Hope is Where the Heart Is
What have we without hope? Even if you're reading this and in the midst of unwanted, undeserved and unfair circumstances, I implore you to find your hope and reach for it like a life preserver because without it, the injustices can seem insurmountable and our perspectives become averse to change. What will we leave our daughters, granddaughters and future generations of women if we ourselves can't find a shred of hope? We do not need to water down our stories or experiences; I am suggesting quite the opposite. Tell your story by giving yourself full credit for all of the POWER you have had to summon. There is magic in unapologetically owning your story in it's fullness, with you emerging from tragedy to triumph as the victor.
I have always believed the way to affect the greatest change is by way of a stubborn heart fueled by relentless hope. This isn't because I have not known adversity, but perhaps because I have known more than my fair share so the way I saw it, I had two options: sink or rise. I stubbornly refused to sink however it took quite a bit longer to cultivate that same stubbornness to rise. This entailed me hanging up the disempowering way I saw myself in relation to my lived experiences. I had work to do but there was no way I was going to rise by ruminating over the trail of wrong-doers and naysayers that life had placed in my path. I am more than the sum of that which I've faced but I take full credit for all I had to overcome to get here. Notably, that included overcoming myself. And then, I found a way to use my experiences to serve others which for me, was my ticket to self liberation.
Sharing our stories is a powerful way to connect with other women, empowering ourselves and others in the process. Storytelling sets empathy in motion by raising awareness and expanding world views beyond our own backyard, engaging, elevating and encouraging one another to find our voices and dare to be seen. We are stronger together and together we rise.
Still I Rise
Maya Angelou - 1928-2014
You may write me down in history
With your bitter, twisted lies,
You may trod me in the very dirt
But still, like dust, I’ll rise.
Does my sassiness upset you?
Why are you beset with gloom?
’Cause I walk like I’ve got oil wells
Pumping in my living room.
Just like moons and like suns,
With the certainty of tides,
Just like hopes springing high,
Still I’ll rise.
Did you want to see me broken?
Bowed head and lowered eyes?
Shoulders falling down like teardrops,
Weakened by my soulful cries?
Does my haughtiness offend you?
Don’t you take it awful hard
’Cause I laugh like I’ve got gold mines
Diggin’ in my own backyard.
You may shoot me with your words,
You may cut me with your eyes,
You may kill me with your hatefulness,
But still, like air, I’ll rise.
Does my sexiness upset you?
Does it come as a surprise
That I dance like I’ve got diamonds
At the meeting of my thighs?
Out of the huts of history’s shame
I rise
Up from a past that’s rooted in pain
I rise
I’m a black ocean, leaping and wide,
Welling and swelling I bear in the tide.
Leaving behind nights of terror and fear
I rise
Into a daybreak that’s wondrously clear
I rise
Bringing the gifts that my ancestors gave,
I am the dream and the hope of the slave.
I rise
I rise
I rise.