Brilliant, beautiful, and what I would define as required reading. Thank you Irie Price for your continued and ever so appreciated voice.
I cannot remember the first time I felt shame; I have to reach way back into the recesses of my memories to find a time I didn’t carry it with me. I have a vague recollection of being a child with unruly puffy pigtails and running around outside free-spiritedly. It seems like a very long time ago.
As an adult, I began to dig through my levels of shame with the curiosity of an archaeologist, holding each shard up to the light for examination. I became amazed at how many things had been tossed into that cavern of shame. That I felt shame for things I had done and left undone did not surprise me. What surprised me were all the fragments of shame I had accumulated just for existing as a Black woman and daring to take up space.
Many fragments looked like this:
Being in college and feeling…
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