But What Happens When You Stop? The Sign:You minimize your gifts, your pain, your truth—because you’ve been told your full presence makes people unco
But What Happens When You Stop?
The Sign:
You minimize your gifts, your pain, your truth—because you’ve been told your full presence makes people uncomfortable.
So you soften your words, dim your story, or stay silent—just to avoid conflict or protect fragile feelings.
The Healing:
You don’t owe anyone a smaller version of yourself.
Your brilliance, your grief, your joy, your story—they are not up for debate. They are not hate.
They are yours.
And they are holy.
My Truth: I Spoke About My Pain, and They Called It Hate
During a conversation about pregnancy and childbirth, I shared a deeply personal truth.
As a Black woman, I had endured an extremely difficult pregnancy—and I wanted to speak about it.
I wanted to talk with other women about our stories.
Our pain. Our survival. Our truth.
The mom vibe was vibing across the ocean.
But in that precise moment—on an online platform—a fellow Black American activist interrupted us.
Not to share her own story.
Not to listen.
But to tell me that our conversation was “inappropriate.”
That it “sounded hateful.”
What were we doing?
Simply speaking about women’s birthing experiences and questioning a dehumanizing term we never asked for: “Black birthing bodies.”
This is the problem now. That was the problem during my childbirth experience. A failure to listen. Silence, silence, and more silence. Cutting women off from speaking.
A little more truth here:
When some Black women say “we reject being called birthing bodies,” that is not hate speech. We demand to be seen as human beings. In full. In entirety.
That is not division.
That is dignity.
That is memory.
That is clarity.
And now that the term is being quietly walked back, we’re watching the predictable amnesia set in. Wearing shocked faces and everything.
But we remember.
We remember how we were shamed for naming our own bodies.
We remember how we were discouraged from speaking about maternal health and mortality—because it might “hurt someone’s feelings.”
Meanwhile, Black maternal death rates in wealthy countries remain a sin and a shame.
In the U.S. alone, Black women are three to four times more likely to die from pregnancy-related causes than white women.
That’s not opinion.
That’s reality.
| Statistic | Detail |
|---|---|
| 49.5 per 100,000 | Black maternal mortality rate in 2022—over 3.5x higher than Asian women (13.2) (axios.com, odphp.health.gov) |
| 50.3 per 100,000 | Rate in 2023—compared to 14.5 for White women; a disparity of more than 3x |
| ≈3x higher risk | Black women are nearly 3 times more likely than White women to die from pregnancy-related causes |
| Preeclampsia 60% ↑ | Black women are 60% more likely to experience preeclampsia, which leads to lifelong health issues |
Shrinking Doesn’t Save Us—It Silences Us
You are allowed to take up space.
You are allowed to tell the truth, even if it makes others squirm.
You are allowed to speak from your body, your story, your soul, your lived experience—without softening it to make it digestible.
Your pain is not a threat.
Your clarity is not hate.
And your refusal to be renamed, rewritten, or erased is not up for negotiation.
Final Affirmation:
I will not shrink for systems that erase me.
I will not be silent so others can be comfortable in their delusion.
I will not apologize for surviving.
I will not apologize for remembering.
My story is mine.
My body is mine.
My truth is mine.
And I will speak it—fully.
P.S. At a time when men can’t stop the b-word, the c-word, the s-word, the n-word, or any other alphabet word from flying out of their mouths against women; why would you arm men with anymore names to objectify and silence women?
Note: If y’all ever see me somewhere vibing, either come and take it higher or leave me be.
