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<h2>A Reckoning with the Deep Fear and Dependency White Supremacy Has on Us</h2><blockquote>“We are the portal, the nurturer, the sword, and the soil.”</blockquote><h3>The Paradox They Don’t Want to Face</h3>White supremacy has always needed Black women. And yet, it has always tried to destroy us. From the plantation to the boardroom. From the hospital ward to the political stage.The irony? The only real love some of them ever knew was from a Black woman. And they resent that truth. Because deep down, they know:If you hate Black women, you hate your origin story.<h3>The Hate is a Mirror of Fear</h3>When fat Black women are attacked, it’s not about health or decorum. It’s about control. Our bodies hold memory. Our laughter threatens their fragility. Our existence—unbought, unbothered—is a threat.They don’t fear our weakness. They fear our wholeness.<h3>We Are the Blueprint</h3>We built this. We nurtured this. We survived this.From Sojourner to Stacey Abrams, Harriet to hip-hop, from protest to poetry—Black women have shaped every cultural, political, and moral advancement this country claims to hold dear.If America has a soul, it’s sung in the voice of a Black woman.<h3>A Word for Black Women</h3>You’re not crazy. You’re not imagining it. You’re not too loud, too big, too much.You are sacred. You are sovereign. You are the damn foundation.Let’s stop seeking permission to speak. We are the weather. We don’t wait for forecasts.<h3>If you’re ready to go deeper</h3>I’m unpacking more on this in my Substack series for those who are ready for the real. <a data-mce-href="https://substack.com/@bloomdontshrink" href="https://substack.com/@bloomdontshrink">Join me there.</a>In this series, I go beyond the surface. We unpack the generational contradictions that make Black women both the most needed and most disrespected force in America. Expect sacred truth-telling, historical memory, poetic rage, and radical affirmation.Post 1: "If You Hate Me, You Hate Your Mama" Post 2: "Unpaid Labor, Unmatched Power" Post 3: "The Softness They Can’t Hold" Post 4: "My Body Is Not Up for Debate" 💌 Premium subscribers will receive:🔥 Essays on rage, labor, softness, body sovereignty, and legacy 🎧 Curated playlists to process, cry, rage, and rise to 🌿 Bloom Rituals to reconnect to your softness, your voice, your power ✍🏽 Reflection prompts to name what was never named for you 🔊 Audio offerings—voice notes, poems, affirmations, sonic declarations<h3>Coming Soon… </h3>The first essay is on the way. But for now, you’re here. And I want you to know that matters.Go ahead and <a data-mce-href="https://substack.com/@bloomdontshrink" href="https://substack.com/@bloomdontshrink">follow </a>if you haven’t already. And if what you find here speaks to you, share it. Tell a friend. Invite someone into the space.Because we are not waiting for permission. We are telling the truth. And the truth sounds like this:We are the blueprint. We are the portal. We are the foundation. And we’re done shrinking. With love and fire, Dr. Adrienne Kennedy(SistaRhythm, the Bloom Priestess)🌺✨🔥📖🌿🌀🕊️

If You Hate Me as a Black Woman, You Hate Your Mama

<h3>There’s a moment many of us know too well.</h3>When someone looks at you with awe.&nbsp; Like they’re witnessing something rare, something they maybe didn’t know could exist in the world until it stood in front of them.At work, it might sound like a shoutout in a meeting. &nbsp;A "we see you" moment on social media, or a pat on the back when we carry weight no one else will touch.You feel seen, finally. Like your light is undeniable. &nbsp;And don’t get me wrong. being seen can feel good. &nbsp;But being seen is not the same as being held. &nbsp;And there’s a cost when we confuse the two.<h3>Being seen might feel electric. But being held feels safe.</h3>You can be praised and still unprotected. &nbsp;You can be “amplified” and still unseen in your full humanity. &nbsp;You can be invited to the table and still carry the whole meal on your back.The truth is: Some people are drawn to your light, but not built to stand in your heat. They want access to your shine but not the responsibility of your care.I’ve learned that if we’re not careful, we’ll internalize applause as belonging. But real belonging doesn’t just clap for you. It holds you. It adjusts. It makes room. It doesn't just spotlight your strength, it safeguards your softness.I can be grateful for the mirror, without expecting it to be the altar. I can honor the moment I was seen without shrinking into it. And I can return to my own arms when I realize they were never built to carry me.<h3>Because I deserve to be held.</h3> Not just noticed. Supported. Not just applauded.So if you're leading, creating, surviving in systems that are still learning how to hold you, know this: You are not too much for asking to be supported beyond your output.You are not ungrateful for wanting boundaries with your brilliance.You are not alone in the ache of being seen, but not sustained.You’re not asking for too much. You’re just remembering what it feels like to be met. And that memory? That knowing? It’s sacred.You are not ungrateful for wanting boundaries with your brilliance. &nbsp;You are not alone in the ache of being seen, but not sustained. &nbsp;And if you're building something different- a team, a vision, a movement&nbsp; &nbsp;let care be the blueprint, not just visibility.Let holding become the practice. You deserve to bloom where you are nurtured, not just noticed.<h3>Affirmation:</h3>I am not here to perform my power. I am worthy of being held in my wholeness.<h3>So Tell Me...</h3> What does being held — truly held — look like for you? &nbsp;In your work, in your relationships, in your vision?Write it. Say it. Let that truth shape how you move forward.<h3>🌿 Tap In</h3>✨ The Book of Blooms is now available. <a data-mce-href="https://bloomdontshrinkstore.myshopify.com/" href="https://bloomdontshrinkstore.myshopify.com/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">&nbsp;Get your copy</a> - a sanctuary for your sacred remembering.✨ If this resonated with you, share it. &nbsp;Repost it. Tag someone who’s navigating the same ache. &nbsp;Let someone else know they’re not alone in this truth.✨ What came up for you? &nbsp;Come share your reflections in The Garden. &nbsp;Request an invitation. Come be witnessed.

Being Seen Isn’t the Same as Being Held

Liberation Strategy #3 is here. This one’s for those who’ve ever had their brilliance muted—and kept blooming anyway.<h3>There’s a particular kind of silence that systems practice.</h3>&nbsp;It’s not absence, it’s erasure. &nbsp;And it sounds like this:“We never sent that resource.” &nbsp;“Let’s just keep this internal.” &nbsp;“That’s not really aligned with our tone.”But the truth is: They didn’t forget. They silenced it on purpose.When I trained the entire foundation staff on equity for marginalized youth, &nbsp;I didn’t just speak, I built.A whole compendium. A library of wisdom. Articles, videos, podcasts. A living resource for those working with Black, Brown, and LGBTQ+ youth.It was meant to be distributed after the session. It never was.Not because it wasn’t powerful but because it was too powerful. Because it said what the org couldn’t say, and did what the institution wasn’t brave enough to do.But here’s what they didn’t realize: &nbsp;<h3>You can suppress a deliverable. But you can’t suppress a download.</h3>The work had already been spoken into the field. &nbsp;It was already received by those who needed it. &nbsp;It was carried through conference rooms and coffee chats and community.They tried to contain it. But I had already become the carrier.<h3>Liberation Strategy #3: Don’t Chase the Platform. Be the Portal.</h3>When systems shrink your work, trust that the work still travels. The impact is not always in the inbox.Sometimes it’s in the way someone applies your words two months later. Or how your framework becomes their foundation—even without your name on it.Let the legacy move in silence if it has to. The soil always remembers what was planted.<h3>🌱 A Bloom Move to Try: </h3>Think of a moment where your work was unacknowledged or muted.Ask yourself: &nbsp;- Where did it still go? &nbsp;- Who did it still reach? &nbsp;- Who did I become through it?Write that. Claim that. Let that be your proof.👉🏾 Want more liberation strategies? Visit <a href="https://bloomdontshrink.com/blog">https://bloomdontshrink.com/blog</a> for the full Olamina Speaks series.

They Tried to Contain It. I Became the Carrier

<h3>They expect disruption to be loud.</h3> To be angry. Sharp-edged. Sharpened for battle. But I’ve learned—sometimes the sharpest blade is soft. Sometimes, the revolution enters the room wrapped in velvet.They didn’t know what to do with me. I didn’t shout—I documented. I didn’t rage—I redesigned. I didn’t beg—I built.Because what they weren’t prepared for was what happens when a woman walks into a system soft-spoken and undeniable.<h3>Softness as Strategy. Softness as Signal.</h3> Softness is the system hack. It is camouflage. It is code. It’s how we enter the room without alerting the alarm. It’s how we plant truth inside the agenda—and watch it bloom long after we’re gone.And that’s exactly what I did.🌀 When they expected a final teaching, I offered a boundary. In my exit interview, they asked for insight. I gave them truth. “The answer to that question?” I said. “Costs.” No performance. No unpaid clarity. Just sovereignty—spoken soft and firm.🌀 When they ignored the resource, I carried the resonance. I built a national equity compendium on Black, Brown, and LGBTQ+ youth in child welfare. When HR chose not to release it internally, I brought it to national conferences. You can suppress a deliverable. You cannot suppress a download.🌀 When the curriculum was stagnant, I redesigned the frame. I launched the first self-paced training for recruiters using AI. Facilitated their first international webinar. Embedded engagement technology into sessions and made feedback feel like invitation. These weren’t side projects. They were soft disruptions.🌀 When asked to conform, I chose rhythm. My mantra: “I root before I rise. I align before I move.” I brought heat—but it wasn’t rage. It was radiance. My clarity didn’t scream—but it could not be ignored.And even after dismissal, I didn’t collapse. I reframed the moment as a ceremony of release. A sacred disruption. Because that’s what softness can do—it holds the exit door open like a prayer.<h3>🔓 Liberation Strategy #2: Let Softness Be the System Hack </h3>Softness isn’t weakness. It’s the delivery method of truth. The portal for change. The cloak that carries curriculum past the gatekeepers.Softness is survival. Softness is science. Softness is sacred. And when we wield it with strategy—it becomes undeniable.<h3>🌱 A Bloom Move to Try</h3> Think of a moment when you were told: “Be more direct.” “Be less emotional.” “Be more professional.”Now pause. Ask yourself:What truth was my softness carrying that they didn’t know how to hold? Write it down. That’s not a flaw. That’s your frequency. That’s your strategy.<h3>🌺 You don’t have to scream to make an impact. You just have to stop shrinking.</h3>What came up for you? Share it with us in The Garden. <a data-mce-href="https://bloomdontshrink.com/" href="https://bloomdontshrink.com/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Request an invitation</a>Read: <a data-mce-href="https://bloomdontshrink.com/blog/black-women-in-corporate-america-bloom-dont-shrink" href="https://bloomdontshrink.com/blog/black-women-in-corporate-america-bloom-dont-shrink" target="_blank" rel="noopener">They Stripped Me of My Title—On the Way In and On the Way Out</a>Purchase the&nbsp;<a data-mce-href="https://buy.stripe.com/7sY7sM0kH8xF1u2aUL9Ve00" href="https://buy.stripe.com/7sY7sM0kH8xF1u2aUL9Ve00" target="_blank" rel="noopener">The Book of Blooms: A Gospel of Growth, Truth, and Sacred Reclamation</a> #BloomDontShrink #SoftDisruption #LiberationStrategy #OlaminaSpeaks #HealingInPublic

Soft Disruption as Strategic Power

Installment One: A Bloom on Scorched Earth Liberation Strategy Series<h3>They asked me in the exit interview: “What could we have done differently?”</h3>And even then—after all I had endured—they still expected the lesson. For free.Requested with 20 minutes’ notice. In a sterile room. With an HR manager who read from prepared lines.They mentioned the LinkedIn post. The one that didn’t name names, but held truth wrapped in thunder. It was a mirror. And they chose to shut the mirror down.Even in exit, they wanted clarity without cost. My roadmap without reckoning. My insight without investment.But I said: “The answer to that question? Costs.”<h3>I was done translating pain into palatable soundbites. </h3>Done offering clarity to institutions that chose confusion as comfort. Done feeding systems that only knew how to extract.I refused to be translated. I refused to offer a final unpaid deliverable dressed as grace. I refused to disassemble myself into teachable moments.They sent me home that day. Released me from duties.But I didn’t see it as dismissal. I saw it as divine redirection. A sacred release. The perfect holy closure.Because this wasn’t just an end. It was an initiation. Into something sovereign. Into the blueprint I’d already started drafting in secret.<h3>I wasn’t removed for being a problem.</h3>I was removed for being a reflection.And when systems can’t hold the mirror, they shatter it. Because they can’t confront the conditions of your brilliance—only the shadow of your obedience.They wanted the benefit of my insight without reckoning with its source. They wanted the balm, but not the backstory. The remedy, but not the rage.And I would not hand over the cure to the ones who authored the wound.<h3>🔓 Liberation Strategy #1: Stop Giving the Cure to the Ones Who Created the Wound</h3>You don’t owe systems your clarity. You don’t have to teach those who refuse to listen. You get to say no. You get to say pay me. You get to build outside of their shadow.Because your wisdom deserves compensation, not containment. Your frameworks are liberatory architecture, not feedback forms.Preserve your clarity for the ones who will treasure it. Not the ones who tolerate it.<h3>🌱 A Bloom Move to Try:</h3>Think of one time you gave a system more grace than it earned. Then ask: What would it look like to reserve that grace for yourself or your community instead? What boundary would honor your energy as sacred?Draw that boundary. Call it sacred. Let it bloom.<h3>So Tell Me...</h3>What truth have you been translating for systems that refuse to hear you? And what would it feel like to stop?Write it down. Not for them. For you. Let your clarity be a covenant, not a concession.<h3>🌿 Tap In</h3>✨ The Book of Blooms is now available. A field guide. A firestarter. A sanctuary for your sovereignty. Find your copy at<a data-mce-href="bloomdontshrink.com" href="bloomdontshrink.com" target="_blank" rel="noopener"> bloomdontshrink.com.</a>✨ What came up for you? Share your reflections with us inside The Garden. <a data-mce-href="https://bloomdontshrink.com/" href="https://bloomdontshrink.com/">Request an invitation</a>. Come be witnessed.✨ Ready for more? Read next: <a data-mce-href="https://bloomdontshrink.com/blog/the-failed-litmus-test" href="https://bloomdontshrink.com/blog/the-failed-litmus-test">The Litmus Test Wasn’t for Me. It Was for Them.</a>The portal stays open. The bloom is not done.

Liberation Has a Cost—And I Am Not Free

They tried to connect through caricature. I left with clarity—and fire.<h3>The Setup: A Misguided Attempt at Connection</h3>She opened the conversation with a claim of proximity. Told me she grew up in a poor, predominantly Black neighborhood. Said it like it was a password to my trust. Like proximity to struggle meant she understood me.But I didn’t grow up poor. And I don’t need someone else’s idea of trauma to make me legible.This wasn’t connection—it was performance. A misguided attempt to earn access through a flattened idea of what it means to be Black. It was classist, reductive, and steeped in the tired belief that all Blackness must be “gritty,” “hard,” or “urban” to be real. It was her version of “I see you”—but what she saw was a stereotype she was comfortable with, not me.This is the aesthetic of inclusion without the actual relational work. It’s the desire to be seen as culturally competent without doing the labor of real understanding. And it’s violence in soft clothing: cultural gaslighting. Symbolic violence. A way of saying: “I already know your story. I’ve decided who you are.”<h3>The Real Rupture: When Quiet Became Complicity</h3>It came during an introduction meeting. Her title: Assistant to the CEO. Her comment:“I basically run the Underground Railroad... for cats.” She said it casually. With a laugh. With comfort. With pride. And the room—didn’t flinch.Not a single pause. No furrowed brows. No side-eyes. No breath held in reverence for what she had just desecrated.<h3>The Body Never Lies</h3>A tightness behind my eyes. Heat rising in my chest. The kind of heat that isn’t just irritation— It’s ancestral indignance. The body remembering. The fire swelling.My nervous system surged. Signaling that safety had been compromised.A boundary crossed.&nbsp; The gut-punch of hearing sacred history casually turned into a quirky icebreaker. And still—no one said anything.Instead, I was met with corporate quiet—the kind that hums like a hymn of complicity.<h3>The Silence Was a Second Violence </h3>Not even the other Black person in the room said anything. Not then, and not afterwards. And that silence? That was a lesson too.A modeling. A quiet, weary swallowing of yet another thing. A reminder that survival in these rooms often means suppression. Even of sacred rage.<h3>The Aftermath: What It Cost Me </h3>The whisper from my ancestors told me:“Make her say it again. Out loud. Slowly.” But I didn’t. I held it. Because we’re taught to hold it. To tuck in our fire. To assess, in every moment, whether telling the truth is worth the consequence of their perception.And I paid for that silence. With righteous anger. That stayed. That boiled. That still simmers, a year later.Because what she did wasn’t just awkward. It was desecration.<h3>Desecration Disguised as Small Talk</h3>She compared herself—her pet project—to people who risked everything. People who moved through shadow and night, chased by dogs and bullets, carrying the weight of a people’s survival on their backs. She co-opted Black resistance as a casual metaphor for her love of cats. And the room let her.<h3>The Litmus Test They Failed</h3>These moments were litmus tests. Not for me. For them.To see who flinches. Who breathes different. Who will speak up. Who will stay comfortable.And they failed.Because this isn’t about cats. Or neighborhoods. It’s about how whiteness trains itself to appropriate Black pain for cleverness, and then demands we swallow it so the meeting can stay on schedule.<h3>The Sacred Cost of Swallowing</h3>That silence? That tightness in the chest? That heat behind the eyes?That’s not overreaction. That’s the body saying:“You are not safe here.” It’s your nervous system remembering the hundreds of times you had to perform professionalism instead of just being a person. It’s the sacred exhaustion of trying to be soft but not weak, strong but not threatening, and visible but not too much. It’s the battle to protect your sacred energy in systems that confuse your power with aggression, your softness with servitude, your silence with consent.This is the cost of being expected to be palatable instead of whole.<h3>So Tell Me...</h3>Where have you been asked to flatten yourself for someone else’s comfort? What sacred truth have you had to swallow to stay “professional”?<h3>Affirmation:</h3> &nbsp;I do not exist to be a mirror for your ego. &nbsp;I do not shrink to fit your assumptions.I carry the weight of legacy and it is not yours mock. I bloom, even in rooms built to erase me. <h3>Tap In. </h3>🌸The Book of Blooms is now available. A sacred mirror, a devotional tool, a rhythm you can hold in your hands. Order your copy now 🌸Follow @bloomdontshrink across platforms for truth, tenderness, and strategy 🌸Share this post with someone who’s been silenced and is ready to speak