I shared this post for #BlackHistoryMonth in a Goddess group I’m in. For context, the group is predominantly non-women of color, so when asked I was flattered to write up a personal story. And in writing, I became nervous and old triggers flared up. No one in the group made me feel uncomfortable, and the request was in no way tone deaf. Regardless, the offering came about beautifully and the assignment was well understood.
So, here I am re-sharing in honor of #WomensHistoryMonth Thank you 🙏🏽
I am honored that I was asked to share an offering for Black Her-Story Month #BlackHistoryMonth
As I did volunteered for a topic I must say its been triggering and brought me deeper into self reflection, nevertheless, I must trigger through. 💙✨💙
I will be sharing from my personal experiences, and welcome it as a portion of the collective experience of the witch wound among Black Afro indigenous women. Many of us sisters have experience this and there is quite nuances in all our experiences, particularly as it shows or plays out among Black Afro indigenous women. I don’t want to stand as a representation for all black women or Black American women however, I do believe there are intersections in what I will offer. I’ll share my experience as I am triggering through and healing the witch wound.
I grew up in a very Christian southern military home that was quite patriarchal; However, I can remember my late paternal great grandmother being very knowledgeable of roots, herbs, and cultivating tinctures. She was of Cherokee Nation (Chicora Indian) and Angola descendent by way of the slave trade, who grew up on the Gullah Islands of South Carolina and Florida. Although she was very much a Christian, a preachers wife, and a high society social lite, there was this quiet mystical aura about her. Now these old folks would never call themself magical, let alone a witch, for that would be blasphemous, however, they would say in the whispers of night that she was a “root Woman”.
Even as I reflect on my late maternal great grandmother who was very much connected to her native American indigenous heritage too, she was very much a Christian, as well as a minister’s wife. She was a highly skilled gardener and cook, she could heal just about anything with a tea, cake, or a stew. She was from Louisiana. I can remember from both my parents, detesting the workings of both my great grandmothers, never in a disrespectful manner, but in a fearful manner as if they were doing something wrong or evil. Nevertheless, they and many others would still with seek her out for help for any ailments both physical and metaphysical. Their work Was detested yet necessary.
So fast forward to myself when I began my awakening shortly after 2012, I became more interested in learning the history of both my great grandmothers. I was quite intrigued by what they understood and what they had knowledge of despite my parents and other family members whispers of disapproval. Just like my great grandmothers, I too suffered disapproval, but more so publicly for my exiting of the Christian church.
It was a very lonely in dark time for me during my awakening however what I was able to gain was a deeper understanding and connection with both my blood lines I was able to reconcile the missing Link as to what my great grandmothers could not do openly, could not say openly, could not live openly.
I honor these women and every women before them Who were not able to live and be wild and free. Who were bounded to social, racial, and Misogynoir norms that limited their expansion.
I honor every single witchy woman, mystics, obeah woman, root worker, spirit cooker, Oracle seer and Priestess along her path for isolation is also protection.
Now as I am growing comfortable with outing myself, I personally struggle with my knowings and not knowing how I know. I am working through embracing that I belong here. That I too am Daughter of The Mother, they I too am seen. That I too belong. That I too am powerful and I too can be free. For I was and will always be Free.
And That Not just “I too” but I“AM”.
So when I reflect on the collective of Black Afro Indigenous women, I feel the collective grief, hurt, shame, and fear- mainly fear of remembering the WHO WHAT WHERE WHEN AND WHY- and the ANGER, rage that comes with the cycle and process healing grief and anguish. The fear of remembering what was lost, forgotten, and stolen.
The remembrance of how the first became last and forgotten.
Until then, like myself once did, we may hide behind and try to find a solace or a buffer in religion, men, children, careers, food etc.. anything that would attempt to ease the memories of death, destruction, power and creation.
But there is a light of reconciliation within the mother and her daughter. All progressions fulfills it’s Cycle; the pendulum swings, the wheel turns, the double Dutch ropes rounds about and When she is ready to fully embrace All of her being, May Her Crown of Glory reawakens All the Hearts of The Daughters to be fully embraced; for there is no exclusion in the arms of The Mother, in the Joy of the Maiden, and eyes of The Crone.
Dedicate this post to my late Great-Grandmothers Alice “Lottie” McAllister and Margaret Jessie May Johnson
Blessed Be 💙🙏🏽
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