This is so spot on! I’ve noticed that even in my personal writing, I’m filtering. I never noticed it. Thought I was just being polite. Or palatable (you know in case somebody picks it up to read one day). And on a deeper level, it’s hard to stay with the realness when you’ve lived your life shrinking!
I know this is going to be a very conscious repatterning. It’ll take dealing with those shadows so they don’t run the show or the page in this case.
Lakeisha, this is a powerful and generous essay. Thank you for sharing it.
As a white woman who has spent fourteen years editing books and stories by Black women, I’ve been deeply moved by the honesty, courage, and brilliance that comes through in their work. I would never claim to fully understand the generational trauma Black women carry, but I’ve learned so much simply by listening—on the page and in conversation.
One thing I’ve noticed over the years is how often Black women are encouraged, implicitly or explicitly, to soften their voices or write quietly. Supporting writers as they step into the fullness of their truth has been one of the greatest privileges of my career. Their trust has shaped me in ways I’m profoundly grateful for.
Working so closely with Black women has also made me more aware of the privileges I hold and the responsibility that comes with them. My life has had its own challenges, but those experiences are not the same—and I’m mindful of that. What I carry forward is a deeper commitment to listening, honouring, and amplifying the voices of the women who have taught me so much.
Your essay is a powerful reminder of why those voices matter—and why they deserve to be heard boldly, unapologetically, and without restraint. Thank you again for this piece. It resonated deeply.
This is so spot on! I’ve noticed that even in my personal writing, I’m filtering. I never noticed it. Thought I was just being polite. Or palatable (you know in case somebody picks it up to read one day). And on a deeper level, it’s hard to stay with the realness when you’ve lived your life shrinking!
I know this is going to be a very conscious repatterning. It’ll take dealing with those shadows so they don’t run the show or the page in this case.
“Lived your life shrinking.”
😮💨😮💨😮💨 what a reflection!
When read my past journal entries, I can see where I held back too. Like damn, I was shrinking even in my private writing to myself 🙄
Lakeisha, this is a powerful and generous essay. Thank you for sharing it.
As a white woman who has spent fourteen years editing books and stories by Black women, I’ve been deeply moved by the honesty, courage, and brilliance that comes through in their work. I would never claim to fully understand the generational trauma Black women carry, but I’ve learned so much simply by listening—on the page and in conversation.
One thing I’ve noticed over the years is how often Black women are encouraged, implicitly or explicitly, to soften their voices or write quietly. Supporting writers as they step into the fullness of their truth has been one of the greatest privileges of my career. Their trust has shaped me in ways I’m profoundly grateful for.
Working so closely with Black women has also made me more aware of the privileges I hold and the responsibility that comes with them. My life has had its own challenges, but those experiences are not the same—and I’m mindful of that. What I carry forward is a deeper commitment to listening, honouring, and amplifying the voices of the women who have taught me so much.
Your essay is a powerful reminder of why those voices matter—and why they deserve to be heard boldly, unapologetically, and without restraint. Thank you again for this piece. It resonated deeply.
Thank you for seeing me and for seeing us as Black women writers. We are constantly being told write quietly, soften our voices or don’t speak at all.
But our voices are powerful and we will be heard. Thank you for reading! I really appreciate your kind words.
Your voices are indeed powerful and they are being heard!