Skip to main content

Finding Toni

Image
By

 I woke up this morning thinking about Miss Sophia in The Colored Purple and her one famous line at the dinner table after being jailed, beaten, and humiliated by the insulted wife of the town's mayor.

"All My Life I Had To Fight."

It was ringing in my spirit because in a lot of ways, I've had to do the same thing.

So have a lot of Foundational Black Women.

Fight through family structures and fight past leicherous men in church, on the job, literally everywhere.

Fight past the Becky-SallyAnn-Karen-Sue of educational spaces or work spaces who were both intimidated and embarrassed because a Black woman knew more than they did.

Fight to wear my hair the way she grew, even had to confront a fellow Black woman in a corporate setting who used to do the every-ten-days press and curl appointment during her extended lunch hour. 

Fight in ministry to be heard.

Fight in society to be understood.

All our lives.

And after the 2024 election, when we had put it all on the line, blood, sweat, tears, we marched, called, lobbied, campaigned, everything, collectively, to get the country to see we were trying to save this democracy for herself, we grew tired of fighting.

I pretty much turned off my social media. I logged off Facebook, deleted the app of it that was on my phone, almost stopped shopping at Amazon (daughter in college and shipping needs are why I haven't let go of that devil yet). I don't shop at Wal*Mart and haven't since my girls were single digit age and a worker tried to insult me with a cart full of school supplies, I left that entire purchase and went to Target. For the next fifteen years - Tarjay got all my shopping. I had girls, so the beauty aisle and new, affordable, fashions were the rage. Well, I haven't been to Tarjay all month. 

Other things I decided to do was reduce the passionate talk about politics.

Not completely eliminate it, but reduce it.

Who was listening to Black women anyway?

The most I do these days is repost. And keep saying We.Tried.To.Tell.You. Why try to convince the ones who were willfully ignorant and complicit.

I have, however, turned to my comfort space of books. I've shared them and have been reading voraciously, after all, MSNBC lost me the day before the election and now that they whitewashed their platform, they won't get me back.

Maybe that is the design, the orangeseniorcitizeninoffice wants to control the messaging.  

I have other news sources, more reliable, and do tap into that, like the dumpster fire waiting on the country between the measles outbreak and now the house cancelling Medicaid. I want to be aware, but I've decided to guard my peace.

So, I have been coming home from my chaplain job, taking a shower, getting something cool to drink, and snuggling up on my sofa to read a book.  

Sometimes, I am engaging my mind with a nonfiction book like Tyranny or Emancipation of the Mind or Mediocre - all books I've read this month, and other times, I'm reading fiction. Currently reading Death of the Author by Nnedi Okorafor.

I've been trying to find Toni again. Myself, my being past the folks I'm still kinda angry at for not listening in 2008 when I told them this was coming.

Now, I'm not a big name womanist prophet or anything, just have earned my M.B.A.and my M.Div, and know how to read the times, but not a big name that anyone cared. I warned, though, about the coming book bans and assaults on education, on what was happening locally and folks should pay attention more than just screaming on the street corner in in Ferguson. I was rebuffed.

So, part of me checking out is renewing and reclaiming my own soul.

Sis is tired.

Sis is sixty.

Sis is trying to live the remaining quarter of my life with whatever peace I can find.

Sis is taking pictures.

Sis is reading.

Sis is writing.

Sis is surviving.

Cause, Sis is tired of fighting.

Sis is finding Toni...again.

©2025 by Tayé Foster Bradshaw Group LLC, Antona B. Smith.

Sis is sitting in her room eating a croissant sipping an Ethiopian coffee in a hand made Moroccan mug. Finding herself in life.

Labels:

Comments

Post a Comment

Thoughtful dialogue is appreciated.

Popular posts from this blog

Hannah's Song

By
We came together last night and sang Hannah's song. Family from California was in town, it was the night before Aunt Hannah's Home Going Celebration. We met at my house late in the evening to fellowship, remember, hug, eat, and laugh. Thom felt the love in the room and I'm sure his mom would've appreciated us doing what she did all her life - love. Aunt Hannah was a gracious woman. Her gentle spirit, sparkling eyes, and constant smile will be remembered. She has left us physically, but never spiritually. The laughter was like music in Thom's ear. For the first time in weeks I saw my cousin relax. He has been in a tornado for the past four weeks from his mother's diagnosis to her death. Even in her final stage, Aunt Hannah was granted her desire. She asked to not suffer long when it was her time to go, she had been a caregiver her whole life and I'm sure her prayer was for her son. In the last days of her life, she still greeted well wishers with a wa...
1 comment
Read more

Brothers, Can we Talk?

By
 I'm a Black woman, born of a Black woman and a Black man. When my mother died, it was my father who nurtured me and instilled in me a sense of pride of self, of my race, of my abilities to do whatever I put my mind to do. He never imposed limitations on me as a Black woman. The only caution he ever gave me was to not burn my candle at both ends and to be mindful of my health, I am an asthmatic. He never stopped me from trying anything and always encouraged me. Daddy was a strong Black man who introduced me to Shirley Chisholm when I was a little girl. He reminded me of the fortitude of my late mother's quest for gender equality in the workplace and of the namesake who marched at Selma.  He is the one who gave me my pseudonym, Tayé. Daddy was a strong tower of empowerment and fought all the way to his last breath for social, gender, and racial justice. It is in remembering my father this morning that I'm asking the brothers, can we talk? What is it, especially those of my g...
Post a Comment
Read more

Ashes to Ashes

By
 This is Ash Wednesday. For a lot of Catholics and Anglican Christians, it begins the holy season of Lent. We remember we are but dust and to dust we return, ashes to ashes.  It is a somber reminder of our humanity and the finality of life. We are a mere breath. Today, as a Hospital Chaplain Resident, I am imposing ashes on patients, family, and staff. It is a visible marker of a shared faith and belief. We look with anticipation to the finished work of salvation on the cross and in eager hope of the resurrection. As my day progressed, I noticed how much hope was in the eyes of the ones giving and receiving this reminder of our existence. It was both a somber moment and a joyful moment. Two things can exist at the same time. Like the world we find ourselves in. Even as it seems like the darkest, certainly the darkest I’ve known in my six decades on this earth. Completely imperfect as a nation, there was still a glimmer of light until the nightmare became reality. We wonder abo...
Post a Comment
Read more