SHE WARNED ME, BUT I THOUGHT I WAS DIFFERENT

I grew up watching abuse, never realizing that one day, I would find myself living through the same nightmare.

Parents, we do know what’s going on in the home.

We do know that our daddies or your new boyfriend is whooping your ass. We know that. And what you fail to realize as a parent is that you’re not protecting us as well.

We see it. We hear it. We know what’s happening.

And what you don’t realize is that we grow up learning that this is what love looks like.

As a young girl trying to find love, my daddy wasn’t around because he was in jail. My mother got around, and it didn’t matter what relationship she got into, these men were abusive.

I grew up seeing different men coming in and out of the house. I saw the abuse. I saw the bruises. I heard the arguments.

And somehow, I grew up thinking that was normal.

Fast-forward to my own situation.

I got involved with a man we’re going to call “Charlie.”

“Charlie” was older. He had several kids by several different baby mamas. He would drink, smoke, party, and participate in street activities.

But because I didn’t have any kids, I thought I was better.

I thought I was different.

I thought the way he showed me that he loved me was actually love.

And here’s the part that gets me.

I WAS WARNED.

One of his baby mamas reached out to me and told me that “Charlie” was abusive.

She told me, “You’re gonna be next.”

And she warned me that this time, he might take it to the pits of hell. He might actually kill me.

Because when a man starts choking you, they say the next step could be him taking your life.

But did I listen?

No!

Because in my mind, I was prettier. I was slimmer. I thought I had it going on.

I thought he would never do that to me.

I told myself, “This bitch is just jealous.”

And the whole time, SHE WAS RIGHT.

That man terrorized me for three months.

When I say he terrorized me, I mean he terrorized me.

I was tortured and traumatized for three months.

And some of the things that happened to me, I can’t even talk about because I can’t even think about them.

I just can’t!

Sometimes, I sit back and can’t believe that I allowed myself to stay in that situation.

And I know that as victims, we sometimes look back and question our own decisions, especially when the red flags were there.

Because the red flags were there.

His baby mama warned me.

She told me exactly what was coming.

But I thought I was different.

I thought because I was prettier, because I was slimmer, and because I didn’t have any kids, he would never treat me the way he treated her.

Until he did.

And when he put his hands on me for the first time, I was shocked.

When I say shocked, I mean SHOCKED!

Because in my mind, he would never.

Not me.

But he did.

And looking back, I realize that some of what I accepted came from the trauma I experienced growing up.

Watching my mother go through abusive relationships. Watching different men come in and out of our home. Watching her make excuses and lie for the men who were hurting her.

As a child, you don’t always understand what’s happening.

You just know what you see.

And when that’s what you see over and over again, you begin to believe that’s what love is supposed to look like.

Until one day, you find yourself in the same situation.

And you realize…

THIS IS NOT LOVE.

There are two things I want people to take away from my story.

FIRST, TO THE PARENTS: YOUR CHILDREN KNOW.

Parents, your kids know what you’re going through.

We see the bruises.

We hear the arguments.

We hear the fighting.

We know.

And every time you lie for that man, every time you make excuses for him, every time you allow him to come back after hurting you, you’re showing us what you think love looks like.

And because we’re children, we grow up thinking that’s what love is supposed to look like, too.

You may think you’re hiding it from us, but you’re not.

We see more than you think.

And sometimes, what we see follows us into adulthood.

SECOND, TO THE WOMEN: DON’T IGNORE THE WARNING.

Yes, we know some women can be jealous.

Some women can be envious.

And yes, some women don’t want you to be with their baby daddy.

But if a woman comes to you and tells you that she’s grateful you took that man off her hands…

TAKE HEED.

Because you don’t know what’s coming down the pipeline.

And never think that just because he did it to her, he would never do it to you.

Because he will.

I learned that the hard way.

I thought I was different.

I thought I was special.

I thought I was the one he would change for.

But I wasn’t.

I was just next.

And although I went through three months of torture and trauma, I can say one thing:

I’M STILL HERE.

Thankfully, I’m still here.

There are things I experienced that I’m not ready to talk about. Things that are still too painful to even think about.

But maybe one day, when I find the strength to talk about everything in depth, I’ll be able to come back and see if Ms. Kym will allow me to share another part of my story.

Because there’s so much more.

For now, I just want young ladies to keep their heads up and pay attention.

Don’t ignore the warning signs.

Don’t think you’re better than the woman who came before you.

And don’t ever believe that abuse is love just because that’s what you grew up seeing.

I saw abuse from an early age.

I grew up without my father being present.

I watched different men come in and out of my mother’s life.

And when I got into a relationship at a young age, it was with an older man who already had children.

I was looking for love.

But what I found was something that almost destroyed me.

And at this point in my life, I don’t even want kids.

Because I don’t want to be another statistic.

I don’t want another child growing up seeing what I saw.

I don’t want another little girl thinking that being hurt is part of being loved.

And most importantly, I don’t want another woman to have to go through what I went through just to understand that she deserves better.

She warned me.

But I thought I was different.

And I’m thankful I’m still here to tell my story.

I’m Still Here: Listen to Your Discernment

As I sit here on the eleventh day of October, I realize that every day this month, I’ve found myself reflecting on past trauma. I’ve had to speak to it, speak through it, talk about it with my therapist, and talk about it with God.

And I’m here to say: I’m still here.

Some days are better than others. And some days? My God.

I was having a conversation with a friend recently about abusive and violent relationships, and one thing we talked about is how people don’t always understand that abuse is not always physical.

Somebody can cut you down with their tongue. And if you’re not in the right headspace if you’ve been hearing those words long enough honey, they can cut you all the way up without ever putting their hands on you.

Bruises can heal. But that mental anguish? That psychological anguish? It can stay with you. And sometimes, out of nowhere, a memory will hit you.

The other day, I was sitting here minding my business when a memory popped into my head. I remembered a time when I owned a home with my so-called partner. Our home. Both of our names were on the deed and the mortgage.

We had a falling out, and I left. And y’all know how that cycle can go the crying, the apologies, the promises that make you come back.

But then this man thought he could cut me so deeply with his words that I would leave my own home so he could bring another woman into the house WE shared.

Think about that!

Then another memory comes back. Finding out he had been cheating and discovering there was an entire child I didn’t know about. We were still married.

And because he was angry about what I had to say after finding out what he had done, this man drove my car at 100 miles an hour with me in the passenger seat and our children in the back.

That was danger!

And when I look back now, I think about the things we sometimes tolerate from people who were never worthy of that kind of access to us.

And abuse didn’t only show up for me in a relationship with a man.

I remember leaving that relationship and later dating a woman. Over time, I started noticing things. She was condescending. She wanted control. There were signs.

Then one day, she became angry because my phone kept going off. I said a name, and somehow she decided that gave her permission to physically attack me.

I won’t go into the graphic details. I’ll just say it didn’t end well.

But we are both still here breathing.

And that’s why I need somebody to hear me when I say this: every little “joke” is not cute.

Playing with your time isn’t cute. Playing with your money isn’t cute. Playing in your face isn’t cute. Constant cheating isn’t cute. Controlling you isn’t cute.

Going through somebody’s phone is not a flex.

Knowing somebody’s passcode is not a flex.

Having to constantly prove where you are, who you’re with, and what you’re doing is not love.

You know what is a flex?

Your discernment.

That feeling in your spirit that keeps telling you something isn’t right. That feeling in your stomach telling you, “Girl, you are not safe here.”

Stop painting red flags with beautiful rainbows because you want the situation to be something other than what it is.

Honey, sometimes it is exactly what your spirit has been telling you it is.

Listen to your discernment. Listen to your gut. Pay attention when something inside of you keeps saying, this isn’t right.

And when an older woman who has lived a little, survived a little, healed a little, and learned a whole lot tries to tell you something honey, it’s not always hate.

Sometimes it’s love.

Sometimes we recognize something because we’ve already lived through what you’re just beginning to see.

So, during Domestic Violence Awareness Month, I’m not speaking from a textbook. I’m speaking from experience.

I survived some things.

I’m healing from some things.

I’m still working through some things.

And after all of it, I am still here.

So listen to yourself. Listen to God. Listen to your discernment. And when something tells you that you are not safe, please don’t ignore it.

No survivor walks alone.

Y’all be safe out here in these streets. 💜

I Was 16. He Was 21: I Thought It Was Love, but I Was Being Groomed

I was 16. He was 21.

He was grown enough to know better.

He was the brother of a friend, and looking back now, I know I was being groomed. But at 16? I didn’t know that. I thought it was cool that this older boy was looking at me. He wanted to talk to me. He wanted me.

In my mind, that meant I was on his level.

I thought I was grown.

I thought I knew what I was doing.

I thought everything was good.

The whole time, I was being coerced.

Little by little, things in my life started changing. My grades started failing. I started sneaking him in and out of the house. This man practically lived in my house for six months before anybody in my family figured out what was going on.

And no, I didn’t come from what people like to call a “broken home.” I had two parents. I had siblings. I had people around me.

But I was always the quiet one.

The meek one.

The child nobody had to worry about.

So nobody looked at me twice.

Meanwhile, I was living a whole other life right under everybody’s nose.

There was cheating.

There was manipulation.

There was physical abuse.

There was emotional abuse.

And at 16, I really believed I was ready for all of this.

I wasn’t.

Nobody really talks about the things young girls go through when they think they’re grown. I was a know-it-all. I thought I knew better than my parents. I thought they just didn’t understand. I thought they were trying to keep me from something I wanted.

Now I understand they were trying to protect me.

And for a long time, I carried this thought around with me:

I’m the one who let the monster in.

I still battle with that sometimes.

But hindsight is 20/20, and when I look back now, I don’t think he would’ve just left me alone. He was too persistent. He kept pushing. Kept pursuing. Kept finding a way in.

And I was 16.

The first time he hit me, he busted my lip.

I remember that.

But I also remember what happened five minutes later.

He was putting ice on the same lip he had just busted.

Telling me he was sorry.

Telling me he loved me.

Telling me he would never do it again.

And I believed him.

That’s the part people don’t always understand.

The same person hurting you can turn around and comfort you for the hurt they caused. And when you’re young, when you think this person loves you, when you’ve already been manipulated so deeply, that can mess with your head.

But I’m going to tell every woman and every young girl reading this:

If he hits you once, don’t stick around waiting to see if he’ll hit you again.

Because he hit me again.

It may have been months later, but it happened again.

And by then, I was so deep in it that I didn’t know how to dig my way out.

Plus, I was keeping everything a secret.

Because I was embarrassed.

That’s another thing abuse will do to you. Somebody else can be hurting you, but somehow you’re the one walking around ashamed.

Eventually, I got pregnant.

I had our daughter prematurely because of all the stress and pressure I was under.

By that time, he had another girlfriend.

And you know what?

I didn’t even care.

I was glad he was out of my face.

I thought maybe that meant things would finally get better.

They didn’t.

They got worse.

She was pregnant too, and from what I experienced, he was still manipulating the situation. Somehow, she and I ended up fighting.

Both of us pregnant.

Stupid.

And I wasn’t fighting over that man. I didn’t want him. I was defending myself.

Eventually, I got a protective order against both of them.

You would think that would have been the end of it.

It wasn’t.

He called nonstop.

Because I was carrying his child, there was always another reason to contact me. Another opening. Another way to try to control me.

Even with documentation.

Even with a temporary protective order.

Even after everything that had happened.

And that experience changed the way I look at the judicial system, because I learned how easily a survivor can do what she’s told to do document it, report it, get the order and still feel like somehow she’s the one being questioned, blamed, or expected to manage the person hurting her.

So when I tell this story now, I’m not telling it because I’m proud of every decision I made.

I’m telling it because somewhere there is a 16-year-old girl who thinks she’s grown because an older man is giving her attention.

Baby girl, I thought I was grown too.

I thought I was special.

I thought I was on his level.

I thought I knew better than everybody trying to protect me.

I didn’t.

I was 16.

He was 21.

And he was grown enough to know better.

So, ladies, young girls hear me, and hear me clearly.

Don’t let “I’m sorry” make you ignore what somebody did to you.

Don’t let gifts make you forget.

Don’t let flowers make you forget.

Don’t let “I love you” make you forget.

And don’t wait for the next time to be worse before you believe the first time was bad enough.

Because sometimes there is a next time.

And a next time.

And another next time.

Until one day, somebody doesn’t get another chance to leave.

I survived mine.

And now I’m telling it.

No Means No—Married or Not: TJ’s Story

TJ was 22 years old when DW walked into her place of business.

DW was 33 years old and a police officer. From the beginning, he pursued TJ relentlessly. Looking back, she recognizes his behavior for what it was: grooming. He continued pursuing her until she felt as though she had no choice but to give in.

Eventually, TJ agreed to go out with him.

They went on a few dates, and DW began showering her with gifts, flowers, attention, and all the things he knew would make her feel loved. He had been married before possibly more than once and he knew exactly how to present himself as the man TJ could trust.

Within six months of dating, they were married.

It was almost as if the moment the ink dried on their marriage license, DW changed.

The man TJ thought she had married became a monster.

DW began physically abusing her. He sexually assaulted her. And yes, sexual assault can happen within a marriage. Being married does not give someone unlimited access to their spouse’s body. When someone says no, it means no. Coercion is not consent. And sometimes, DW did not even bother with coercion. He simply took what he wanted from TJ.

He threatened her. He threatened her family.

TJ felt as though she couldn’t tell anyone what was happening. In her mind, she had gotten herself into this situation, so she believed she had to figure out how to get herself out of it.

It took her two years to make a plan.

And she knew she had to be careful because DW wasn’t just her abusive husband. He was a police officer. He knew the law. He knew the system. He knew how to use both to his advantage and he knew how to break the law.

TJ knew that if she was going to escape, she needed to get outside of his jurisdiction.

One day, after DW left the house, TJ moved in silence.

She packed what she could carry, and she left.

TJ moved two counties away. She changed her phone number. She changed cars. She couldn’t even safely put things in her own name. At different times, she relied on her sister, her mother, and friends to help her establish a life that DW couldn’t easily trace.

She did all of this just to have a little peace.

Then she filed for divorce.

But leaving didn’t mean the abuse was over.

DW stalked her relentlessly.

That’s something people need to understand about domestic violence: sometimes moving to another city, county, or even another state isn’t enough. A survivor can do everything possible to disappear, and an abuser who is determined to find them may continue searching.

For TJ, the danger was made even more frightening because DW was a police officer. Even with protective orders in place, she feared the connections he had with other officers and departments. She never knew who might know him, who might be watching, or who might tell him where she was.

One day, TJ went to a restaurant to get something to eat.

DW found her.

He attacked TJ and beat her so severely that he killed her.

After murdering TJ, DW took his own life.

TJ had done what survivors are so often told to do. She made a plan. She left. She moved away. She changed her phone number. She changed vehicles. She tried to hide her location. She filed for divorce. She sought legal protection.

And still, DW found her.

Her sister shared TJ’s story because she wants people to understand something that should never need explaining:

No means no.

Dating or married.

Living together or separated.

Yesterday’s yes does not mean yes today.

Marriage is not consent.

And leaving an abusive relationship does not always mean the danger has ended.

Please be careful. Take stalking and threats seriously. And when someone tells you they are afraid of their partner or former partner, believe them.

TJ’s sister would also like to thank everyone who has given her the space to share TJ’s story.

TJ deserved safety. She deserved freedom. She deserved the life she fought so hard to reclaim.

May her story be heard.

It Wasn’t Just Two Women Fighting…

I was in a long-distance relationship with a woman I loved.

For the first year, we lived in different states. We talked constantly phone calls, FaceTime, messages but we only saw each other in person every two or three months. We would travel back and forth, spend time together, enjoy each other’s company, and then return home.

During that time, I didn’t see any major red flags.

Looking back, I realize that seeing someone every few months is very different from living with them every day.

After about a year, she moved to my home state, and we got an apartment together. I was excited. We were finally going to have the relationship we had talked about instead of loving each other from a distance.

At first, everything seemed great.

Then I started seeing another side of her.

She could be condescending and unnecessarily cruel. She rarely seemed to have anything positive to say about other people. There was an air of superiority about her, as though she believed she was somehow better than everyone around her.

Then there was the control.

She was extremely insecure about the people in my life. I had a child, and my child’s father was an active and present parent. She knew that before we ever lived together. Still, she didn’t want me talking to him. She didn’t want me mentioning his name. Even necessary conversations involving our child could become a problem.

Little by little, our home became a place of tension instead of peace.

Eventually, one argument escalated into something physical.

We both hurt each other badly.

The police were called, and she was arrested.

Then something happened that I still look back on differently today: she called me from jail and asked me to help her get out.

And I did.

We got back together.

We even went to counseling because we convinced ourselves that maybe we could repair what had happened. Maybe if we talked enough, understood each other enough, or loved each other enough, we could somehow undo the damage.

We couldn’t.

The relationship had become toxic, and counseling wasn’t enough to change that reality. Eventually, it ended, and she returned to her home state.

It took me time to truly get out of that situation emotionally as well as physically. Today, I can sincerely say that I hope she heals.

But I don’t want her back.

I don’t want a friendship.

I don’t want another conversation.

I don’t want any relationship with her at all.

And I am at peace with that.

I’m telling this story because there is something we don’t talk about enough, particularly in LGBTQIA+ communities: domestic and intimate partner violence can happen between two women.

As a Black woman who loves Black women, this is especially important for me to say.

When people see two women become physical with each other, it can be dismissed as, “They’re just fighting.”

But we weren’t simply two women fighting.

We were intimate partners.

We shared a home. We shared a relationship. There was jealousy, control, insecurity, emotional harm, and eventually physical violence.

Gender doesn’t make those dynamics disappear.

Domestic violence is not exclusively something that happens when a man hurts a woman. It can happen in heterosexual relationships. It can happen in gay relationships. It can happen in lesbian relationships. It can happen anywhere intimacy, control, fear, and violence become intertwined.

And when violence happens between two women, we should not minimize it simply because both people are women.

I also won’t rewrite my own history to make myself innocent of everything that happened. That night became physical between both of us. We both caused harm.

But acknowledging my own actions does not mean I have to pretend the relationship was healthy.

It wasn’t.

Leaving was part of accepting that love alone cannot repair a relationship that has become destructive.

I hope she heals.

I hope I continue to heal.

But healing does not require reconciliation.

Sometimes healing means accepting what happened, learning from it, closing the door and refusing to open it again.

Because it wasn’t “just two women fighting.”

It was domestic violence.

And we need to be able to call it what it is.

Rae’s Story

Raeshanda, who goes by Rae, was just 16 years old when she met Chris. They attended school together, started dating, and what began as a teenage relationship eventually became something Rae never imagined she would experience.

Chris already had a child, and Rae admits that being in a relationship with someone who was also navigating a relationship with the mother of his child brought insecurities and tension she wasn’t prepared for.

Eventually, an argument between Rae and Chris became physical when Chris put his hands on her. He was arrested, and while he was in jail, Rae began healing, putting herself back together, and finding the strength to end their relationship.

But ending the relationship didn’t immediately end the danger.

According to Rae, Chris later sent the mother of his child whom Rae has chosen not to name to seriously harm her.

Thankfully, Rae survived.

Today, she has graduated from high school and is attending college. She chose to share her story because she wants other teen girls to learn from what she experienced.

Her message is simple: pay attention to the relationships surrounding the person you’re dating. If they have a child with someone else, understand that there may be an ongoing connection between them because they share a child. Don’t allow yourself to be pulled into jealousy, competition, arguments, or situations where someone is intentionally playing two girls against each other.

Most importantly, Rae wants girls to recognize that violence is never a normal part of a relationship.

You don’t have to compete for someone’s love.
You don’t have to prove you’re the better girl.
And you don’t have to stay when someone hurts you.

Rae was 16 when her story began.

Thankfully, that’s not where her story ended. 💜

She Should Never Have to Walk Alone: Standing with Survivors This October

For some, October means purple ribbons, social media posts and conversations about domestic violence that become quieter once November arrives.

For survivors, there is no off-season.

Domestic violence doesn’t end when October ends. It happens every day, often behind closed doors and hidden beneath fear, shame, embarrassment, financial dependence and the uncertainty of what will happen if a survivor decides to leave.

And for Black women, the numbers demand our attention.

CDC data have shown that although Black women represented approximately 13.4% of the population studied, they accounted for nearly 30% of female intimate-partner homicide victims.  More recent research using CDC data found that Black women are 3.5 times more likely than White women to be fatally shot by an intimate partner. Among Black women ages 18–34, that disparity is even greater. 

Those aren’t just statistics.

They are women. Mothers. Daughters. Sisters. Friends. Coworkers. Besties.

And behind every number is a life that mattered.

This Is Why Bestie Tribe Exists

At Bestie Tribe, our work isn’t limited to awareness.

We serve survivors in the Dallas-Fort Worth community who need resources and support as they navigate incredibly difficult circumstances. We also believe prevention begins much earlier, which is why our work extends to teen girls experiencing adversity.

Through journals created specifically for Black teen girls, we share real stories from girls who have faced difficult situations not only dating violence, but the kinds of experiences young Black girls sometimes carry silently.

Whether she is 15 or 45, we want her to hear the same message:

You are not alone.

More Than a Bracelet

That’s also the meaning behind our Hello Bestie Bracelet.

It’s a Purple Phantom Quartz gemstone bracelet, but what it represents is far more important than what’s on your wrist.

When you purchase a Hello Bestie Bracelet, you become part of a tribe of women standing in solidarity with survivors. For every bracelet purchased, one is gifted to a survivor who comes through our program.

Imagine a woman receiving that bracelet during one of the most difficult seasons of her life and knowing that somewhere, another woman is wearing hers too.

She may never know your name.

You may never know hers.

But that bracelet connects the two of you with one message:

Bestie, you don’t have to walk this road alone.

We Need Our Tribe

The reality of nonprofit work is that compassion alone doesn’t pay for resources.

The cost of providing services continues to rise. Funding isn’t guaranteed. Grants are competitive, and community organizations still have people walking through their doors who need help regardless of whether another grant check arrives.

So, this October, we’re asking our community to do more than wear purple.

Walk with us.

Purchase a Hello Bestie Bracelet. Wear it proudly. Start a conversation about domestic violence. Share our work. Support our girls. Stand beside survivors.

Your purchase helps Bestie Tribe continue putting resources into the hands of the women and girls we serve and another bracelet into the hands of a survivor as a reminder that there is a tribe standing with her.

This is sisterhood.

This is solidarity.

And this is what community looks like when we decide that no survivor should have to walk alone.

Let’s walk hand in hand. 💜

If you or someone you know is experiencing domestic violence, the National Domestic Violence Hotline offers confidential support 24/7. Call 1-800-799-SAFE (7233) or text START to 88788. 

Our Choices Don’t Just Affect Us!

When a little girl comes to you and tells you that her daddy beats her mama all the time, believe her.

Because it’s not like she doesn’t hear the punches.

It’s not like she doesn’t hear her mother’s head hitting the wall.

It’s not like she doesn’t hear the screaming.

It’s not like she doesn’t hear the crying.

And when her mother gets up the next day and plays it off like nothing happened, that little girl sees that too.

Years later, that same little girl gets into a violent relationship as a teenager because violence is what she grew up seeing. Somewhere along the way, she learned to believe, If you don’t put your hands on me, then you don’t love me.

Because that’s what Mama used to say about Daddy.

It didn’t matter how many times the police were called. It didn’t matter if it happened in public. It didn’t matter if friends or family were around. Eventually, everybody seemed to turn a blind eye because they believed she wasn’t going to leave anyway.

But what nobody seemed to understand was that the children couldn’t leave either.

We had to live there.

We had to hear it.

We had to see it.

We had to carry it.

And years later, we are still carrying pieces of it.

Domestic violence doesn’t just affect the person being abused. It affects the children watching from another room. It affects the family members who feel helpless. It affects the friends who don’t know what to say. It changes the way children understand love, relationships, anger, fear, and safety.

And sometimes, the ending is permanent.

In the end, my father killed my mother, and then he killed himself.

But their deaths didn’t make the trauma disappear. The people left behind still had to live with everything that happened before that day—and everything that came after it.

That is why I need someone experiencing domestic violence to hear me when I say this:

I want you to be strong enough to leave.

I know it’s hard.

I know you may not have any money. I know you may not know where you’re going to sleep. I know abuse can make it difficult to trust anybody. I know leaving can feel terrifying when your whole life has been built around surviving from one day to the next.

But please understand that your choices don’t just affect you.

If you have children, they are learning from what they see. They are learning what love looks like. They are learning what they should tolerate. They are learning what relationships are supposed to feel like.

And I wish my mother could have understood what I was trying to tell her:

If you love me like you say you do, please leave.

I would rather have been homeless with you.

I would rather have slept in an abandoned house with you.

I would rather have struggled beside you while we tried to rebuild our lives than wake up every single day wondering what my father’s anger was going to do to us next.

Because a child should never have to beg a parent to choose safety.

A child should never grow up believing bruises mean love.

And no child should have to spend the rest of their life carrying the consequences of violence they never chose.

Our choices don’t just affect us.

Sometimes, they become the childhood someone else has to recover from.

When Black Women Cry for Help, Who Hears Us?

As a Black woman who has personally experienced domestic violence and witnessed it within my own family, I know all too well what domestic violence looks like. I also know how difficult it can be for Black women to find the resources, protection, housing, food, financial assistance, and support they need when trying to survive and leave an abusive situation.

That is one of the reasons I started QDF | Bestie Tribe in 2018.

At the time, my best friend was experiencing domestic violence. I tried to help her get away, and for a few days, I did. Eventually, she made the decision to return to the relationship, and to this day, she is still with him.

For my own mental health and safety, I eventually had to let that friendship go.

That was one of the hardest lessons I have ever had to learn: I can love you. I can help you. I can stand beside you. But I cannot continuously put my own life and well-being on the line when you continue returning to a dangerous situation.

And I also understand that leaving is not as simple as people make it sound.

Where are you going to live? How are you going to feed your children? What happens when you don't have money? Who is going to protect you? What happens when your abuser violates a restraining order? What happens when you've called for help over and over again and still don't feel safe?

Black women are too often expected to endure.

We're told, "Don't break up your family."  

"Where are you going to go?"  

"You don't have any money."  

"What are you going to do with all those kids?"

Meanwhile, Black women continue to experience devastating levels of intimate-partner violence, and too many of their stories receive little attention until it is too late.

That is why it is painful to watch the enormous differences in public sympathy, media attention, fundraising, and support that women can receive depending on who they are. Every case has its own facts and circumstances, and those differences matter. But we should still be willing to ask difficult questions about race, motherhood, mental health, postpartum mental illness, domestic violence, self-defense, policing, and how our justice system treats Black women.

We are asking those questions in the case of Latarsha Sanders.

We are asking them when we see Black women facing devastating circumstances while struggling to receive the same compassion, resources, financial support, and presumption of humanity that the public readily extends to others.

QDF Bestie Tribe stands with Latarsha Sanders.

And through our TikTok page, A Sista's Love, a branch of QDF Bestie Tribe, we are committed to bringing awareness to domestic violence and honoring victims whose stories too often go unnoticed.

We specifically create memorials recognizing members of BIPOC communities because their names and stories deserve to be remembered. Their families deserve to know that somebody sees them. Their communities deserve to know that somebody cares.

We want every BIPOC woman experiencing domestic violence to hear this:

You are loved.  

You matter.  

Your story matters.  

You deserve safety.  

And we stand beside you.

We are also following the case of a pregnant Chicago woman who reportedly had sought protection from her former partner before a fatal confrontation. Her story raises yet another painful question: What is a woman supposed to do when she repeatedly asks for protection and still does not feel protected?

These are conversations we cannot continue to ignore.

QDF Bestie Tribe stands with Black women.

We stand with survivors.

We stand with the women whose stories make the news, and especially with the women whose names never make the headlines.

We stand with the women still trying to leave.

We remember the women who never got the chance.

And through A Sista's Love, we will continue saying their names, sharing their stories, honoring their lives, and demanding that Black and Brown women receive the protection, resources, compassion, and support they deserve.

We see you. We hear you. We believe you. And you will not be forgotten.

— QDF Bestie Tribe | A Sista's Love

Because I'm Still Here

There's a song called I'm Still Here by Dorinda Clark, and every time I listen to it, I hear more than a song—I hear a testimony. It's about surviving the things that were meant to break you. And I believe that's why it resonates with so many people, because all of us have sat in something that could have taken us out.

The enemy has a way of trying to convince us that we'd be better gone than here. But that's a lie.

Some people have family they can turn to. Some people don't. I can't speak for everyone, but I can speak for myself. I don't have anyone I can always lean on. And I've had to accept that even the friends I've made don't always have the emotional or mental capacity to carry what I need to release.

I'm everybody's listening ear. I'm the one people come to for advice, encouragement, and strength. And I give what I can. But sometimes, it's not that people don't care—it's that they simply don't have the capacity to receive what I'm carrying.

So when you find yourself sitting in your own pain, whatever that looks like for you, remember this: there is somebody in this world who understands. Sometimes that person is a stranger. Sometimes strangers show more compassion than family or friends ever could.

As for me, I'm still here.

Not because life has been easy. Not because I'm a mother, a grandmother, or a wife. I'm still here because I make the choice to fight every single day. I fight for myself. Because if I don't fight for me, nobody else can do it for me.

And I know this much: whatever I put my mind to, I'm going to come out on the winning side. Not because I never struggle, but because I refuse to let the struggle have the final word.

I am still here. And as long as I'm still here, I still have purpose, I still have hope, and I still have another victory ahead of me.