Sheena was the glue. Everyone said it, and most days she wore that title like a crown. But as December settled over Brooklyn with its flashing lights, long grocery lines, and endless WhatsApp messages from family, the crown began to feel more like a chain.

She gives endlessly, worn by love and duty. Expectations pull, but her spirit whispers for peace. She lets go—the meal, the noise, the weight. Tonight, she chooses herself and rests in the quiet.

I was conflicted between the two, should I rest or continue on?  I knew I should slow down but it felt so wrong.

There comes a moment when your body refuses to carry what your heart won’t release. I learned that peace isn’t passive; it’s protection. Healing began when I stopped pretending to be unbreakable and started choosing myself. My rest became rebellion. My boundaries became redemption. My peace became non-negotiable. For the first time, I understood—true strength isn’t enduring pain; it’s having the courage to release it.

Before the world demands your strength again, this is a reminder to choose yourself. To rest without guilt. To remember that you were never meant to hold everything together alone.

The sun burned through Nahlia’s back as she dreamed of the cool air inside the white house. Inside, Ailhan balanced a tray beneath the mistress’s stare, longing for the laughter drifting from the fields. Each envied the other’s world, blind to how both were prisons built from different bricks. But under the same moon, they would learn that freedom was never found alone.

Since the rise of incel rhetoric, red-pill and blue-pill podcasting, and the sudden normalization of men in skirts in pop culture, we have watched the slow but steady emasculation of Black manhood. Men are throwing down hard hats and briefcases for podcasting equipment, stepping away from leading families to become stay-at-home dads (with no plan for leadership), and trading in loose pants for “man bags.” Riley from the Boondocks dressing like a "thug" But let’s be clear: thi

Don't want to read? Listen to the story narrated by Natasha. By nine a.m., the air in Gloria’s House of Beauty was already sweet with pressing oil and grape soda. The door chime, that old brass bell that had dinged for forty years, sang its little two-note hello every time someone stepped in with a head scarf and a story. The gospel station played low, a choir holding a note like morning sunlight, and the curling irons clicked gently across the countertops like metronomes kee

When you were a kid, did your mom ever forbid you from wearing red nail polish? Maybe she said something like, “That color is a bit too grown.”  Perhaps she warned that red lipstick was for “fast” girls, or that a red dress would send the “wrong message.” These warnings didn’t emerge out of thin air. Generations of women were taught that red was dangerous — a color that could draw the wrong kind of attention, one that marked you as unruly, provocative, or “loose.” But why doe

Warner Bros. Pictures On a long flight to Lihue, Hawaii, I re-watched The Color Purple: The Musical . I had seen the original film as a child, but this time, the themes felt heavier, sharper. Scenes of parental abuse, incest, and servitude under unbearable strain were devastating. Yet one theme wouldn’t leave me: pretty privilege. It’s the unspoken currency of desirability, a force that shapes who gets love, who gets dismissed, and who gets discarded. In The Color Purple , w

Credit: The Root "Screenshot from Youtube" I used to want to trust media. To believe the stories presented as truth, the documentaries as honest depictions, and the conversations as authentic dialogue. But thanks to my African American Studies class at the greatest HBCU in the World (#AggiePride) I learned about COINTELPRO. The FBI’s covert program didn’t just spy on and sabotage Black leaders—it mastered the art of manipulating narrative. And if they had those kinds of psych

L et’s be honest: the celebs we admire aren’t just about the glam, the Grammy, or the genius. They reflect a piece of us  — the dreamer, the survivor, the rebel, the romantic. So what does your favorite Black woman celebrity say  about you? Here are 8 icons and what your love for them reveals about your character, drive, and cultural vibe — including their shadow sides. (Psychologist not required. Just vibes + emotional depth.) Beyonce If you stan Queen Bey, you are strategic

In a world filtered by Instagram and contoured by algorithms, the lines between what is real and what is manufactured are blurring fast. Today, beauty is no longer just curated—it's constructed . What began as subtle enhancements has mutated into full-blown identity modification, pulling both women and men further away from their Creator image. L to R: Drake showing off new abs. Nicki Minaj performing. Glorilla with new nose features. This isn’t just about vanity. It’s about

Introduction Black women’s bodies have never simply existed in America—they’ve always been dissected, debated, labeled, and controlled. From the moment Saartjie Baartman was paraded through 19th-century Europe as a spectacle of anatomy rather than a human being, the world began its long obsession with turning Black femininity into public discourse. What should have been sacred and sovereign became public property. Our curves, our hair, our skin, our style—nothing was exempt

In this compelling audiobook-style love story, follow Selah, a strong Black woman, on her journey to discovering true love that honors her .