They Told Me to Be Humble. What They Meant Was Stop.

I discussed why I stopped writing, but I never talked about what might have kept me from continuing with something I found so near and dear to my heart. When I really think about what could have stopped me — not so much from writing, but from sharing my thoughts, my perspectives, and my experiences — it stems from being told that I needed to be humble about what I had accomplished, as if my hard work ethic didn't earn me the right to own it. I also realize that when a Black woman dares to have audacity beyond her wildest dreams, a lot of people — intentionally or not — will try to humble her. As if enough should've already been enough.

And honestly, I don't know if I've reached that point yet. I'm not talking about enough being enough in the sense that something is wrong. I'm taking the stance that my audaciousness and strategic thinking have moved me into spaces others would say aren't possible for me just yet. I have a specific type of drive that propels me to do hard things fast, but thoroughly. Teaching through a pandemic and choosing to move 800 miles away from the only state that had ever held my identity — that was that drive in action. I remember the moment I could've taken the easy route. It was the most familiar path, the one that matched everything I'd experienced up to that point. But I knew I needed a change of environment and a change of pace.

Some of the aftereffects of the pandemic really did cause me to pause — not stop. Losing the one person who was my ride-or-die, who believed beyond measure that I was that girl, does something to your brain and your spirit. I remember saying my final goodbyes and telling myself this cannot be real. With my now-husband standing by my side, I began to accept that maybe — just maybe — it was part of the fire being lit under me. I am not the easiest egg to crack. A lot of that comes from holding in how I feel, because at the end of the day, regardless of my feelings, I know a job has to be done. I carry that into my professional life because I know that generations before me had to fight differently — sometimes without the space to feel at all.

But when I say without emotion, I mean the unwillingness to let others see you crack. One of the most memorable lines from Scandal is Papa Pope telling Olivia that in order to be half as good, you have to work twice as hard. And since the racial reckoning, I feel like that gap has widened significantly — and honestly, it's not even a feeling. It's a reality. We've seen so many Black women lose jobs. We've seen positions that existed because of federal protections get rescinded in ways that showed people's true colors. And I don't care what anybody says — I've never seen a Black woman afraid. There's this iconic image of a Black woman sitting on the edge of a bed, and I feel like that has been my life for at least the past four years.

The world my parents and grandparents grew up in is no longer here, and as a society, we have to reckon with that. Because when everything is not what it seems, you have to fight with different tools and different strategies. History does repeat itself — the same concepts just get new names, new packaging — but the impact is the same. And I don't think people should count Black women out just yet. I tell myself that often: don't count me out just yet. Because "no" to me is never really no. It's not right now, or new opportunities, or new objectives. No means there's something happening that I don't need to be part of.

So I know that enough hasn't been reached for me yet. And honestly, I'm glad it hasn't. Because I still have fight left in me — and I know I am called to be much greater than what many might expect.