*Updated for 2025Several months ago, my mom asked me to pick up some hair accessories like the ones she saw me wearing. Naturally, I did. B
*Updated for 2025
Several months ago, my mom asked me to pick up some hair accessories like the ones she saw me wearing. Naturally, I did.
But when I got there, I did something…
Well…
I asked her for the money back.
(Yes. I showed her the receipt and everything. I don’t know what I was thinking either. I must’ve had a moment.)
Fast forward a bit. I was visiting Mama again and picked up a bunch of fried chicken from a popular spot near her home. Before I could make it back, my husband called and said our son had already cooked dinner.
Great news!
But now… what was I going to do with all this chicken?
Y’all.
I sold the chicken to my Mama.
(I’ll give you a moment to shake your head. Trust me, I’ve already repented. Stop looking at me like that.)
🧓🏾 Mama Don’t Miss a Beat
Now here’s the thing about my Mama: she’ll let certain things go. For a while.
She won’t argue. She won’t even comment.
Because she’s gathering evidence.
You think you’re winning—but really, she’s just letting you play cowboy with all that rope she’s giving you.
Until the day comes when she’s fed up. And when Mama’s fed up?
It’s about to go down. Literally.
🎶 Enter: The Shirley Caesar Remix
So one day, I’m chatting on the phone, and Mama does a modern-day remix of that classic gospel song “No Charge.”
(Side note: You might want to go play the song while you read the rest of this.)
She calmly tells me about a recent moment when she saw something nice on our favorite shopping channel. She wanted to buy it but didn’t.
Why?
Shopping Network Rep: “Do you know a Tonya G. Prince?”
Mama (through gritted teeth): “Yes.”
Rep: “Great! We have her on file as the most frequent user of this charge card. We can make the purchase right now if she approves.”
Mama: “Yes… I know her.”
Rep: “Perfect! Would you like to call her and ask for permission to use the card?”
That was all she told me.
She didn’t ask for permission.
She didn’t say another word.
We were in our separate corners for a little while—as mothers and daughters sometimes are.
Then Mama hit me where it hurt:
She mocked how I ask her for things.
Mama: “Mama, can I get this XYZ for my birthday/holiday/random moment?”
Mama: “Sure, Tonya. When did you want it?”
Me: “Well… now. Because it’s on sale, and I already added it to the cart, and I have the credit card right here…”
(She even mocked my whole sales pitch. Which—clearly—I need to update.)
🫱🏾‍🫲🏽 In My Defense…
We give to one another freely.
I give, too!
Mama acknowledged that. Gave me my flowers.
But still…
I sat there.
Silently attending her long lesson wrapped in a lecture.
🌻 Gratitude in Survival
Here’s why I tell this story on this platform.
Because as a Survivor, I have struggled with bitterness, anger, and deep, righteous outrage about what happened to me.
I didn’t do anything wrong.
Anger is a natural, human, justified response to injustice.
I later learned I had every right to be furious.
But what I didn’t realize is how much space my pain was taking up.
Every memory I could pull up easily?
Was a bad one.
The good memories—those took effort.
It was like digging through the attic just to find one moment of joy.
But when I found it, I smiled.
I laughed out loud.
Yes, there were beautiful memories in those dark days.
And that was hard to admit.
Because I thought:
Does that mean it wasn’t that bad?
Did I exaggerate?
Am I letting people off the hook?
It made me angry all over again.
But then came the understanding…
🧵 Quilts
When I was a little girl, I’d watch the elders in my family make quilts.
Every piece of fabric had a story. Some from wedding dresses.
Some from Easter clothes that never quite fit.
Some from mistakes. Some from miracles.
No matter where the fabric came from—
it had value.
It had use.
It was part of the warmth.
My life is like that.
There are pieces that come from pain.
Pieces from joy.
Pieces from shame.
Pieces from resilience.
And all of it belongs in the quilt.
🪡 No Gratitude, No Quilt
But here’s the catch:
You only get that beautiful quilt that everyone cherishes if you can see value in every patch.
If you have gratitude.
My Granny knew this. She was a master seamstress.
When both her parents died in the early 1900s, she dropped out of school to care for her siblings.
She used potato sacks to make clothes for them.
She made something out of what people threw away.
She added her own flair and made those outfits the envy of the neighborhood.
She made dignity from scraps.
🙏🏾 Back to Mama
Mama reminded me of something that day.
Gratitude is part of healing.
Gratitude doesn’t erase your past.
It helps you shape it.
It helps you live with it.
Without gratitude, you can’t make a quilt.
You can’t be a quilt.
✨ On My Healing Journey…
I am still gathering the pieces.
Still choosing which stories to hold close.
Still learning to be grateful for the miracle of now.
And even on the days when the only thing I can be grateful for is waking up—that’s still enough.
That’s still a patch in the quilt.
⚠️ A Word of Caution
This is not a call to suffer in silence.
It’s not a reason to “make peace” with abuse.
The fabric is no longer being worn in pain.
It’s being reclaimed and repurposed—to warm, protect, and comfort.
And that, my loves, is sacred.
#WeSurviveAbuse
#GratitudeIsHealing
#NoGratitudeNoQuilt
#BlackWomenStorytellers
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