It shouldn’t have been hard for me to write a love letter to the strong, Black women in my life.
It shouldn’t have been hard to write a love letter to a woman like my mother, whose quiet spirit showed me how to love through actions and not just words. My mother encouraged my every interest by shuttling me to various practices and enduring every performance with a smile and a hug.
It shouldn’t have been hard to write a love letter to a woman like my mom’s mom, whose proud spirit showed me how to fight against injustice and animosity every day. My granny served as a Black principal in a white city, and she used her interminable strength to fight injustices for her students and eventually for her community as a county commissioner.
It shouldn’t have been hard to write a love letter to a woman like my dad’s mom, whose powerful spirit made her seem so much bigger than her small stature. My grandmother was a feisty woman with a large heart, and she spoiled her grandkids as much as possible.
It shouldn’t have been hard for me to sing the praises of the community of women who poured into me with love, courage, determination, and (when necessary) discipline to make sure I had everything I needed to succeed in a hostile world.
When I was in middle school, I remember one of my teachers telling me, “You have two strikes against you in society – you’re Black, and you’re a woman.” At the time, I had no clue what she meant. But as I got older, I realized she was telling me this to prepare me for the road ahead. Black is beautiful. Black is powerful. Black women are magical. But when the default is set to white and male, anything that deviates from the default is considered imperfect.
So, this love letter is dedicated to all the Black women who taught me how to walk the tightrope of being a Black woman in a world that despises my existence.
The world may not acknowledge the battles you faced and the struggles you endured, but I did, and I still do. As I watched you move through spaces that didn’t welcome you, I learned how to navigate this world as a strong, confident, unapologetically Black, Black woman. Through each of you, I learned how to hold my head high with grace and dignity. I learned how to love myself, with that love sometimes being an act of resistance against the world around me. I learned that I had the love and support of the women around me and protection from God and the ancestors guiding me every single day. And I learned how to share that love with those who needed it the most.
To me, these words I write don’t do justice to the things I learned from you, the love I received from you, and the support I feel from you even if you’re no longer here with me.
To my mom, my grandmothers, my aunts, my cousins, my play moms, and everyone else who laid a foundation for your children to build on, I love you. I am me because you were you. You are love, strength, and beauty. You are wit, grit, and determination. You are hope, healing, and peace. You are sass and class. You are sanctuary and solace. And I pray that my girls see the same things in me that I saw in each of you. Thank you.
Bio: Natonya Listach, Ph.D. Is an Assistant Professor at Middle Tennessee State University and the Assistant Director of their award-winning Speech and Debate Team. Her research interests focus on rhetoric, race, religion, and gender. In her free time (HA!), she enjoys practicing new ways to rest and relax.
