to look closely at The Obamas legacy and this book adds to this close look. Essentially the book offers a look at life before the election and all the lessons of her adolescence.

2. Beloved by Toni Morrison

I know I am the last person to pick up a copy of this revered text. It is my mission to dive deep into Morrison this year. Her novel Song of Solomon is in my top 3 reads of all time so the bar is already high for this classic.

3. Kindred by Octavia Butler

Octavia Butler is one of the literary greats. Her writing style and story telling are unmatched. Plus, she invented alchemy so we should all take lessons from Butler on how to manifest what is meant for us in 2019 and forever.

4. Black on Both Sides: A Racial History of Trans Identity by C. Riley Snorton

Snorton is offering the true tea on Blackness and gender. This text traces back the history of trans identity and Blackness and connects to modern day anti-Black and anti-trans legislation. I recommend this for anyone trying to increase their trans scholarship as we move beyond gender binary.

5. Jezebel Unhinged: Loosing the Black Female Body in Religion and Culture by Tamura Lomax

Lomax is playing zero games when it comes to Black girlhood and womanhood. She dissects the jezebal trope throughout the Black church and Black culture. If you are seeking a book to give you a deeper understanding of misogynoir then this is it. You're welcome.

6. Well-Read Black Girl by Gloria Edim

Has any other book taking the internet by storm like this one? I doubt it. Edim's work has taken over #bookstagram with its bright cover and amazing community. Grab a copy of this anthology and get lost in the world of incredibly talented Black woman writers.

7. Sassafrass, Cypress, and Indigo by Ntozake Shange

Rest in power to a legend. In 2018 Shange transitioned beyond this world, but she left us with so much art. This novel is a great introduction to Shange's work as she explores geography, family, and trauma. You will not be sorry you picked this work up as you become a Shange fan for life.

8. Assata: An Autobiography by Assata Shakur

Assata Shakur offers us her story in this autobiography. Her fight for Black liberation gives foundation for so much Black radical organizing. Moreover, Shakur is a Black woman at the center of police brutality and racism in the 1970s. What more do you need to go pick this up? I thought so.

9. An American Marriage by Tayari Jones

Marriage, racism, fidelity, and so much more draw us into Jones' hit novel An American Marriage. She offers us an amazing story while analyzing class, race, and gender through the lives of newlyweds in the American South.

10. If Beale Street Could Talk by James Baldwin

Baldwin is one of my literary godfathers and this novel shows us every reason why. Go grab this book and go see If Beale Street Could Talk in theatres right now!

I Am Tired / December 31, 2018 by Bry Reed

Few things have been more pivotal to my growth than the peace, advice, and support of black women. It is essential to my health and wellness. Yet, despite the deeply talented black women around me I experience an ever present issue: the black man.

Let's be clear: not all black men. I have to get that disclaimer out of the way early before my comments and email are loaded with people explaining to me that I have just had "a few bad experiences" or that I am "petty and divisive". I can have petty tendencies-- flaws I am working on-- but this moment is not born of my petty bone. These are lived experiences. It is not every black man, but the truth is that these realities apply to more than enough to hold true. I have been burdened by the patriarchy, nonsense, and antics of the problematic black man since before my birth.

More recently, in my college career, my experiences with black men have become more and more taxing, traumatic, and tragic. Honestly, I am fed up with fighting for my right to be apologetically black and woman. I cannot divorce my identities from one another-- I am an intersectional beauty. My compounded identities, of blackness and womanness, however, place me at a difficult crossroads. In the words of my black woman ancestors: all the women are white, all the blacks are men, but some of us are brave. Living as a black woman requires a tremendous amount of bravery. It is a dangerous endeavor to live as one of the most oppressed, silenced, and appropriated groups in human history.

The fact remains that the intersectionality of black womanhood means that we are often left fighting for the liberation of others with little reciprocity. On one hand, white women, adorning the privileges of whiteness, cannot be reliable allies in the fight for equity until they begin to confront their white supremacy. On the other hand, black man, covered in the privileges of maleness, cannot be reliable allies in the fight for equity until they begin to confront their patriarchy.

Essentially, black men must confront their complicit reality: you hurt us too. The hardships of black womanhood do not only apply to our blackness. We are victims of patriarchy as well. Thus, we must address both oppressions.

A simple start: listen to black women and act accordingly. It is not enough to engage in cyclical conversations. I am not in the business of re-traumatizing myself so that black men can feel better. Black men must do the labor too. Open a book, read a blog, watch a video. The proof, the stories, and the statistics are all over. Libraries and internet catalogs are full of the lived experiences of black women who have been confronting these atrocities for decades.

Black women cannot (and will not) continue to be everyone's saviors. Our mental and physical health does not afford us such luxuries. We are being suspended, fired, murdered, and assaulted at catastrophic rates. We have led the revolution for everyone else. Who will stand for us?

Pay Black Women / December 31, 2018 by Bry Reed

As Black Panther delivers groundbreaking numbers at the box office for the second week, audiences are amazed by the storyline, action, and character development surrounding the women of Wakanda. The hit Marvel film showcases the talent, dedication, and versatility of Black women actors. Yet, some are still skeptical that this film will have long lasting effect on an industry, and a world, that routinely undervalues the talent and time of Black womanhood.

Paying Black women for time and talent should be non-negotiable. Yet, the numbers showcase the disparity between rhetoric, action, and funds. As Twitter-- and other social media platforms-- create moments of support and empowerment, Black women continue combatting the realities of wealth inequality and wage gap. These struggles are not mere hardships, but results of compounded marginalization.

The lives of Black women are nuanced by the reality of compounded marginalization. Not only are Black women racialized, but we are also subjected to gender inequality. Now, racism and patriarchy are not the only oppressions that impact Black women. The possibilities for nuances in Black womanhood are endless-- because experiences are endless. Class and sexuality are examples of a few more layers of marginalization which impact the experiences of Black women.

Since 2008 there has been a recent push for diversity and inclusivity initiatives. One core portion of these initiatives for diversity and inclusion attempt to target marginalization on college campuses and corporate offices. Fortune 500 companies and top ranked USA Today institutions are constantly hiring new talent to navigate the waters of diversity, inclusion, and all the pitfalls in between.

Despite positive intentions, however, these initiatives can also be spaces for inequality. How? The double duty dilemma. Consider which groups of people are routinely doing the organizing, facilitating, and policy work to dismantle inequality-- the marginalized groups themselves. More specifically, Black women and queer folk-- and the people who occupy both spaces-- are routinely doing the heavy lifting surrounding equity and opportunity for marginalized groups. Thus, marginalized people such as people of color, women, queer folk, and differently abled bodies are facing discrimination as they are simultaneously are tapped as the leaders of their revolutions. This doubling down of marginalization and revolution is called double duty.

Marginalization of oppressed groups cannot be combated by the oppressed alone. Working to dismantle systems that have existed for centuries will take time, planning, and a lot of work. But I believe it can be done. One key step in revolutionary change is revolutionary partnership. Black women should not and must not be expected to overcome our inequalities by ourselves. Others must join the cause. Allies in positions of social and economic capital must challenge the oppressive status quo and demand more. Change must come in the form of legislation, funding, access, and opportunity.

In a world overrun by late capitalism, labor is never free. The expectation for women of color, and Black women specifically, to survive on accolades, experience, and volunteerism alone is criminal. It is not enough to applaud the work of black women on screen in films like Black Panther. If you applaud Black women, support Black women, or expect labor from Black women then be prepared to pay for our time and talent.

Black Transwomen Deserve Better / December 31, 2018 by Bry Reed

Rest in power to Black transwomen who have been murdered due to our ignorance, silence, and erasure.

Dejanay Stanton, a Black transwoman from Chicago, is the latest reported victim of the war against transwomen. Her death on September 4th 2018 marks the 17th recorded death of a transwoman in 2018. Following 2017, the deadliest year on record for transwomen, 2018 is projected to be an even more fatal year for the already marginalized trans community. As the death toll of this violent anti-trans war continues we, as a global community, must face one simple truth: Black transwomen deserve better.

Few communities are more at risk than Black transwomen. In addition, violence against Black transwomen is widely underreported despite being one of the marginalized communities most susceptible to violence. Transphobia, the negative attitudes and exoticization of trans folk, fuels a range of violences against the trans community. While transphobia fuels acts of physical violence against the trans community, there are also examples of more subtle violences that occur daily. For example, when reported on by mainstream media, however, transwomen face the subtle violences of being misgendered by on air personalities and headlines. The realities of the subtle and overt violences facing transwomen daily reveal the ways transphobia is commonplace in public opinion.

In regard to politics, government policies and transphobic public figures pose constant threats to the lives of Black transwomen. In North Carolina House Bill 2, which sparked the transgender bathroom policy debate of 2017, is one example of the hysteria and violent rhetoric surrounding the everyday lives of trans folk. The politicizing of their genitalia, sexualities, and bodies illustrate how trans folk are constantly dehumanized. Instead of being granted the privilege to live, work, and love as autonomous human beings trans folk are reduced to commodities, threats, and stereotypes.

As the year continues, and for years to come, Black transwomen deserve better. They deserve protection from transphobia in all forms. From structural inequality to personal attacks they deserve safety, support, and solidarity. They deserve legislation which advocates for their lives and experiences. Ultimately, Black transwomen are the foundation and spirit of movements for Black liberation, feminism, and queer rights and deserve more from the rest of us.

Performing Happiness: Emotional Labor & Reproductive Rights / December 31, 2018 by Bry Reed

Performing happiness is exhausting. Sometimes I do not feel like getting out of bed or doing hours worth of work for little recognition. Sometimes I do not feel like being the angry Black woman that is disregarded for being whiny and disagreeable. The reality is that the demand of constantly being inviting, happy, and accomodating is detrimental to my health.

For many Black women worldwide the cost of performing happiness is our physical and emotional well-being. It is quite literally fatal as stress and anxiety reduce our life expectancy. We are told to smile, loosen up, chill out, and not make everything that deep. If only our ignorance came that easily. Instead it comes at the expense of us. The sexism, classism, and racism which dominate our world usually trickle down the oppressive ladder until it falls upon us (and our Native and Latinx sisters) to make sense of. We are decimated by violent government policy and social expectations which police our bodies. Black women's happiness is not allowed to be our own.

The demand for Black women to be content connects to larger issues. For instance, Black women's reproductive rights are under constant attack. The struggle for access to adequate information about contraceptives, healthcare, and child care is ongoing. Demanding that Black women smile and behave adds to these repressive systems. In both cases our bodies are not our own to operate, but objects controlled by the outside world. From catcalling to reproductive rights Black women's need to be authenticity ourselves is crucial to our survival.

The next time you have the urge to tell a Black woman how to feel here's an important tip: don't. Our emotions are not up for discussion-- just as our reproductive rights should not be. We have the right to be angry. Just look at history. We have the right to free child care. We have the right to information that helips us make life saving decisions about our bodies. Do not police us. Instead listen closely to our stories. Then advocate for us (because it's also not our jobs to die fighting alone for our rights).

Listen. Act. Repeat.

Take a moment to call your representatives in opposition of Kavanaugh's appointment to the United States Supreme Court in support of Black women. And to the Black women who go to work, raise families, and fight tirelessly for our community, I see you. You are important. You are resilient. You have a home here.

No More Free Therapy: A Lesson In Reciprocity / December 30, 2018 by Bry Reed

As a child my number one pet peeve was inconsistency. I hated whenever my father cancelled plans or when my mother never told me exactly what the plan for the day was. Too many variables frequently meant that something was not going to work out for someone. Routinely that someone was me.

Now, my childhood battle with inconsistency usually means disruption and disappointment. In my 20s I now battle with the inconsistency of adulthood. In my professional life, plans changing and deadlines moving can turn my entire calendar upside down. In my social life, inconsistent friends translates to mountains of conflict-- internal and external. Through it all it is important not to let inconsistencies in my life turn into dead ins. There is always something to be learned (even when the lesson seems incomplete). The lesson hidden underneath my inconsistent friendships was about support and emotional labor.

In struggling with an inconsistent friendship for the past three months I learned a crucial lesson about myself. I give too much. My supportive nature made me prone to giving a listening ear and a helping hand to people who often were absent in my times of distress. Examining the pain these failing relationships caused me revealed a trend. I was giving too much across the board. Several relationships that I was feeding into were not giving me the support I needed. Instead of checking in on myself and my own well-being I was busy giving others support. Essentially, I was giving free therapy to others while having little time to check in with myself. I was ignoring a core standard of relationships: reciprocity.

Reciprocity is key to every relationship we have. In relationships-- romantic, platonic, and career based-- there must be reciprocity. Without reciprocity there is room for miscommunication, distrust, and resentment. To avoid these conflicts there must be clear standards. A few questions that are helpful in checking that our relationships are fulfilling are: What do I gain from this relationship? Am i affirmed in this relationship? Who would I be without this relationship? Do I give more than my partner? Could I be giving more in this relationship? These questions give us a foundation for understanding where our relationships may be more draining than they are fulfilling.

Going into a new year there are new chances to grow and evolve my thinking. One of the big growth targets on my list this year is not stop being a therapist to anybody unless I am getting paid. Unpaid emotional labor is a huge problem and I will no longer be doing sessions worth of work for free. I am no longer settling for one-sided relationships. That's over.

The lesson to be learned here is simple: we are going after exactly what we deserve and nothing less. Do not settle for less in relationships. Accepting less support, love, and compassion than you require is a sin against yourself. Who knows how much your life could change with fulfilling relationships? Take time to shoutout the people who uplift you. Feeding positive relationships in our lives yields an abundance of positive results.

Click here to read my blog featured on the Davidson Microaggressions Project site.