I believe I was born to break chains, deep-rooted cycles of division, racism, and religious judgment that ran through generations before me. My story is a testament to that mission, woven with threads of love, motherhood, healing, and hard-won advocacy.
As the eldest of five siblings, I grew up in a very protected environment as the daughter of a pastor.
For most of my early years, I was homeschooled, tucked away from the “real world.” But everything changed after my parents divorced. Homeschooling was no longer possible, so I entered public school and quickly found myself navigating unfamiliar ground. I attended three different high schools, and at my last one, I met the boy who would become my husband.
We were just sixteen, both new to the school, and landed in the same English class. It was fate my schedule had been changed four times, and that final switch brought us together. From the start, we clicked. Within weeks, we were inseparable. I was an innocent, sheltered girl educated at home, never once challenging the reality I was raised in.
He was a strong, intelligent Black teen whose world was completely different from mine. And while everything about us seemed opposite our upbringings, music, food, culture, there was something magnetic between us.
But the outside world didn’t see what we saw in each other. The more our bond grew stronger, the more intense the criticism became.
When I got pregnant at seventeen, the backlash was immediate and brutal, judgment, slurs, threats, and whispers followed me everywhere. Even people I trusted offered to pay for an abortion. My father said I ruined his reputation. The weight of disappointment, racism, and shame tried to crush me.
Just after graduating high school, I left everything behind, my father’s home, the judgment, the fear—and flew back to Alaska, pregnant and barely eighteen. I rented a room from my grandmother and braced myself for the unknown. My now-husband, who had never been on a plane, flew across the country to be with us. That single decision broke a generational cycle of absent fathers in his family. We married at nineteen, in my mother’s living room, with our baby girl watching from the couch.
Alaska was not kind to us. The racism was quiet but brutal, stares, harassment, even violence toward our toddler. Eventually, we left everything behind again and moved back to California for safety. It didn’t solve everything. My husband faced repeated traffic stops without any valid cause.
I faced stares and rejection in places I once thought were safe. Still, we stood firm. Our connection grew beyond just being partners; we became a family united by a purpose.
I left my job and built my own business, choosing to homeschool our children and stay deeply involved in their lives. Today, we have three beautiful children, a strong marriage, and a life full of purpose. We moved to Seattle during the pandemic, stepping right into the heart of a historic civil rights movement.
I’m a white woman married to a Black man, and together we’re raising Black children.
I’m not just a wife and mother, I’m an advocate, an ally, and a student of truth. I may never fully understand the Black experience, but I will never stop standing beside those I love, fighting for a better world for them.
