Black Love Edition • FEBRUARY 2026

This year marks the 100th anniversary of Black History Month, a centennial milestone that calls us to do more than look back; it calls us to look inward. To honor this journey, the Black Southern Women's Collaborative is pouring intentional, radical love back into the women who carry the world on our backs. This edition is a sanctuary. We are centering a love that is more than a sentiment—it is a radical practice, a spiritual demand, and a profound stimulation for the soul.

 

We are honoring the righteousness of self-preservation. Whether you find your strength in a faith tradition or not, the prescription remains the same: We must honor and love ourselves. This month, we celebrate the diverse ways Black women are reclaiming their time, their peace, and their power. Through the liberating lens of the arts and the steadying hand of prescriptive wisdom, we are finally giving our souls the room they deserve to breathe. It is time we follow the wisdom of our own needs.

 

 

 

 

 

 

By curating the top romance novels of 2025 by Black authors, she highlights a radical truth: that all Black women, including Black queer women and Black femmes, deserve an unhinged love and deserve to write about it. They deserve a sacred space to be soft and a place to unapologetically enjoy pleasure. There is something deeply artistic, political, and spiritual about these stories. Reading them offers a certain freedom and imagination rarely permitted in the real world. By highlighting these stories of love, desire, and happy endings, Rev. Dr. Kamilah Hall Sharp reminds us that seeing ourselves as the protagonists of our own romances is an essential part of our healing. Dive into her recommendations to find your next favorite read and reclaim the soft, joyful parts of your spirit. This is far more than escapism; it is a spiritual demand and even a manifesto that declares, I deserve to be loved.

It can be so difficult to embody a sense of security in undeniably tumultuous times. The current state of affairs in this nation and world is a primed petri dish for unrest, anxiety, and fear.  A common response is to seek ways to understand and make sense of it all in an effort to know what can’t be fully known.  

 

I am often asked how I stay steady in unsteady times, and my answer is often, “I don’t know that I do.” However, there are a few things I have been taught over the years that, when practiced, can help shape the inner conditions of peace. 

 

Many years ago, I read a quote adopted by the late Tibetan Buddhist monk, Thich Nhat Hanh, which said, “There is no way to peace; peace is the way.”  One of the words translated as peace in the sacred text of my faith is eiréné (eye-ray-nay). It means that when all essential parts are joined together, God’s gift of wholeness is realized. If peace is the way, then the way is about being whole: body, soul, and spirit.  For me, this begins with what is within my power.  My faith marks the basis of all things in my life, and the Divine offers me an ongoing invitation to be alive and creative in all the ways that will sustain life. For me, this means anchoring over and over again in my faith, not just once a day but multiple times a day. I take pauses to breathe God in, to receive what God knows I need, and to trust that what is given is meeting a need within me. I invite Divine offerings, even when I don’t know what offerings I need. I accept that what I needed yesterday to be whole may not be what I need today. This means yielding to a prompting within to change my diet, workout, and rhythms of work.  It means being honest about how I feel and making room to fall apart, laugh hard, rage out, or simply sit still. This means being grateful and enjoying solitude, but never isolating myself from my people. This means taking a rest in the pleasurable parts of life without becoming inebriated by them. And yes, for me, being whole means joining my power with the power of others to organize. My faith dictates that I am a co-conspirator with God in the redemption of the world. Collaborating with God and others to create the world that should be is a deeply anchoring practice amid the disturbing realities of the world as it is. This is the way of peace.

 

Perhaps for you, it is important to embrace the truth that peace doesn’t mean apathy, nor does it mean the absence of agitation. Peace is using your own autonomy to be as authentically who you are (body, soul, spirit) in any given moment. If you are angry, then the way of peace asks, ‘How can you fully feel the pain of your anger and then channel it in ways that edify human dignity?’ If you sense despair rising, then the way of peace asks, ‘What is stealing your hope?’ and then it asks you to turn away from sources that take and intentionally turn toward the source that gives you hope. I invite you to take a moment and check in with yourself. What do you need the most right now? Then use the power within you to choose the way of peace and access it. Give yourself permission to engage in brief practices if your time is limited or if your will to work toward being whole is weary. A practice focused in any area of the self (body, soul, spirit) will impact all areas of our whole self. Be creative. 

 

Considerations for getting started: consider committing time to each category daily or weekly. The amount of time committed isn’t what is most important, but the consistent commitment even if only in five (5) minute increments. 

 

Before starting a practice, invite yourself to center by taking a slow deep breath in, hold it for three (3) seconds, and audibly release. Pay attention to how your body, soul, or spirit feels based upon the focus of your practice. Just observe and try not to make judgments about it. Just be. Repeat the process after you finish a practice. Notice shifts. Check in around what you need to commit to moving forward.

 

 

Body:  movement (workouts, walks, dancing), cooking a healthy meal, taking a bath, napping, developing a bedtime ritual, pleasure-based practices.

 

Soul (will, mind, emotions): media breaks, reading for fun, journaling, therapy, gathering with friends, joining in local organizing, tears, and laughter.

 

Spirit: breathing, focused meditation and prayer, music, gratitude practice, communal worship/fellowship, sacred text reflection, singing, focused time in nature, cultivating wonder.
 

 

 

I am intentional about staying connected to community–through my family and friends, my HBCU college classmates, my sorority sisters, my comrades, and even the people I encounter in my daily routine who make me smile if I only just pay attention. These interactions remind me I don’t have to carry everything alone and that there are always the smallest miracles and opportunities around any corner. I trust that tending to my spirit is not separate from the work I do for Black communities; it is what sustains me for it. Righteous care multiplies when we give ourselves permission to be human, whole, and held.

 

 

 

 

 

 

–Tameka Daniel Greer

At the Black Southern Women’s Collaborative, we believe that we don’t just organize against what we hate; we organize for who we love. Our movement is fueled by the radical belief that our joy is worth protecting and our people are worth the investment—from the children who deserve clean water to the elders who held the line so we could stand here today. SistaRoot is the blueprint for turning that love into a lasting legacy. 

 

We are calling up to 12 Black Women Executive Directors across AL, AR, FL, GA, KY, LA, MS, NC, SC, TN, and TX to join us in transforming communal love into a disciplined power that cannot be moved. By building strong institutions, mastering our finances, and sharpening our organizing, we are creating a world where Black women in the South don’t just survive—they thrive. Join us in building a future that is as beautiful and as joyous as we are; submit your application by the March 1st deadline to secure your place in this mission.

The reality we face is that Black people have never been safe. Because of that, we want to ensure you have a clear guide to preparing your household for the road ahead. But true safety doesn’t stop at your front door. We are reminded in Mark 12:31 of the second greatest commandment:  “Love your neighbor as yourself.” In this season, loving your neighbor means ensuring they are as prepared and protected as we are.

We are asking you to share this resource where community already happens—take it to your churches, your barber shops, and your community centers. We are only as secure as our neighbors are. A special thank you to the people of Resilient Faith of Alabama for putting this critical resource together.

 

To Black women, my sisters, who are occupied, I am sorry. For our sisters who have been colonized, taken over, and pushed out: I am sorry.

 

I am sorry that you have been forced into a "death situation," used as collateral damage for a country that refuses to love you, yet expects you to remain the most human among us.

 

I am sorry for the Black women in Minnesota. You, who have always fought for justice, who have cared for your neighbors and tended to the "others"—only to have your own cities occupied and your safety threatened by the very systems you warned us about.

I am sorry for our Trans sisters who are being hunted and vilified simply for existing in their truth. I am sorry for the Black women behind bars, forced to abandon their children and their homes to a system that feeds on their absence. I am sorry for our disabled sisters, for every time you were left on the first floor because there was no elevator for you. I’m sorry for you feeling left behind, and thus felt there wasn’t even an elevator for your brilliance.

 

I am sorry for the Black women who haven’t been physically occupied, but whose thoughts and intellectual property have been stolen. I am sorry for the 300,000 of you who were pushed out of the "DEI" spaces you built. You were specialists long before 2020. For us, "DEI" was never a corporate trend; it was simply the radical act of treating us as human. You were overqualified, yet they discarded and fired you the moment the trend turned cold. We knew that DEI was nothing more than treating people as Black people. I am sorry for all of it.

 

I know that my sorrow and my condolences don’t mean shit. It cannot pay your bills or heal your trauma. But my "sorry" is a declaration that I see you. Perhaps if I say I’m sorry, I can ensure that I have not abandoned you in the silence. It isn't right, and it isn't fair, but I am sorry.

 

I am still fighting for you. I am still fighting with you. I still love you. Your existence means more to me than you will ever truly know.

I hope I have enough courage to love you even more fiercely tomorrow than I do today. The only thing I can promise is this: I will keep fighting. I will keep loving. And like you, I will try my hardest to remain human.

 

With deep love,

Executive Director, Black Southern Women's Collaborative