It is an undeniable truth that Black children are born with a target on their backs. That target gets even bigger when those children learn more about themselves and realize that they are trans.

I often wondered—was I being judged, or was I the one casting the harshest gaze on myself? I was lost in my insecurities, watching my life curve down a path I never intended. I thought I had done everything right, yet I found myself in the place I feared the most: single motherhood.

What originally began as a brief visit quickly became a sister circle where vulnerability and support converged to create a healing experience none of us knew we needed. We spent the next several hours, yes hours, discussing relationships (familial and romantic), trauma, forgiveness, self-worth, and other topics important to women.

“It was only when I began to write in my diary to push that memory into the farthest part of my

mind that my metamorphosis gradually, like sand in an hourglass, came. Writing became a

therapeutic offering to myself as I chipped away at those parts of my life that were so confusing,

so ugly, so unkind.”

This is a Black girl rite of passage. We all have to endure the pains that come with “getting your hair done”. We’ve been taught there’s a certain amount of discomfort, from the tight pull of a braid to the burn of a relaxer or hot comb, that is to be expected. We suffer for beauty, and yet we’re still criticized and politicized for the choices we make when it comes to our hair.

After listening to Meghan and Harry’s interview with Oprah, I couldn’t stop thinking about Meghan identifying herself as a Black woman. I highlight this because, in my ignorance of what I know about The Crown, I would never have imagined at first sight that Megan could be considered a Black woman. However, having watched the whole interview, so many questions and the thirst for further investigation came to my mind.

As Black women, we have a habit of being everyone’s superhero and protector but for ourselves. There is one thing for sure: we, as Black women, are human beings: we’re vibrant, resilient, resourceful self-sacrificing humans. However, especially as humans we have the habit of saving everyone and then us.

I understand I cannot control my familial circumstances. I was adopted into a household of Christianity and emotional abuse. Black womanhood and toxic masculinity. Enmeshment and unavailability. Nor can I undo my family environment where I was rooted in Black superwoman strength and performance under all circumstances. And I definitely cannot forget the ways in which I was raised to be a “good girl”, obey, be nice, and one day, get married.

I walked away from violence and today I am here, many years after all that tragedy, stronger than ever, raw, with memories and marks in my mind and soul that would never disappear. They are emotional scars that I am not sure I could ever delete from myself. But I also have no regrets about the things I did. It was never my fault, this was the most important fact for me.

As a writer, I find myself constantly looking for new ideas but also trying to delve deeper into the issues that matter the most to me. I never tire of swirling around the events of the day in my mind - trying to gain a deeper understanding of how I interact with the world. It takes a conscious effort to live with purpose - to be able to act on the ideals that you have formed about yourself and the world around you.

Six months ago, you laid there for the first time. The paper on the examination table sticks to your thigh with sweat making you shift uncomfortably. You knew you should be nervous, but the Ativan kept you calm. *knock, knock* three women came in and one began to explain that she’s the doctor who would be performing the abortion and that the other two were for support. She asked you to put each foot in the stirrups, and before you knew it, your mistake became a part of a stranger’s daily routine.

My pregnancy experience gave me insight into the cold and unfeeling approach that doctors often take towards the female body. It comes as no surprise that Black women are experiencing fibroids and unnecessary hysterectomies (removing the uterus) at alarming rates. I wanted to reclaim my body.

As October comes to a close, I have truly realized is that setting a goal is not the same as setting an intention. For so long, I shaped my distinct goals as indicators of my success and well-being. In actuality, the ways in which we structure and visualize reality, our intentions, are just as important as the achievement itself.

The Africa that is sold to us is not my Africa, the dry and desolate place filled with starving people and war lords is not my Africa. My Africa is filled with trees that are a heavenly green and the soil bleeds red. My Africa is beautiful so therefore, I am beautiful.

It seems like the companies decide to “gift” darker skinned people with one or two shades that are usually quite red and would make most people look like an oompa lompa.

I learned about good sex in my grandmother’s bookshelves. The summer of 2004 was spent reading on the sun-drenched, living room floor of her house in the suburbs of Chicago. At twelve years old, I read as easily as I breathed. Though the content was questionable, I could tear through a YA novel in a few hours and be bored again by lunchtime. What that often meant, was my selection of books considered to be “age appropriate,” ran out pretty quickly.

The holidays may have come and gone but winter is here to stay. This is a difficult season for many, considering that it’s freezing out, the days are short (if you work a 9-5, practically non-existent), and it’s impossible to ignore the toll that the dry air takes on the skin. Here are a few staples that keep me sane during this time...

My life purpose as a Lightworker and as a healer has not come without sacrifice, experiences or darkness. I hope to shed light on what it means to truly grow through darkness in order to glow through the light.

How did a woman’s strength go from a pillar of empowerment to a self-damaging anchor? I am not sure how we let strength morph into Wonder Woman Syndrome, but I let the idea of strength smother me. As women, we must care for everyone around us while balancing career aspirations with grace. We glorify being Wonder Woman while ignoring what the pressure is doing to our mental health.

Back in Spoken Black Girl's personal blog days, founder and Editor-in-Chief, Rowana Abbensetts, held the first ever Journal to Healing Challenge. Now the challenge is back and we're digging even deeper into our minds and souls for honest answers about healing through the art of journaling.