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Diary of a Mad, Black Woman

Historical Issue

Editor's Note

May 15, 2020

Dear Diary,

I have to admit something that I’ve worked a long time to deny.

I’m an angry, black woman.

There. I said it.

I’m every bit of the stereotype that I’ve been trying to fight for years. I am the Black woman who has zero chill, and is proud of it. I’m finally OWNING my anger.

There is nothing to be “chill” about right now. An innocent, unarmed 25-year-old man was killed in the street while taking a jog because he looked like a “suspect.” The shooters tried to make a citizen’s arrest. The video has gone viral. Today is my son’s 20th birthday.

May 25, 2020

Dear Diary,

It’s not my job to manage other people’s emotions. It is only my job to manage mine. So, I am angry (*insert, human) today. And I’m not denying myself the full range of human emotions, not even one bit.

Another video was released today.

“Please, I’m not trying to win,” George Floyd said during his struggle. “I’m not a bad guy, man. I’m not a bad guy.” With a knee to the throat, he told the officer, “I can’t breathe.” No adjustment was made. We watched George Floyd call to his mother. We watched him die.

May 31, 2020

Dear Diary,

I take a breather. I move. I organize. I laugh. I escape. I rejuvenate. I pray. I dig in again. I cry.

But, ultimately, the years of injustice have made me angry.

I’m seeing a lot of us doing beautiful activism work online and in these streets—Unleashing SOUL POWER on the racist constructs and systems in whatever ways we can. Like any athlete swimming or running a marathon would. Pacing ourselves. Trying to learn our bodies. Learning our internal rhythms. Our triggers. Forgiving ourselves for our limitations.

But, the headlines continue.

June 5, 2020

Dear Diary,

Today would have been Breonna Taylor’s birthday. I snapped.

I was so full of grief, I couldn’t breathe.

I gasped for air and dialed my auntie mama’s number. I managed to warn her as she answered, “Hello?”

“Everyone’s ok,” I say between sobs. “No one has died- I don’t want you to worry. . .”

Then, I cried a deep, ugly, gut cry and explained that I had been listening to Breonna Taylor’s mom talk about her baby Breonna and something in her mother’s words resonated so deeply that I came unglued.

My birthday is in 13 days. Breonna could have been me. I have a daughter. Breonna could have been her. I have been Black— all. my. Life, and I know this fear all too well. Not to mention the grief. Having buried my mother, I know what it is to wonder if my loved one’s life matters. Will she be forgotten.

When my sobbing slowed down, my auntie mama said this to me, “I’m very clear that sorrow and joy can exist at the same time.”

That’s when I knew this issue had to express the full range of our human emotions. Including the vulnerability of loss, trauma, and the healing journey towards finding joy.

June 18, 2020

Dear Diary,

Today, I am fully present with my JOY and my sorrow. My body can house both.

(Side note: Get you an auntie mama.)

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