🖊️ The Journal: Reflections of Her

The Journal: Reflections of Her

Black woman journaling by the window

“There is power in her pause — this is where she writes her way back to herself.”

This is where her thoughts breathe.

The Journal is not just a blog — it's a reflection room, a healing space, a soft place for the stories we carry in silence.

Each week, we pause to reflect on what it means to be seen, to be loved, to be whole. Whether we’re speaking on motherhood, identity, sisterhood, or struggle — every post is a mirror, and every mirror holds the possibility of restoration.

What Sister Love Means to Me

By Suzette Calhoun

Sister love is more than a relationship — it's a rhythm. It's the knowing glance passed across a room, the late-night call answered without hesitation, the prayer whispered before you even ask. To me, sister love is sacred. It’s woven through generations — in the way my grandmother held my mother, and the way my mother held me. And now, it's in the way I hold my sisters, even when life has made our arms tired. Sister love shows up not just when everything is good, but when everything has fallen apart. It’s the hand that lifts without judgment. It’s the voice that says, “You are not alone.” It’s the reminder that we rise together, or not at all. There’s a power in Black womanhood that the world often tries to divide or diminish. But when we stand in sister love, we become a force that can’t be undone — one that protects, uplifts, and believes, even when hope feels too heavy. This blog, this gallery, this movement — it all started from that place. From the belief that we can create beauty not just for ourselves, but for the ones who carry our same fire. So when I say *Sister Love*, I don’t just mean the women born into your bloodline. I mean the ones who see you, hold you, cover you — and remind you to be soft, even when the world has been hard. That is what Sister Love means to me.

“This post is part of our weekly journal, The Journal: Reflections of Her.”
Follow our journey and discover new ways to celebrate Sister Love every week.

Before I Was a Mama, I Was Me

By Suzette Calhoun

Before I was called “Mama,” I was simply me. A young woman with a soft heart, an open spirit, and a gift for standing beside other mothers who needed someone to see them. I remember sitting in rooms with other young women — some barely out of girlhood themselves — watching their babies while they chased the promise of an education or a better future. I wasn’t yet a mother, but I understood sisterhood. I understood what it meant to stand in the gap when no one else could. And then, at 19, motherhood found me. It didn’t ask if I was ready. It didn’t care that I had dreams of my own. It didn’t wait for stability, or offer me a map. It just came — with love, yes — but also with exhaustion, confusion, and the weight of knowing I was now someone’s everything. I became the only hands that could hold my baby. The only arms to rock, to carry, to comfort. And while the world kept moving, I stood still — locked into survival, focused on keeping my child whole even when I felt like I was breaking. Sometimes, the reality of motherhood pressed down so hard it left no room for the girl I used to be. But here’s what I know now: That girl? She didn’t disappear. She became the root. She is the reason I mother with strength and softness. She is the whisper in my ear when I forget who I am outside of everyone else's needs. Before I was a Mama, I was me. And I’m still here. Maybe not in the same form. Maybe a little quieter. But always present — waiting to be remembered, waiting to be loved again.

“This post is part of our weekly journal, The Journal: Reflections of Her.”
We honor the woman within the mother — and every part of her journey.

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