The Sister Circle

Leslie always wrote best in the early hours of the morning, when the world was quiet enough for her thoughts to speak without interruption. On this particular morning, her laptop screen glowed with the working title of her book:

Sister Circle: How Black Women Saved Me

She paused before typing the next sentence, smiling softly. This book wasn’t just research or reflection. It was testimony. Every chapter was braided with the names, voices, and hands of Black women who had carried her when she didn’t know she needed carrying.

Leslie had grown up surrounded by phenomenal women. Her mother embodied unconditional love and loyalty to the women in her life, from wedding gifts to hosting graduation dinners. Her two sisters- Danielle, the oldest and fiercely protective, and Monique, the baby with a laugh that could soften any room- formed her first understanding of sisterhood. They fought like siblings do, slammed doors, and said things they later apologized for. But they also showed up without question. When Leslie failed her first college exam and cried on the phone, Danielle drove three hours just to sit on the dorm bed and remind her that one moment didn’t define her destiny. When Leslie doubted her beauty after a breakup, Monique stood her in front of a mirror and spoke affirmations until Leslie believed them too.

Then there were the cousins, women who felt like sisters because blood and shared history had bonded them together. Family cookouts turned into therapy sessions on the back porch. Holidays became spaces where aunties and cousins exchanged wisdom disguised as jokes. These women taught Leslie that sisterhood didn’t require perfection, only presence.

As Leslie grew older, her circle expanded. Friends entered her life at different seasons. There were college classmates, coworkers, women she met at church, and writers she bonded with online and later met in person. What they all shared was honesty. They didn’t just hype each other up. They held one another accountable. If someone was shrinking herself for a relationship, the group addressed it. If someone avoided rest, they called it out. Love, in their sisterhood, wasn’t passive. It was intentional.

That intention led Leslie to create the Sister Circle.

It began as a small group chat, eight women who wanted a safe space to be real. No competition. No comparison. No pretending. The rules were simple: confidentiality, honesty, prayer or positive intention depending on belief, and celebration. If one woman won, they all won. If one woman hurt, they all paused to tend to her.

What Leslie didn’t expect was how deeply the Sister Circle would become a lifeline.

Tiny was the glue of the group. Small in stature but mighty in spirit, she had a gift for encouragement. Her voice notes were legendary, a blend of humor and wisdom. When someone doubted herself, Tiny reminded her who she was. So when Tiny’s messages suddenly stopped, the group noticed immediately.

The call came late one night. Tiny’s voice trembled as she told them her mother had passed away unexpectedly. Grief cracked through her words, heavy and raw. Leslie listened with tears in her own eyes, knowing this was a moment the Sister Circle had been built for.

They moved without hesitation.

Prayer came first. Each woman lifted Tiny’s name in her own way. Then came action. Danielle organized donations to help cover funeral expenses. Monique coordinated meals so Tiny wouldn’t have to think about feeding herself. Others took turns checking in, not with empty words, but with quiet companionship.

After the funeral services, when the weight of loss settled in and the casseroles stopped coming, the Sister Circle surprised Tiny. They pooled money, booked a quiet getaway near the water, and packed her bags with handwritten notes. It wasn’t about escaping grief. It was about giving her space to breathe within it.

Tiny cried when she found out. Not because of the trip, but because she wasn’t alone.

Leslie wrote that moment carefully in her book, knowing it illustrated the truth she wanted readers to understand. Black sisterhood wasn’t just social. It was survival.

But Leslie didn’t shy away from the challenges either.

She dedicated an entire chapter to the dangers of online comparison. She had seen how social media could turn inspiration into insecurity. Highlight reels became measuring sticks. Likes became validation. Women who should have been allies began to feel like competition.

Leslie had felt it herself, the quiet twinge of jealousy, the unnecessary self-doubt after scrolling too long. But she had also learned the antidote.

Community.

In the Sister Circle, comparison had no home. When someone succeeded, the group celebrated loudly. When someone felt behind, the group reminded her that timelines weren’t universal. Leslie often told them, “There’s enough room for all of us. What’s meant for you won’t miss you.”

She taught that competition among Black women wasn’t natural. It was taught. A byproduct of scarcity narratives and systems that benefited from division. Sisterhood, she believed, was an act of resistance.

As Leslie typed the final chapter, the sun began to rise. She reflected on how each woman had shaped her, how accountability had sharpened her, how celebration had healed her, and how collective love had sustained her.

She wrote:

Black sisterhood is not about sameness. It is about shared commitment. It is about choosing each other in a world that constantly tries to pit us apart. It is prayer in group chats, laughter in voice notes, meals dropped off without being asked, and truth spoken even when it’s uncomfortable.

When Leslie closed her laptop, her phone buzzed. A message from the Sister Circle lit up the screen.

Proud of you, one read.

Can’t wait to read the book, said another.

Tiny sent a heart.

Leslie smiled, knowing the book was already alive, written not just with words, but with women who refused to let one another fall.

And that, she knew, was the power of Black sisterhood, a love strong enough to carry generations forward, together.

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About Kiyaza:

Kiyaza the Poet is a multifaceted author and creative whose work bridges poetry, design, and self-discovery. In her book Lost Between the Sheets, she invites readers into her intimate journey through relationships, friendships, and the layered experiences of life as a Black woman.

Beyond her literary voice, Kiyaza channels her artistry into Water Lily Studios, a design platform of journals and planners, where she encourages reflection, creativity, organization, and self-sufficiency in everyday life. 

Her latest creation, Poetry in Bloom, is a collection of handmade, framed poems adorned with pressed flowers, celebrating beauty, resilience, and the art of storytelling.

Kiyaza’s writing focuses on the raw and reflective journey of self-discovery while exploring love, loss, healing, and growth through the lens of a millennial Black woman. 

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Connect with Kiyaza! 

Email: createdbyzakiya@gmail.com

Instagram: @kiyazawrites

Website: www.zakiyacreates.com  

Book: Lost Between the Sheets vol. 1 : https://a.co/d/6PaU3bV