For Harriet | Celebrating the Fullness of Black Womanhood

Scorched Earth: On Finally Releasing Sadness

2012-05-25T00:42:00.001-04:00

I am standing among the ruins of my life. This is not analogy. This is not a clever turn of phrase. This is the truth.

I’ve lost more than I could have ever imagined in the last seven months. My husband/best friend/partner is gone, I am separated from a city I love and the friends I made there are far away. The life I built is no longer in shambles. It’s razed. Burned to the damn ground.

And I am bitter.

I do not say this for sympathy. I do not say this for relief. I’m saying it because it’s true.

I hold so much anger that at times I am blinded. Small details set me off:

couples on commercials/holidays/songs/household products/smells/cities/names/words/cars/movies/tattoos/memories

I hold so much sadness at times I am hopeless and it manifests in all areas of my life. And I’m tired.

I’m so tired.

I’ve said time and again to my family and friends that there is no word I can wrap my mind around that can better explain my state of mind.

Tapped out. At rock bottom. Drained. Broken. Defeated. Bested. Frustrated. Angry. Shattered.

And I’m throwing up my hands. Wherever I end up is where I end up. Whoever is there is there. Whatever I have I have. Anything else? It was lost in the ether long ago and I no longer care to chase after it. Each time I dive into it I barely make it back. And when I do? Another piece of me is left behind.

I’ll pick myself up again, alone, changed, and scrubbed clean. I will hold no more secrets or sadness. I will no longer carry the doubts and humiliations heaped upon my spirit. I’m done. This is not about therapy. This is not about spiritually. It is about self. For months, I’ve said I was at rock bottom. Had I only known how deep the rabbit hole goes I would have gladly stopped falling.

So where does that leave me? Right here. In the moment. I will no longer speak of this divorce. I will no longer speak of this marriage. I will no longer speak of this relationship. I will no longer fool myself into believing that love conquers all. I will no longer convince myself being good equals good things in return.

I will tell myself I am beautiful. I will tell myself I am sexually attractive. I will tell myself I am smart. I will tell myself I am funny. I will tell myself I am wonderful. I no longer need anyone else to see it. And if I falter? I falter on my own accord.

I relinquish victimhood. I release this blackness, this sadness. I rebuke these months, these years, that life. I am important and that’s all that matters.

Now life begins.

Athena Dixon-DeMary is co-founder of Specter Literary Magazine, poetry editor of The Reprint, and a managing editor for Z-Composition. Her work has appeared both online and print and is forthcoming in several journals. She writes and edits in NE Ohio.

Mules of the World: On Black Women's Mental Health

2012-05-25T00:26:00.000-04:00

Do you remember when Nanny told her granddaughter Janie that black women were the mules of the world in 'Their Eyes Were Watching God,' Zora Neale Hurston's masterpiece novel? I was 16 when I first read those words that were penned in the 1930s and at age 24, they still resonate with me. Nanny's words held true for black women during the era in which Hurston lived, and they are still true more than 80 years later. Our country was built on the backs of black women, and we continue to carry its burdens; therefore, the perception of us as mules is an accurate one.

For hundreds of years, we were the property of white men. During slavery, who tended to cotton and tobacco fields and cared for the master's family and household, as well as their own? Black women. We bore children only to see them sold away to faraway plantations. When white men crept into slave cabins at night, nobody heard our cries as they wreaked havoc on our bodies. And look at where we are today. Despite all of our accomplishments in the face of adversity, black women remain objects of exploitation. Sometimes corporations employ us in high-paying positions, but most use us for cheap labor (see Wal-Mart). The government attempts to deny us basic human rights. Legislators try to control our reproductive systems. Women have no choice but to act as the backbone of the black community, holding families together while our black men are wrongfully killed and imprisoned.

Positive portrayals of black women in the media are few and far between, and our screens are bombarded with images of black women whose goals revolve around men: finding a man, getting money from men, and obtaining fame through male counterparts. Society expects black women who are not celebrities to be welfare queens fluent in birthing multiple children and speaking Ebonics. Teachers, professors, and even family members are quick to crush our dreams, and we have to work twice as hard as everybody else in order to get what we deserve. Our voices are silenced in mainstream media, our stories are ignored, and our murdered are left out of the news. It is evident that patriarchy does not wish to see black women succeed.

In this hostile climate, it's easy for black women to literally lose their minds. Many of our black women warriors have fallen due to reasons directly and indirectly related to mental health issues. Does a light at the end of the tunnel even exist for us? Personally, I believe it does exist, but how do we stay sane as we journey toward that light? I created the following list to be a brief, helpful resource and while I'm not a mental health professional (yet), I do hope it at least serves as food for thought.

How to Preserve Our Mental Health: A Non-Exhaustive Mini-Guide for Black Women

1. Build a strong support system. Sometimes, we have to create our own families because the ones we were born into are unhealthy for us. People in your support system should care for you unconditionally. They should be nonjudgemental about your life, but at the same time, unafraid of telling you when they feel you are making bad decisions. You should trust and respect the opinions of those in your support system.

2. Never let others silence you. Don't be afraid of opening your mouth and speaking your truth. The world will try to silence you every chance it gets simply because you are black and a woman. A lot of people won't like what you have to say, but if you don't stand for what is right, who will? Always advocate for yourself, as well as for people who are scared or unable to advocate for themselves.

3. Refuse to live up to society's stereotypes about black women. We don't have to become self-fulfilling prophecies, and we can be whatever we want to be (within reason). If someone says you're not good enough or not meant to do something, regard it as noise and keep it moving. Pardon me for being cliché, but in a nutshell: "Make your haters your motivators."

4. Never lose yourself in your partner. Live for yourself because at the end of day, this is your life, and in the words of a wise Canadian prophet, "you only live once." Don't let anyone else sway your decisions. While your partner's input is valuable, ultimately, you should do what feels right for you.

5. Rid your life of toxic friends and family. Even though we may care deeply about others, it does not mean they deserve a place in our lives. You don't have to put up with others' drama, instability or negativity. If someone's presence constantly brings you down, he or she does not belong in your life.

6. Don't be afraid to seek professional help. You don't have to share with the world that you are seeing a therapist or a psychiatrist. It's nobody's business, but your own. Be proud of yourself for being proactive and preserving your mental health, which is surely as important as maintaining your physical health, if not more.

Neesha is a self-proclaimed Social Justice Promoter currently residing in Atlanta, Ga. She earned a bachelor's degree in journalism in 2009. Neesha is the creator of Racy Girl (http://racygirl.wordpress.com/), a blog intended to provide readers with clever, quirky, and thoughtful commentary on race and gender matters, as well as personal musings and reflections. Follow Racy Girl on Twitter @RacyGirlBlog.

The New Role Models? The Real Influence Vibe's Latest Vixens Are Having On Our Girls

2012-05-24T01:24:00.002-04:00

I have grown very disenchanted with media and print publications over the past few years. Between the obsession with media vixens and the disparaging attacks on black women, I've felt beaten down, overwhelmed and just fatigued. But yet, a small part of me hoped the media would cease and desist and return to the publishing of gem pieces on issues and individuals that matter. I think this hope died faster than Herman Cain's presidential ambitions after seeing the cover of the new Vibe Magazine. The cover of the June issue of the publication is graced with a group image of reality television actors: Tamar Braxton, Chrissy Lampkin, Kandi Burruss and Evelyn Lozada who have donned boudoir-esque ensembles to be heralded as "...Your New Role Models." No need to go check your calendar, it is way past April and this is not a joke.

I read the accompanying article, and honestly received nothing from it. The women (Evelyn, in particular) admitted they grimace every once in a while at their actions on the show, but I suppose my naivety died a long time ago because I took everything I read with a grain of salt. These women are paid thousands (and some like NeNe Leakes, garner millions) to behave badly. I am sure the checks and nice balances on their accounts make up for their "cringe-worthy" moments.

My issue with these women are that it all seems to boil down to money. Kandi, in response, to being told about Star Jones' petition against women committing violent acts on reality television: "She may not be violent, but I’m sure she goes off on people in her day-to-day. I just don’t think it’s fair to block somebody from getting money." This statement illustrates that at the end of the day, these women choose to not even take a glimpse at the bigger picture; its all about making sure they can live as comfortably as their sass, pettiness, cruelty, and violence will allow them to.

Last week, I had the pleasure to be a guest speaker for a junior high school's career day. When I asked a class of eighth graders who their heroes were, I was bombarded with responses that revealed they were avid viewers of the shows these "cover girls" are in. I was shocked at first, and tried to figure out a way to understand why and how this came to be. But before I could do that, I realized girls were practically screaming over one another to tell me of their love for the shows' fight scenes, and how they had seen duplicates of them on Youtube by girls who were their age. These shows may take up one hour time-slots, and air for a few weeks at a time, but their influence is powerful and lasts much longer than any of us could imagine.

I am not going to get into the "parents should monitor what their children watch" argument. After years of working with children of different racial/ethnic backgrounds and class levels, its safe to say that even the honor roll child will find a way to watch something their parents' disapprove of. I understand that TV hasn't been full of wholesome-family shows since the good old days of ABC's TGIF Friday lineups. But the fact that its content has degenerated to something that is "inspiring" our girls to physically beat the crap out of each other is highly alarming. And in naming these women "role models," Vibe Magazine has helped validate their crude behavior to plenty of young girls in this country who see them as such.

Valerie Jean-Charles is a 23 year old community servant and writer in Brooklyn, NY. She holds a BA in Political Science from Fordham University. Follow at @Empressval to join her never-ending conversations about everything and then some.

Book Review: Gathering of Waters

2012-05-23T16:09:00.000-04:00

My good friend, the late scholar and author Derrick Bell invited me to a dinner party several years ago in which a group of black literati insisted that icons like Toni Morrison and Maya Angelou would be dying off sooner than readers would like. Derrick asked, “Who will we read once Toni, Maya and Alice are gone?”

I said, “Bernice McFadden.”

Back then many of them weren’t familiar with the name. But in the last decade, Bernice McFadden’s moniker has become synonymous in the literary world with major award wins and amazingly unforgettable novels that include “Sugar,” “The Warmest December” and “Glorious.” Readers must treat themselves to her most ambitious and entertaining novel yet, the arresting and haunting Gathering of Waters In this novel, we come face to face with the ghost of Emmett Till, a fourteen year old black boy lynched by racist Whites in Mississippi for whistling at a White woman. We’ve all heard that part of the story. But the tale of Emmett Till’s mother and his black teen girlfriend, realistically imagined by McFadden, reinvigorate historical footnotes, giving the book enough wonder to usher in an even larger story—that of the Jim Crow South and its legacy; nearly a century of black people’s tenacity under the weight of racial rebuke, family discord, sexual tensions and a spiritual ill wind in the person of a prostitute named Esther whose flair for evil speeds us all the way to Hurricane Katrina.

Narrated by the town of Money, Mississippi (yes, the town is telling the story)—Bernice McFadden uses the love story of Emmett Till and Tass Hilson to weave a tapestry of longing, despair, memory and enchantment. In lesser hands this novel could have been a mess. But McFadden’s ability to shape and mold a new classic out of nothing but sincerity and real history demonstrates why she’s one of the supreme writers of our generation. It’s not often we read something that doesn’t bore us and is worth the money we paid to read it. “Gathering of Waters” is that rare gem that readers look for.

Kola Boof is the acclaimed author of "The Sexy Part of the Bible" and a television writer. She lives in California.

T-Shirt Designer Shari Neal Explains How Empowering Black Women Can Be Great For Business

2012-05-23T00:00:00.000-04:00

In only a few years, Chicao-native Shari Neal has turned her t-shirt side-hustle into a successful small business. Since its launch, Bon BonVie’s sleek designs and empowering messages have become blogger favorites. (Like everyone else, we adore the Brown Skin Lady tee.) Shari and Bon Bon Vie prove that uplifting Black women can provide the foundation for a successful company.

We talked to Shari about her company’s quick rise, remarkable growth, and exciting future. Read our interview with rising fashion star below:

FH: Where did the idea for Bon Bon Vie come from?

SN: Well, for me the idea was very simple. I always had an entrepreneurial spirit. I was working at the time as a web developer, and I had a creative void I needed to fill. I thought about expanding my creative design work, and then I thought, “I like t-shirts. Everybody likes t-shits.” I thought it was a perfect way to be creative - to do design and do fashion at the same time.

FH: Once you came up with the t-shirt idea, what kind of research did you do?

SN: I did so much research. For me, one of the most important things was coming up with the name. The name kind of fell into my lap. I remember a few years earlier a friend of mine introduced me to the song Bon Bon Vie by T.S. Monk. I really liked it when I heard it, and I remembered it when it was time to start my business. The song’s lyrics really spoke to me. It was about working a 9 to 5 and feeling like you’re being worked to death and feeling like you wanted to live the good life. I felt like that would be absolutely perfect for my brand. Next, since I knew absolutely nothing about starting a business, I did a ton of research about business planning and lots of research on the t-shirt industry and ecommerce. I had to learn how to get an accountant, have proper bookkeeping and all that. I basically had to start from scratch

FH: Were there any books or resources you found particularly helpful?

SN: Yes, there were quite a few. Escape from Cubicle Nation by Pamela Slim was a great reference for me. That was the book that helped me take the leap to quitting my job. Having a job and having my business was getting to be too stressful. Reading that book helped me put things into perspective and helped me realize that this was a viable idea and I could really make this work. There was another site: AndreaAyers.com. She started a t-shirt line, and she had a lot of information about how to break into that and outlined a lot of the steps you should take to have a successful t-shirt business.

Read: 10 Black Woman-Owned Fashion Businesses We Love

FH: At one point you worked a full-time job as well as run Bon Bon Vie on the side. What type of work were you doing?

SN: I was working as a web developer at a pharmaceutical advertising agency. Mostly doing websites – a lot of flash animation that sort of stuff.

FH: How did that work and your educational background help you in creating this company?

SN: I think working a 9 to 5 of any kind teaches you structure and how to talk to people and deal with people. That was definitely beneficial. Being a web developer definitely helped me when it came time to building my website and knowing exactly what I wanted.

FH: It sounds like you had the entrepreneurial bug in you even as you had a very stable career. Do you think some people are just born entrepreneurs?

SN: Yeah. I don’t think entrepreneurship is for everyone. Some people really enjoy structure. Some people really enjoy going to an office all day, and that’s fine. I find that a lot of times for creative types having to be somewhere at a certain time and be restricted is very stifling. For me, that was the main reason I knew that I should try something else. There was so much I was missing during the day. Having my own business I can make my own hours and do whatever I want - whether I feel like working at noon or I feel like working at 2 AM

FH: At what point did you decide to leave your job and pursue Bon Bon Vie fulltime?

SN: I left my job in August 2011.

FH: How was that transition for you?

SN: It was interesting. At first it was very scary. I was at that job for 5 years, so I didn’t know what the future held. I had some savings, so it was less scary on the financial front. I just didn’t know. It was all in my hands at that point. It was exciting yet scary.

FH: What prompted you to leave your 9 to 5 for good?

SN: It got to the point where I enjoyed working on my business more than I enjoyed going to work. I take pride in what I do wherever I’m working. It got to the point where I wasn’t able to put 100 percent in because I was trying to put the effort I once put into my work into my business. It got to the point where I knew I had to pick one.

FH: You picked and Bon Bon Vie has been successful in large part because you seem to have a strong idea of who Bon Bon Vie is for. What differentiates your company from the other t-shirt companies out there?

SN: I definitely have a strong brand identity. I feel like my shirts represent the good life. I try to bring that out in everything that the brand does. I feel like the positive messages I put out on my shirts are nothing new, but it’s the positivity along with the fact that I take a lot of pride in the design, and I wouldn’t release anything that I wouldn’t wear. I put a lot into the shirts, and I try to research what my customers would like and so far that’s worked for us.

FH: Bon Bon Vie has a really strong empowerment vibe. Was that planned?

SN: Yes, that was definitely planned. You can make a lot of money not going the positive route. For me, Positivity was something very important. It’s what I want to spread along to my customers.

FH: Bon Bon Vie has experienced incredible growth in, what seems like, a short time. What kind of marketing did you do to first get your name out there?

SN: When I first got started, I called in every favor I had. I asked every friend I had who had a blog to blog about my shirts. I didn’t know what was going to come of it, but it turned out very well. One of the first things I did was post a coupon code on blackgirlwithlonghair.com. I designed that site, so I asked Laila. I also put a banner ad on her site. Because of that, I had sales the first day I put my site up which was amazing

FH: Were you surprised by how Bon Bon Vie has taken off?

SN: I was. You never really quit your job to start a business if you think it’s going to fail. At the same time, there’s always that fear of “What if no one buys my shirts. What am I going to do?” I expected it take off, but I was also afraid that it would. I always had that faith that it would

FH: You mentioned that as an entrepreneur you had to teach yourself skills. What’s the most important thing you’ve had to teach yourself?

SN: Definitely that you will make mistakes. Mistakes are ok. No matter how much research you do or how much planning you do, things will go wrong. You have to tell yourself it’s going to be ok.

FH: What has been your biggest failure so far with Bon Bon Vie?

SN: I don’t know if I would call it a failure, but I kept both my job and my business for too long. There were periods where I would get completely burned out and my business wasn’t getting enough attention as it should have.

FH: What motivates you?

SN: I know deep down I want to be an entrepreneur. I want to do whatever I can to continue doing this. I love the freedom that entrepreneurship brings. Paying my bills is also important. That definitely motivates me. I love being able to make something from scratch and watch it be successful. Walking down the street and seeing people wearing my shirts is such an awesome feeling.

FH: You’ve come a long way. Where do you see Bon Bon Vie in 5 years?

SN: In 5 years, I definitely hope Bon Bon Vie is still going strong. I’d love to have larger distribution. I’d love to branch out into other things -- not just t-shirts but other types of fashion.

Check out Bon Bon Vie’s latest collection!

Fear of Flying: The Quarter Life Crisis

2012-05-22T00:48:00.000-04:00

At twenty six years old, I’m living a life that I don’t recognize as my own. This is not what I planned for myself, and I am left wondering what my purpose is. And when I think about the word life I automatically think, I'm doing this wrong.

I am going through a quarter life crisis

I'm stuck. I can't go left, I can't go right, going forward seems impossible, and going backwards is out of the question. For years, I've said that I would go to college, graduate, go to grad school, finish that, and start building my career.

Things didn't really work out that way. I went to college and started working. Work consumes my life therefore leaving no time for me to do anything involving school. It forces me to take fewer classes, spend less time studying, therefore leading me to believe that I might not be able to do it all at once. I know, people do it all of the time, but their determination is not mine. I am constantly wondering if my sanity is still there because I feel like I'm being stretched way too thin.

Not too long ago I tweeted Bassey Ikpi about college, and out of nowhere I said, I've been thinking about quitting. Now, I hadn't been sitting around giving it any serious thought, but as I sat there and really took in what I had written, I realized just how serious I was. I've worked damn hard in college while still putting in crazy hours at work, and even at one point losing my job because the company was closing. But I didn't quit. I couldn't fathom not being in school. Not finishing. I can’t say that I feel that way anymore.

I personally don't feel like I am where I am supposed to be in life, because I am no longer sure where I want to be. It feels weird writing that, because I have had the plan for my life written down for so many years. I mapped out the road that I was going to travel, and I knew just how long it was going to take me to get there. I even highlighted the few stops I'd have to make before I reached my destination. But those goals are different, that girl/woman who created those goals is different. She's not the same, she doesn't have the time she had when the plans formed in her head. I'm twenty six years old, I don't want to be that person in college who changes her major every semester, or gets to the finish line and realize that I haven't even chosen a major yet.

For as long as I can remember, people have had a clear idea of what they wanted me to do with my life. Who they thought I would be, thought I should be. Few people asked me what I wanted. But when they did, and heard my answer, they would say, I don't think that's for you... What you should do is... You're great at... My being great at something doesn't mean that I'll do great if I go for it.

I'm not afraid of getting old, I'm afraid of running out of time

I'm sure that like me, you've heard, it's never too late to...and that may be true, but who wants to be fifty still trying to “get it right”? I don't. There is a timeline of what you should be doing at every stage of your life, where you should be, what you should want. And the general consensus is, if you aren't there, you are most definitely doing something wrong. Although I don't feel like I'm a failure, I do ask myself what have you done? And the fact that I have to actually sit and think hard about what I've done bothers me.

My mother recently came to me and said, I'm so proud of you and everything that you've done. I looked up at her and asked what I'd done. She rattled off all of the things that made her proud of me, and when she walked away I started thinking, but those things don't make me proud. Listen, making your parents proud is all well and good, if that's what you're shooting for. But if you aren't proud of you, is it even worth anything?

"Everybody has a calling and your real job in life is to figure out what that is and to get about the business of doing it"~Oprah

I know to some people a quarter life crisis sounds dramatic. But it’s real. The feelings are real, the anxiety is real, and the fear of not being the best you that you can be, or achieving anything, is real. I don't know why it happens. I don't understand the emotions that come with it. But I accept it and plan to work through it. I've never allowed anything to stop me from going after what I want. It just so happens those wants are a little different now.

Alana is a twenty six year old English major who currently lives in Los Angeles. You can find her at sincerelyalana.com where she rambles about life and love, or follower her on twitter @sincerelyalana

Mother, May I Sleep With Danger?

2012-05-21T00:00:00.000-04:00

I know the title may have thrown you a little, but hear me out. I know no one asks permission to bring danger into their lives. But, for conversational purposes, let’s say you did. When you met the man or woman that you thought you would marry and be with for the rest of your life, did you take in consideration your mother’s opinion of him? If your mother didn’t like him or her, was that a deal breaker for you? Or, were you hard-headed like me and ignored it?

I still remember every word my mother ever said about him. I can remember her first reaction to him. She knew from the word “hello” that he was no good. And I ignored it because I really liked him and I felt that my mother really never gave him a chance. I would always tell her “you don’t know him like I do.” When in fact, I was the one that didn’t know him.

Like everyone else who has encountered danger, I wish that I had listened to my mother and ignored his smile and his kind words. I wish I had run in the house and blocked the doors and windows. But alas, I didn’t. I listened when he spoke, I smiled when he was kind, and in the end I fell in love. Well, I fell in damn in fool. For those of you that don’t know what “in damn fool” is, here’s what I mean.

Read: The Unlikely Face of Domestic Violence, Mine

Ever been so in love with a person that you put up with any and everything that they do? That you overlook the warning signs, the MIA moments, or any other red flags that you may see. In damn fool is the moment you realize that they have been lying to you the whole time and you still look past it just to have them. Because in the back of your mind you believe that they will eventually see how great you are and how much you love them and they will change for you.

The only problem with that is that if they ever do change, it is usually for the worst. I can only speak from my own life’s example, but the change that came was not a good one. After the first slap, I actually thought that maybe I had provoked it in some way. I didn't even fight back. Maybe he took that as fear. Maybe I was afraid.

I knew it was wrong to stay after that first time. Something said that it would only get worse. For two and a half years I put up with unspeakable acts of violence, that even now, at times still make me shudder. Recently, through a situation that I did not see coming, I found out that life does imitate art. Or is it the other way around?

When I sit back and think about everything I have been through, I find that I feel stronger than I did before. And even though I recently had an altercation with my abuser, I refuse to let him win. I am no longer the woman that needed to make sure that he was happy and never upset, while I lived in hell. I know now that I don’t have to go back to that place in my life when I thought about him before I thought about myself.

During that relationship I always needed someone to talk too. But I felt there was no one I could reach out too. I felt that I didn't have anyone that would understand what I was going through. I thought that being in an abusive relationship excluded me from the groups of friends that I had. That they would think I was stupid for allowing this to go on. So I kept my mouth shut.

I stayed quiet even when my days brought me to wishing that I was dead. Wishing that he would just kill me instead of letting it linger. That just maybe if I was dead everything would be better. But alas, this was not to be. Luckily for me! I fought to win back my life and I will continue to fight if I have too. So, next time I see danger, I won’t have to ask my mother. I will already know to walk on by.

Published with permission from The Thoughts of Laura T. Johnson

A Non-Denominational Journey to Enlightenment

2012-05-18T00:00:00.000-04:00

I am a self-professed Christian, but I am not the usual Bible thumper. Though I give all praise to the Creator for the blessings He has bestowed on me, I don’t quote scripture as an answer to all of life’s woes and I don’t attend church three times a week. I even support President Barack Obama’s decision to endorse same-sex marriage. But I accepted Jesus Christ as the son of God and my personal savior, which classifies me as – well – a Christian.

I was christened at six months and raised in the gospel-filled sanctuaries of Baptist and AME churches. Like Whitney Houston, Tina Turner, and other black women figures, the Baptist church was the guiding light when I was lost in the wilderness of life’s turmoil. In these supportive churches where men and women consider themselves brothers and sisters, I was shaped, molded, and taught the teachings of Jesus Christ and his devoted disciples. I relished the celestial sound of the choir and the New Year’s prophesies that often left me breathless with anticipation for what was to come.

I loved the church and the members loved me. But, in the summer of 2010, I decided to pursue the teachings of the Bible as a non-denominational Christian, which simply means that I believe in building a spiritual relationship with God rather than following the structure of one organized denomination of Christianity.

In the past two years, I discovered that identifying as Baptist, Episcopalian, or Protestant limited the knowledge that I could be exposed to in a spiritual-based environment. In the Baptist church, we were never taught that Jesus Christ was Hebrew or that He spoke ancient Arabic. There was no mention of the relationship between the Hebrew Bible and the Old Testament and we were never encouraged to celebrate the Jewish Sabbath, as I had done with a close childhood friend in third grade. I felt restricted in the Baptist church; I had a nourished soul and spirit, but an unchallenged intellect.

So, the solution was to disassociate from the Baptist church and begin a spiritual walk as a non-denominational Christian.

Disavowing traditional religion in exchange for spiritual enlightenment has been an amazing experience that is indescribable. Making this conscious choice has exposed me to inspiring realities that I wasn’t cognizant of when I was pleasing God and attempting to fulfill the obligations of the church as well. In “Introduction to Theology,” a course designed to teach Christianity from a womanist, cultural, and historical perspective, I learned about the roles of the influential women in the Bible, the historical context of the word, and how to relate to other religions without sacrificing Christian principles.

My theology professor challenged us to think about our faith outside of the traditional religious lens and to redevelop ourselves as “thinking Christians.” We attended an Interfaith Day, which allowed us to visit a Mosque, Catholic Church, and Synagogue and learn more about their teachings and rituals. The class also watched videos about religious tolerance and composed papers about the values and theologies that guide our lives. This coursework instilled in me the importance of thinking about God while also teaching me the significance of spreading His love through both thought and deed rather than forcing Christianity on others. I’m even going to read and dissect Faith Adiele’s powerful book, “Meeting Faith,” which recounts her voyage to embracing her life as a Buddhist Nun and most importantly, I plan to enjoy the lessons in Adiele’s evolution and apply some of her principles to my own life.

Though I would never force this specific Christian walk on others because God granted us all free will, I encourage devoted religious figures to expand their minds to the theological contexts of Christianity. Enroll in a theology course that dissects the Bible and the influential men and women in it; celebrate Sabbath with a Jewish friend; venture to Mecca with a devoted follower of Islam; visit different worship temples on Interfaith Days; and above else, read and practice the teachings of the Bible. Expanding our consciousness enables Christians to strengthen our walks with God because we’re seeing the world and Him from a fresh perspective.

If nothing else, I’ve learned from this Christian walk that the freeing of the spirit comes with the enlightenment of the mind. Albeit, I attend a non-denominational church with traces of the Baptist church in its teachings, I cherish the freedom I’ve been granted to explore the world with God as my guiding force. Without the pressure of upholding the standards of traditional religious thought and practice, you’ll be surprised at how much there is to learn about the essence of Christianity – and what is more important than that?

-Evette Dionne

Republished with permission from our partner Liberette

Why I am OK with Being an Angry Black Woman

2012-05-17T00:11:00.000-04:00

To whom it may concern,

I have officially given up pretending like I am not an angry black woman. For years, you’ve been using the threat of my own anger against me, the label “angry black woman” being bandied about in one disparaging public forum or another. I’ll admit it. That scared me enough to keep me quiet. No one likes their opinions to be misunderstood or misconstrued.

I didn’t want my views to count less because they were packaged in a tone of voice that you didn’t appreciate. Even as I saw white men *cough* Bill O’Reilly *cough* (and the occasional white woman), express their opinions with fervor and zeal, I knew that for me, passionate prose come at a cost. My blackness makes my anger suspect and my femininity makes it incomreprensible.

That used to matter to me. It doesn’t anymore. But since I’ve been living with the symptoms of “nice girl syndrome” for so long, I’ve taken the liberty of drafting a re-orientation memo.

To society…

This racism and sexism has got to stop. No, really. While I know that Facebook and Twitter are only narrow slices of perspective on what’s going on in the world, I cannot log in to my profile one more day and see another stream of articles chronicling how effed up the world is right now (usually I am a bit more careful with my language but right now “effed up” is literally the most accurate summation I can muster); how much hate, how much bigotry, how much misogyny, how much homophobia that folks are still dealing with every. single. day.

And trust me, even if I gave up social media all together, I couldn’t escape the reality of how hard it is these days to be a woman, or how much more so it is to be a woman of color.

I know too many women who have been objectified, or worse, raped, molested, or otherwise sexually abused. I know too many people whose self-esteem has crumbled under the weight of impossible (European) beauty standards. I know too many women who have been passed over for promotions, disrespected on the job, forced to choose between motherhood and a career (because even in 2012, we are still maligned for choosing both).

Racism is not dead. Sexism is alive and well. And that has the tendency to piss me off.

To white people…

Not all of y’all – just those of you who want to be allies. I want – no, need – you to step your game up. Stop talking about your experience as if it is the norm. I.e. looking at me with a befuddled or bemused expression every time I have an opinion, response, or experience that is different than yours because I’m black.

I’ll admit it: Hell yes, I’m “sensitive” about race. And? Your point? As long as we live in a racist society, I have a reason to be.

Next time you make an ignorant or insensitive comment, be prepared. I’m calling you out. Why? Because I love you and I expect more from you than that.

To everyone else with privilege…

Men. Straight people. American citizens. Cisgenders. Folks with degrees. Newsflash: you and your needs and your opinions and your experiences are not the end all, be all for everyone in this country. For once you are going to need to listen to folks whose lives look different than yours. Don’t make assumptions. Don’t make stupid comments. And don’t try to insert your thoughts or opinion into their lived experience.

For example: If you’re a man, you don’t get to tell women that sexism doesn’t exist. If you’re white, please don’t tell me that we live in a post-racial society. How the hell would you know?

Stop assuming that just because a space is safe and comfortable for you, that it will be safe and comfortable for me (or other folks who don’t have as much privilege as you do) as well. Or at the very least, be willing to lean into discomfort when the shoe is on the other foot. Sit down. Close your mouth. Open your mind and your heart and go from there.

To my sisters…

Man on man, I love y’all. I love y’all enough to insist that we do better. There are a lot of things in this world that we can’t change. The way we interact with each other though? Yea, that’s on us.

The powers that be have worked hard as hell to keep us in a “scarcity” frame of mind. And as long as they continue to entice us into competing with each other, we will never be truly free.

According to mainstream media, there are not enough “good” black and brown men to go around; there aren’t enough opportunities, enough slots at top schools, enough promotions, enough “success” for all of us (although apparently, none of us succeed on our own merits anyway); and since we learn from a young age that we’ll never be as pretty as white girls, we might as well hate on each other and be content with the title of baddest black chick around. Right?

Wrong. I have too many other threats to my physical and emotional help to worry about one of my own sisters throwing me under the bus. Let’s start building each other up rather than tearing each other down, shall we?

To my readers…

I know this letter might lose me a few fans. When I started Colored Girl Confidential, I wanted it to be a mixed community of women. And I still do. But I’m realizing more and more that it is hard to be true to both my black and female identity without fear of isolating some folks who only have to care about the “female” part.

Well, eff that. I can’t be half a person online any more than I can be half a person in real life.

I am not just a woman. I am a BLACK woman. And I am not always happy and caring and motivational. Sometimes I’m angry. And hurt. Because being a black woman is hard. And from now on, my writing will reflect that. For some of you, that will be a turn off. Others will stick around and offer encouragement, love, and support because you know that no matter your race, gender, nationality, sexuality, religious beliefs, or any other label that society has deemed relevant, I will do the same for you.

So, yes, I am an angry black woman.

My anger is righteous. Motivational. Fierce.

My anger doesn’t fester, it inspires. It doesn’t just chronicle what’s wrong with the world today, it makes it personal.

My anger is an “up yours” to a culture that insists it is more feminine for a woman to cry in a corner than it is for her to speak up. To talk back.

My anger doesn’t come from being black or being a woman. My anger comes from being human, and is born and nurtured in those moments when I, or others, have being made to feel less than.

And finally, my anger does not define me. Just like you, I am capable of being more than one thing.

I am an angry black woman. A loving black woman. A sensitive black woman. A passionate black woman. Deal with it. In fact, join me.

Republished with permission from Colored Girl Confidential

Blogs and Online Communities To Help Black Women Stay Healthy and Fit

2012-05-16T00:09:00.000-04:00

Constant debates over Black women's bodies are maddening and seemingly fruitless. Perhaps some Black women choose to be overweight, but scores of us are committing to healthy, active living. Blogs and social media have provided many opportunities for fitness minded sistas to connect and share their weightloss and health expertise.

These blogs and digital communities bring us together to defy the stereotype of the fat, lazy Black woman. This is just a primer. Let us know who we missed!

Take the reigns of your health, and don't look back.

Bookmark these sites!

Anacostia Yogi

Black Girl's Guide to Weightloss

Black Girls Run

Black Women Do Workout

Chivon John

Fit & Sexy

Fit Girl Living

Healthy Black Women and Girls

Heart and Soul

Living The Fit Life

My Life Runs on Food

Nubian Fitness Goddess

Renisha Renewed

Yum Yucky

Help us add to the list! Leave a comment!

The Beauty of Self-Preservation: Learning When To Walk Away

2012-05-15T00:00:00.000-04:00

I watch way too much reality tv. It's addictive and usually corrosive, but believe it or not the snapshot glimpses into the lives of people I don't know and will probably never meet often inspire me to self-reflect.

Watching Tashera Simmons, the estranged wife of DMX, on VH1's Couple's Therapy made me rethink my entire approach to relationships. Tashera's distress over a man who has, during their marriage, fathered more children with other women than he has with her left me puzzled. How could she not see what seems so obvious? It's time to leave.

In a much less devastating fashion, I see that I've been Tashera. Or perhaps I still am. Put simply: I am attracted to men with problems. It's the Pisces in me. I want to nurture, and I want to fix. But I learned the hard way that love is healing only for those who wish to be restored.

Last Fall, I began a relationship with a man who would suck me dry if I allowed him. It began casually, and for him it stayed that way. To me it became something much deeper. Everything about him was wrong, but I thought I could adjust. Consequently, I spent more time defending our relationship than enjoying it.

His malice stung. He took every opportunity to hurt and offend, yet I found myself perpetually apologizing. He never did. Not once. Knowing his history and the childhood trauma he endured, I attempted to be his lover/therapist in the hope that I could coach him through it.

Relationships aren't built on hope and potential. During the several months we've been off and on, I feel like I've grown because I had to. (Traumatic experiences will do that to you.) He has not. His way may not be working for him, but he is completely and utterly invested in it.That type of entrenchment makes me anxious. It is my biggest fear. So I said goodbye, and hopefully this time will be the last.

I don't believe we're responsible for who we attract, but who we choose to pursue a relationship with is a reflection of how we see ourselves. Feeling worthy of an equal partnership doesn't come naturally to some of us. Certainly not for me. I can, however, feel the change slowly and surely. As I discover my private power, I'm no longer content with settling in any area of my life: not for a man, a job, or a friend.

Black American culture mythologizes the "ride or die" partner. The woman willing to give everything of themselves in order to ensure the success of her mate. But what do we, as women, reap from such devotion?

Not everyone deserves unwavering loyalty, and, in my opinion, no one is worth sacrificing your spirit. Liberation requires women release the Disney Princess mindset that "love conquers all." Sometimes love simply isn't enough.

Kimberly Foster is the Editor and Publisher of For Harriet. Email her at Kimberly@ForHarriet.com with comments or find her on Twitter.

Her Body, Her Child, Her Choice

2012-05-14T00:30:00.000-04:00

Over the past few months, I've developed a touch of baby fever. It seems I can't turn a corner without running into an adorable infant that makes my ovaries cry out in envy. I can hardly wait to rear my own little tikes, but I'm glad my womb remains unoccupied. Motherhood seems inordinately stressful. Not only must parents shoulder the responsibility of rearing a competent, confident human being, but they must endure the emotional toll of receiving constant, uninvited critiques.

Primary caregivers get no respite because in our culture, everything is up for debate - which makes little sense when it comes to something as personal and necessarily individualized as parenting. And moms seem to get the worst of it. My feminist consciousness tells me a woman's body is never her own, and now I'm seeing the bodies of new mothers become battlegrounds for what they call "mommy wars." Discussions of Beyonce's newborn and the recent Time magazine cover exemplify these needless disputes.

Leave Beyonce Alone

When reports of Beyonce nursing surfaced, breast feeding advocates rejoiced. But the conversation soon took a strange turn into which group, white moms or WOC, could claim victory in Beyonce's choice. Blue Ivy is the ultimate beneficiary, and though Bey invited some scrutiny through her public persona, the clamoring to politicize her body made me cringe. Then, of course, the same women who rushed to make her the BF poster child didn't waste time expressing their dismay when they learned baby Blue nursed for "only" 10 weeks. Moms can't win. They rarely receive simple empathy; they get judgement. I imagine that the superstar, like most new moms, wrestled with what would be the correct choices for herself and her baby. I don't even know the woman, but I'm resentful of the attacks she's received. Mothers who are not abusing their children have a right to autonomy even when performing practices we find disappointing or odd.

Read: A Domestic Dream: Re-imagining Black Motherhood

Too Old To Nurse?

I admit that my first thought upon seeing a pre-schooler standing atop a chair suckling his mother was: "weird." It is an unusual and, quite honestly, uncomfortable sight. The editors of Time Magazine knew exactly what type of response the photo would elicit, and certain types of reactions are justifiable for images we're not used to seeing. The instant leap, however, from uncomfortable to claims the practice of "extended breast feeding" is unnatural illustrates our inability to acknowledge how our view of "normal" is shaped by our socialization and not by nature.

The picture of a quite natural act sparked outrage, disgust and claims of abuse. I had to interrogate what about seeing a woman with her child makes me squirm. There's no way, I would choose to breast feed my children until age 4 like Time's cover model Jamie Grumet, but she is not mistreating her kid, thus it's none of my concern.

I am staunchly pro-choice. For me, the label extends far beyond Abortion rights. I trust women to make the best decisions for themselves and their children. It is a recognition that some things are simply none of my business. In the reality tv centric world we live in, we've developed a sense of entitlement to dictate the terms by which everyone we encounter, whether face to face or by proxy, must live.

Ultimately, these discussions about what women do inside of their homes are fruitless. They produce nothing but shame and guilt. If we're truly concerned with nurturing strong mothers and resilient children, let's choose to provide moms the space and support to do what they feel is right for their families.

Kimberly Foster is the Editor and Publisher of For Harriet. Email her at Kimberly@ForHarriet.com with comments or find her on Twitter.

Let's Get Real: A Reponse to Alice Randall's 'Black Women and Fat'

2012-05-07T20:58:00.004-04:00

I tried to ignore Alice Randall's op-ed in the New York Times Opinion pages after reading the title. I've grown weary of any title that consists of the terms "Black Women" and "weight," so I figured I would save myself from any possible annoyance. Of course, this fabulous invention called the internet simply would not let me be great. Randall's piece was everywhere - from my Twitter timeline to my gmail inbox. So giving into the peer pressure, I clicked on the link leading to it and had my initial fears confirmed. Once again, black women are on the receiving end of a scolding for the rise of obesity in the U.S.

I wish someone would tell Ms. Randall that Black women are not the only group suffering from this epidemic; the nation at large is. The average American can barely watch a 30 minute show without being bombarded with commercials and show scenes with delectable images and clips of food. Let's face it, our country as a whole has a serious issue with how we feel about and look at food. Most family chain restaurants (that many Americans go to for weekly family dinners and/or to celebrate special occasions) serve their food on plates that are close to being the quarter of a size of a coffee table, and yet we demonize and punish those who fall victim to it. That, my friends, is hypocrisy at its finest.

In her piece, Ms. Randall made light of such a complex issue by correlating our rates of obesity to our supposed desire to keep our men happy. Not once did she bring up the issue of economics and food deserts. Its no secret that the black community has been one of those to be hit the hardest by the economic downturn. With many families lacking proper monetary funds, it becomes impossible for them to buy organic foods. And even if they were able to buy a few fresh, organic apples once or twice a month, where would they go?! The First Lady has brought to the forefront the issue of food deserts - urban areas that lack adequate grocery stores. In many urban areas, you may come across 3 chicken spots, 2 McDonalds and a Chinese takeout before you ever find a grocery store. Surely this deprivation of fresh foods plays a considerable role in the health issues that is affecting our communities.

I respect Alice Randall's quest to be healthy and fit, and I respect her call to arms for other women to get healthy with her. However, I need her and others to stop trying to make black women the face of the obesity epidemic. We are not. Of course health is an issue everyone should be concerned and focused about thus avoiding tummy tuck and liposuction cost. Women should be health conscious but making black women the face of obesity is not acceptable. This is a nation-wide issue that is in need of a nation-wide solution. When discussing how obesity affects marginalized communities, we must take into account what foods are available in neighborhood supermarkets, on our blocks and in our schools. We have to take into account that losing weight is a momentous action that affects one psychologically as well as physically. And most importantly, we must understand that one's weight is not THE way to make conclusions about one's overall wellness. So many other factors must be taken into account. I implore Ms. Randall and others to educate themselves more, and to stop making us the whipping-boys (or shall I say the whipping-girls) of our nation's failings.

Valerie Jean-Charles is a 23 year old community servant and writer in Brooklyn, NY. She holds a BA in Political Science from Fordham University. Follow at @Empressval to join her never-ending conversations about everything and then some.

Global Sisterhood: Why France's First Black Pageant Matters To Us In America

2012-05-01T07:49:00.000-04:00

Growing up in Brooklyn, watching pageants on television was this odd bonding experience for my mother and I. Although none of the contestants represented our aesthetics, (except Haitian-American, 1991 Miss America winner, Marjorie Vincent) thrice a year we'd dwell into the glamor that was the Miss America, Miss USA and Miss Teen USA competitions. My mother, being the Haitian spartan that she is, let me know early on that this seemingly parallel universe of perfect teeth and long, tousled hair was mostly smoke and mirrors -- and for a black woman almost as unattainable as touching the sun. And so, as much as I loved and enjoyed pageants, I never aspired to be a beauty queen, and later learned to revel in the fact that I am practically the anti-thesis to a pageant contestant.

A sense of nostalgia took over as I read via the Huffington Post, that France just experienced its very first "Miss Black France" pageant, and crowned a beautiful daughter of Senegal -- Mbathio Beye -- as its victor. We here in the states are no strangers to these competitions catering solely to women of color, as the Miss Black America franchise has been in existence since 1968. As a former student of political science and one with family with in France, the country's growing black population and issues with its citizens of color is nothing new to me. And so in Ms. Beye's win and the burgeoning black French beauty competitions, I found solace in the fact that the black women who are just as French as their white counterparts would find a medium in which to marvel at the different structures that make us beautiful.

So imagine my shock (yeah, not really) when I learned that, Patrick Lozès, the President of the French Representative Council of Black Associations denounced the event with the following statement:

"This logic is detrimental to the values of French society...If I think that there are not enough Black people in the most prestigious schools and companies, am I going to go create establishments exclusively reserved for Blacks?...It’s a contest that stipulates that white women are not welcome, which is very disturbing. This initiative could be perceived as a hostile event that will further erode national unity..."

And once again we have a black person worrying about the feelings of the very people who have forced his own kind to create the very show he is so against. When I read Mr. Lozès' words, I could only imagine the standing ovation with which supporters of racism and patriarchy are applauding him. How can a show that celebrates the beauty of blackness be "detrimental" to French society? Is it because it is threatening this fallacy of the equation: whiteness = French/European that France has been drastically clinging to? Why is Mr. Lozès denying black women the agency to have a full representation in a society that would have many of us in the States believe barely exist?!

Sometimes we here in the US become so befuddled with our issues and fight to be seen as human that we forget that we have our sisters throughout the globe are waging the same battles on their homefronts. Pageants are usually battled by feminists who see it as patriarchy at work, yet in this case I see it as the contrary. France's first black pageant and Mr. Lozes' despicable statement prove why we need more mediums for us to present ourselves in our diversity and greatness. I don't think there is an image that is more spit on and humiliated than that of the black woman's. We try to enter the mainstream and are told we cannot because our hair is too kinky and curly, noses too broad and lips too full. We create our own space to celebrate ourselves only to be told by our male counterparts that doing so is "hostile" to "national unity."

I applaud Ms. Beye's win and all the participants of the 2012 Miss Black France competition. And I will continue to applaud and support all efforts to make sure that we are seen for who and what we are. Mr. Lozès and all his supporters are the dreams of the white slave masters, nothing more. Sadly so, I expect his kind to always spew their negativity where positive spaces are carved out for Black women...just as I expect the sun to not be within reach.

Valerie Jean-Charles is a 23 year old community servant and writer in Brooklyn, NY. She holds a BA in Political Science from Fordham University. Follow at @Empressval to join her never-ending conversations about everything and then some.

Computer Love: Breaking up in the Digital Age

2012-04-27T00:30:00.000-04:00

This is the story of a boy and a girl. Nightly, she sat behind her computer in the Midwest typing her poems into the ether and he sat at his monitor on the East Coast sharing his words with the world. Through online forums, instant messages, and e-mails the boy and the girl learned each other’s hearts and fell in love. They planned a life together via web browsers and moved from the ether into the physical. They married, created, and loved. Their lives, online and off, intertwined.

This is the story of a boy and a girl now trying to disconnect the threads of their lives.

Worse than endless requests for Farmville and Mafia Wars, it hurts to see his name come across my timeline, to see his mother on Facebook or mentions of his writing on my Tumblr dashboard. It’s hard to see his work published across the Internet. What has been constant over the last twelve years, our intimate connection to each other via the Web, is now salt in the wound. Every word, twist of phrase, or social media shift seems designed to break my heart. Sadly, I don’t want to disconnect.

I have loved my husband’s work in some form since 1999 and he’s only getting better. In his words are memories of organizing my thesis on our living room floor and line editing what would be his first published story. My e-mail inbox still holds folders of private messages and our daily work chats. There are zip files of our first year conversing as a couple. And then there is the novella he wrote just for me. Our love has been in our words. Our love has been digital.

How do I manage to disengage from a relationship that has been very much public and very much publicized via social media? How do I learn to adjust to his new relationship being just as public while ours is breathing its last breath? It’s more than un-following, blocking, or deleting profiles. There will always be small threads of him drifting across my consciousness. How do I find a way to delete these years without feeling a part of me is missing? We have both been guilty of unkind keystrokes and too much transparency when it comes to our demise. I hope that time heals these wounds.

Early in our separation, I began to disappear from the Internet. I deleted and deactivated profiles trying to convince myself that I didn’t need the web and I could disconnect from this pain. It lasted two weeks. My second wave of digital disconnection was cleaning house and deleting people who were more his friends than mine or those likely to re-blog, re-tweet or repost something he’d said. I sent a brief message into the world that it wasn’t personal, just necessary for my sanity and my heart. Again, this didn’t last long. Those people had nothing to do with what was going on in our marriage and I felt badly for blocking and deleting them.

Now, six months in and a few weeks from a finalized divorce, we are trying to find ways to stay connected. Our lives, in some ways, will always be intertwined whether it be through our literary magazine or our need to reach out to each other every now and then. At some point those touches, or clicks, will grow father apart, and I’m learning to be okay with that. The hardest part of all is knowing what was once such a foundation in my daily life, those e-mails, texts, instant messages, and private jokes, are now gone. We are simply one of hundreds of avatars on each other’s timelines. But deep down we are still that boy and girl typing our words into the ether hoping someone will pull them down from the cloud and connect.

Athena Dixon-DeMary is co-founder of Specter Literary Magazine, poetry editor of The Reprint, and a managing editor for Z-Composition. Her work has appeared both online and print and is forthcoming in several journals. She writes and edits in NE Ohio.

Getting Back To The Source: Tuning Others Out To Hear Yourself

2012-04-26T00:26:00.000-04:00

I've been in an emotional rut for a while now. Some would call this a quarter life crisis, but I'd prefer to call it Valerie's Time of Reflection. Feeling lost and even depressed, I've pulled out every self-help book I could get my hands on. I'm not a die-hard supporter of self-titled life gurus telling others how to live their lives, but I felt that maybe someone's inspirational jargon could rekindle my dwindling inner flame . Up until last week, none of them were doing the trick. I wasn't here for writers telling me to "follow my bliss" and all that other Oprah and Deepak Chopra-esque stuff. I felt as if I followed my bliss, only to end up in a place that feels one-couch-more-comfortable than Hades' underworld.

I bought Kelly Cutrone's "If you Have To Cry Go Outside - And Other Things Your Mother Never Told You" on a whim last year when Border's was going out of business. I had been a fan of Cutrone's no nonsense attitude on her one-season Bravo show, Kell On Earth, and figured her book would be a cheap, easy read filled with her brashness and classic one-liners ( i.e. "I work in fashion because the world is such a heavy place that I need to be in this industry that fights for five hours to get a dress.") It honestly is one of the best purchases I've made. I am by no way endorsing Cutrone's book to everyone. Her approach is very direct, and I'm pretty sure her new-age views on religion would be more than most can handle. However, I do believe that many things she has written in the book can be super beneficial to many people.

A particular statement that has stuck with me is the following:

You'll find as you set out after your dreams that most people don't really want you to transcend the situation that you were born into. Perhaps they are scared for you, perhaps they don't believe in you, or perhaps they're just nasty, negative naysayers. Whichever it is, I advise you to stop sharing your dreams with people who try to hold you back, even if they're your parents. (pg. 17)

Such simple, yet profound statements. As much as we love to convince ourselves and others that we are proactive in choosing our friends and support teams, I believe we're really not. Let's face it, unless something traumatic happens (like your best friend seducing your boyfriend) we usually tend to stick with the people we have, keeping them around even if they are anything but supportive of us. And in doing so, we allow their negative energies to infiltrate our systems clouding our judgements and voices of reason.

How many times have most of us shared our deepest life passions with a friend or family member, only to hear them say something along the lines of "uh...are you crazy? You can't do that. You're not good enough."? I'm a betting woman, so I'd say too many times. Allowing those with such pessimistic views on what moves and inspires us, tends to take us off the course that we know we should be on.

Looking back, I know I am in my rut because I have allowed the voices of others to speak over my own, hence pushing me down a road I know I should not be on. At first, I felt ashamed about this, thinking that I am too strong and determined to have let this happen. But, with careful reflection I realize that this is a life lesson that many of us have to learn -- one of those trials by fire. Now that my shame has subsided, I am allowing myself time to be still and listen to myself -- figure out my needs and wants. Being still and listening to ones self is definitely the first step towards living the life that one needs and deserves.

Valerie Jean-Charles is a 23 year old community servant and writer in Brooklyn, NY. She holds a BA in Political Science from Fordham University. Follow at @Empressval to join her never-ending conversations about everything and then some.

I Am a Womanist And You May Be Too

2012-04-25T00:02:00.001-04:00

Three weeks ago, I declared via Twitter that I am a womanist. It wasn’t the simplest conclusion to arrive at, despite the fact that I attend a historical black college designed to educate and empower women. I had never identified as a womanist, feminist, or what I perceived as a “bra-burning, equality-seeking, angry woman who hates men.” I considered womanism and feminism to be direct contrasts to the values I cherish as a woman.

I was first introduced to the concept of feminism in Sisters in Cinema, a course named after Yvonne Welbon, Ph.D.’s dissertation which focused on the absence of black women filmmakers in Hollywood. She happens to serve as my Department Chair, so this course was designed to analyze historical media images e.g. the mammy and the welfare mother in modern television and film.

From the moment Dr. Welbon introduced feminism to me, I was against the concept. It seemed ridiculous to me because I was raised in a generation where women are perceived as equal. Though I appreciated the struggles of the suffrage movement, I was never denied basic rights and access to the American Dream based on gender. Race? Yes. Female? Not so much. I loved “A League of their Own” and “Mona Lisa Smile,” two movies which focused on untraditional women who made an impact, even if it was minor – but I still did not see how I could be a feminist in a world where the leader of Liberia is a woman.

I considered myself a humanist – someone who believes all people and animals are equal and are deserving of the same basic rights: happiness, equality, and life. Plus, I love men; from the top of their shaved heads to their dimples, beautiful smiles, and masculine nature – forgive me for just defining my dream man, I knowingly admit that testosterone is as much needed as estrogen in a household. What I didn’t realize as I fought against the womanism label was that womanists love men and animals as well.

In a brief conversation with a fellow student about womanism vs. feminism and my unwillingness to embrace either, she explained womanism plainly and simply. Womanists love the black man and see his presence as necessary, but we believe that we are equally as important in a family structure and in overall life as our male counterparts. There was no mention of bra-burning or marching for equivalent compensation. The co-existence of womanism and humanism separated this womanist concept from feminism and opened my closed mind to the possibility that I am, unequivocally, a womanist.

I still struggled with the label, but as I researched the origins of womanism, I realized that I identified with most of the basis for the concept and that it had been prevalent in my life for the past 22 years (and I’m only 22).

Womanism is a concept that was first identified and defined by the amazing writer, Alice Walker, in her book of essays In Search of Our Mother’s Gardens: Womanist Prose. She identified womanists as black feminists who refused to connect themselves to the racism and exclusion of some feminist movements. When the concept of feminism evolved, most of their issues did not reflect that of African American women. We were concerned with the oppression and suppression of our voices – not whether or not we should sip tea in dresses versus work in factories.

So, womanism developed out of a need for black women’s issues to be valued, based on the theologies of Jacquelyn Grant, Delores Williams, and James Hal Cone. Williams defined womanism as, “a prophetic voice concerned about the well-being of the entire African American community, male and female, adults and children. Womanist theology attempts to help black women see, affirm, and have confidence in the importance of their experience and faith for determining the character of the Christian religion in the African American community. Womanist theology challenges all oppressive forces impeding black women’s struggle for survival and for the development of a positive, productive quality of life conducive to women’s and the family’s freedom and well-being. Womanist theology opposes all oppression based on race, sex, class, sexual preference, physical ability, and cast.”

That I could identify with. Burning bras, which are quite expensive with breasts as large and succulent as mine, didn’t appeal to me but combatting oppression and the development of an improved quality of life defined me. So, three weeks ago, I decided I was a womanist. This struggle mattered to me – and so, I delved into the concept with heart and mind open to all that I would learn and discover. Studying womanism and gender studies along with media management in graduate school is now my goal. I couldn’t have arrived at the decision sooner. No, seriously.

I’m enrolled in a course which dissects Alice Walker’s work as it relates to her life’s experiences and I’m taking a class on the theologies of religion – taught from a womanist perspective on women’s roles in the Bible.

Go figure. -Evette Dionne @EvetteDionne

Republished with permission from Liberette Mag.

Why I Was Happy To 'Think Like A Man'

2012-04-24T00:40:00.000-04:00

I have been thinking a lot about the representation of black bodies in black films and how that reflects on the black community. As I start to go through the list in my head (Precious, For Colored Girls, and the host of Tyler Perry films) I realize that many of these films that are suppose to highlight and celebrate the black experience on the contrary reaffirm and assert damaging stereotypes about black women and black men.

Whether it is intentional or not, popular movies made in the new millennia are reproducing negatives images of black people. All of a sudden, there is only one type of black person, one type of black experience. Tyler Perry constantly recreates the down and out single black female who is running from some abusive black man. And every time I see these situations reincarnated with each new film, I’m wondering “is that it?”

I am not trying to invalidate this experience. Yes, there are black men who are abusive, violent, drug dealers, etc, as they are black women who are addicts, promiscuous, struggling, etc. However, where is the alternative? These adjectives are not representative of the entire black community. What is not frequently portrayed are those black men and women who are succeeding and doing the right thing. Think Like a Man a predominantly black cast happens to portray a different aspect of black life. In fact, the film reaffirmed and present a black identity that is outside popular images that have dominated the silver screen.

Read: Pariah and Precious: What These Films Say About Us

Black men are drug dealers, gangsters, abuse women, and are oversexed and black women are welfare recipients, promiscuous, and single mothers. This narrative is constantly played in the media and so widely accepted that it becomes a truth that is placed on all black people instead of an aspect of black life that is applicable to some but not all. The problem is that there is a disproportionate emphasis on these images that overshadows alternative realities in the black community.

Think Like a Man challenges these stereotypes and provides the audience a glimpse into a different life. For the first time in a while, sense classic movies such as Love Jones, Love and Basketball, and Disappearing Acts I walked out of the movie theater with a smile on my face and confident in the possibility of black love and positive feelings about being a black woman. It felt good to see Michael Ealy as an aspiring chef instead of veteran suffering from post traumatic stress and throwing his kids out the window.

Don’t get me wrong, I am not trying to discredit the experiences of domestic violence, post traumatic stress and abuse, I just like seeing a diverse black experience. Taraji P. Henson was glowing as the independent CEO. And Meagan Good shined as the chic girl who was into reading the work of greek philosophers and listening to old vinyls.

In the American society, where the criminalization and demonization of the black body is an every day occurrence present in law, politics, and especially the media it is important to have a diversity in the images of black people, life, and culture. The fact is, we want the little black girls and boys to know that there are other options, other possibilities. It is time to reclaim the black identity and shed light on the diversity of our experience.

Think Like a Man is refreshing and a proof that we are more than our stereotypes.

Shanita Ealey student at Columbia University and aspiring writer. Enjoys having heated discussions about social and political issues in the black community.

No Better Than You: Light-Skinned And Still Black

2012-04-23T00:31:00.000-04:00

My father’s skin is a rich cocoa-brown color, and my mother is fair-skinned with light brown freckles, and natural red highlights in her hair. Her great-grandmother, Sara, was the daughter of a slave woman and her master. In a photo I saw of her, she appeared white and had braids that hung down to the center of her chest. Because she married a man who was also the child of his master, her daughter (my great-grandma Ethel) was fair-skinned as well.

As children, my sisters and I thought our great-grandmother was white, but she was quick to correct us and anyone else who made that assumption. She told us that the slave master got in bed with the slaves, and that’s why she was so light. Her genes were more dominant than the brown-skin genes in my lineage; therefore, I came out tan-complexioned with a very soft texture of hair. Like my great-grandmother, I have never identified with being anything but Black, and didn’t think my skin color made me any different than any darker skinned person. It wasn’t until I became an adult that I realized some people had labeled me as “not Black enough” and expected me to behave a certain way based on the tone of my skin.

Even as a child I was Afrocentric. The Kenya and Iman dolls were my favorite and I did not want anything else. My father and I would sit and watch Black history specials on television, and I often tried to re-enact Alvin Ailey’s Revelations in the attic of our home. Whenever my mother and I visited the home of an older family friend, I would sit on the couch for hours and read her Ebony magazines from the sixties and seventies. I loved Black history, Black art and Black culture because I saw myself in it. We were a middle class family with middle class values, but we all spoke Ebonics. I grew up in the heart (hood) of Detroit, and felt like the people around me were a part of my family. I thought it was hilarious when other Black people asked me “What you mixed with?” I would reply “Black!” I couldn’t understand why they saw me any differently than themselves. It wasn’t until I was in my twenties that I learned that some people perceived me as white, and expected me to behave in a “bourgeoisie” manner because of the color of my skin and texture of my hair.

I started hearing comments like “Well you’re not Black anyway,” and “White women like you don’t have to deal with that.” A friend once said to me “When I first met you I expected you to act light-skinned.” I was both appalled and confused. I asked him what it meant to “act” light- skinned. He said acting light-skinned was acting uppity and snobbish, as if I were from a wealthy suburb. My younger sister, who is even lighter than I and whose hair is down to her buttocks, often comes to me with stories of being shunned by brown-skinned women and hearing snide remarks regarding her appearance. For both of us, these kinds of situations are hurtful and confusing. Our father and grandmother are brown-skinned, and we have many aunts, uncles and cousins who are brown-skinned as well. Perhaps we are a bit naïve, but these assumptions caught us off guard: we truly see no difference between ourselves and anyone of darker skin color.

I had been stereotyped and the victim of prejudice. This prejudice was not from people of a different ethnicity than me, but from people of my own ethnicity. This kind of prejudice made me feel excluded from something I loved and found my identity in. It was as if there was a reversed brown paper bag test that qualified me to call myself Black. I studied African-American history in college, so I am well aware of why these prejudices exist. A system of privilege, based on skin color, was established and perpetuated in the history of this country. During slavery, light-skinned slaves were “house niggers” and brown-skinned slaves were “field niggers.”

After slavery, a light complexion was necessary for Blacks to work some high-end jobs, and often provided access to other valuable opportunities. As a result, and one of the reasons why light- complexioned people are stereotyped as “uppity,” some of these privileged, light-complexioned Blacks took their status to the head. My father, who grew up in the fifties and sixties, was denied membership to a neighborhood club as a boy because he couldn’t pass the brown paper bag test. My grandmother, who is also brown-skinned, was ostracized and called names by fairer-skinned relatives. This system of inclusion and exclusion deemed light skin and soft hair better than brown skin and thick hair, and some people really believe it. There is a long history of internal racism within the Black community, but it does not have to continue to exist.

As a high school teacher, I often hear comments like “I only like light-skinned girls” or “I only like dark-skinned girls.” I’ve even heard “Dark-skinned girls are mean” and “Light-skinned girls think they all-that!” There are few things that irritate me more than comments like these, and I am quick to stand on my soapbox and give them a lecture about stereotypes and internal racism. Their comments, however, have helped me to see that the light-skinned/dark-skinned issue is very much alive and affects both adults and children. I tell them that the only thing that makes us different is the amount of melanin in our skin, or to state it more plainly, “the slave master got in bed with the slaves and that’s why I’m so light” as my great-grandmother would say. It is as simple as that. We are all brothers and sisters with many of the same experiences and struggles. Let’s embrace each other and ignore the lies that dominant society has told us about skin color and hair texture. Let’s take what was meant for evil, and destroy it.

Charday Ward is a freelance writer, playwright, teacher and founder and director of a mentoring organization in Detroit, Michigan. Follow her blog at bconscious.tumblr.com and on Twitter @IamChardayRenee

Manifest Destiny

2012-04-20T09:44:00.000-04:00

You treat me like trash, like a gadget.

I am trash. I am a gadget.

You used me for what you needed and then you upgraded to something shiny and new.

You don’t need me anymore. I don’t have a purpose. She’s better than me.

You see me as a collection of memories, not a whole woman.

I haven’t grown in twelve years. I’m stupid and uncultured.

I can’t compete with airport love. Wait until you breathe the same air everyday and you can’t get away from each other.

I’m boring and routine. I’m uninteresting and a burden.

You treat me like a saint. Like a doll on a shelf. Like I’ll break.

I’m not a saint. I’m a woman. Love me as a woman.

I’m broken.

These words, and countless others, have funneled out of my mouth or rattled around in my head for months. Each time it feels like I am throwing them into an abyss. I’ve watched them catch the air and float, small bursts of hope, before they tumble down into the darkness. I keep throwing them into the blackness hoping one day he will call an end to this foolishness and love me back to whole. I keep throwing words into the hole hoping one day they will form a mountain and I can climb back to the life I knew.

Read: First Person/Present Tense

Those words have formed a mountain. And it’s sitting on my shoulders. I’ve made myself Atlas. I’ve made myself a god.

I’ve been told of my kindness, goodness, and worthiness from family and friends more times than I can count since November. None of it has mattered because the one person I wanted to tell me that I was valuable can’t say the words.

What I’ve chosen to believe is that I am trash, disposable, and less than. I’ve internalized it and my edges are sharp. I have been lost in these reverse affirmations. They are why I wake in tears. The reasons for the self-love written on my bathroom mirror. The reasons I feel I will always be alone.

So where I do begin to heal? Where do we as women begin to heal? Here. Through acts of kindness to ourselves and through a hard look at how we ended up in these places. We will be what we choose to believe and we will live the lives we choose on our own terms.

We are more than wives, girlfriends, lovers, and mothers. We are whole outside of these confines. There are multitudes housed in the square inches of our bodies. We will manifest destinies greater than we could have ever imagined. We will speak them into existence.

For My Brother (A Love Letter)

2012-04-19T00:30:00.001-04:00

Little Brother,

Have I ever told you how amazing you are? Not in the infantile, often obligatory sense that looms over the head of an older sister confronted with questions about her siblings. Little Brother, you are amazing because you teach me how to be brave. Although, I doubt you realize this super strength with which you are endowed.

Even when we were young, battling the childhood monsters of chicken pox and ear infections, I admired your Achilles like tendencies that rendered you healthy after the most vicious of bouts. And when I think of the time when you cut your ear on a counter corner because you slipped and fell on spilled lemonade that <em>I</em> was supposed to clean, I cringe at my carelessness. Despite the blood, you remained strong.

You are tough kid.

You have hurdled and tackled and sprinted your way through adolescence and you have done so as a beautiful, brown-skinned, wide-eyed adventurer. I love you for that. Because even when the world ( or George Zimmerman) deems you a suspicious threat as a 6'2 ( remember when I was taller than you? ), 19 year-old black boy, you remain open, living fearlessly. The bounce in your walk is like a middle finger to those who dare question your boldness. I imagine at any given moment you're comforted by thoughts of our parents and dance and skateboarding.

Read: Not Buying It: Why I Still Believe in the Good Black Man

You'll probably read this and tell me that I'm overthinking, over-analyzing. Maybe you're right but that's what older sisters do.

I can't save you from danger, little brother. I wish I could tell you that all of your dreams will come true and that people are genuinely good but we live in a nation consumed by student loans and religious rifts and occupied streets- a land where skittles on a late night can get you killed. But I'm not going to claim to have the answers for our existential questions. I can only tell you that I love you and perhaps you need, like Trayvon Martin needed, more than words, no matter how deeply felt these words are.

But for now, take them for they carry my admiration and gratitude. You teach me how to be brave in the face of a (dangerous) world that doesn't yet understand your power.

Originally published March 2012- Zora Magazine

Jessica Lynne is a learner, writer, traveler, and lover of all things Hip-Hop. She is a brown girl living, in the words of Audre Lorde, deliberately and fearlessly. She currently writes for Zora Magazine where she muses on music, culture and the greatness of Denise Huxtable.

Saartjie Baartman Revisited: Thoughts on Makode Aj Linde's Female Genital Cutting Cake

2012-04-18T00:02:00.000-04:00

I think by now most of us (due to the power and magic of the internet) have watched the clips of Makode Aj Linde's performance art piece at Moderna Museet. Acting as the screaming head of a cake formed as a caricatured black woman, Linde insists that his piece was meant to shed light on female genital circumcision. Yet, I, as well as others, felt that circumcision was the last thing his live art was bringing focus on.

As I played the video over and over to try to grasp Linde's intention, I could not help but think of Sarah Baartman -- The African woman who was paraded throughout Europe in the early 1800s because of her physical appearance. Just as Sarah was exhibited for the curiosity and pleasure of white people, Linde recreated a black woman's body for the same disturbing amusement.

As I conversed and tried to unpack the video's multiple messages on twitter, I started receiving tweets from black women who said that they found no issue with Linde's work. They believed that his artistic integrity and purpose for the piece outweighed the jarring imagery that so many of us were taking away from it. I answered these opinions as diplomatically as I could, because I've come to the realization that if someone is okay with the desecration of their image I cannot do anything to change that.

Since learning about Sarah Baartman as a teen, I've become very aware and hyper-sensitive to how black women are portrayed by all groups --including ourselves. And in being this way, I feel a duty to call out and critic those who would take the initiative to present us as "Hottentot Venuses" or asexual mammies (as I believe Linde did). However, at times it all becomes a bit much: the awareness of an act of insensitivity, the decomposition of the act, grouping together to counter the discrimination, and then having to deal with those who look like you acting as apologists for the very behavior that threatens our safety and wellness.

As the week progresses, and the artists and attendees come forward with their perspectives on the performance, I am sure that I will have more time and resources to analyze it all more fully. As I've been so disturbed and shocked by the video I saw, I felt the urgent need to express my thoughts on the matter. I hope that this news item spurs conversations on the resurgence of mammy in our time, female circumcision, and the possible need of permission groups outside of us may require to tell our stories.

Valerie Jean-Charles is a 23 year old community servant and writer in Brooklyn, NY. She holds a BA in Political Science from Fordham University. Follow at @Empressval to join her never-ending conversations about everything and then some.

Storytelling Saves Lives or Why I Blog

2012-04-17T01:39:00.001-04:00

As a kid, I often felt voiceless. I didn't grow up in one of those TV drama homes where we discussed our feelings. I've always been opinionated, but I, like many Black women, was taught to turn emotional affairs inward. Subsequently, I became a great actress and fooled most everyone I encountered for the majority of my life. And then my house of cards came tumbling down during my third year of college.

It was during that time that I founded For Harriet and discovered storytelling saves lives. I don't believe in coincidences. That this forum launched at the time my life fell apart isn't lucky. Put simply: a blog, this blog, saved me.

At last, I found my voice, and I met my passion. Reading the stories of black women helped me better understand my own, and I was inspired to write and explore the ugliness that lay just beneath the surface.

Honesty should come easily, but diversion becomes the norm when you spend all your energy protecting your spirit from real and perceived threats. Blogging has allowed me to be honest for the first time about the things that caused me shame. I wish for everyone to know that freedom, so I began Black Girls Blogging.

I began writing about my mental health struggles after seeing women discuss theirs openly online. The emails, comments and tweets I've gotten let me know that sharing was the right decision. Now I know my story matters.

Everyone has a story worth telling. Whether or not we all have the skill or wherewithal to be professional writers, we can each carve our own digital space to define ourselves. That is priceless.

Read: What Is Black Girls Blogging?

The 70s were a golden age of black self-representation. Black women warrior writers like Michele Wallace, Alice Walker, Angela Davis wrote themselves into being with portraits of their complex womanhood. We're now in a renaissance of self-exploration. The Internet has democratized representation in a way that liberates those relegated to the margins. Women of color, in particular, have nothing to lose but our chains.Transparency begets transparency, and one day we'll all be free.

Kimberly Foster is the Editor and Publisher of For Harriet. Email her at Kimberly@ForHarriet.com with comments or find her on Twitter.

Dumbing Down For Love: Are Women Dimming Their Light To Let Others Shine?

2012-04-16T00:08:00.000-04:00

I don't think there is a day that goes by that the state of black love/relationships is not discussed/debated on my Twitter timeline. The conversations tend to be redundant and circular, providing little to no new information or insight. Yet, a tweet from last week in this general context has been sitting in the back of mind, continually churning the wheels of analysis in my brain.

The tweet generally claimed that women tend to dumb themselves down to appear attractive to men. My initial response to this statement was "Uh uh! Not me," but as I saw multiple women agreeing with it, I decided to remain mum and read their corroborative tweets instead . I still hold my initial thought, because I have not once felt that dimming my light to let another shine would be beneficial to me in any way.

Growing up, I never felt that I was the prettiest girl. I was and am certain that I'm not another Josephine Baker or Vanessa Williams in the making. However, I was aware that I possessed a certain level of wit and intelligence that would help me stand out from the masses. My parents, realizing that my mind was sharper than a whip, pushed me to strive for knowledge and excellence in every way possible. Such support paid off when I graduated Valedictorian in High School, earning almost a full scholarship to study at a private university. Before I started my studies at Fordham, my mother always stressed the importance of finding someone who is my equal. She would repeat over and over again that the surest way for me to kill the mind that God had given me would be to become involved with a man who felt threatened by it.

Read: An Open Letter to Single Black Women

And so, as I embarked in the journey that is my love life, appreciation and support of my intelligence became one of the main things I looked for in a potential mate. I knew that if a man could not love and challenge my mind there really would be no future for us. Given all of this, I suppose you may now see why I went against the grain on that particular tweet. I'm not saying that I have never compromised myself to keep the attention of an undeserving man, but it has not been in the way that was described on Twitter.

In our society, we're taught that we have to be everything but ourselves to not end up in that "horrid" state of singleness. A pretty face is pleasant to look at, but we all know that beauty easily becomes a nuisance when the possessor of such genetic perfection doesn't have an iota of sharp cognitive capabilities. I know that I am fortunate to have been raised to see my intelligence as a gift and not a curse. But, it is never to let for other women to know this as well. We shouldn't make excuses or feign modesty for the intelligence we have been bestowed with. Instead, we owe it to ourselves and to others to share what we know, to teach and learn from one another.Besides, no woman should stifle her brilliance solely to garner a man who probably doesn't deserve her to begin with.

Valerie Jean-Charles is a 23 year old community servant and writer in Brooklyn, NY. She holds a BA in Political Science from Fordham University. Follow at @Empressval to join her never-ending conversations about everything and then some.

Giveaway: Share For Harriet With Your Friends and Win!

2012-04-14T11:03:00.000-04:00

For Harriet wouldn't be possible without our crew of dedicated supporters. Thank you all so much for commenting, tweeting, and Facebooking your support as we continue to celebrate the fullness of Black women.

From today until Saturday April 21, when you share one of our posts with 3 of your friends via email, Facebook or Twitter, you'll be entered to win a T-Shirt from Bon Bon Vie. (Thanks, Shari!)

We want to make sure we count every entry, so follow these rules:

1) If you share via email, be sure to bcc: Kimberly@ForHarriet.com

Here's a template!

Hi,
I love this post, and wanted to share it! Tell me what you think.

2) If you share our posts with 3 friends on Facebook, be sure to mention our Facebook page so we can see the link.

You could try:

Loved this post @For Harriet! Take a look!

3) We'll see your For Harriet tweets whether or not you @ us, but if the character count permits, we'd love it if you did.

Remember, you must share directly with 3 people to be entered!

The names of all participants will be compiled and one winner will be drawn at random

That's it! The contest ends on midnight on Saturday, April 21, 2012!

We appreciate each and every one of you. Your support makes this possible!

Got a question or concern. Email Founder/Editor at Kimberly@ForHarriet.com