Oh, the Black woman. The Black conservative woman. She’s a threat. Really? Is that what I am—a threat? Because all I want is for things to be pretty and in order. I want to walk into a room and have it smell nice. I want people to see my Blackness and think of grace, of strength, of dignity—not degeneracy.

Does it upset you that some of us no longer want to participate in the denigration of the Black woman? That we’ve chosen a different path? Oh, you’d rather we keep quiet. You’d rather we say nothing about what it’s like to be a young Black girl in America—or anywhere else in this world, for that matter.

But I’m not here to be your anti-man, your anti-anything. I’m here to tell the truth. I’m here to talk about real life—about Chicago, about being adopted, about being Black. So tell me, what’s the crime? What is it that threatens you so much?

Is it that I speak about myself? That I dare to share my truth? That I have the audacity to say where I come from and what I’ve endured? Is survival the crime? Because I survived. I thrived. I’m still here, and I’m not afraid to talk about what it took to get here.

And if that makes you uncomfortable, maybe it’s not me you’re upset with. Maybe it’s the mirror my story holds up to the world you don’t want to see.