Dear Sister by Ms. Owens

“Every woman that finally figured out her worth, has picked up her suitcases of pride and boarded a flight to freedom, which landed in the valley of change.” – Shannon L. Alder

Dear Sister, do you know who you are? do you know your worth? do you know you are loved?

You are God’s beloved daughter. You have greatness in you. You are a beautiful woman, “I will give thanks to you, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made” Psalm 139:14. You are a wife, a mother, a sister, a daughter, a friend, a jewel and a fierce leader.

Dear Sister, are you in love with you? When you truly love yourself you will walk with such joy and grace and exude such beauty: kindness, love, peace, and patience. You won’t be afraid to complaint your fellow sister and you’ll support her instead of trying to compete with her. You’ll pursue God, your purpose, and be of service to your community with all your might. You’ll realize you’re a phenomenal woman with much fruit to bring. Continue reading

The Bhubezi Women – The Women Who Hold Up the World by Cheryl Penn

hatshepshutneedle Hatshepsut’s Needle

It’s really quite difficult to tell how/when/why the Revealing of the Bhubezi Women unfolded.  It’s equally problematic to tell how many there are, or their particular function in Holding up the World.  One fact is evidenced – they are all REAL historical figures, most of which have been misunderstood by history.  Bhubezi Women identified thus far: Magenta, Sienna (better known as Shahrazad), Mona Lisa, Hypatia, Hatshepsut, Empress  Zhangsun, Pandora and Cynisca.  In the secret Sof Omar caves, an intriguing stele was found with the following inscription:The Ones That Protect From:  The Conscious Life, External words, Pure Pain, False Dreams, Ones to travel to the deepest reaches of the psyche, A barrier on their behalf to the outside world, A Thousand Deaths, An Unfulfilled Life, Enantiodromia,  The Incorporeal Body, The destructive animus, Lost Instinct.

**THE INFORMATION that Ms. Penn shared with us on this blog is imperative to Women’s Herstory around the globe.  Continue reading

My Bra is Trying to Kill Me by Robin Pizzo

Ouch, ooooo, ouch, Awww!  What is this poking me?  What is this stabbing me?  Am I near the fatal end?  I run to the restroom just after the board meeting, class lecture, praise and worship service, dance rehearsal, or PTA to discover a painstakingly, devastating, all too frequent occurrence.  My Bra is trying to kill me.

            The beautiful, wonderfully smooth foundation piece that our mothers taught us to wear since we barely had buds has turned on us!  They’ve become devises of torture, a man’s pleasure, a thoughtless expensive lift, perk, squeeze together and flaunt mechanism that in no way should be near one of a women’s most precious assets—her breast!  

            Now I must write a disclaimer with this piece.

             This is not for the perfect and pristine one who maintains a matching bra and panty collection of every color and fabric type by purchasing them quarterly at Vicki’s Secret.  Please stop reading if you then hand wash that collection with Woolite and hangs them to dry on their own special little satin wrapped fabric hangers.  Don’t go any further if after you dry your matching bra and panty sets, you neatly place them inside of your intimate garment drawer with the satchel full of fragrant potpourri.  Finally, this is not for you if you are the one who also makes sure when one bra begins to grow a little weary you graciously dispose of it.   Continue reading

A Heart Kind by Shaunteka LaTrese Curry

As a woman born and raised in the South, you hear tales, myths about the legendary women who broke the mold. Women who challenged the limitations placed on them by religion and society. “The woman who could tell you what time of day it was by looking at the ground” or “the woman down the street with all those cats, stay away from her, she not right” simply put these are the women your mother warned you about. And although, you did your best to stay away and not ask too many questions; you still found yourself drawn to knowing more about these women. When I was ten, I remember being told the story about a family friend who “killed her husband’s girlfriend with Kindness” at first, I thought, is that possible? But as a ten year old you pay those stories no mind or at least, place them in the back of your head until you got the courage to ask more questions. So, I did, one Saturday, as I settled in for my weekly “press and curl” ritual, I asked my Aunt, “why you friends with the lady that “killed” someone?” Well, you’d thought I’d told the best joke ever because this lady was consumed with laughter, so much so that she caught my ear with the hot comb. Now, after her tickle box had settled and butter was melting on my ear, “Teka, she said, “Margo” didn’t kill the woman literally, She just showed the woman who she was, by showing her what she wasn’t!” The questioning had tickled my aunt so that she put the hot comb down, fired up a cigarette and grabbed a beer from the fridge.

She sat there sipping her beer from the left side of her mouth while the cigarette hung from the right side, peering into me as if I were an open book.
Continue reading

Through My Daughter’s Eyes by Sandra Laraine Coleman

Sometimes the world can be a colorless, bland amorphous wreckage manipulating itself into collapsible ruins and discarded carnage that lived long past usefulness. Sometimes the world can be lively, loving, warm, welcoming like the yearning in a lover’s tender embrace we find ourselves never wanting to live without. This describes motherhood in an abusive relationship with your daughter’s father when life becomes an empty offering of neglect, misery and sorrow. Yes, your daughter’s father, whom you’ve loved since sixteen because that’s what sixteen-year-old girls do. They fall in love with hopeful hormones rioting to test-taste waters of grown and living prepares pre-woman for the woman who will eventually conjugate and ornament life with vibrant fleshed fruit. Ah yes, it was love ripening in you, trajecting into and out of “him” and that adoration would have continued had it not been subjugated with fists. Then one day you realize that a woman/mother should never have her words choked from her throat, then rammed down again. You have become skilled at swallowing strangled sentences and absorbing blows. The repeated silencing of your words accompanies eyes blackened and puffy blind, busted lips throbbing the fluffy color of pain, bloody noses that are percolating facial sacrifices, bruises decorating your body like cheap misshapen tattoes, stinging slaps from hardened hands so large they consume your entire face with wanton wrath and afterwards the rape. You never know what will initiate his vulgar violent rages, all you know … this is no “living” for you or her. Continue reading

Just For You: My Wish for Womankind by Charlene E. Green


Woman, love self like

none can match yours and watch as

they attempt to try

In honor of Women’s History Month, I challenge all women to make history in your own lives by daily committing to your needs to the best of your ability.

How often do you really “do you”? When’s the last time you said no when that’s what you meant; put make-up on—or not—because you wanted to, not to please someone else; dressed or wore your hair the way you prefer, not how your spouse or lover prefers; gave your body the rest it needs; took yourself on your ideal date; did nothing but what you wanted all day, for one day? When’s the last time you asked yourself what you need or want, and thought about providing it for yourself? Have you ever asked?

As queens of sacrifice, particularly mothers, you’re wired to nurture others first; but it’s healthy to seek ways to provide for others in conjunction with nurturing yourself.  Some may take issue with this, possibly people you know and love. When you’ve evolved, only those who are a match to your level of evolution can function properly in your space. The rest will tend to keep their distance because they don’t know how. You’ll receive what you know you’re worth. If people can’t meet the terms of your upgraded mindset, then they’ll either drop completely off, or they’ll only interact with you in ways they feel comfortable. It may hurt, but let it be okay. Maybe they’ll catch up one day, maybe not. In the meantime, you’ve made room for the kinds of visitors that’ll go out of their way to match your requirements. You deserve that.
Continue reading

I Know a Woman by Petru J. Viljoen

I know a woman who has had to let her successful business go so her husband could feel better about himself.   Their house wasn’t clean enough according to his dictum.
She deserves better.
I know a woman who is involved in a relationship with a married man; separated from his wife but not divorced.  I don’t think she realizes.  He does not include her in his plans for the future.  She’s grateful for the time she has with him.  She said so.
She deserves better.
I know a woman who is happy with the thought that she should be subservient to her husband.  It’s what the bible dictates.
She deserves better.
I know a woman, who was forced to give up her child because her new boyfriend did not want to bring up another man’s child.  Her economic situation was such, she felt she had no choice.  The father of the child was a drunk and abandoned her.
She deserves better.
I know a woman who admits she is not trained for anything else but being a man’s wife, mother of his children and the cleaner of his house.
She deserves better.
I know a woman who is in an abusive relationship.   She feels she has no recourse.
She deserves better.
I know a woman who is in denial about the relationship she had with her abusive husband, who is now diseased.  He died an alcoholic.  She does not admit the relationship was abusive.  She says she loved him.  It’s her way of coping.
She deserves better.
I know a woman who has to ask her husband’s permission to pay me a visit.  She thinks this is right.
She deserves better.
I know a woman who has been raped by her brother’s friend.  She was told to keep quiet, the shame on the  family is too much.
She deserves better.
I know a woman who was raped by a relative as a child.  She was told to keep herself in place, she now knows what sex is like and she will be watched by her mother, grandmother and aunt so she wouldn’t go looking for more.
She deserves better.
I know a woman who was raped when she admitted to being happily single.  You must have a man.
She deserves better.
I know a woman who neglected to report a child’s abuse, the child in her care.
They both deserve better.
Please find more writings of Petru J. Viljoen at