HERstory…
One day later, and I’m most definitely still on a post-Inauguration Day high… for so many reasons.
The authenticity
The transparency
The unity
The possibilities…
How it felt to receive an abundance of normalcy (which I welcomed with open arms), while also being part of so many historic, monumental moments. I could run down a list of many, but one that continues to fill my soul is not only the possibility of peace, kindness, and bipartisan leadership, but the fullness I felt seeing women that look like me doing ALL THE THINGS. It has been said a million times before, but representation matters. Like. For real.
It matters for the young and impressionable, it matters for people that have spent decades being inundated with images of people who don’t look anything like them, or whose socio-economic status warrants them unrelatable… It matters for the people who are tired of feeling different and therefore unworthy. It matters for - everyone, everywhere.
Yesterday I was so incredibly proud to see representation in the way that I did - not only in Madam VP Kamala Harris, but also in Amanda Gorman, and Abby Phillips - and was reminded that I am powerful. Women are powerful. Women that look like me are powerful. We deserve to be heard. We deserve everything we want. We fight as hard (or harder) than some of our peers, and at times it feels we are running a marathon with a weighted vest, but we get it done. We all have a story to tell and we deserve to be heard - and - seen.
Unfortunately I spent many years unaware of who I really was, and why I should not only be allowed to “take up space” but to do everything I could to do so. To show the pieces of me. All the unique and perfectly imperfect pieces that shaped the woman I am today. It may sound cliche but I spent far too much of my energy being concerned with the opinions of others, instead of focusing on being comfortable in my own skin. Loving who I was, and who I am.
Over the past year I have said that I felt more seen than I ever have before. Seen and appreciated as a black woman. Seen and appreciated for being a working mother trying to navigate work and home life when the two are suddenly intertwined. Seen and appreciated for being me, and I can’t even begin to put in words how that makes me feel as a mom to a black girl.
We all hear stories of people shattering the proverbial glass ceiling, but to witness it over and over again with my own eyes is invigorating. I no longer have to wonder if my daughter will experience the joy of seeing a black woman in the White House during her lifetime… she will. I don’t have to speak in hypotheticals or struggle immensely knowing that - although she is capable of all things - she might forever be bound and limited by a system that doesn’t believe in her.
Everyone is watching now…. and I hope it continues even after the “newness” and “trendiness” of it all fades. I can’t wait to tell my daughter all the reasons she is so amazing. I can’t wait to share with her all the many ways she can leave her mark on the world. I can’t wait for her to see just how powerful she is. I can’t wait for her to write her story, and for HERstory to be told.