by Maryann Adedapo

My first name is Maryann, a name that is almost exclusively given to White girls. It was the most popular female Anglo name in the 1900s. My mom wanted to give me a Yoruba name, but my dad was already thinking about the benefits an Anglo name would provide me in the workplace.

by Thahabu Gordon for Rookie

When I was 13 years old, the most striking aspects of my appearance were a blue weave, thick eyeliner, and a wardrobe full of dark band T-shirts. My peers had conflicting ideas about me: I didn’t fit the image of how they thought a black girl was supposed to look and act. My white friends often reminded me that I was “above” most black kids because I spoke “proper” English, but they were quick to exclaim how ghetto I was whenever I raised my voice or expressed my opinion on a heavy topic. My black counterparts let me know that having colorful hair made me ratchet, because “only white girls can get away with that,” and felt I should’ve been listening to Lil Wayne instead of All Time Low. The only thing both my black and white classmates could agree on was that I’d always be ratchet, which meant I’d never be worthy of their full respect.

by Brit Bennett for The Paris Review

In 1864, a nine-year-old slave girl was punished for daydreaming. Distracted by rumors that her brother and father would be sold, she failed to remove worms from the tobacco leaves she was picking. The overseer didn’t whip her. Instead, he pried her mouth open, stuffed a worm inside, and forced her to eat it.

by Courtney McCreary

There is something about turning 30 years old that thins the hair and increases stress levels. More and more women I know find themselves crying in the car after work, battling with their parents, struggling to find a mate that “gets it,” and frustrated about their slow economic progression as full-time employees as we approach ten years since the glorious days of undergrad ended.

by Brittany Dawson

I was crowned the title “awkward Black girl” in the seventh grade.

Other than my parent’s collection, I didn’t personally own magazines popular within the African American community, like JET Magazine or Essence. Harry Potter books consumed all the space in my locker where others thought Chris Brown posters should’ve been.

by Ayana Crichlow


Although I currently live in the U.S., I grew up in Trinidad in the 80s and 90s as a black girl. To be black in a country that idealizes a mixed ethnicity aesthetic, was rough to say the least. Although I shared the same parental genes as my sister, she was considered mixed, whereas I have dark skin. I also had kinky hair, whereas my sister and all my cousins had curly hair, or “good hair” according to Trinis. It didn't matter that my heritage also included French, Scottish, East Indian and African; I was black to everyone who saw me. This wouldn’t have bothered me, if I hadn’t been treated as less than my sister for most of our childhood because if it.

by Kesiena Boom


At 16 years old, there were lots of things I was blissfully unaware of, but really could have done better with knowing. I wasn't getting these lessons at home or at school or via the media, and I most definitely suffered for it. I wish that I could go back through time and sit my younger self down and imprint a few things into her poor adolescent brain. In lieu of the ability to transcend time and space, here are the four top things I really needed someone to tell me. Disseminate this to the teenage girls around you and let them know their worth by imparting all the wisdom you can.

I have been thinking of what it means to “grow up”. In one month, I will celebrate my 25th birthday. I plan on singing and twerking to Beyoncé’s “Grown Woman” first thing in the morning. Still, most days, I do not feel very grown-up at all. As this is the time of year when seemingly everyone on my social media feeds are graduating, getting married, or having children, I especially feel more “growing” than grown.