

I am a foreign woman, in every definition of the word. I am all of the things that it evokes in feeling, memory and sound. I am a womanhood that exists on the outside of history, record, country, marriage and love.
In this blank space, at the edge of the world, I peered over. This is where I began my journey into more than womanhood, but into the creation of a new world, a place where women like me are loved.
The chasm in between the two is where I found myself, though it required a bit of a fall. I grew up thinking that the world was a place of great freedom. I came of age thinking that the world was one of great lack. How did we get here? Girls and little queer kids with eyes full of bright possibility at the wonder and mystery of life turn to women who recoil from living. If I had a daughter, how would I save her from the brutality of being shamed into acts of humility that deny her life?
I vastly underestimated that some people use a deeper understanding of you, not to love you more efficiently, but to hurt you more intimately.
When I first embraced myself and openly embarked on the journey of womanhood, albeit a queer one, I was excited about the prospect of what a more modern world would have to offer a Black trans woman. I kicked off the weight of my teen years -- experiences that rendered me both invisible and hypervisible -- and fearlessly led with exploratory pride in my multilayered identity. I truly believed that the only barrier the world had to loving women like me was a lack of understanding and misplaced memory. I believed that if I spoke truthfully enough that I could help set the world on the course of miracles. There was a robust history of women who had done the same and now was the turning point. This wasn’t untrue, however I vastly underestimated that some people use a deeper understanding of you, not to love you more efficiently, but to hurt you more intimately. And therefore, I learned to use discretion in where I place my energy.
This is a lesson I learned both romantically, professionally and in my own personal activism. Slowly, I began to realize that there is no convincing someone to love you and anyone who pretends that there is, by demanding the education of your pleading, is exploiting your need.
Whether it be people who love to watch you labor for love in the interest of their own validation, at best; or collective movements that are hellbent on misunderstanding you for nefarious political ends, at worst. You especially cannot convince the many people you meet as an “othered" woman, who waffle back and forth between obsession, desire, need and refusing you their heart because you are the "wrong type" of woman. Ultimately, there is freedom in not being able to convince anyone to love or accept you. Only then can you put down your arms and allow love to blossom wildly, where it wishes, rather than trying to bend the earth where its brutality denies you.
Venus, in fact, was teaching me: How not to pour my offerings into the plates of other people and their gods, but to pour the best of myself first in the temples of love in my own heart.
For so much of my life, it really felt like Venus, the Goddess of love herself, was really coming down to tell me, “You are just not that girl.” Slowly, I learned that Venus, in fact, was teaching me how not to pour my offerings into the plates of other people and their gods, but to pour the best of myself first in the temples of love in my own heart. Within this temple, I found my heart atop an altar rather than trying to find value within romantic relationships that finally validate the social markers of my womanhood. It is a grueling lesson in love, but one that each of us must learn in the journey back to our own humanity.
The biggest lesson I learned was that not even a legacy of colonialism and its present imperialism can deny my humanity. It can create material conditions that threaten my life and disrupt the systems that are for my survival, but it can not move me out of my own body and lay claim to my soul or birthright as a divine being on this planet. I do not have to fight for love. It endures within me. I do not have to shrink from desire, it is an expression of my hunger for living and emboldens me to be more alive. I do not have to carve acceptance out of my own blood, because I am never forgotten or alone, as long as I do not forget or abandon myself.
I do not have to fight for love. It endures within me.
Now, as a slightly more experienced woman, my values are the same. They are just more embodied. Being Black is more about the moments of private comfort that I truly embrace myself and find peace, instead of trying to bend the world to my will and shout it into loving me. Being a transgender woman is more about the recognition of what it means to be alive, instead of forcing myself into a static and restrictive ideal, and therefore receptive to the mystery of the feminine; to be trusting enough in that mystery to remain open, while confident enough to enforce boundaries without the fear of being abandoned for expressing human needs and desires. In this space life gives to me, though I don’t always understand or know what the final fruit will yield, I give life back with my offerings of creation in response to it.
My moments of embodied womanhood and humanity are now about looking at myself, not through the eyes of what is considered to have social value, but through my own eyes before I learned any of those things.
In the blossoming of this new world and in the creative act of opening its door, I invite you into more love. I invite you into seeing yourself, not through an imagination of lack and competition, where you “are” because others “are not.” I invite you into new eyes. I invite you into a feeling of “enoughness.” I invite you into strangeness, a place that never denies the contradiction of your need in response to the harshness of the world. I invite you into embodied being, a place where women like you are always loved because it is an undying act that will always find its way back home.
Read all of the stories in the Issa Rae: She Comes First editorial series here.
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Roscoe Dash joined xoMan host Kiara Walker to share the journey of his personal and spiritual evolution—from the party anthems that made him famous to a deeper life rooted in faith, family, and purpose. This episode offers an honest look at how the artist has grown beyond early fame, addressing fatherhood, masculinity, creativity, and healing.
Dash opened up about the internal transformation that has guided him away from chasing the spotlight and toward seeking peace. “Faith and fear can’t occupy the same space,” he said, underscoring his shift toward a more spiritually grounded life. Throughout the interview, he emphasized the importance of self-reflection:
“The most important conversations to me, honestly, outside of the ones you have with God, is the ones you have with yourself in the mirror.”
Dash is focused on the man he’s become. “I’m not the accolades I’ve achieved—I’m the person who achieved them,” he added, pointing to a broader understanding of identity and worth. A large part of that growth has come through fatherhood, especially raising daughters, which he said has deepened his understanding of love. “Love is unconditional and love loves to love no matter what,” he shared.
He also spoke candidly about the pressures of fame and its impact on creativity. “Chasing fame can kill your creativity as a musician,” he warns. Instead, his advice to other artists is simple but clear: “Keep your focus on your art form, whatever that may be, and stay passionate.”
The conversation also touches on gender dynamics and emotional safety in relationships. “Safe men make soft women. If she feels safe, she’ll melt like butter,” he said, challenging traditional notions of masculinity. Roscoe also offers wisdom on discernment and spiritual testing: “Sometimes the devil will give you what looks better than your blessing.”
Ultimately, Dash has learned to embrace peace over chaos. “All I can do is control what I can control. And that's how I respond to things and what I'm giving out,” he said. It’s a thoughtful, soulful side of Roscoe Dash that many may not expect—but one that leaves a lasting impression.
Want more real talk from xoMAN? Catch the full audio episodes every Tuesday on Spotify and Apple Podcasts, and don’t miss the full video drops every Wednesday on YouTube. Hit follow, subscribe, and stay tapped in.
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You Don’t Have To Choose: How Black Women Can Care For Others Without Self-Sacrifice
One of the primary instructions we receive before a flight takes off is to prioritize putting on your life vest first if there’s an emergency, even before assisting others. It’s funny how this rule rarely translates to the daily routine of women.
As women we are taught, directly and indirectly, to put others first. Whether it’s our romantic partners, kids, parents, friends, or even our jobs. Mental health survivor and founder of Sista Afya Community Care, Camesha Jones-Brandon is challenging that narrative by using her platform to advocate for Black women and their right to self-care.
Camesha created the organization after her struggles with mental health and the lack of community she experienced. The Chicago native explains how she created Sista Afya to be rooted in “culturally grounded care.”
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“So at my organization, Sista Afya Community Care, we focus on providing mental health care through a cultural and gender lens,” she tells xoNecole. “So when we think about the term intersectionality, coined by Kimberlé Crenshaw, we think about the multiple identities that lead to certain experiences and outcomes as it relates to Black women.
“So in the context of culturally grounded care, being aware of the cultural history, the cultural values, and then also the current issues that impact mental health outcomes.”
Words like “strong” and “independent” have long been associated with Black women for some time and many of us have begun to embrace the soft life and are using rest as a form of resistance. However, some of us still struggle with putting ourselves first and overall shedding the tainted image of the “strong, Black woman” that had been forced on us.
Camesha shares that while there’s more and more communities being created around empowerment and shared interests like running, she still questions, “are Black women really comfortable with being vulnerable about sharing their experiences?”
Being vulnerable with ourselves and others play an important role in healing the instinctive nature of always being “on” for everyone. “I'm currently facilitating a group on high functioning depression, and yesterday, we talked about how when Black women may be struggling or have shared their concerns with other people. They may be minimized, or they're told to just be strong, or it's not so bad, or I went through something worse back in Jim Crow era, so you should be thankful,” she explains.
“So I think there's a challenge with Black women being able to be honest, to be vulnerable and to receive the support that they need in the same capacity as how much they give support to other people. So that is probably a very common theme. I think we've made a lot of progress when we talk about the superwoman syndrome, the mammy stereotype, the working hard stereotype, the nurturing stereotype. I think we're beginning to unpack those things, but I still see that we have definitely a long way to go in that area.”
I think there's a challenge with Black women being able to be honest, to be vulnerable and to receive the support that they need in the same capacity as how much they give support to other people.
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While we’re unpacking those things, we know that we’re still women at the end of the day. So as we continue to serve in various roles like mothers, daughters, sisters, and caretakers, we have to make caring for ourselves a priority. Camesha reveals four ways we can still care for others without abandoning ourselves.
Trust
First things first, trust. Camesha explains, “Some of the burdens that Black women have can be linked to not feeling like you can trust people to carry the load with you.
“It's hard because people experience trauma or being let down or different experiences, but one of the things that I found personally is the more that I'm able to practice trust, the more I'm able to get my needs met. Then, to also show up as my best to care for other Black women.”
Know Your Limitations
Another thing Camesha highlighted is Black women knowing their limitations. “The other thing that I would like to bring up in terms of a way to care for yourself is to really know your limitations, or know how much you can give and what you need to receive,” she says.
“So often, what I see with Black women is giving, giving, giving, giving, giving to the point that you're not feeling well, and then not receiving what you need in return to be able to feel well and whole individually. So I really think it's important to know your limitations and know your capacity and to identify what it is that you need to be well.”
Don’t Take On A Lot Of Responsibilities
Next on the list is not taking on so many responsibilities, sharing herself as an example. “The other thing is taking on too much responsibility, especially in a time of vulnerability.
“One thing that I personally struggled with was being so passionate about community mental health for Black women, and saying yes to everything and taking on so much responsibility,” she reveals. “That affected me to do well in serving Black women and then also impacting my own well being.”
Practice Self-Care
Lastly, she notes the importance of practicing self-care. “The last thing is really practicing regular self care, regular community care, so that it's embedded into your daily life. So for me, having prepared meals, going to the gym, getting eight hours of sleep, spending time with friends and family, all of those things are part of my self care that keep me at my best,” she explains.
“Then community care, leaning into social networks or social groups, or spending time with other interests or hobbies. That's a part of my community care that keeps me going, so that I can take care of my needs, but also to be able to show up best in care for others.”
Find out more about Camesha and Sista Afya Community Care at communitycare.sistaafya.com.
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