For most of my journey through this life as a Black woman, I've seen and experienced the narrative of the 'strong Black woman' within and outside of my home.
Softness was perceived as weak, fragile, insecure and unsure of one's self.
Strength was perceived as resilient, triumphant, and almost warrior-like, carrying an impenetrable shield.
As I grew older, I wondered what wounds this strength held within the veil of our souls.
What wounds needed to shatter and break into the arms of loved ones
What pain needed to be voiced?
What rainfall of sorrow and tears need to flow endlessly into the ocean of distance memories?
I remember seeing my mother cry only once in my lifetime. It scared me because I had never seen that level of vulnerability in her. She wasn't weak, she was human. Carrying the same heart and soul as all that breathes life on this earth. Even though I was a child, I could finally see her soul and my love grew for her.
And then I realised, it is in our softness that love grows.
This is what I intend to celebrate this Black History Month
the softness of Black women
those that open their heart and soul
unsure of what this act will bring
but knowing that it is where we must rest
to be fully whole
- Valerie Weyland
nurturer of @ayunehair
