I know my mother loves me. Not because she was the most loving, affectionate mother in the world or because she was fluent in all five love languages. But mainly because I choose to believe that everything my mother did she did out of love, even the things that didn’t feel too much like love.

Growing up, my mother had three jobs: provide the necessities, keep me from being “fast,” and remind me that we weren’t friends. And boy did she do her job, so well at times that it felt like being her child was just as much a…

Because the world wants pliable Black children, not powerful ones.

Growing up, my parents were huge proponents of corporal punishment. In their parenting prime, they were the quintessential authoritarian pair; zero explanations, unlimited rules, and all-you-can-eat ass whoopings. My parents were about that action, but even they drew a line in the sand somewhere, and that was right at the border of harsh and heartless. …

Your writing isn’t as good as you think.

I was four years into my career as a Writer before I gave in and called on a writing coach. Albeit often overlooked, writing is an art form. And like many artists, I struggle with two things: ego and openness. Needless to say, my ego was not open to the idea of another writer coaching me on what I knew I knew how to do, and do well, might I add. But a six-month stint without a single pitch picked up made me question everything I knew about my abilities as a…

No wonder it’s so unfulfilling.

When I was 8, I decided that fathers shouldn’t be firefighters. After finishing another nail-biting episode of Captain Planet, I found myself lecturing my father on the dangers of the deadly profession in case he got any crazy ideas. “Daddy’s shouldn’t fight fire,” I warned him during bath time. It’s hot, and you could get burnt, Daddy.” “Oh Nne, that sounds awful.” He smiled. He found my interest endearing. “Yeah, and if you got burnt real bad, who would walk us to the bus stop?” I asked innocently. …

The real reason we don’t draw a line in the sand when it comes to abuse is that it would incriminate too many people we know.

If you or someone you know has been the victim of another individual’s lack of integrity, you may qualify for compensation, or at the very least, be eligible for an apology. The definitive data is hard to come by; however, studies estimate that upwards of 70% of heterosexual women have been cheated on by a partner. Sure, women in heterosexual relationships cheat too, but those relationships are far less likely to survive the infidelity…

This Is Us

Over the winter, I got the urge to travel to my hometown, Pittsburgh. If you’re familiar with my writing, you know I have a love-hate relationship with that place. Two things bring me back home: holidays and funerals. But this time, neither was the reason for my trip. Before shutdown began, I was battling what I thought was depression.

I was preoccupied with the passing of my parents, who I could still pick up a phone and call. I began to obsess over the pain of their passing, almost to the extent that I could already feel it. I would…

Why advocacy in the Western world often puts us on the wrong side of history.

If you Google the definition of the word, doula, your search yields an American explanation, which is the only one most Americans care to hear. But it’s the hidden history behind the word that caught my concern a couple of days ago when a friend interrupted me as I casually blurted it mid-sentence.

“I think that word is offensive, doula.” She clarified. “I think it’s offensive.”

“Are you sure?!” I asked.

I quickly whipped out my iPhone to investigate. My friend just nodded her head…

If it’s excuses we’re after for failing to evolve as individuals, the Bible is the perfect book for that.

I was born and raised into the religion of Christianity; taught at a young age to fear and defend a God I didn’t quite understand. As my youth pastor put it, a fair and just God, but one whose jealousy and rage roared from the eve of Exodus to Revelations’ rapture. You didn’t ask questions; faith guided our footsteps, not sight. The Word was God, and God was the Word; what more did we need to know? Occasionally I’d get a…