Some of us are trying to bloom in gardens that were never planted for us. We show up with our hands full—bandages, truth-telling, receipts, prayers,
Some of us are trying to bloom in gardens that were never planted for us.
We show up with our hands full—bandages, truth-telling, receipts, prayers, statistics, candles, casseroles, court cases, and soul.
But when we whisper the word “safety,”
when we dare say “girls,”
when we speak “female,” or name the violence from the mouths, hands, and systems built by men—
suddenly the room goes quiet.
Cold.
Heavy with that unspeakable word: unwelcome.
Let me tell you something, plain and clear:
You do not owe your presence to places that erase your pain.
You are allowed—divinely permitted—to gather your dignity and walk.
💔 The Truth They Don’t Print on the Posters
Not every “liberation space” is liberating.
Not every coalition carries all of us.
And some “safe spaces” come with landmines hidden under hashtags and group chants.
We tried. Lord knows we tried.
We contorted ourselves into slogans, alliances, pronouns, and position papers.
We swallowed rage like communion,
held back tears during Zooms,
and said “yes” to invitations where we were always just the help,
never the voice.
And still—when we said:
“Please center the epidemic of violence against women and girls…”
They said:
“Not now.”
“Not like that.”
“Not all men.”
“Not everything is about you.”
✊🏾 So, Let Me Say This to You Soft and Fierce:
Leave the table.
Leave the inbox.
Leave the meeting.
Leave the movement.
You can leave the space that will not name your pain or your people.
Because survival is not disloyalty.
And truth is not too much.
And your healing is not selfish.
No matter what they say—your boundaries are not violence.
💡 We Weren’t Meant to Bleed for a Banner
Some of these movements want us to show up wounded, stay silent, and clap on beat.
But brave one, we weren’t born to bleed for banners that refuse to stitch our names in the fabric.
We are not here to prove our pain.
We are not here to be the “respectable” bridge between harm and harmony.
We are here to live.
To be free.
To rest.
To remember.
To name what they won’t.
To speak what they fear.
To rise like daughters of every woman who was silenced too soon.
💬 Repeat After Me
I release myself from rooms that confuse my silence with agreement.
I release myself from movements that mourn my voice but not my safety.
I release myself from people who love justice—as long as it’s not mine.
I give myself permission to go where I am seen, heard, valued, and protected.
There are new tables being built.
There are sacred circles forming in the shadows.
There are boundaried spaces, healing grounds, and truth rooms waiting for your voice—not your erasure.
And you are already enough to bless them with your presence.
You don’t need a movement’s permission.
You already have your own.
Civil Rights Treasures from the March on Washington: Gloria Richardson
