On Becoming
God Made Me A Black Woman for A Reason
On May 22, 1962, Malcolm X delivered a speech to Black women about Black women. This is the speech that gave us one of his most quoted lines: “The most disrespected person in America is the Black woman. The most unprotected person in America is the Black woman. The most neglected person in America is the Black woman.”Only the ignorant would try to dispute Malcolm’s claim. America has a 407-year record of disrespecting, failing to protect, and neglecting Black women. From 1619 to present-day misogynoir, the facts are indisputable: Black women have received less than we deserved from everybody—including Black men. This mistreatment knows no bounds. Income, education, career advancement—none of it shields Black women from being ostracized in ways no other demographic experiences in the United States.
This isn’t opinion. This is fact.
Here’s what the data says about 2025 unemployment rates: Black women experienced the sharpest employment losses in 25 years, declining at 1.4%. Black women’s unemployment hit roughly 7%—nearly double the rate of White women at 3.4%. And Black women with bachelor’s degrees had the largest employment decline of any education group. Unfortunately, our community has internalized this mistreatment so deeply that we’ve become our own harshest critics. In recent years, Black women business owners have faced scrutiny from within our own community that we don’t often see directed at others. Michelle Rodriguez of Mielle, Pinky Cole Hayes of Slutty Vegan, Amanda Seales—there are countless examples of Black women who’ve been on the receiving end of harsh criticism and judgment from other Black women. I think about this history often. Being a Black woman in America is brutal, hard, exhausting. But my faith keeps me encouraged.
Being a Black Woman Is a Requirement to Fulfill God’s Purpose for Me
As a follower of Jesus Christ, I believe God the Father doesn’t make mistakes. God made me a Black woman for a reason. I also know that God is omniscient—all-knowing. God knew everything Black women were going to experience in this country until Jesus returns, and yet still decided to make me a Black woman.Why?
God’s ways and thoughts are higher than mine, so I’m not going to act like I know His reasoning—I don’t. But I know His character and His written word. Here’s the logic I’ve been sitting with: Being a Black woman is a requirement to fulfill God’s purpose for me. Every human being has a God-given purpose. Whether we accomplish it or not doesn’t negate that He gave us one. In His timing, God equips us with everything we need to fulfill that purpose—including our physical makeup.
One of my callings is to help Black women heal from strained or absent maternal relationships through research, frameworks, and literary works. If I were a White woman, I wouldn’t be able to fulfill that assignment with excellence, cultural insight, or lived experience. If I were a White woman, let’s be real—y’all wouldn’t listen to me.
So my Blackness is intentional. I am a Black daughter who was wounded by a Black mother. I am a Black woman born of a Black woman, supported by a village, with more fictive kin than I can count. It’s because I am a Black woman that I understand Black women and Black womanisms. I’m in a better position than a woman of another race or ethnic group to fulfill the assignment God gave me: to help His Black daughters heal.
“God made me a Black woman for a reason.”
My Future Children Need the Love of a Black Mother
I’m not sure what plans God has for my future children. But I understand that my role as a Black mother will help them fulfill what God leads them to do. Black mothers show up differently than mothers of other races and ethnicities.Claire Huxtable, Aunt Viv, and Harriet Winslow present differently than Roseanne Conner, Peggy Bundy, and Jill Taylor. This doesn’t make Black mothers superior or inferior—just different. Unique. A White, Hispanic, or Asian mother doesn’t know how to raise Black children as Black children. That’s why I feel for biracial babies born to women who fetishize Black men or claim to “not see color”—it sets those children up for identity crises.
As a Black woman, I’m as prepared as I can be to face the aches of socializing Black children in America. I also anticipate the joys: affirming my children’s Blackness, the kinks and curls of their hair, the melanin in their skin, teaching them the history of those who came before them. I don’t know exactly what my children will need. But I know something about them needs to be experienced, taught, and loved by me—a Black mother. The particular way I hold them, correct them, celebrate them, and see them? That’s not generic. That’s Black mothering. And whatever God has for them, they’ll need that foundation to stand on.
I Wouldn’t Be Who I Am If I Wasn’t a Black Woman
I am fearfully and wonderfully made, intentionally designed and handcrafted by God Himself. Being a Black woman doesn’t define my entire identity, but it shapes everything about how that identity shows up in the world—my resilience, my rhythm, the way I love, lead, and navigate life.If God gave me the choice, I’d choose being a Black woman in every lifetime. I couldn’t imagine being any other way.
Yes, being a Black woman is hard. It’s also beautiful, sacred, and divine. And honestly? I think the world knows it. That’s why they’re so pressed about us. I’d be mad if I wasn’t a Black woman, too.