Dear Black Women by Yinde Newby


Dear Black Women,

“There’s so much darkness in the world, but I see beauty left in you girl.” – Justin Timberlake

Dear Black Women,

No I didn’t forget about you. How can I forget about the mother of us all? The strongest, most resilient, beings there are. Black Women, you are magic, I don’t know why we are often forgotten about, why our news never seem to get media coverage. They don’t record our death rates, we don’t know that we are murdered 3 times more than white women are.

They are literally killing us and no one’s keeping up. Sandra Bland, Kory Gaines, Tanisha Anderson, Miriam Carey, Yvette Smith, Shelly Frey, Darnisha Harris, Malissa Williams, Alesia Thomas just to name a few have all been killed by/in police custody.

They tried to get us to believe that our stories weren’t worth covering, that Black women aren’t dying at the same rate as Black males, that we have nothing to worry about, that we should just march quietly and hold signs of our fallen brothers, but who marches for us? Who fights for us? Who spreads the word about us? Women have been carrying the world on their back for years, who’s going to carry us?

Then they call us bitter, we’re bitter and Black because fathers failed to do their jobs, and defined the term inferior and unworthy before we even had a chance to spell it. Because countless men use, belittle, defame, and bash us, we’re bitter because we’re hurt. Because there are a lot of wounds no one has tried to heal, because so many people thought of our bodies as something to glorify but won’t stick around long enough to know the soul inside.

Black women, we aren’t bitter, we aren’t angry, we aren’t ghetto, we aren’t too independent. We’re fighters, mothers, supporters, ambitious, worthy, sometimes fathers, multi-talented, courageous, inspiring, uplifting, and powerful. We don’t conform to the rules of society. No, we won’t cut our dreads, and heat-damage our natural hair to conform to European standards.

No, we don’t have to go natural to get in touch with our roots, and sing to Erykah Badu just to prove we are woke.They want us to fit this image like we shrink on command; they weren’t told that Black women don’t have to bend or change to make other people happy. We’re brilliant whether you see it or not. This world has tried to shake us, break us, eliminate the right for us to vote, make us believe that men won’t want us if we aren’t light skin, 5’5, with a fat ass and long hair.

But who says that we will want them? They tried to separate us in teams, #teamlightskin , #teamdarkskin. Making our babies feel unwanted before they reach the age of 10. Everyone wanted North but no one thought Blue Ivy was cute. They’ve been separating us since house slaves and field slaves. Having us believe that one shade is more powerful than the other just to divide us, but to them when we apply for a job we’re still Black , when we go ask for a loan we are still Black, when we need a cosigner for our business, we are still Black.

They’ve separated us from our sisters long before we could even form a bond with another. Looking down, judging, hating, stealing men all because we were brought up on the ideology of no one wanting us so we have to take. That isn’t true, you can love and wish your sister well without tarnishing your own success. Her blessing never took from yours, we have to build and come together because Black women, we have choices, we have preferences, we don’t need to fit anyone’s guideline, they need to fit ours.

No we don’t only cook, clean, and raise children. We are hustlers, go-getters, bosses, Bill Gates in the making. The power of Black women is that we don’t give up, no matter how many people don’t believe in us, don’t want us, or don’t appreciate us it’s in our nature to bounce back. We are queens, we wear crowns over here, there’s no typical image of what a Black women looks like, because we are versatile and interchangeable.

We are unique, there’s no one like us. Our melanin oozes down our being, we demand attention when we walk in the room. There are Dr. Miamis because people want to photocopy our look; they say we are too dark and too thick but we have people who are using foundation that is way darker than their skin.

We have people putting injections in places injections aren’t supposed to be, just to look like us, and they say that we aren’t game changers, that we aren’t innovative, when we have a whole world flocking towards us just to get the recipe.

No matter how many Black men you date, how many Black  friends you have, how much Black slang you know, how many boxer braids you rock, how sharp your contour line is, how overdrawn your lips are, how tan you make your skin, how “down” you try to be, you can never be a Black woman; Black women are unique. I love you, Black women, even if they don’t love you, or appreciate your complexion — you set the foundation for all things great.

Many won’t understand, many will complain, but there’s something about being a Black woman that can’t be changed.

Love your sister, Yinde

unnamed-5Yinde Newby is a guest writer for She is a junior journalism & communications major and English minor on the pre-law track at Hampton University. She is a lifestyle blogger, social activist, lover of all things Black, and a hopeless romantic with a dream to change this broken justice system. She believes that mass incarceration has taken over the Black race and she plans to change that by eventually becoming a district attorney. There’s no limit to the work she wants to do, and she believes that she’s living out her purpose according to God’s plan — she won’t stop until she knows she has touched or changed someone’s life. She says “Writing is what I do and who I am! It keeps me sane and relatable. I have things to share, stuff to speak on, testimonies to tell and I do that with my writing. I just want to elevate and uplift the most slept on race.”

Weekly Wisdom: Stand Out or Sit Down

Stand Out or Sit Down

There comes a point in time where, whether you want to realize it or not, you’ve longed to fit in. You’ve longed to be like everyone else. In honoring the legacy of Dr. Maya Angelou, who passed away this Wednesday, I think we all need to stop and think about our desire (or former desire) to blend in with the crowd.

Maya Angelou has centered a lot of her work on image and identity. In Phenomenal Woman, she teaches us to embrace our bodies – our wide hips and our full lips, among other things. In I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings, she shows us that although we may have been through some wretched times, our songs, or our testimonies are still worth sharing. But, despite the brilliance of Maya Angelou and the beauty of individuality, many people still choose the value being like everyone else.

I remember being in middle school and in seventh grade, my pants got a little tighter. My hips started to fill in and it seemed like this booty appeared overnight. And I absolutely hated it. My pants never fit right because my waist was much smaller than my booty (often a problem still) and the bottom half of my body was growing much faster than the top half, if you know what I mean. And then my tallness set in, on top of it all. But most importantly for me at that time, my body wasn’t like most of the girls’ around me. The skirts my ‘straight up and down’ girlfriends wore were practically a crime for me to wear and although I have never been overweight or obese, I certainly felt so being the size 4/6 among the plethora of size 0s.

And even as late as my college years, as a writer for my school’s newspaper, I sometimes felt the urge to write more vanilla – and to blend in better with the masses. As a writer of controversial topics at ritzy private school, I was praised by those who were down all while I was shunned by the naysayers who refused to confront the dirt that had been hidden under the rug. I was faced with threats, hate mail and even vandalism just as often as my column made top 10 – Every. Single. Week.

“Why can’t I just have a normal experience?” I thought, reflecting on my newspaper stint. Slander, meetings with deans, more slander and my dad wanting to pull me out of school for the semester to protect me only pushed me and my writing closer to mediocrity…all but for a second.

Standing out isn’t all that bad.

My shape? I’ve embraced to the hilt. I love my curves. Now at 24, I find myself flaunting my curviness, in the cleanest of ways of course. Looking back on my middle school haze, I laugh at my seventh grade self. The same girls I found myself wanting to look like back then…long for the curves that I have been blessed with and the confidence that has been paired with it today. I was able to change my mindset from phenotypically challenged to phenomenally created. And my writing? Writing is my air. And I value my point of view more than ever. It’s a healthy way to deal with my frustrations with society and it’s my way of singing my song…and hopefully, the song of my fellow caged birds that are still afraid to sing.

It would be a lie to say it’s not tempting to fit in. It’s easy. It doesn’t require much effort. And quite often, it’s more comfortable than standing out. But there is beauty in standing out. More so than in fitting in. So stop fighting yourself to be like everyone else. It’s a fight you’re never going to win…because the moment you strive to be “normal” is the moment you lose yourself.


Stand out or sit down.

“If you are always trying to be normal, you will never know how amazing you can be.”

– Maya Angelou


Peace, Love & Consciousness,