Look. Let’s be real for a minute.
People have a lot to say about Black women. They have opinions on our hair, our skin, our bodies, our attitudes. They’ve tried to put us in boxes, slap labels on us, and tell us who we’re supposed to be.
But I need you to understand something. They are wrong.
Let me tell you what I see when I look at us.
I see living history. I see the strength of queens who ruled nations in the curve of a spine that refuses to bend. I see the wisdom of healers and storytellers flashing in eyes that have seen generations come and go. Our skin is the deep, rich soil of the Motherland. It’s the warm glow of a sun that shines just for us. It’s a map of where we’ve been and a promise of where we’re going.
And our hair? Lord, our hair. It’s a revolution on top of our heads. Every coil, every kink, every twist is a declaration of independence. It defies gravity and expectation. It can be braided into patterns older than the countries that tried to break us. It can stand tall in an Afro, It can be silky, kinky, locked, or shaved clean, but it is always, always ours.
But here’s the secret they never get, the beauty ain’t just in the looking.
It’s in the doing. It’s in the way we can laugh so deep and full that it heals old wounds. It’s in our hands, hands that can type a business proposal, braid a child’s hair, throw together a meal that tastes like love, and wipe away tears, all in the same day.
Our beauty is in our softness and our sharp edges. It’s in the way we love, fiercely, protectively, unconditionally. It’s in the way we build communities out of nothing. It’s in the way we turn struggle into fuel and pain into purpose.
We are the walking, talking, breathing evidence that our ancestors’ prayers were answered. We are their wildest dreams made flesh. When you look in the mirror and see your mother’s smile or your grandmother’s nose, you’re not just seeing your face, you’re seeing a living legacy that refused to be erased.
So here’s what I need you to do.
Stop waiting for permission to take up space. Your voice, your body, your mind, your spirit, They all belong here. This world was shaped by our labor, our love, our music, our genius. Never forget that.
Walk like you know this truth in your bones. Talk like you own your share of the air. Love yourself with a fierceness that would make your ancestors proud.
Because here’s the final, unshakable truth: You are beautiful. Not because of some magazine or some man’s opinion. You are beautiful because you are a Black woman. The universe wouldn’t know what to do with itself if you weren’t here.
Now go out there and remind them.
