Welcome to the inaugural issue of Nobody Told Me This. (Learn more here.) Pull up to our first kitchen table confab. Like many of you, I’m balancing gratitude for my mom still being here, and missing all the mothers I’ve lost. But I’m laughing to keep back the tears. It’s Sunday and Mother’s Day. I’m thinking of all the Sunday Dinners at Grandma’s house. Better be there by 3:30 p.m. or you were persona non grata. A bunch of hungry people held over by nothing but Communion was no brood to mess with. 

Some of the best memories I have of my girlhood stem from those Sundays. The food was rich, but the lessons were priceless. We ate dinner on a tablecloth and china that was washed, tried and put away after the meal was over. I can’t remember how many times I thought it was unfair to be stuck hand drying dishes when air is free and plentiful. (I was fussed at, and known widely as dodging the draft to dish duty.) Now, I have my own husband and home. Sunday dinners may not be as elevated because it’s just us, but the sentiment remains. But that Sunday dinner tradition is one thing that is not up for debate with kids in our home. The path to the dream I have in my head has been longer and harder than expected.

From the beginning, my husband and I chose to grow our family by adoption. Our future became “the girls” in our minds. Older Black girls (who are more often not) adopted from L.A.’s foster care system. We wanted to give them the opportunity to grow up as troublesome sisters sharing a room as opposed to distant cousins who might meet again.

I’ve always wanted daughters because I stand on the shoulders of my mother, my aunties, grandmothers and the strong women in my lineage. I want to be a mother, and a (head)strong woman like them. “If they can do that, I can do this.” Their strength fuels my fire to nurture what I have built in AfroLA. Their grit gives me the endurance to stay on this path to motherhood. Adoption. Pregnancy. My journey as a Black woman founder is inextricably tied to how I have had to adapt to build a family, and the challenges I face doing it.

Biology is just the start of being a mother, not the end. I learned in my twenties that my biology had betrayed me. Growing a child inside me wasn’t an option, doctors told me. Learning that my husband might not leave the hospital with his wife and our baby crushed me. I was overcome by a flood of tears. Nearly a decade later, I learned from a new specialist that, while I would have a challenging high-risk pregnancy, it was possible safely. But, as I have aged and thrown myself into the care and feeding of AfroLA from nothing, I may have missed my window of opportunity at almost 40. Pregnancy now comes at a higher premium; lasting bodily harm because of chronic conditions that more severely impact my quality of life now, losing my baby or my life. Having hope ripped away again? Crushing in a way only another woman knows.

Learning the truth about my body and my capacity to grow a family legacy, I realized that I have already birthed something that leaves an indelible mark on me and the Los Angeles community I have come to love. I grew something where there was nothing. I used the PTO payout from the position I quit in 2021 to seed the start of AfroLA the following year, and my mission to disrupt journalism content and culture. I wanted to build the kind of local news I didn’t see around me. I wanted to mend the broken trust in L.A.’s Black communities with transactional media who extract their stories, culture, and pain for profit.

Moreover, I wanted to build the type of newsroom that I never got to work in. I left three different roles at three news organizations in three different states across 10 years. I wanted to break free of the ivory tower, blind the white gaze and decolonize the newsroom.

I now find myself at the intersection of two kinds of motherhood, of womanhood. I have said that, in a newsroom of 70% people of color and a cohort of mostly students and twentysomethings, that I feel less like an editor and more like a den mother. I am intentional in outreach to break the lie of imposter syndrome blocking the classroom to newsroom pipeline. Working to become a mom to grow a family, and being an entrepreneur trying to grow a business is similar. Both are a labor of love. And neither is for the faint of heart.

On this lovely Mother’s Day, I’m sharing lovely things that I’m loving and appreciating right now.

READ

Black in Blues: How a Color Tells the Story of My People by Imani Perry (Buy on Bookshop.org) ::  I was DRAWN to this book in the bookstore. I needed to absorb everything in its pages. I’m not done yet. Book club anyone? (Like, seriously. Lemme know.)

LISTEN

Ancestors by Lyrical Songstress ::  I have been playing this jam since I first heard it as a track on an Instagram post about a month ago. I looked up the artist. She’s from Detroit, and describes herself as, “Hip-hop soul + R&B storytelling from a healed woman’s perspective.” Enough said. Let’s support this sis! (Follow on Instagram) Click here or on the image below to listen on Spotify.

APPRECIATE

The Fondness by Lynette Yiadom-Boakye :: I was struck by this painting on a recent visit to Kansas City. I love art museums, and the Nelson Atkins is one of my favorites. I stood in front of this 7-foot tall canvas just admiring it for a bit. So, I’m sharing it with you now.

Reply to the newsletter, and lemme know. I read every single response. You may get a note back from me, too. Let’s talk.