Sometimes I feel weak and weary. Like today, and yesterday, and the day before that. This work—this witnessing, this advocating, this holding the l
Sometimes I feel weak and weary. Like today, and yesterday, and the day before that.
This work—this witnessing, this advocating, this holding the line—gets heavy.
And yet, I am appreciative. I appreciate that more voices are rising so powerfully, because those of us who have long stood at this door and serving the unheard-many of us…. are exhausted. Depleted.
I wanted to make a recording. I have a couple ready to go, but I can’t locate my energy.
The murder of those eight babies in Louisiana took my last sustaining breath.
Thankfully, Goldie Taylor is here with light, as she has been many times before during difficult hours like these.
**Goldie Taylor is a veteran, highly respected writer who has spent years bringing national attention to issues of violence and abuse within the Black community.
Her work has appeared in major, mainstream publications, where she has consistently approached these topics with depth, care, and a clear understanding of how harm, silence, and systemic failure intersect. She does not look away from difficult truths. Instead, she names them in ways that push public conversation forward.
Through her writing, she has helped broaden awareness, challenge denial, and create space for more honest discussions about safety, accountability, and the lived realities many people face but are often discouraged from speaking about openly.
Today, we remember the Black women and children taken from us this month.
Say their names. Hold their stories. Carry them with care.
And we also send light and prayer to the woman who began the sacred work of keeping record—of naming what too often goes unnamed. Black femicide. Her passing shortly after she began a good work reminds us: even the strongest among us are not meant to carry this alone. Long after her death, she is a teacher still.
Let this be a call, not just to continue but to care. And care deeply.
Care for ourselves.
Care for each other.
Share the weight so no one heart breaks under it alone.
I have learned to have a deep respect for seasons of mourning.
To the grieving families, friends, and loved ones—
We mourn with you.
We stand with you.
We will not forget.
WE will rise and fight this another day.
*I can’t write anymore names that are no longer with us because of domestic violence right now. I’m…my battery is low. I am heartbroken.