by Nadirah Muhammad

At any given moment on any given day, you’ll find me with my journal either in hand or carefully perched just an arm’s length away. Lovingly tucked in a nearby bag, along with an embarrassing amount of my favorite pens in the accompanying pocket, my journal waits for a fleeting but never far moment of inspiration to call it into action. My iPhone Notes app has never known peace, always at hand for me to transcribe the lines of poetry that come to me on a morning walk or over a cup of coffee.

Being a Black woman writer in today’s society adds an extra layer of complexity to every intersection of my identity. Finding a voice in this world—that I recently overheard someone call “the death of DEI”—has become increasingly challenging. As I reflected on those words, I realized that while writing is my safe haven, my opportunity to understand the world around me at my own pace with pen and paper, it’s also a battleground, especially for Black women. Writing has always been my weapon of choice, but this fight for recognition and space isn’t easy, especially in a time when diversity programs are disappearing, and the need for us to find our voices has never been more urgent.

A Lifelong Love for Writing

I have always been a storyteller, an observer, a feeler. I have always been soft and sensitive, attuned to the vibrations of nature’s gentle rhythm, constantly trying to find the right words that fit these big feelings. Writing gave me a place to unapologetically release these all-too-big emotions, and the more words I learned, the more opportunity I had to give depth and breadth to this stream of consciousness that only grew stronger over time. I’ve always loved the feeling of discovering the perfect word to describe a moment in time. The art of finding that word perfectly suited to capturing all the emotions and weight of a moment is something I deeply value. Like any lover of words, I choose mine carefully and have learned to articulate every syllable to ensure they reflect the power they deserve.

But in doing so, I noticed a striking difference in how my words were received. When those around me were considered introspective, reflective, and precocious, I was labeled judgmental, pretentious. We limit Black women by asking them to limit their vocabularies, and, in turn, their voices.

A Minority Within a Minority

I fell in love with the written word because it was one of the only places where I felt heard. A pen and paper was my canvas, a place where my thoughts, emotions, and observations could exist without judgment or limitation. But today, when books by Black authors and beyond are being banned, efforts to increase inclusivity are being dismantled, and the U.S. Department of Education reports that 85% of Black students lack proficiency in reading skills, writing becomes not just a passion but a necessity. It is imperative now more than ever to preserve the power of the written word.

A 2023 Diversity Baseline report from Lee & Low Books reveals that only 5.3% of the publishing industry as a whole is comprised of Black people. An even smaller percentage of those are Black women. So small, in fact, that after searching various sources, I still could not determine an exact percentage. This statistic speaks volumes about the severe lack of representation and the invisibility of Black women’s voices in literature and writing.

Breaking Barriers and Facing Resistance

Some of my earliest memories are intertwined with lines from my favorite books. Some of my earliest answers to the age-old question, “What do you want to be when you grow up?” were writer, poet, storyteller. But I couldn’t understand why that answer was often met with puzzled looks and dismissive comments. Why is it so hard for people to accept Black women as writers?

As Black women, we are not given the luxury of the perceived quietness and gentleness that is often associated with the writer’s aesthetic. Society brands us as loud, abrasive, the direct antithesis to the “writer’s cliché” of the soft-spoken, introspective intellectual. Challenging these narratives is an uphill battle.

In fact, working my way through the writing world has often felt like scaling a mountain with all the right tools but a steeper trek. Every milestone is met with resistance; every accomplishment is shadowed by claims that it was earned through affirmative action, not merit. Constantly doubted, yet forced to prove my worth and exceed all expectations, I am reminded that this struggle is one that many Black women face every day.

My heart breaks for little Black girls whose dreams are crushed by strangers who limit them based on preconceived notions of who they are and what they can become. It’s far too common for people to say, “You can’t be a writer,” or “You can’t be successful in that field.”

Writing in a Time of Crisis

In the words of the great Toni Morrison, “If there is a book that you want to read and it hasn’t been written yet, then you must write it.” In this time of the “death of DEI,” we must write. In a time where it is urgent to preserve the art of the written word and encourage diverse voices in a field that is currently under attack, we must write. In an education where the first Black female author I read wasn’t until I completed my own capstone curriculum, I must write.

I write for the younger me. I write for those yearning for stories untold. I write because I believe in a calling to do so, and I hope I can encourage others to do the same.

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