Voice is a Place

Voice did not always come from certainty. Sometimes it came from necessity, from grief, from refusal, from the need to be heard by someone who might understand. This page holds voice as a place Black girls, women, and femmes returned to, built, and protected online.

There were times I said too muchand times I didn’t say enough. But in all of that, I was learning the shape of my own voice,not just how to use it, but how to trust it.

“As a Black nonbinary disabled polyamorous lesbian, I don't stay online for me. I stay online for us. I started writing about my experiences in 2008, at the height of the Tumblr and blog era when so many of us were realizing that digital spaces were deeply communal. I met other queer, trans, and disabled Black folks who would become my organizing, intellectual, and creative community. I stay online because we matter and we need each other. We need to see one another healing, living, and loving in public. But, it has never been easy.”

Jenn M. Jackson, Ph.D.

“I was drawn to social media content creation because it allowed for Black stories to be told and centered that were not often included in traditional media. Toni Morrison wrote about the power of writing and telling Black stories by saying ‘If there’s a book that you want to read, but it hasn’t been written yet, then you must write it.’ Whether our perspectives come by page, screen, song, or stage they are important and divine.”

Cydneyrai

"They are going to whisper behind your back. They will say vile and untrue things about you. Let them. You keep shining. You keep pressing on. Rest when you need to, and surround yourself with people who will love you unconditionally."

Anonymous

“One of my favorite quotes is by Elaine Welteroth: “When you exist in spaces that weren’t built for you, remember that sometimes being YOU is the revolution.” That truth is what keeps me showing up. I’ve learned that my presence—my full, unapologetic self—is a form of resistance and a catalyst for change. I don’t show up just for me; I show up for those who will come after me. It’s about legacy, impact, and shifting the culture so that others don’t have to shrink to fit in. I believe in the power of representation, and I’m committed to using my voice and visibility to make space for others.”

Brigethia

The Voice Note To My Heart Hey precious heart, It’s Ruth here. You have known me all of my life. You have grown with me. When alone – You have held me. The sound between my ribs. The heartbeats echoing the words that I pondered on in solitude. The pangs of frustration when experiencing misogynoir. The fuel for my fire in self-advocacy and advocating for others. The language of my becoming. No surprise that I work as a Psychotherapist now. Matters of the heart are discussed with me. Hearts entrusted in my hands. Heartfelt – Pain Purpose Power. Staying visible online involves making the private thoughts from my heart public – Especially when amplifying the voices of the “hypervisible, yet invisible” – Black women. From the bottom of my heart, I speak highly to my heart: Thank you for nurturing my self-love. Thank you for inspiring my creativity. Thank you for keeping my authenticity. Thank you for making me bold to show up in systems not designed for me. Thank you for allowing me to connect to the beautiful hearts of other Black women. In a world that can feel heartless to Black women, And experiencing systemic heartbreaks myself – It has become a mission of mine to bring the “heart” back. I stay visible online because I know what a heartfelt voice as a Black woman represents – A rebellion against inequitable systems that thrive from our heartaches and silence. If I can Help Hearts Heal… That’s my “Heart Work.” Black women are worthy of WHOLEHEARTED love and light – Even when the world tries to shadow our bright. This is my: Voice Note A written reminder that a Black woman’s voice doesn’t have to just be verbalised to be spoken.

Ruth Abban

Dear Black Girl Who Stayed Online Anyway… Thank you for being here. Thank you for staying—when it was hard, when it felt unsafe, when silence seemed easier. This is for you. This is for us. I stayed… Even when I believed my voice didn’t matter. Even when the shame, the guilt, the weight of old stories tried to convince me to disappear. But over time, I saw the truth— That none of my experiences were in vain. That what I carried wasn’t meant to break me… It was meant to awaken me. I stayed because I am not broken. I do not need fixing. And neither do any of the beautiful Black women who’ve ever questioned their worth online or off. I am a mother of daughters. And I stay because I’m here to revolutionize the ways we were told to shrink, to hide, to conform. I stay to create space for truth. For healing. For us. So if you’re still here, still showing up, still speaking— Know that your voice matters more than ever. We’re not just building platforms. We’re building legacies. This is why I stay.

Dr. Kay Coghill

“My online presence is a journal, a roadmap, and a collage. I put my whole existence into my words, and I lay them bare. I’ve written about narcissism, addiction, and the mother wound with the same ease, reverence, and care I have for hip hop, Nikki Giovanni, and New Orleans. Both the joy and the pain are necessary, and my rawest posts receive the most engagement. Several people have shared that my transparency encourages them to open up, put down the weight of the world, and set boundaries wherever they’re needed. Audre Lorde has some of the best quotes about liberation: “Your silence will not protect you.” “Caring for myself is not self-indulgence, it is self-preservation, and that is an act of political warfare.” I would tell my younger self, “the world has been waiting for your honesty.” I speak for my relatives who couldn’t, especially the women with those beautiful faces and stoic smiles (never too much exuberance; only a slight upturn of the sides of the mouth…just enough pleasantry to avoid the appearance of something painful…something real). My “no” and my truth are for them. And my words are for the ones they wished to speak, but had to bury.”

Marcia Mcleod

There were people who held me without ever physically being in the same room.Who knew when something felt off,who reached out, who stayed present. That kind of connection was real, no matter where we were. We built kinship out of shared understanding. Out of moments where someone said exactly what we were feelingbefore we even had the words for it. And in that, something deeper than surface-level connection was formed.

Anonymous

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