by Kinsey Clarke

Just this morning, I saw the story again, this time with the headline, “Woman turns 40, marries herself.” The story is accompanied by a photo of Yasmin Eleby wearing a vibrant purple dress walking down the aisle escorted by her mother. The opening line of the article, “Houston native Yasmin Eleby vowed that she'd marry herself if she hadn't found true love by 40. And for her 40th birthday, that's exactly what she did,” describes the phenomenon known as self-marriage.

by C. Imani Williams


I've acquired quite the portfolio of memories from years of dating, as well as three marriages. The lessons have been considerable. One of the most important things I've learned as a bi-attracted queer black woman is to sync my bullsh*t radar with my appreciation for stimulating conversation. I’ve written about some other important lessons learned about myself, relationships, and what I need from a partner from the men and women I’ve dated. Hopefully, these lessons will guide me when I'm ready to enter into my next relationship.

by Kesiena Boom 


How many times have you gotten into a discussion with a white feminist that has made you wanna tear your hair out? How many times have you wished you had a short, handy guide that explains how white feminists can make the steps towards not being quite so infuriating? Well, here we go, your dreams have come true. The following list is everything you need to combat the offensive Ani DiFranco brand of feminist in your life.

Being a black woman in a management or leadership position can be challenging. Black women are often subject to discrimination, workplace harassment, and being pigeon-holed into one of many harmful stereotypes.The statistics demonstrate a clear wage gap between black women and white men. According to the U.S. Bureau of Labor Statistics, while black women made up 33 percent of the workforce in 2013, only 6.9 percent attained management positions within their companies of employment. Furthermore, black women made up only 2.9 percent of chief executive positions within their respective companies.

A White peer complained that despite being in a course centered on exploring 19th century literature, we should avoid talking about slavery.

It’s “too much” and “too depressing.” Never mind the fact that it’s unfeasible to understand these literary works without placing them within the context of slavery, race, and class, she stood her ground.

More on the story here.

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Courtney Taylor is a senior English-Creative Writing major at Agnes Scott College in Atlanta, GA. Follow her on Twitter @thecourtcase

by Raisa Habersham

It’s pretty safe to say that a majority of people at some point in their lives will want to be in a successful, long-term relationship with someone, and possibly even get married. It’s also safe to say that many of these “serious” relationships start in our 20’s and 30’s. Back in the day, it seems marriage and kids were something checked off a woman’s bucket list by age 30. These days, it seems that for African American women, holding down a lasting, committed relationship may be one the biggest obstacles we face. Why is this? I believe it has a lot to do with the examples and messages about successful marriages—or lack thereof—placed before us, as well as out-of-date notions about women’s roles.

by Gogo Thule


I have to admit that I have mastered the art of staying in bed as long as humanly possible before suddenly jumping up, and rushing through the day to make it to my job or appointments. At least half of the time this appears to work. I get up, I go, and I get it done. However, by the end of the day I feel depleted, soul-less, purposeless, and completely tapped out. I know I am doing myself a great disservice.

That wasn't me.

There is a silence within Black feminism, an empty chasm, surrounding the issue of pornography. There are reams of literature by white feminists on the subject of pornographic material and its place (or lack thereof) in an ideal feminist society. One of the most profound divides in the feminist community stems from the the ‘Sex Wars’ of the 1970s and 1980s, which pitted pro-porn libertarian feminists against anti-porn radical feminists such as Andrea Dworkin and Catharine MacKinnon, who sought to classify pornography as an offense against the civil liberties of women.

by W.J. Hall

by Candace Simpson


Last semester was intense. It was my first semester in seminary. It was also the peak of direct action protests in New York City, where I live. When I finally had a few weeks to take off for winter break, I found myself having to explain why it was okay for me to rest. I didn’t find much comfort even in the rhetoric of “self-care”. We tell Sisters to “take care of themselves,” but then we flood their email inboxes with requests, we soak their text messages with invites to prayer breakfasts and brunches, we shame them for being single, and we tell them they’re crazy for not siding with Bill Cosby.

Few people are actually invested in the self-care of Black women.
After spending the holiday season with my family, I learned that taking time off was more than “self-care.” Taking time to intentionally love myself and others was an exercise in reminding myself of life’s joys.

In recent months, For Harriet and other media spaces have spent so much time documenting the leadership of Black women in protest. But we must also be sure to explore how Black women find joy and manifest happiness in their lives. This is crucial in keeping us motivated and inspired to staying engaged in the movement building work we do so well, but that also takes so much out of us. In the spirit of resistance, I’m going to name the things that give me life.

1. Memories and good times with my family.

I have an awesome family. They’re supportive, loving, challenging, and ridiculous. When I’m feeling sad, I think about the time my mom called the cops because she thought there was an intruder. We later learned it was a squirrel, and we chased the furry-tailed rodent all across the house. Or I remember the time my dad dressed up as Santa Claus when my brother and I were toddlers. These sweet memories are what I cling to when the days get hard and the nights get long.

2. Spending quality time with good girlfriends.

No one gets me like my best friend. When I’m really in need of some sister-time, she shows up to my apartment with a bottle of Pinot Grigio. She knows where the wine opener is, too. Usually, none of the world’s problems are solved at the end of the night, but I do feel loved enough to press forward to tomorrow. I often imagine what it would be like if everyone had a best friend like her. The world would be a much better place.

3. Listening to the "***Flawless" remix with Beyoncé and Nicki Minaj.

I could tell you that Beyonce and Nicki’s duet was something significant to the discourse of Black Feminist and Womanist Thought. There’s a really strong case to be made that this duet did something important that we’re missing. That’s true. But when Beyoncé says “Onikaaaaaa,” my inner fan-girl falls out. No matter how late I am to class or work, I must have at least one dose of this song before I leave my apartment. Now that I think of it, many people have been spared my wrath on the crowded A-train because of this song. It’s magical.

4. Hitting the shmoney dance with my younger sisters and brothers.

I’ve never been here for moralizing Bobby Shmurda’s contagious song and dance. I happen to believe that our children’s teachers, doctors, lawyers, and elected officials have a lot more to do with their success than Bobby Shmurda. So I just dance. When we dance in community, we’re building relationships, releasing endorphins, and getting people active. These are kind of important to our survival. So, shmoney on!

5. The notes in the pages of books I’ve read years ago.

As I reread favorite books, I think about the woman I was when I first read them. The notes I wrote in the margins years ago are laughable to me now. The words in “Pedagogy of the Oppressed,” that once shocked me in college are now part of my core beliefs as an educator. I couldn’t hear much of what bell hooks was arguing in “All About Love” when I was in that ugly relationship, but I hear her now. And Melissa Harris-Perry’s “Sister Citizen” makes much more sense to me now that I’ve been looking for a nuanced and historically accurate argument to talk about Sorority Sisters and Love and Hip Hop.

6. Having good hair days.

There are two patches of hair in my head that never want to behave like the rest. On the days when the Gods of the Fro decide to smile upon my follicles and bless me with some consistency, I rejoice. Nobody can tell me anything.

7. Finding money in my jeans after laundry.

I’m a full-time grad student living in Brooklyn. Any time I run into money, I have to do my dance. It’s a shmoney-inspired, “***Flawless” routine. Except, my version includes dance ribbons and glitter.
8. Grandmas, all of ‘em.

Grandmas always have good stories, good snacks, and good shade. An afternoon with your grandma will have you sitting at the table reevaluating your life and feeling proud of who you are. At the same time.

9. The sound of children playing in the street.

Hair beads bouncing rhythmically to the sounds of double-dutch rope on the pavement. The faint cries of “I’m on base! This is base!” during games of tag. Hugs covered in potpourri of sweat, dirt, and the sugar from a cherry icee. As much as adults have a responsibility to teach children who they are and where they come from, we also have a responsibility to allow them to be kids. I enjoy watching them enjoy the goodness of this Earth.

I'm a firm believer that Love and Hope fuel the Revolution. Otherwise, we wouldn't be invested in making the world a better place. We dream about what the world could be only because we know there’s something greater out there. In writing this short list, I’ve been reminded of the urgency of the work we choose to do. Everyone deserves to be happy, feel loved, and find the song that makes them come alive. Whenever Black women decide to be happy about something, that is protest.

Photo: Shutterstock

Candace Simpson is a seminary student in New York City and a Brooklyn native. You can follow her tweets at @CandyCornball.

by Priscilla Ward for Salon

This January marks my fifth year of celibacy, something that I never considered, until I finally accepted the fact that I needed a break from physical sex in order to reclaim myself. Five years ago, setting boundaries was a new concept. And I had to admit that living without boundaries was not a good look. But I had spent most of my life living without them until that point.

An awkward tween, I had a hard time finding my fit. I lacked confidence and covered it up by using my love of words to make it through the world. In addition to talking (a lot), I spoke fast and kept a ready smile. These characteristics would carry me far, or so I believed. I spent so much time smiling, talking, and masking feelings of inadequacy that I didn't deal with the restlessness inside—choosing instead to ignore it.

It was 1975, when “he” moved on our block and I was in the first stages of a boy-crazy frenzy. He had sleepy, droopy eyes and a smile that suggested both mystery and fun. Yes, he was all that and a bag of chips. I was hooked. My twelve-year-old self felt something “magical” whenever our paths crossed. I HAD to know what that was about. I flirted, practicing the words to Patti LaBelle’s “Lady Marmalade.”




It took two years, but Sleepy Eyes and I had our moment. He was my first. I wish I could say that there were fireworks in his bedroom on his twin bed while his mama was at work. There were none. We were friends; he wasn't my boyfriend and I was fine with hooking up and exploring whenever his mama was out and I could get away from home unnoticed.

I settled, starting a pattern of broken relationships that fell way short—the kind of “fifty–fifty love” Teddy Pendergrass sang about. The pattern would last for the next thirty-six years, because I refused to sit still and get to know myself. I repeated the same mistakes over and over. (Ugh!)

In high school and college, I had serial relationships that all included sex. This did not strike me as odd or out of the ordinary. I also had never put much time between boyfriends for self-reflection, grieving, healing, or growth. I kept things moving, choosing not to focus on the negative.

This led to me eventually being married (and divorced) three times. As my daddy suggested when I was on my way into my second marriage, I was determined to do things my way instead of listening for God.

My first marriage was in my twenties, right out of undergrad. Although it didn’t last, the union did give me blessings in the form of my children.

My second marriage occurred due to my unwillingness to face my attraction to both men and women (I promptly stepped my newly-out self back in the closet). The second union lasted less than six months and was abusive. I didn't know him.

My third marriage was to a woman I thought I'd spend forever with, but it didn't work either. The common denominator in all three relationships was ME. I needed to stop, sit, and listen for God.

I started drinking when my youngest daughter was in the second grade. I remember her pointedly asking, “Mommy, are you an alcoholic?” as I slid two champagne bottles into the freezer to chill. She participated in D.A.R.E. at school and I fit the profile.

Around the same time, I discovered that drinking made sex even better (for me). I talked even more when I was drinking and in my mind, I became a Femme Fatale who would not be denied. Trust me when I tell you it is never a good feeling to shamefully run into the cashier at a grocery store, who also happens to be a former one-night, as you consider asking him to return your panties. Yeah, it had gotten that bad. Sober, I certainly would never have entertained him.

The hard truth of how much I was devaluing myself for the instant gratification of feel-good moments was staring me in the face. I was lonely, starved for sex and affection, and ready for action. These are the things that other unhealthy people are attracted to. We attract our own inventory. There are few things more sad than a needy person who is willing to accept less than their worth.




I came to understand through therapy how alcohol and sex worked together, keeping me on a quest for the next high. I had been using both quite recklessly, in some kind of haphazard way to deal with childhood sexual abuse. On top of that, I believed that sex was okay as long as I wanted it.

The end did not justify the means.

Anything that feels good to us can become an addiction. As a Gemini, I was able to find multiple addictions quite easily. Thoughts of sex came early. I believe that as an adult survivor of child abuse, I could have done better earlier on to promote healing. I get it now and can speak to the healing that exists in sitting still, releasing control to Spirit, and doing the hard work towards recovery and self-love. Above all, I thank God for not giving up on me.

I have a lot to be thankful for. I fell in love with myself and cannot go back to alcohol. In March, I will have eleven years sober. I don't miss alcohol nearly as much as I miss sex, but I'm dealing with both one day at a time. When the time is right, I know I will be ready to move into a physically and emotionally safe, healthy relationship. I'll know by the gentleness of the spirit who steps to me with righteous in their heart. I now accept my queer bisexualness, so whether it is a man or woman, I know they have a pure heart, compassion, and capacity to love that will draw me in. Until then, I'm preparing my mind, body, and spirit for love.



C. Imani Williams, is a freelance writer and human justice activist. She holds an MFA in Creative Non-Fiction Writing from Antioch University and a Masters in Guidance and Counseling from Eastern Michigan University. Her work has been published in Between the Lines, Tucson Weekly, and The Michigan.

by Associated Press

by Felice León

by Michelle Y. Talbert

by Janice Rhoshalle Littlejohn


“It’s a kinky conversation,” says Dr. Tiffanie Davis Henry of All About Sex, the late night series she co-hosts Saturdays on TLC. Think 30-minutes of The View, only hornier, and with drinking games. “It’s the kind of conversation you’ve been wanting to have all week, and you haven’t had the girlfriends around to have it.”

by Kinsey Clarke