"And when you find your passion; when you find that thing that makes you want to live, that makes you love yourself; When you find that power, that light, you hang on to it. You bask in it. Because you live in a society that would sooner see you dead in the streets than allow you to succeed. No one and nothing else can make you want to live; can make you want to BE." Those words were one of the last things my grandmother said to me. She came into my life with this queenly presence, made me what I am, and then she died; and whatever 'Thing' I had, or was supposed to find, died with her. I was a young, educated, black woman living in the Deep South with a limited support system, I had no light, or so I thought. I would find my light three years later in the form of a letter stating that I was the first place winner of a regional essay contest hosted by a prominent women's program. I attended their meet and greet at their country club, listening to the members commemorate me for my "eloquent use of language" as though black women having an advanced grasp on the English language was a rare occurrence. As I delivered my carefully constructed-improvised- speech to the organization’s women while my mother sat in the front row, gazing at me as if I had hung the moon, I realized that my light was my language. I can combat stereotypes, invoke emotion, and educate others through my words alone. As a black woman, I am automatically the punch line of every joke and the subject of every criticism. I am scrutinized, sexualized, and generalized from adolescence. I spent the first ten years of my life with my head down, conforming to society. I spent the next four years deconstructing stereotypes and "being pretty for a black girl,” and the last three years finding the beauty in MY blackness. I had to learn that that light my grandmother was talking about was inside of me. I am that thing, that light, and my power is my writing. Through furthering my education, I seek to advocate for black women, joining programs such as ‘500 queens to uplift young black girls who think they need to conform. I strive to help build a society in which the life of a black woman is more than just collateral damage. With my writing, I hope to create a reality where, one day, I won't need to explain to my daughter that her dark skin and beautifully textured hair are reasons she will have to work twice as hard as her white counterpart.

"And when you find your passion; when you find that thing that makes you want to live, that makes you love yourself; When you find that power, that light, you hang on to it. You bask in it. Because you live in a society that would sooner see you dead in the streets than allow you to succeed. No one and nothing else can make you want to live; can make you want to BE." Those words were one of the last things my grandmother said to me. She came into my life with this queenly presence, made me what I am, and then she died; and whatever 'Thing' I had, or was supposed to find, died with her. I was a young, educated, black woman living in the Deep South with a limited support system, I had no light, or so I thought. I would find my light three years later in the form of a letter stating that I was the first place winner of a regional essay contest hosted by a prominent women's program. I attended their meet and greet at their country club, listening to the members commemorate me for my "eloquent use of language" as though black women having an advanced grasp on the English language was a rare occurrence. As I delivered my carefully constructed-improvised- speech to the organization’s women while my mother sat in the front row, gazing at me as if I had hung the moon, I realized that my light was my language. I can combat stereotypes, invoke emotion, and educate others through my words alone. As a black woman, I am automatically the punch line of every joke and the subject of every criticism. I am scrutinized, sexualized, and generalized from adolescence. I spent the first ten years of my life with my head down, conforming to society. I spent the next four years deconstructing stereotypes and "being pretty for a black girl,” and the last three years finding the beauty in MY blackness. I had to learn that that light my grandmother was talking about was inside of me. I am that thing, that light, and my power is my writing. Through furthering my education, I seek to advocate for black women, joining programs such as ‘500 queens to uplift young black girls who think they need to conform. I strive to help build a society in which the life of a black woman is more than just collateral damage. With my writing, I hope to create a reality where, one day, I won't need to explain to my daughter that her dark skin and beautifully textured hair are reasons she will have to work twice as hard as her white counterpart.