Even as I write this, I have to remind myself: there is no shame in being hurt. I will not take on the shame that belongs to those who have harmed me. I will not claim energetic or emotional responsibility for their actions any longer. I can only take accountability and responsibility for my own actions.

My intentions in publishing this statement are threefold: 1) to conjure additional support for my protection; 2) to put forth my own perspective, morals, ethics, and values; and 3) to prevent further escalation of pervasive harassment.1

Background

I first met Derrick C. Smith Jr. in 2017 while working a summer job. He approached me and asked me for my number. I declined and offered my Instagram instead. We did not correspond until September 2021, when I was scrolling on Instagram and saw a painting that he posted on his story that seemed to be speaking to the same themes as my doctoral research. I reached out to interview him. He introduced himself to me as “DJ.” I would later learn that most of the people in his life called him “Derrick.”2

After the interview, I commissioned a painting from him and offered some art supplies that I had lying around the house. I met with him in-person to give him the supplies. Shortly after, he and I began flirting. He claimed he was single and been celibate for a few months. I was 6 weeks out from a relationship with someone who was financially, emotionally, and sexually abusive, and my self-esteem was very low, making me susceptible to manipulation.

Derrick lovebombed me. Made it seem like we had mutual interests in Black feminism and radical Black movements. He gave me a lot of compliments. He came off as sweet, endearing, and caring. I was so starved for attention that I ate it up. I assumed it was a genuine show of interest, but later I learned that the personality he showed me was a result of studying my public profile. Within a week of us corresponding, we started having a sexual relationship with each other. He said “I love you” after a month.

He told me that he was polyamorous, and I didn’t want to be in a relationship with a polyamorous person–much less a man–so I wanted to keep things casual. The relationship definitely started that way, but over time, he began spending more time at my apartment. He would cook, clean, and occasionally bring me gifts. From the beginning, there would also be periods of time where he would disappear and be unreachable. He reassured me that he was not seeing anyone else romantically or sexually. He would always blame his absence on his unstable family dynamic.

The first time I spent the night at his apartment, he got angry about something. I remember hearing him hit the wall repeatedly, screaming and yelling. My programming of self-betrayal was deep at this point–I dismissed the outburst even though it frightened me. In our conversations, he had talked about his temper and violent rage as elements of his past. Derrick often asserted that he was not the angry, violent teen he was. Therapy, meditation, and drugs had helped him manage his anger. I thought that my presence would be healing, so I prioritized comforting him over my own safety. I believed him and disregarded the outbursts when they came, ignored the feeling in my stomach when I witnessed his anger towards others. During the course of the relationship, he was careful not to yell at me or hit me, so I convinced myself that I was safe. I did not know what I know now–my lover’s violent, dismissive behavior towards objects and others demonstrates the capacity from which they can harm me.3

Before long, I was paying for all of our meals and driving Derrick to or from work. If I wanted to go on a date, I had to plan, pay, and worry about what he would wear. We did not go out often. We spent most of our time in my apartment, isolated in our own little world. By December 2021, he told me we were in a committed relationship. Even though I had my reservations, I agreed. He said that he wanted to be monogamous, more specifically that he “didn’t want to share me.” At the time, the statement made me special and chosen. Looking back, I can see that he probably said that so that he could maintain control over me and ensure that I did not seek another romantic connection.

A major building block of our connection was sex; this too was a part of the manipulation. His financial situation did not allow him to effusively give me money or gifts, so sex became his primary tool to establish an attachment. I couldn’t lean on him for much emotional support. I didn’t realize at first because he had been nicer to me than my previous exes. He performed love, care, and devotion to the best of his ability. I accepted what he offered, making it enough substance to keep me even when he would disappear with no communication.

I traveled quite a bit for work and school. While I was out of town, he never called or answered my calls. Over time, I learned to expect little contact when we weren’t around each other. I convinced myself that he was busy working. Sometimes when I pressed him, he would say he was fighting with his mother and sisters. I naively trusted him. When we were physically together, he seemed so devoted to me that I never assumed he was deceiving me.

I learned that I was pregnant in February 2022. At first, I was shook. I couldn’t believe it. I had been sick for a few weeks, so nauseous that I missed important grant deadlines because I was too sick to write.

Briefly, I considered carrying the pregnancy to term, but a good friend of mine reminded me of the truth: I was in no position to raise a child. I was still in school. Derrick made very little money at his part-time job. We could not support a child, regardless of whether we stayed in a relationship or not. I did not want to struggle like my mom did; I had no wish to become a single mother. Deep down, I didn’t trust that he would be around to adequately provide and take care of the child. Above all else, I wanted to finish school, establish some kind of financial security, and then consider being a mother. Derrick said he was okay with whatever I chose, so I booked my Planned Parenthood appointment for early March.

I have shared my abortion experience elsewhere, but I will share the relevant parts here. I had a medication abortion that I self-administered with Derrick’s assistance. For my comfort, I booked a hotel for a couple nights so that I could bleed in a tub. All the research indicated that the procedure would take about 3 days. He stayed with me for those first couple of nights, but the bleeding did not end then as I had been advised. After those nights, he left, saying that he had to help his sister clean roaches in their apartment. It was difficult to get in contact with him. I spent most of my abortion bleeding in my apartment alone, except when I paid for his rides to/from work. I was very lonely and isolated; I remember crying and begging him to be there with me. Before the abortion, he usually was at my apartment all the time, barring when he had to work. I remember thinking briefly that his absence was punishment for my choice, but I tried to push those thoughts away with the excuses he gave me for why he couldn’t be there. Truthfully, I will never know for sure why he wasn’t there, but I will always have the painful memories of suffering and isolation.

When the procedure was complete, I held a ceremony for my newest ancestor. I honor them now on my altar. Though I made many mistakes in that relationship, I am eternally grateful that I chose to terminate my pregnancy. Having an abortion was the biggest act of self-love in that relationship. Though I could not have known what was coming, making that decision saved me from a lifetime of being tethered to a lying, cheating man who used and manipulated me. I can only imagine what abuse and violence I escaped.

The relationship continued after the abortion for another year and 5 months. During this time, Derrick alternated between performing as the devoted boyfriend and disappearing as the troubled young man. To ensure that I believed he disappeared to handle issues with his family, he would often play their screaming matches on speakerphone or play his mother’s vitriolic messages or show me scratches on his neck and shoulders from “fights” with his sisters.

I did not question whether he was cheating. He introduced me to his close friends and his family as his partner. I introduced him to my family of origin and my chosen family as mine. I planned, booked, and paid for vacations for us. He spent 5-6 days a week at my place and never contributed to any bills. He cleaned and cooked, but I noticed that when he did laundry, he was mainly only washing his clothes and only a few of my garments.

In the fall of 2022, I started to look for a home to buy. He and I discussed the possibility of us living there together and eventually starting a family. Since I was already paying the bills, he could reduce his hours at his job, finish getting his degree, and hopefully get a better paying job. With that plan, he and I toured homes together, being sure to look at places that were big enough for the two of us. I chose to stay in the East Baltimore area because that wouldn’t be too far from his school and apartment.4

After I moved into my home in December 2022, the relationship shifted. He still contributed nothing financially, but now the devoted boyfriend mask started to slip. I did not give it much mental space because I was trying to balance being a new homeowner, finishing my dissertation, and working as a full-time researcher at a toxic nonprofit. I hid so much of what I was carrying from my friends and family. My shame kept me bound because I was afraid they would judge me for choosing an awful nigga again. I refused to face the truth of how bad the relationship was, how much of myself I had given to him. I spent more than a few nights crying because of his disappearing acts.

When he returned, he often had excuses and explanations that played on my sympathies. Sometimes he would say nothing. He would always deny cheating, watch me cry, and then wipe my tears as if offering me comfort. At the time, I took that as kindness, for the ones before him never tried to comfort me when they caused me pain. His hot-and-cold behavior and my own codependent tendencies kept us enmeshed and trauma-bonded.5 I held on to the hope that one day he would change, and the relationship would match the idealized version I clung to.

I had brief moments of clarity. There were times when my spirit would whisper, “This nigga is using me.” My mind would start to collect the evidence for why that wasn’t true. The childhood trauma + poverty + bad job + cooking and cleaning + sex + he’s not like the others. I invented math that would rationalize my suffering and reward my silence. He did choose me after all, and soon he would be moving in, and we won’t have to worry about this anymore.

As the time for him to move in approached, we got into more disagreements. I was confused as to why he refused to follow through and fully move in. He was here most of the time anyway. His excuse was that he needed to protect his adult sister from incest by keeping the apartment they shared. When I confronted him about that not making sense, he cried and told me that he was always going to be her protector. That it had always been that way since they were children. This admission and the tears were so shocking that I did not press the issue any further, and instead I pivoted to asking him to contribute more financially. He responded by saying that he didn’t contribute because his money would go further with his sisters. I clearly didn’t need his help. I told him he would have to spend less time at my house if he weren’t going to pitch in on our joint living expenses. I asked him if he changed his mind about moving in. He said no, he wanted the future that we discussed. He even told me that he was going to get his driver’s license to be more independent.

In August 2023, a couple of weeks before my dissertation defense, I went on vacation with my chosen family in Antigua for 6 days. Before I left, I asked him to call me while I was gone. He, of course, did not. I insisted. At that point, I could no longer ignore the gut feeling that something was off. One morning, I prayed for confirmation: “If that nigga is not doing right by me, let him get sick, let some chaos happen at his job. Show me undeniably that he’s not doing right. Let the truth be revealed.” Sho’nuff’, he called me one day for 20 minutes while he was at work. He said he was feeling sick and that there was chaos going on at his other job.

On the last day of vacation, around August 9, 2023, he asked me if we could be poly. I asked him again if he had been cheating. He denied cheating, but continued to press that he wanted to be poly. I asked if there was someone that he wanted to sleep with, he again said no. We ended up getting into an argument that ruined my last day of vacation. In hindsight, I can’t help but think that was intentional. On my flight back home, I was detained by Homeland Security, which ended up delaying my return. I got home really late, so we tabled the discussion for the next day. I wish I had believed what I felt, heard, and saw. I wish I had trusted myself enough to end the relationship and to let him go, but truthfully, I had wrapped up so much of myself in that man and in that relationship. I wasn’t ready. I had thought so little of myself; I couldn’t imagine my life being complete without him.

In our conversation, I restated that I did not want the relationship’s structure to change. I was not willing to be nonmonogamous. This time he could not bring me comfort, so he left me crying alone in my bed.

After that day, he barely responded to my messages. He left his clothes, his art supplies and paintings, almost everything without many words. I thought he had a mental breakdown or something. I kept begging him to talk to me, to explain what was going on. I tried to draw him back with pictures.

Eventually he told me that he had cheated. One time in the backseat of his ex’s car in April. Most likely while I was gone for my great aunt’s funeral in South Carolina. Perhaps around the same time he had brought me to his beloved grandmother’s 70th birthday party. He claimed that he used a condom and that had been the only time. Then another confession: he always cheated in relationships because he had an unhealthy relationship with sex. But he really “loved” me, and because of that, he went the longest he had ever gone without cheating. He didn’t think he could be monogamous though.

Because I “loved” him, I told him that I was willing to work things out. It had only been one time. Could we please talk about it? When we met up to discuss his infidelity, he told me that he didn’t deserve me or the good life that he would have with me. He couldn’t give me the nice life that I wanted. Being with me was too exhausting; he needed to work on himself alone so that he could be better for me. He made it seem like he was going to come back. I told him that I was still willing to work things out. He grabbed a painting from the basement and walked out. He never mentioned that he had started a family with another person.

After that, his responses to my messages were nearly nonexistent, and I began to accept that things were over. I was still confused, trying to rationalize the behavior as a mental health crisis. He refused to come get his things, and I found myself debating about how long I would keep them: a few more weeks? A month? A year?

In the meantime, I reached out to him on his birthday, September 1st, to ask if he wanted to have sex. Though he hadn’t responded to most of my messages before then, he quickly responded to that one. He came over in the middle of the night, and we had sex for the last time. He held my hand while he waited on his Uber, talking to me as if nothing had changed. Truly a dissonant moment.

Thankfully, in the midst of this mess, I had booked a therapy appointment with my old therapist. I knew that I would be ashamed to tell her that I still had his things in my home, so I packed up all of his things, wrote him a letter, and dropped them off at his apartment. Because I thought this was a mental health crisis, I didn’t want to be “mean” by throwing his possessions away.

The last time that I had in-person contact with Derrick was when I ran into him at an art show a couple weeks later. I wanted to see what became of the painting–the only possession he deemed worthy of carrying out of my house by his own hands. I decided to go on a night where I assumed he wouldn’t be there because of his work schedule. To my surprise, he was there, wearing some of the clothes that I had returned. I attempted to avoid him but ended up catching him in the hallway. He shook like a leaf, like he was a young child who had been caught stealing. He “apologized” and said he wrote a letter that explained everything that he would send at some point. He asked for a hug. I could feel his body tremble in my arms. Seeing him left me with a lot of pity.

Derrick still had a few books of mine that he agreed to return. I allowed him to return them and my house key when I was not present. After I returned to my home to see that he only returned some–but not all of my books–and used my bathroom, I wrote him a message expressing my anger about the stolen book and him using my bathroom. I told him to never contact me again.

In the aftermath of the relationship, it took intensive self-reflection and therapy to heal. As I reflected on the relationship, I began to recognize patterns of emotional and financial abuse. I still had not wrapped my mind around the extent of the sexual abuse. I still kinda believed that he only cheated once, but his admission of having an unhealthy relationship to sex left me wary. I got a full panel STI screening in October (I waited that long to be sure that a HIV screening would be effective). To this day I am grateful that all I contracted was bacterial vaginosis that was easily cured with a round of antibiotics.

It took me months to even recognize just how egregiously I had been wronged, but I was committed to healing and never going through a relationship like that again.

A Brief Note on Triangulation

You may have noticed that the background information contained a fairly detailed account of my relationship with Derrick C. Smith Jr. This is for 2 reasons:

1. I do not have a relationship with Bria Jones. There is no history to account for as I had no knowledge of her until she introduced herself to me in 2024 (see Context).

2. The only thing that connects us is that we have both been in a relationship with the same man. It’s important to name him as an important “player” in the “game” even though the full extent of his involvement in her harassment has yet to be revealed. Outside of giving her access to those private messages, it is unclear what he knows about the current circumstances and whether he has intervened.

In my unprofessional and limited opinion, I believe this pervasive harassment might be the result of triangulation, a tactic commonly used in toxic relationship dynamics. According to verywellmind, triangulation is defined as “a manipulation tactic that involves bringing a third party into a conflict to create division or gain control. Instead of addressing the problem directly, a person uses triangulation to stir things up behind people’s backs, often pitting people against one another. It’s a classic “divide and conquer” move that often shows up in toxic relationships, family dynamics, and workplace conflict.”

Ultimately, those who triangulate prey upon the insecurities of the people they aim to manipulate, and they use their proximity to all involved parties to control them and the dynamics among them. Triangulation, like all tools of patriarchal violence, serves to maintain patriarchal power and domination. In this case, it could be said that Derrick’s lies about the nature of his relationship with me and his relationship with Bria facilitated this violence. Without that principal act of deception (and all the subsequent acts of deception and manipulation), this would not be happening.

Context

In April 2024, I visited a chosen family member. We were chilling in her living room when she asked me if she could show me something.

“Yeah, what is it?” I said.

“It’s DJ. With a baby,” she said.

I was shocked but not hurt. I actually found some humor in it. As I looked at the pictures, I noticed they were in Brooklyn, a place he and I had visited together. I didn’t pay the child’s mother any mind. I didn’t pay attention to what she looked like. I didn’t recognize her, and to be honest, she did not matter to me.

I could only focus on how I naively believed him. My mind scanned over the relationship. The disappearances made sense. I wondered what other lies he told. At this point, it was giving pathological.

My friend and I debriefed. “How are you feeling?” she asked me.

“Eh. I’m surprised but not hurt. I guess him ghosting me was actually the ethical thing to do given the circumstances.” I chuckled dryly. “I would never want a man to choose me over raising his kids.”

Derrick blocked me on Instagram but didn’t block any of my friends. I was feeling petty, so I asked an old friend if she would comment “Brendane says congratulations on your beautiful new family” on my behalf. I wanted him to know that I knew he lied (in case he did ever try to contact me again). I assume Bria saw my comment and that prompted her to reach out to me.

In her initial message to me, she stated that he told her he was polyamorous and that we were in a “semi-serious” relationship, that he claimed that I was perfectly fine with him seeing other people. She gave a timeline for their relationship that proved that she and I were sleeping with him at the same time and that we both were doing so under false pretenses. He had lied to both of us, but he had at least informed her about me. I did not know her (or any of the other women); I had never known about her or their relationship. She and I never ran in the same social circles, which probably helped him maintain the double(+) life he led. In other words, she knew him as Derrick; I knew him as DJ.

Because I did not know her or care to know anything about their relationship, I responded kindly but neutrally. I implied that I did not want to speak to her again.

Curiously, she brought up the messages I sent him at the end of our relationship. This time she seemed to be sympathizing with me. I did not care. I simply wanted the conversation to end.

I never bothered to go on her page or to do any further investigation about her or the matter. I was not curious about her. Any disgust I felt was directed at Derrick. He was the one who had deceived me. I knew that he had lied more than I could ever conceivably know and that led me to personally reaffirm just how lifesaving my choice to have an abortion was. I went about my life.

On November 5, 2024, out of the blue, I received an email from Derrick. I have no idea what prompted it, nor do I understand his motivations in contacting me after I stated multiple times that I did not want to be in contact. The letter gave no timeline for his and Bria’s relationship (except that it started while we were together), and he mentioned their child’s name. From the looks of his apology and explanation, it seemed that he was under the impression that I had not moved on from the relationship. I responded and set a no-contact boundary. That was the final time he contacted me directly.

My response:

A year passed with no word from either of them. In early November 2025, I saw a video of a woman who talked about how her ex named his daughter after her without his wife’s knowledge. I thought about DJ’s betrayals and wondered if his reaching out and sharing his child’s name with me (and the name itself) had anything to do with my abortion. In a Threads post, I shared my account of the letter I received from him and my thoughts about the situation. I mentioned that he and his baby mama had a different timeline of events, which I chalked up to my knowledge of him being deceptive. I celebrated not being permanently attached to him. I did not consider that anyone who actually knew me, Derrick, or Bria would see it, as I did not have many followers. That was a mistake.

A few weeks later, I received an Instagram DM from Bria and multiple notifications on Threads. In her DM, she claimed that she had seen me at Chesapeake Conjure Society’s All Saints Day event on November 1, 2025, where I served as a volunteer.

In her message, it seemed that she felt entitled to an interaction with me and was hurt when I did not acknowledge her; I have no idea why. I still did not know her, much less did I know what she looked like. Even if I did, I would’ve regarded her as I would any other stranger due to the fact that we have no relationship to each other.

Bria made threatening comments on Threads and in my DMs. I blocked her and reported the comments. She made comments on posts on my podcast page as well. Again, I blocked her and reported the comments. I didn’t understand why my Threads post would have elicited that response from her. I was not thinking about how she might have felt at all when I wrote it. My intention in sharing my opinion and experience was to simply get it off my chest. I did not name her or Derrick in the thread. It troubled me that I offended her, so I talked to my closest friends about it. They called me in and offered me a new perspective. I saw the error of my ways. I posted something that was better suited for my private journal. After taking some time to reflect on how I could correct things and end the unwanted contact, I deleted the Thread and unblocked Bria to respond to her message.

On December 2, 2025, I addressed her offense that I didn’t speak to her at the event and informed her that I had taken down the post. I made it clear that I meant no harm to her or to her child, and I understood how my post impacted her. I also established a no-contact boundary and made it clear that threatening me was unacceptable and undue.

She immediately responded to my message with a string of insults. Again, for an unknown reason, she mentioned the “desperate” messages I sent Derrick at the end of our relationship. This time the tone was not sympathetic, but disparaging. From her response, it was evident that attempting to address this privately would not be possible. It seemed like she was trying to use the opening as an opportunity to insult and demean me. I do not have to submit to my own humiliation. I responded that I had nothing more to say and promptly blocked her again.

Since our last communication in December, she followed me from other pages and interacted with other social groups I am a part of. Given the lack of shared community (which is what partly enabled Derrick to deceive both of us), we had no relationship and no need to associate with each other. We do not exist in the same social circles. At this time, my fear for my personal safety increased, but I was not sure how to go forward. I hoped that simply ignoring her and blocking comments/messages would make this go away.

On May 18, 2026, Bria posted the following tweets on X, escalating her harassment by moving to another social media platform where I did not have her blocked. She mentioned me in her tweets, as she has no other way to contact me publicly.

I’m not concerned about her opinion of me being a “bully with a fucked up ego & supremacy complex.” I recognize how my Threads post in November 2025 was offensive though it was not my intention to offend her. Though I have never bullied Bria, I cannot control how she perceives our (non)interactions. I am not coming forward because I want to police what is being shared about me online. As stated above, my intentions in publishing this statement are threefold: 1) to conjure additional support for my protection; 2) to put forth my own perspective, morals, ethics, and values; and 3) to prevent further escalation of pervasive harassment.

The allegations of harassment are false. According to the Legal Information Institute, harassment “refers to words or behavior that threatens, intimidates, or demeans a person. Harassment is unwanted, uninvited, and unwelcome and causes nuisance, alarm, or substantial emotional distress without any legitimate purpose.” In order to harass someone, one has to contact them repeatedly without their consent. In all of our communications, I have respectfully responded to contact she initiated. In our previous conversation, I explicitly placed a no-contact boundary after receiving unwanted, uninvited, demeaning and threatening contact from her. In her public statement on X, she attempts to reverse the positions of aggressor and aggrieved–to what end, I don’t know.

The allegations of physical contact are false. After confirming her presence at the blk ass flea mkt bashment on May 17th, I asked a few witnesses, beyond the friends I attended the event with, if they saw us come into physical contact with each other. They all said they did not. One witness stated that Bria approached our group and stood next to me while greeting them and another person, but we did not come into physical contact with each other. They described our non-interaction as “neutral.”

My non-response to Bria in real time was misread as “neutrality” because I gave her the same amount of consideration that I would give any stranger at a public event. I still had no idea what she looked like in-person, so I was blissfully unaware of her presence at the party. If I had known that she was present, I would’ve left because I consider her to be a threat to my personal safety.

It is deeply concerning to me that she would publicly (and falsely) state that I came into physical contact with her when I have not. To falsely assert that I came into physical contact with her by “bumping into her” 3 times at a lively (but not overcrowded) outdoor party–and to assert that I did so in a malicious, attention-seeking manner–is no trifling matter. Per her own admission, she is aware of the advocacy work I do with survivors of intimate partner violence. It goes against my morals, ethics, and values to touch anyone–especially another woman–without their consent. These untrue claims aim to discredit me as a survivor-advocate. I cannot allow this to remain unaddressed.

While I cannot speak to her motivations for making these false accusations, I address them directly to underscore: Under no circumstances, and for no reason, do I desire–nor do I have any plans to–to have any contact, physical or otherwise, with Bria Jones or Derrick Smith Jr.

I want to also publicly, clearly, and directly state that I do not hold any ire towards Bria for her choice to be a mother. I have not spoken about her on any of my public platforms, nor have I disrespected her in private communication.

Also, as a reproductive justice advocate, I believe that all birthing people should have the choice to do what they please with their bodies. My “pride” and self-concept are not tied to other people’s reproductive choices, especially people I don’t know. Celebrating my abortion does not reflect how I feel about anybody else’s reproductive choices. I have the right to share my experiences and my opinions about my own reproductive choices and their impacts on my life. In this particular case, Bria’s decision to give birth eventually led to the end of Derrick’s abuse and the reclamation of my dignity and self-worth. And for that, I am grateful.

What is also distressing about her latest post is the threat to publicly share the private messages that I sent Derrick 3 years ago. Not only are these messages unrelated to the matter at hand, they do not demonstrate any of her claims. If anything, her posting those messages would continue the harassment and solidify her as the aggressor in this situation.

To be clear, I hold no shame about the “desperate” messages I sent at the dissolution of our relationship; however, those messages contain sexually explicit images of me. Posting them online would be a federal crime. I would have no other option but to take legal action to protect myself.

Bria is free to think and to feel whatever and however she feels about me; however, posting false accusations and threats is unacceptable. Her actions–which include continuing to contact me online using multiple accounts and on multiple platforms, attempting to contact me in-person, and publicly attempting to reverse the roles of aggressor and aggrieved–have escalated this situation into one where I have serious concerns for my personal safety. It would be easy to dismiss my response as an overreaction, but it’s important to note that there is a long history of internalized misogyny fueling violent, and sometimes deadly, attacks between women. I don’t want to risk anymore than I already have. My relationship with Derrick has taken enough from me. The harassment I’ve experienced has been egregious and only increases the impact of the abuse.

Bria’s harassing and threatening behaviors fits the definition of the following forms of online harassment:

• Cross-platform harassment

• Threats

• Doxxing

Posting messages, especially those that contain sexually explicit images of me, would be participating in nonconsensual pornography, which is a federal crime. This threat significantly escalates the risk that she poses to my personal safety and increases my distress.

Call to Action

My goal is to prevent the escalation of violence on all fronts. I have attempted to resolve this matter privately. Ignoring and blocking her comments and messages led me here, agonizing over a statement that is my attempt to handle this situation without involving law enforcement. The continued harassment and threats have left me with few options.

Bria has access to, and possible knowledge of, my phone number and home address. She has already attempted physical contact in a public space. Given the absurd, untrue nature of her tweets and the pervasive nature of the harassment, I cannot afford to assume that this will simply blow over. I have a duty to protect myself by any means necessary.

This has been an incredibly distressing and isolating experience for me, but I can no longer afford to shoulder this without broader community support. While I cannot control what happens next (and know that my coming forward likely will not end the harassment), it is my hope that my transparency and vulnerability invites my community and Bria and Derrick’s community (and those who may overlap) to join me in de-escalating the harassment.

Here are some actions that you as a bystander can take (if they feel safe and supportive to you)6:

• Report any abusive or harassing comments or posts. Report the account(s) from which these posts are shared.

• Do not share any harassing posts that contain images of me, sexually explicit or otherwise.

• Document any abusive and harassing comments and posts. To be clear, I’m not concerned about whether she or Derrick have negative opinions of me. I’m not interested in surveilling or policing what they post. Here I am referring to comments or posts that are derogatory, defamatory, or violent.

• Document any posts that contain false allegations. To be clear, I’m not concerned about whether she or Derrick have negative opinions of me. Here I am talking about posts that make false claims of physical, emotional, and/or psychological distress or harm experienced as a direct result of my actions.

• Check in with me via text or phone call if you have the ability, capacity, and relationship to do so.

• Offer specific support.

  • Currently, I’m building a list of people who I can contact to go to local public events with me. If you’re local to Baltimore (and we have a relationship), hit me up if you’d like to be on this list.

  • I’m also looking for leads on self-defense classes in the Baltimore/DMV area.

  • In activating times like these, it is difficult for me to eat. Check in with me to make sure that I’ve eaten and/or share a meal with me.

• Directly intervene in the online harassment by commenting on the post and/or responding to harassing comments. This can look like fact checking, expressing your support of me and my work, and/or condemning the false claims.

• For those who know me and Bria (and/or Derrick) and live in physical proximity to us, you can prevent the escalation of physical harassment by distracting/deflecting the aggressor, informing me of her presence in shared public space, and/or other strategies that feel safe and supportive.

I have already created safety plans in case the harassment continues to escalate. Upon publishing this statement, I will take the following actions to help ensure my safety:

1. Monitor (with the assistance of my support team) direct messages for my personal profile and podcast profile on Instagram and Threads.

2. Turn off direct messages for profiles I do not follow on Instagram and Threads.

3. Limit interactions on my public Instagram profile.

4. Stop publicly sharing about local events that I plan to attend. I also will limit any real-time posts that disclose my location.

5. Stop attending events held by Chesapeake Conjure Society and blk ass flea mkt. This decision is not an indictment on these organizations by any means, but rather a recognition that my safety cannot be guaranteed even if increased security measures were taken. I do not wish to increase surveillance/policing of other Black people, particularly in our spiritual and joyful spaces. I also want to prioritize my own emotional well-being, so I am choosing not to attend any events until this matter is resolved.

Ultimately, all I want is for Bria Jones, Derrick Smith Jr. (and any of their associates, affiliates, friends, family members, etc.) to stop the harassment and to cease any and all false communication about me that damages my character and reputation or otherwise potentially exposes me to harm.

my experiences of interpersonal violence (intimate partner violence, childhood sexual abuse, and childhood domestic violence) shape my life, my scholarly practice, and my spiritual work. because I am a Black queer femme being, I carry the knowledge that violation extends beyond my experiences in this lifetime. I am the legacy of centuries of racialized sexual violence. it is my purpose in this lifetime to heal myself and my lineage and to share that journey with others.

I have so much to say about the current wave of fervor to end violence against Black women. I am deeply angered by the knee-jerk response to plead with misogynists to see our worth. I am both saddened and encouraged by the outpouring of Black (mostly cis, mostly het) women online of their own violent experiences. and to be honest, it angers me to see folx in such an uproar about femicide now because cis women’s death are being highlighted and prioritized. it’s giving cisfemicide, and it disturbs me. if your understanding of femicide does not include trans women, then you are not fighting for the end of patriarchy, you are doing the fruitless work of trying to enfold Black cis women into the protections of white, Human Gender (but I will save that for another day).

for the sake of those survivors who find themselves to be drowning in the unrelenting sharing online of pain, harm, and abuse, I will refrain from discussing my experiences in this post and instead share these words. I hope they are edifying and clarifying.

dearly beloved,

for so long your tongue has been bound in servitude to what oppresses you and aims to steal you from yourself. no more.

your duty during this time is to yourself: to treat yourself tenderly, with care, with compassion, with grace. to look upon your wounds and your gifts with such love that joy and healing become your primary portion. you can let go of the shame that says your being does not deserve to be here, that insists that your life has no worth. you no longer have to hold on to the lie that the lack of protection you’ve experienced in your life is evidence of your unworthiness.

you are worthy because you are. no amount of self-denial and self-negation will make you worthy. you do not have to earn worthiness. your only task, for today and always, is to go where the love is.

let me reassure you: your survival—your choice to continue living despite what has been taken from you—is enough. every choice you make to protect and to ensure your survival is right and good and necessary.

your autonomy and your self-determination are your birthrights. they will never be given to you, especially in an anti-black world that rewards violence and domination with power. you must claim them by force, by ruthless devotion to yourself and your well-being.

you deserve to be seen and cherished; your survival depends on it! in turn, our survival depends on seeing and knowing you. I recognize your desire to loosen your tongue and release yourself from the curse of silence and shame. sharing our experiences allows catharsis, and often, it allows us to discover who is in community with us and who isn’t. share what you will with us, but please know this—external validation and recognition do not replace self-recovery. protection will never be an antidote to violence; no one outside yourself has the power to restore your bodily integrity.

to those who may feel pressured (which is different from feeling moved1) to speak out, I remind you that the evidence of your goodness will never be found in the changed behavior of others, so there is no need to reveal your pain to the world until you are ready.

in the beginning stages of your healing, it might be wisest to reveal yourself to those who already affirm you. it might be safest to reveal yourself to those who have proven that they are safe and allow them to help you tend to your wounds. please remember that there will always be time for accountability and justice—as those are necessarily defined by you—but your first and foremost duty is to yourself!

we are taught that it is punishment and/or accountability and forgiveness that brings justice and healing, but none of this is true. forgiving anyone but yourself does not bring healing. the passage of time does not bring healing. what heals us will never come from outside ourselves. no courtroom, jail cell, or reparative justice circle will bring healing because that is not their purpose. accountability, even in its most abolitionist form, cannot do the work of bringing you back to yourself. only you can do that.

healing is always a choice borne from the consent of your spiritbodymind. that is what makes it so powerful; it is a recognition of your autonomy and self-determination. healing is an intentional process that allows you to recognize the magnitude of your own power by showing you that even if the integrity of your spiritbodymind has been violated by another, YOU can make yourself whole again.

this truth can be life-changing. once it settles through your spiritbodymind, you recognize that no matter who refuses to believe you—regardless of who you lose as you regain your sense of safety and integrity—that you are always already whole. you are always already enough. you no longer fear violation, suffering, and death, and you are able to gather the self-regard to protect yourself from future harm. healing reveals the truth that things will never be what they were. not because the world has changed but because you have changed how you exist in it. (let me be clear—this is not the same as the false, capitalist notion of “healing in isolation” but a recognition of your inherent power outside these systems of oppression.)

so much of what dominates our truth-telling around our violent experiences is the false belief those who harm/oppress/violate us need to see the extent of our pain to change. we believe that appealing to the morals of our oppressors will free us, but as Assata Shakur said, “Nobody in the world, nobody in history has gotten their freedom by appealing to the moral sense of the people who were oppressing them.” laying out our wounds to appeal to those who already don’t respect us (and who see our violation as necessary/enjoyable/fruitful/reparations, etc.) is a kind of martyrdom that is best reserved for Jesus Christ.

it has been time for us to see intraracial gender violence against trans and cis women, gender marginalized people, and children as oppression that must be dealt with with the same urgency as racial and class violence. that means taking an any means necessary approach to ending the violence within our “communities” while struggling to end it outside of our “communities.” it is time that we stop participating in our own oppression through self-abandonment and self-betrayal in all areas of our lives, including our “beloved communities” and calling that abolitionist praxis.

lastly, dearest survivor, Spirit urges you to please find joy in your living and your survival. you do not need to atone for the State’s wrongdoing. you have done enough. you cannot save anyone but yourself. it is time for you to recognize the goodness of your love and your grace that you so freely give to others and give them to yourself.

every moment you choose yourself, you delight your ancestors and your aligned spirits while seeding the conditions for your liberation. no one else can do this but you. if you find the thought of choosing your joy & your peace in this moment to be burdensome, that means that you are carrying too much that is not yours.

tomorrow night at 8 PM ET, I will host an energy healing session for Black survivors of interpersonal violence. if you would like some energetic support for your healing journey, please DM for a link to sign up. thanks to two generous folx, this is a free offering for all of those who sign up. sign up here.

if you are not able to attend in real time, the energy work will be done on your behalf, and you will receive the journal prompts and exercises to do at your own pace.

As long as we set the bar for “real” womanhood and “real” manhood to be what our oppressors have, we will never be free. Black liberation will never be found by letting Black men be violent as white men are. Black liberation will never be found through the patriarchy. No matter how allegiant you are to the ideals, people, and institutions that oppress you–no matter how many trinkets they give you to cover up your chains–it doesn’t change the reality that you are still in chains. It doesn’t change the reality that you are still burdened. Let’s not choose oppression, people!

Timestamps

Misogynoir Defined 5:37

Tracing Misogynoir through the centuries

• Anna Julia Cooper 11:06

• Michele Wallace 38:29

• Courtney Desiree Morris 1:06:18

Exploring the Tweets 1:21:25

Resources

⁠Dr. Kalyn Coghill⁠

⁠On Misogynoir: Citation, Erasure, and Plagiarism⁠

⁠Dr. Feminista Jones⁠

bell hooks, The Will to Change: Men, Masculinity, and Love

Michele Wallace, Black Macho and the Myth of the Black Superwoman

Johnetta B Cole and Beverly Guy-Sheftall, Gender Talk: The Struggle for Women’s Equality in African American Communities,

⁠Anna Julia Cooper⁠ Biography

⁠Courtney Desiree Morris, Why Misogynists Make Great Informants, ⁠

In our testimony section, we read Sara Makeba Daise’s “Be Here Now: The South is a Portal” as a Black and African guide on cultivating grace through presence.

In our Living in Alignment section, we talk about the ways we can cultivate grace in our lives (for ourselves and those who deserve it).

If you feel like you need to incorporate more grace into your life, this episode is for you!

Follow us on Instagram at blacklovedandfree.

Subscribe to our Substack.

Subscribe to our YouTube.

Donate to our podcast.

Resources

Sankofa Shadow Work: Diaries of a Diasporic Diviner by Sara Makeba Daise

being black: zen and the art of living with fearlessness and grace by Angel Kyodo Williams

Adult Children of Emotionally Immature Parents

Xolani on Youtube: you are finally remembering your worthiness

Spiritualitea with Dr. T on YouTube: struggle love is not your destiny

Journal Entry from Tuesday, February 24, 2026

Two years ago I launched black. loved. free. as a creative-spiritual-political podcast and community education project that would answer the call of my soul and the charge of my ancestors.

It’s been such a wild time since, wading through the chaos of my largest life transition. Summer 2023 I lost most of what I thought mattered. The illusion that I could just will something to be right for me or I could will someone to be right for me shattered.

I was lost in the illusion that I had the power to change others. Lost in the delusion that if I am the only person hurting that the pain was worth it (i.e., I was doing my job as a shield well) and manageable. I had to come to terms with all the ways my actions demonstrated self-loathing and self-abandonment.

My therapist likened my life’s journey to trudging through the mud with bags loading my arms and legs. The mud was always already there. Even if I weren’t carrying the additional baggage, life would already require all my strength to make it through, and I had the audacity (read: the conditioning) to make others’ burdens my own. I had to look at myself and decide if I am truly who the fuck I say I am, if I truly believe what I say I believe, then I gotta change. Gotta see myself as more than a martyr-sacrifice, more than a vessel to be used by Spirit, person, or institution.

I am whole, and the evidence of my goodness and my worthiness is my existence. The ways my ancestors and my Spirits delight in me are proof even when I can’t believe it myself. That is what the priestess said in my divination a while ago. It’s finally starting to click.

I was never going to find the evidence of my goodness in others’ changed behavior because I am not their savior. I am my own. I am my own. Whew! When I was calling upon my warrior spirits to fight on my behalf, I was calling upon my own. When I was loving on others in order to transform them, I was proving to myself that I could conjure miracles.1

Looking at myself with compassion and grace shifts those moments and times when I sacrificed too much from a place of self-pity to this: I am so abundant and plentiful that my love and care transformed the unlovable2 into a better version of themselves3 and my life still had room for my own dreams and ambitions to come to pass. Talk about power. I won’t lament too much about what I’ve lost because I still got plenty of life worth living. If nothing else, these past two years have shown me that my life is worth living, worth practicing an undying devotion to.

I am that bitch. The one whose name and life and choices and reputation can be chopped up inside others’ mouths and I still come out whole.4

I am learning to look at the flames, the wind, the rain, the storm, and the ocean as places to practice my own magic of resurrection and refinement. That is to say, though I’ve been charred, whipped, soaked, and sometimes hit with shock that felt like lightning, each time I quickened, I knew myself better and more completely. Built more capacity to hold all the parts of me—the pathetic, the strong, the lonely, the miserable, the hated, the adored, the complicated, the misunderstood, the possessive, the freedom-loving, the dominating, the loving, the seductive, the prude, the bold and the shy, the lazy, the hardworking, the soft, the curved edges.

I know more than ever the gift that I am. I am more comfortable transgressing because I know who I am and what I value.

Even when I lost the person whose opinion mattered most in my life, my grandma, I had to recognize that I had misplaced my obligation to myself again. I didn’t even realize the ways I muzzled myself—there were so many things I did not say or do because I did not want her to hear about them. I did not want to disappoint her. Her death and my grief have taught me that I have a duty to my own blessed, beautiful, Black self to show up, to open my mouth, and to fight for my life by any means necessary. When I am my light and my salvation, whom shall I fear? When my ancestors, my Ori, my Spirits, my loved ones seen and unseen encamp around me, who would dare to be my enemy? Why would I continue to be an enemy to myself by placing limits on what I can do and who I can be?

Over the last two years, the struggle has been seeing my own life as the wellspring of my power, as opposed to any force outside myself. I am the source of my strength. I am the source of my life. The only way I could be wrong or be in “sin” is to betray myself, run from my destiny, or hand my destiny to someone else.

I am still learning what it means to honor my capacity and to recognize the capacity of others. I won’t internalize or blame myself or try to find fault in my shortcomings when others cannot match my intensity or my effort. I take note and dive more deeply into my desires, knowing that I have the power to shape my life.

I love freely. I give knowing that it’ll come back to me. I release what no longer serves me with ease. I am grateful for the unraveling, for the many (and mini) revelations of the ways I was bound.

I release myself and step into something new.

Subscribe now

here’s to year 3 of black. loved. free. I can’t wait to see what happens next!

Happy Gregorian New Year! In today’s episode, we explore the spiritual-political meaning of desire at the end of empire. Brendane reads Audre Lorde’s The Uses of the Erotic and discusses how now is the time to identify the truths of the worlds we aim to build and to commit to our survival by any means necessary. Finally, we end with some meditations on aligning with our destinies and desires.

Chapters

Introduction & Thank Yous 0:00

Brendane’s 2026 Ins and Outs + Channeled Message for 2026 3:37

Clear the Air: Desire 16:47

Testimony 21:52

Living in Alignment 58:35

Resources

Brendane’s ⁠Channeled Message for 2026⁠

⁠Saint Xolani’s Message⁠

Alexis Pauline Gumbs, The Shape of My Impact

Support us!

⁠Subscribe to our YouTube⁠

⁠Donate here!⁠

Read along here: Anarkata: A Statement

Other Resources

The Anarchist Library

Ashanti Alston

In today’s episode of black. loved. free., Brendane discusses the vulnerability and visibility we need to survive the apocalypse. We do this by reading Audre Lorde’s Transformation of Silence into Language and Action and Assata Shakur’s autobiography. Brendane ends with some reflections and advice on how to survive these harrowing times.
Content Warning: Assata Shakur’s autobiography has brief, but not graphic, discussions of sexual violence. If this is disturbing, please take care while listening.

Subscribe now

Time Stamps
Introduction and Thank Yous 0:00
Clear the Air: Vulnerability and Visibility 3:44
Testimony 27:04
To My People Statement 53:18
Rhinoceros Woman 1:08:56
Leftovers--What is Left? 1:46:35
To My Momma 2:03:28
Living in Alignment 2:14:22

Resources

Ayana Zaire Cotton, ⁠What Is Your Creative Offer? ⁠

1. ⁠Beyoncé is not your savior⁠

2. ⁠It’s impossible to vote like a black feminist⁠

3. Black. Loved. Free. Season 1 ⁠“Surrendering to Death”⁠

4. AfroCubaWeb, collection on Assata Shakur ⁠https://afrocubaweb.com/assata2.htm⁠

5. ⁠Assata Shakur’s Autobiography⁠

6. ⁠The Transformation of Silence into Action, Audre Lorde⁠

⁠Donate to the podcast.⁠
⁠Follow us on YouTube⁠.

may every scar I earn
may every tear I cry
fill the gaps between you and yourself
wherever you weren’t able to feel

may every dance be a sacred reminder that I am
we are
free

may every time love chooses me in my fullness, my wholeness—
that is, every hour, every day—
we revel in the truth of our lovability

thank you
every time I allowed my heart to break
I initiated the divine/ancestral/spiritual space to expand

may I continue to wrap myself in the truth of your love,
my love for you.

may every moment I choose integrity be elevating for us all.

I remember when you arrived, Iya, and laid me down, covered me in sacred cloth.

you tended to my wounds
the cutting, searing, ripping apart of my flesh that marks me as black
you applied salve, spoke sweet words of healing and purpose
I rested.
finally, after a while, you leaned into my ear
and told me to wake up

then awoken, I prayed:
”let my eyes see and my ears hear you and this truth": I won’t find love outside myself.”

years later
Iya, you returned to me in the Caribbean Sea with the words:
“the ocean contains itself.”

100 days have passed since then and sometimes I still find myself churning
they—lovers, admirers, and enemies—all liken me to the ocean, to the collapse of waves upon shore and sand

I cry the tears for the spaces where we couldn’t feel
in all of them, I hold my stomach and pray:

“may each tear I cry be a testament to my ability to hold myself”
”may each sacrifice bring me—us—closer to alignment with the highest will for our (after)/lives”
”may each choice bring my highest good to me, that is abundance, manifested through a blessing or through redirection”

may the libation I pour upon this earth
return us to the truths that we contain ourselves
that we serve as each other’s bond
that you will not abandon me and
I vow never to abandon you.

I choose this path out of devotion to myself
my destiny
my ancestors
to my spirit team
and to you

I choose to fight because my life my love my spirit my hands my hips my kiss my words my mind my being my sweetness my rage my dignity my vulnerability are worth fighting for by any means necessary

I am your daughter.

I have come to remove the generational curse through spit and breath and song

with hands darkened by the earth,
I wipe clean the altar of daughter-othermother,
stained with the blood and tears of the women of my lineage given up to false gods

I declare through spit and breath and song
the idols of this world hold no power over us.

ruthlessly devoted to myself, I give us sacred places to rest, to live, to play, and to fight, to just be.

ase.

Chapters

00:00 Understanding Grief: A Collective Breath

07:10 Reclaiming Grief: Love Beyond Loss

12:11 Oppression and Grief: A Complex Relationship

16:29 Seeking Wisdom: Elders and Ancestors

23:50 Integrating Death into Living: A Path Forward

29:29 The Intersection of Grief and Spirituality

40:31 Rejecting Oppression: A Personal Stand

47:34 The Cycle of Grief and Destruction

52:57 Heaven, Grief, and Transformation

53:37 The Complexity of Personal Grief

59:29 Understanding Oppressor's Grief

01:06:33 Darkness, Transformation, and Liberation

01:13:17 Embracing Grief for Self-Devotion

Takeaways

Grief is often seen as an impediment to progress in oppressive systems.

Embracing death is crucial for understanding the cycle of life.

Personal grief can be complex and multifaceted, often tied to societal expectations.

Community plays a vital role in navigating grief and loss.

Grief can be a powerful catalyst for transformation and healing.

Ancestral connections provide insight into our relationship with grief.

Mami Wata symbolizes the importance of embracing darkness for healing.

Oppression often requires individuals to carry the grief of their community.

Rejecting the grief of oppressors is essential for maintaining sovereignty.

True transformation comes from acknowledging and integrating grief into our lives.

Resources

1. Saidiya Hartman, Litany for Grieving Sisters

2. Audre Lorde, The Cancer Journals

3. Zenju Earthlyn Manuel, Opening to Darkness: Eight Gateways for Being with the Absence of Light in Unsettling Times

4. Beyoncé is not your savior

You are worth liberating because you are, beloved. Do you believe that you are worthy of new beginnings?

In the latest episode of "black. loved. free," host Brendane Tynes explores the transformative power of Ruthless Self-Devotion within the framework of Black feminist practice. Delving into personal experiences and spiritual insights, Brendane discusses the journey of reclaiming one's spirit, body, and mind from oppression. Through the lens of Black feminist theory and indigenous spiritual practices, this episode invites listeners to embrace vulnerability, self-reflection, and community transformation. Join us for an inspiring conversation on living with integrity and purpose. #RuthlessSelfDevotion #BlackFeminism #SpiritualHealing

Listen to the latest episode here!

Expanded show notes will be available next week for paid subscribers.

Subscribe now

Resources

1. Orisha Oya Bring Me Change by JuJu Thyme

2. Jambalaya: The Natural Woman’s Book of Personal Charms and Practical Rituals by Luisah Teish

3. How To Enter Into Your Rest by Jeida K. Storey

4. Hoodoo Book of Flowers by Arthur Rickydoc Flowers

5. Mules and Men Part 2 by Zora Neale Hurston

6. “Survival Marvels: The Portal Poetics of Cheryl Clarke”, Alexis Pauline Gumbs

7. Women’s Wisdom from the Heart of Africa, Sobonfu Somé

8. The South is a Portal, Sara Makeba Daise

9. Sankofa Shadow Work: Diaries of a Diasporic Diviner, Sara Makeba Daise

10. Everyone is in love with me (and with you!), Amissa

Left to right: Brendane (16 or 17 here); my grandmother (the warrior herself!) Mrs. Brenda S. Bethea; my sister LaShelle. We were featured in our high school’s yearbook as “Relatives in School” because our grandmother worked at our high school.

My grandma was a complicated woman. She was no saint or angel. She possessed the power to hold a man’s love from his wife. She could find that tiny space in your heart that no one else had occupied, set up camp there with a smile or a secret. That was the language we used together--shared secrets from the space between our tongue and our teeth. As Black Southern woman and girl, we did the necessary thing: holding the secrets together in order to keep the delightful, the sacred, the silly out of the mouths (and minds and hands) of others.

Because she kept so many things concealed, other people came to her to protect their sacred things. They must’ve felt some kind of spiritual truth about her. Even though she was neither saint nor angel, my grandma lived the meaning of her name. You see, the name “Brenda” is a Norse and British name that means “sword; blade of a sword; flaming sword. Warriors skilled in swordmanship.”

Mrs. Brenda S. Bethea was a skilled warrior in the way all dark-skinned Black women are when they decide that their desires must shape the world. Her sword knew no friend and feared no enemy, and only she had the power to lay it down. To create the world where she lived by her own terms, my grandmother wielded many weapons, but the nature of her flaming sword was most concentrated in her tongue. Her tongue, especially for those nearest to her, cut through matters--or you, if you weren’t in alignment with what she wanted--and she did not have much concern for what she left burning in the aftermath.

My grandma knew the power of her embrace and her reproach and thus used her tongue to craft her life and the lives of her descendants. She knew how she needed to show up wherever she was to get whatever she wanted. Somehow she knew how to transform concrete into a growing place. My grandma taught me ruthless self-devotion in all the messiest ways.

Whenever my own mother rejected me, my grandmother reminded me that I could always come home, that I had a safe, sacred place with her. As a teenager, I would often flee the repressive space of my home and walk to her house. She would always let me in, tell me to put a piece of chicken in the microwave, and listen to me cry. We shared secrets then, mainly the emotions I couldn’t share with anyone else.

Sometimes her flaming sword would try to protect me from grief and sadness. On those birthdays when it seemed that no one close to me could be bothered to celebrate with me, my grandmother did. Before she sang happy birthday, she reminded me that I was never truly alone, or rather, that loneliness was not my portion. She reminded me of that truth again when I told her I was queer many years later. Though my worthiness and lovability are now no secret, I will always hold those memories between my teeth and tongue.

I did not see it then during our afternoon trips that felt like classified missions: the trips to Rush’s as a secret afternoon delight—greasy fingers only wiped clean to enjoy ice cream cup or cone. (I had a cup, but she enjoyed the messiness of a cone.) Those trips to WalMart on Forest Drive that ended with a sweet coconutty Almond Joy between my teeth and cheek and a promise not to tell a soul. Those trips to the bank where she would insist that I write the check or the trips to the post office where she was would press just enough money in my hand to buy stamps. (And, yes, I always brought back her change.) Sometimes, she would make me address the envelope while she told me stories that I didn’t think I needed to listen to. She would share all kinds of things: secrets, gossips, silence, teachings, and, rarely, memories. Like all good warriors and worldbuilders, she always kept something for herself. She was teaching me how to be her namesake.

The biggest regret I have now is that I never asked her more questions, that I never pressed for more of her world beyond the boundaries of her fire-walled vulnerability. I always imagined that I would have more time, that I could create a space where she could continue to trust me with her secrets. That we could create more together.

After she passed, I got to look through her some of her things, and I was delighted to learn more secrets. I saw parts of her that she never dared to share, even with me. I want to share (some of) them alongside my own as my way of holding myself tenderly in my grief but also to recognize her power in my life as my newest ancestor.

I’ll start with the story of my name.

garlic
onion
honey
sometimes lemon
vinegar, a capful a day.

my resilience was seeded with a cup of freedom, marked with my grandma’s words
“I can always take my life back when I’m ready"

she folded that freedom in heavily, with scarred hands and sharp tongue
turning it over again and again in spoonfuls of cake batter, banana pudding

peaches
bourbon or rum
canned biscuits
brown sugar
vanilla

though she baked most of what she made, she always saved a spoon to lick for herself

my grandmother was a september virgo with an aries moon
a woman who knew the most powerful prayers were the ones you said to yourself

her freedom made devotion through the clothesline that stretched across her yard
dripping off clean, damp clothes in the South Carolina sunshine

it was there I learned quietly what it meant to be ruthlessly devoted to myself.
to choose the freedom that made persistence/existence/being possible

even now, I’m learning what it means to (be)hold myself tenderly
not to expect my freedom to burst forth,

I remind myself:
my salvation is not quick, easy, sudden or in the hands of anyone else

I am able to resurrect myself through persistent, quiet, soulful, sweet, delicious diligence and devotion.

flour
Lawry’s
seasonings
chicken
cast iron pan
hot oil

Oya came through and taught me that all I needed to do was change
to surrender the shield/shell that “protected” me through restriction
the new life I asked for required some shedding, some sacrifice

she asks, “when standing in the rubble of the aftermath of the fallen towers of your life, who/what will you choose to save?” “what will you choose to remember?”

I can always take my life back when I’m ready

all-purpose flour
sugar
shortening
baking soda
butter

expansion is a choice that follows change
“If you can’t be good, then be good at it”

my freedom-resilience-power lies in my ability to die and to rise again—
to choose life differently with the reassurance that I am mine alone.

that no thing, no person, no institution
may take my life unless I lay it down

This poem was initially drafted at the Black Abortion Storyteller Retreat in July 2025.

these days I find myself having to call upon every last bit of my strength and fortitude.

to recognize this still dark but spacious place to mourn to grow to dance to fight

I refuse

to do anything more than take care of myself.

I refuse

to do anything less than believe in my own power.

I commit

to seeing myself clearly.

“I do not feel inhibited or bound by what I am. That does not mean that I have never had bad scenes relating to being Black and/or woman, it means that other people’s craziness has not managed to make me crazy.” - Lucille Clifton

it took war to recognize the shape and weight of the burdens I carried on my back.

I have no more tears left.

yet the body I mourn is still here

I look around and see that I am not alone

I have never been.

right here, right now, I recognize the truth:

bitches be selfish. others be monsters.

but my life is still my own.

my love still covers and coats.

my breath still marks my space my truth my power.

I can unburden myself from fear,

I release myself from the lies of my enemies

they insist I am bound—

that our destruction is mutual.

“I will love who loves me

I will love as much as I am loved

I will hate who hates me

I will feel nothing for everyone oblivious to me…

I will be nobody’s fool”

- June Jordan, Resolution #1,003

every time I let something go, I confirm two truths:

my salvation was always in me.

no one may take my life unless I lay it down.

all I really got to say though is that y’all got me and the ancestors fucked up!

Summary

In this conversation, Brendane explores the complex dynamics of vulnerability, sacrifice, and violence within Black communities, particularly focusing on the experiences of Black women. She critiques the societal expectations placed on Black women to endure suffering for the sake of Black male empowerment and discusses the historical context of self-power versus self-determination. The conversation highlights the need for accountability and the importance of recognizing and validating the pain of marginalized individuals in the pursuit of liberation.

Takeaways

• Black women's vulnerability is often overlooked in discussions of community.

• The burden of sacrifice is deeply ingrained in Black women's experiences.

• Self-determination is distinct from self-power, which often perpetuates violence.

• Historical narratives shape the perception of Black men's violence.

• The legacy of Black men often overshadows the suffering of Black women.

• Victimhood is a spectrum influenced by race, gender, and societal perceptions.

• Black women's pain is frequently rendered invisible in societal narratives.

• Violence against Black women is normalized and often justified.

• Reclaiming self-determination requires rejecting the role of martyr.

• Accountability for violence is essential for true liberation.

Introduction and Content Warning

02:06The Burden of Self-Sacrifice

02:35Historical Context of Black Women's Sacrifice

04:21The Role of Black Women in Community Dynamics

06:34Self-Power vs. Self-Determination

08:31The Consequences of Self-Power

10:22Historical Roots of Violence Against Black Women

14:32The Legacy of Violence in Black Communities

17:10The Perception of Black Men and Violence

19:40The Case of Tyree Morehead

22:13The Predicament of Black Women

23:59The Spectrum of Victimhood

26:44The Invisibility of Black Women's Suffering

29:18The Historical Context of Black Women's Violence

31:48The Necessity of Violence in Society

33:09Reclaiming Self-Determination

34:50The Expectations of Black Women

36:57The Role of Martyrdom in Black Women's Lives

38:22Megan Thee Stallion: A Case Study

40:58The Cost of Speaking Out

44:49The Call for Accountability

45:18The Legacy of Silence

47:38Ending the Cycle of Violence

50:21Conclusion and Call to Action

CONTENT WARNING: This video contains mentions of sexual and domestic violence. Please take care as you listen/watch.

If you are experiencing violence and would like support, feel free to use one of the resources listed here or to consult a trusted professional or loved one. You deserve to live a life where you are free from violence. may today, this moment, be the moment where you choose to center YOU in your own life.

National Domestic Violence Helpline

RAINN: Sexual Violence Support

Trans Lifeline

Also, another note: the recording of this is wonky. I had to switch from Canva to another recording platform, which is why this is in two parts.

Read more

on that morning

when this life is over

I’ll fly away

when I die

hallelujah

by and by

oh, I’ll fly away

you have been trying to run while carrying the load of your unworthiness for a while now

somewhere back there—on the block, in the school, in the field, in the house—you must’ve learned that you were someone-something to be rescued from

but you can let that go now

yeah yeah yeah I can see it now

we/you were marked as cargo

we/you were marked as ditto ditto, as nothing remarkable or worth remarking upon

they insisted on our/your inherent unworthiness

hurt you hurt us so good that you learned how to disavow & condemn your own scarred, ripped apart, tortured, flesh as unholy

you assumed your brokenness was natural

but you can let that go now

yeah, they told you to separate yourself from yourself—renew your mind daily in the blood-drenched word of their God, who only hears you in your pain

and with your complete obedience and submission rewards you the hoard of pleasure of in heaven—but you can let that go now

even now, you running with that load on your back and you are afraid the Earth, the place we hold our sacred things, will swallow you up and burn you and there will be nobody who will come around and place a cool thing on your tongue

you recognize that nobody will save you but you are afraid

that fear didn’t keep you from trying to reclaim yourself though.

that fear didn’t keep you from running

well done.

I want to invite you to remember the truth

you were/are/will be neither saved nor damned

you were/are/will be neither blessed nor cursed

you were/are/will be neither righteous nor condemned

baby you just be

any Life1 without suffering is one lived on & through the backs, wombs, and blood of others—in order for it to be everlasting, there has to be a sacrifice

you were tired of being sacrifice, I know, the feeling you stuffed down—some might call it rage but I call it justice—finally made it to your bones and you risked the rest of your life to get here because it compelled you to do something new/better/freer than trying to negotiate with the captor consuming your flesh

the last time he offered you something to numb the pain and he named that joy but it required you to forget yourself. it required you to accept that being eaten is Life and you will always be lacking. you will always be wanting more the pieces of you that he stole back

the numbing don’t keep you from the truth

that joy don’t keep you from the truth that they made you dance with phantom limbs and with him on your back.

I have come again to tell you that where we are going and have been—a place-space-time called freedom—you will have to come whole and lighter than that. there is room for you there, I promise, but only you.

you won’t make it in if you try to carry your oppressor with you.

Subscribe now

The ancestors woke me up at like 4 AM with this one. I see it as the perfect primer for Season 2: An Ancestral Guide for Surviving Apocalypse. We are still raising funds on Kickstarter. Make a pledge today and share with a friend so that we can start production well-supported.

Are you ready to explore building connection without fear? Have you been trying to make a “safe” space in a pit that was purposed to kill you?

We have heard in leftist spaces that it’s our responsibility to maintain our own communities, but are you participating in the community as a member or as a martyr or as a sacrifice?1

In order for us to truly have resistance practices that change the world, we must recognize that the difference between making reasonable accommodations to provide welcoming spaces for people in our lives and trying to fix ourselves or others to keep them around. The latter is rooted in scarcity-based fears that can only reproduce oppression.

It’s time to get out of the lion’s den (your community organization, your church, your family that eating you up) and build your home in a safe place.

Join us in the “Identifying and Attracting Aligned Community” workshop on March 8th at 1 pm ET. Tickets are from $5-$25. Register today at bit.ly/alignedcommunity

Use these codes to get the sliding scale.

$5 : BLFCOMMUNITY5

$15: BLFCOMMUNITY15

There are free tickets available for students, Black trans people, and Black disabled folks. DM if you’re interested.

Members of the black. loved. free. learning community receive free registration to the workshop and access to a private study group throughout the workshop series. You can enroll in the learning community at https://www.blacklovedandfreepodcast.com/learn

The replay will be available for registrants.

I cannot hide anymore. I cannot run from the visibility, the care, and the community I need to survive.

My spirits, the primordial mothers, ancient fire and water spirits who wish to remain unnamed, Mami Wata, who gave me permission to name her, my ancestors, and my Ori desire that I choose to trust myself, to live as I believe, to keep sacred what is sacred, and ultimately, to be ruthlessly devoted to myself and my destiny.1

And so I say to you, I am sorry that I have been hiding the whole me, but today, I want to share her/them with you.

By sharing her with you, I hope to move closer to single-heartedness.

By being vulnerable with you, I put my naked truth out in the world, even if it will be bruised or broken.

By sharing my truth with you, I hope to conjure the community I need to survive.

Read more

Summary

In this episode of black. loved. free. behind the mic, host Brendane discusses the importance of speaking up against societal issues, particularly in the context of celebrity culture and its impact on the Black community. The conversation critiques the notion that figures like Beyoncé can serve as saviors, emphasizing the need for collective joy rooted in struggle and community rather than consumerism. Brendane explores the concepts of visibility versus representation, the role of Christianity in shaping perceptions of joy and suffering, and questions the obsession with inclusion in spaces historically constructed through violence.

In the episode, Brendane refers to ’s Black Leftists, Black Liberals, and Black Art and Jeida K. Storey of ’s If You Focus on Kendrick, You’ll Miss the Point.

You can find Saint Xolani’s YouTube channel here.

Takeaways

• Self-silencing allows empire to thrive.

• Beyoncé's celebrity does not equate to liberation.

• Joy and struggle can coexist in our movements.

• Capitalism commodifies our needs and desires.

• Visibility is essential for survival, not representation.

• Christianity perpetuates the separation of joy and suffering.

• We must reclaim joy from capitalist narratives.

• Inclusion in oppressive spaces does not equate to freedom.

• Our joy should be rooted in community and struggle.

• We have the power to define our own joy and liberation.

Chapters

00:00 Introduction

04:10 Reclaiming Joy and Resistance

10:15 The Illusion of Celebrity as Savior

17:01 Visibility vs. Representation

26:42 The Impact of Capitalism on Joy

35:38 The Intersection of Joy, Suffering, and Liberation

If you like what you heard here, support our Kickstarter so we can bring really do it up for season 2 of black. loved. free. By making a pledge, you can help make this kind of spiritual-political education sustainable. FYI: Unlike GoFundMe and other fundraising platforms, Kickstarter will only award me the money if I reach my goal by March 30th.