Say. Her. Name.

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Blood At The Root: Sandra Bland and Why I Wrestle With How to Live Free in America

The terror that filled me made my heart race and stomach dance. Tears threatened to break free from my widened eyes. My hands shook as I took inventory of my situation. Full stop at stop sign. Check. Hands on the steering wheel at 10 and 2? Check. Seatbelt secure? Check. My preschooler strapped tightly into …

Redux: My Problem with (what some call) Forgiveness: A Heart Cracked Wide Open by Ferguson, MO

I wrote this piece right after the Ferguson rebellion regarding faith and forgiveness. I'm re-sharing it because there seems to be a whole lot of "I'm sorry's" and "you should/shouldn't forgive" making the social media rounds these days. *** Do some deaths have a purpose? I have to believe they do. Even the senseless ones. Even …

It Could Have Been Me: When Stupidity Means Death and Other Fears of a Mother

(originally published on MyBrownBaby.com) I drank too much that night. I was nineteen years old, hanging out with friends in my dorm, listening to music, playing spades and sipping for the first time on something I'd never heard of until then: MD 20/20. Yep, I was nineteen. And dumb. Not dumb as in unintelligent or …