by Shahida Muhammad @ShahidaMuhammad

Ever since I hit my mid-twenties, there’s been a question echoing in my ears from family, friends, and acquaintances alike: “When are you getting married?” It’s gotten to the point that I want to pull out a personal calendar and show folks that there is no magic date when a Prince Charming will trot along on a horse, sweep me into his arms, and take me off to set a date for the big day.

And for the record, I’m okay with that. If only other folks could be too.

Now I know there are people in my life who don’t mean any harm by asking me this. My aunt lightly easing “So, have you met anyone?¨ into the conversation or my dad´s hints about the joys he looks forward to as a grandfather, aren't meant with malice. Yet, there is clear pressure placed on women if we reach our late twenties or thirties without a ring on our finger.
As novelist Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie stated in her TedTalk speech that has become famous, thanks to its excerpt featured in Beyonce´s ¨Flawless¨:

Because I am female, I am expected to aspire to marriage; I am expected to make my life choices always keeping in mind that marriage is the most important. Now marriage can be a source of joy and love and mutual support, but why do we teach girls to aspire to marriage and we don't teach boys the same?

And it´s true. For every time I´m probed about my unwed status or deemed “late in the game,” there are men years older than me being applauded for staying single. Yes, there is an obvious biological timeline for childbirth for women, but this does not mean we should live life and pursue relationships as though we have a sell-by date. This social stigma placed on women is not only a unfair, but unhealthy, and I refuse to play into it.

Black women, in particular, are constantly bombarded with stereotypes and statistics that try to paint us as undesirable and tragically single, and as a community we often feed into these notions and perpetuate them.

Today the average American woman gets married at 27 and the average man at 29. That’s up from 23 for women and 26 for men in 1990 and 20 and 22, respectively, in 1960. Things have changed, but it seems our acceptance of this reality has yet to catch up.

To be clear, I am a woman who desires to be married and have children. Although I didn’t grow up fantasizing about my wedding day or meeting “the one” in college, it’s always something I knew I wanted. However, I’m also aware that there are some things I wish to have in order before I enter into marriage—both professionally and personally. This awareness is something I’m actually proud to have, and will, hopefully, keep me from desperately jumping into a lifelong commitment for all the wrong reasons or at the wrong time.

I’ve first made a commitment to my goals. The majority of marriages struggle most with financial issues, poor communication and/or infidelity, and it´s my personal belief that we should all work on being able to bring something to the table, while also seeking a sense of wholeness and striving to heal emotional wounds prior to seeking a lifelong partner.

Of course no one will walk into marriage perfect, and I know developing yourself emotionally and professionally does not guarantee a marriage free of issues, but just like any major step in life, why not do your best to be as prepared as possible? Given the high divorce rates in our society, it often perplexes me as to why it isn’t more encouraged. Although I´m open to allowing the right person to come into my life as I´m growing and building, I think everyone owes it to themselves to do some self-work and analysis beforehand.

Growing up with divorced parents and seeing many relationships end because of dysfunction, deceit, and unpreparedness has, no doubt, affected me. So while a friend may have been ready to jump the broom at 21, I would’ve been a long way from the maturity and openness to do so at that age. And it's okay. I have friends who married young, right after college, and well into their thirties. Everyone's journey is different, and it would be great if others understood that as well.
It's fine to wish for others to find their significant other, and I’m always down for a little girl talk, but what can be frustrating is the sense that if you don’t feed into the woe-is-me narrative of being unmarried, or exhibit the expected anxiety over who will pop-the-question, there’s something wrong with you.

I’ve now attended many wedding and social gatherings where the attention uncomfortably turns to the single women in the room. And at this point, I’ve learned to brush it off without becoming defensive. Instead of letting the questions of ¨why?¨and “when?” make me doubt myself, I feel empowered knowing that I constantly take honest looks within to know why I would like to be a wife and when I’ll be ready for that commitment.

I definitely want love and companionship, and I´m not going out of my way to stay single as a testament to my strength or as a badge of independence, nor will I see marriage as a seal of my personal value. I’m clear that my worth is determined by how I view myself, not whether I have a spouse by a certain age or any other title or possession that gets lost in shallow social conditioning.

With this, I’ve come to respond to inquiries of “when?” simply with ¨…when it´s my time.¨ For I know that despite how much anyone pressures or worries me over it, I’m ultimately the one who must gauge the appropriate moment to evaluate the right partner and make the step into married life. And that’s how it should be.

Shahida Muhammad was raised in Philadelphia and is currently based abroad in Colombia. Her writing tends to lie within the spaces of Black culture, identity, and womanhood. For more, follow @ShahidaMuhammad on Twitter.

by Ama McKinley

We met on a January night, when I was out with three girlfriends visiting from other cities. Twerking and drinking took its toll and led to empty stomachs, so at 3 a.m. we called ourselves an Uber. The driver was kind and the ride over was so pleasant that we asked him to dine with us. We’d picked up a new friend! Epic nights always begin like this.

His name was Drew.

He sat next to me at the restaurant and eventually my friends huddled into their own conversation, leaving him and me to fend for ourselves. Good and easy conversation kept us afloat freely, with stories of passport stamps to philosophies. He dropped us off at our hotel, and smoothly asked for my number.


The girls giggled. I blushed… and obliged.

The texting... the calls… the crush began. And then, our first date. What started off as brunch, where we both confessed our intentional avoidance of commitment, turned into 10 hours of non-stop fun, intriguing conversation, and the occasional 3rd chakra palpitating gaze. The date ended with an impressive kiss (we made out). I welcomed his tenacity.

Because after leaving a “good” job, moving to a new state and leaving behind people who love me, switching my spacious waterfront apartment for my aunt’s back bedroom/office, and getting a part-time holiday job at Nordstrom just to keep gas in my Honda, I’d ‘bout maximized my fears and delighted in an opportunity for some revelry.

February came, as did the yearning. I moved into a beautiful and spacious loft with a couple I’d met some weeks before. Drew was there on moving day, lugging the heaviest furniture as family looked on. He stayed over a few nights later, and at a point late in the evening he confessed that he loved me.

A record screeched and stopped in my head.

"What in the hell?! You don’t even know me. You can’t love me."

by Neena Robertson

It was summer. The early morning hours of July 4th, 2013 to be exact.

As I sat in the fetal position on my bathroom floor, trying to rock the pain away, I remember thinking how ironic it was to be having a miscarriage on the day our nation celebrates its liberation. The thing inside of me had become somewhat of an oppressor, forever connecting me to a relationship that I wasn't totally invested in, and a concept of motherhood that I wasn't totally sold on. It would have been a lifetime of responsibility that I wasn't totally prepared for, so some part of me was ready to be free and done with it.

Just hours before the pain began, I was out having dinner with friends who had flown in from Toronto. We were reminiscing about previous travel adventures across the continents and making plans for our next carefree expedition. I felt my stomach begin to cramp. After all of the research I had done online, I knew cramping was the first sign of a miscarriage, so to some degree I was prepared. My doctor had told me two weeks prior that the six-week-old life once growing inside of me had simply stopped. No more heartbeat. No reason she could point to. Just another reminder that death was also a part of life.
I remember reading a blog post in which a woman accurately described a miscarriage as feeling like a walking casket. I could totally relate. Some part of me welcomed the pain. I welcomed the idea of no longer being attached to this thing that I had objectified as part of some twisted biological mechanism.

But the reality is that I hadn’t always viewed giving birth in such a way. In fact, for as long as I can remember, I'd always wanted children. Like most 70’s babies born towards the end of that decade, watching The Cosby Show shaped my ideas of family. Although my own family was fairly intact, it was the relationships between Heathcliff, Claire, and their children that I aspired to achieve once I became an adult. I envisioned living in a beautiful home with a thriving career, a handsome husband, and five loving children whom I was proud and honored to be the mother of.

But as I write this, that image is in complete contrast to my current reality: I am a 36-year-old woman, single and childless by choice and circumstance.

Like many women in my situation, I am constantly being asked when I’m going to have children, get married, and settle down. The younger me used to take offense to family, friends, and complete strangers placing such judgments on my life. It was as if my life were in some way flawed or incomplete because I didn’t have a husband or kids. But my older, more mature self has accepted that it's often difficult to shake socially constructed views.

The truth is: Had it not been for losing my soul mate, I too would probably still be fantasizing about raising a family in a Brooklyn brownstone.

I was 26 years old when Russell passed, and with him went my sense of self and desire to have a family. For so long, it was he and I, traveling across the globe, enjoying each other’s energy, and making plans for the future—which most definitely included children. But not until we were both financially and mentally ready. And at that time, we were neither. Any money that we saved was spent on travel, including a fateful trip to St. Martins that would change our trajectory completely.

It was a Saturday, warm and sunny, with very few clouds in the sky. We had spent the morning preparing for our flight home—me packing, Russell resting. He had passed out from the heat the day before, and the doctor suggested that he take it easy.



I can remember us laughing and reflecting on our time away from home. Seven awesome days of vacation; just the two of us and a rental car. We were all over that little island, visiting the French side, the Dutch side, and then back around. Even on our last day, we made one last loop before traveling to the airport, attempting to take it all in before our return to the states. But halfway around the island, Russell began to feel sick again. He complained of nausea and was sweating profusely. I stopped to grab him a Gatorade and crackers, as the doctor from the day before instructed to do to keep him hydrated. I remember asking him if he wanted to go back to the hospital and him insisting that he just wanted to get home.

But that never happened. He collapsed shortly after we boarded the plane. And although the ambulance ride from the airport to the hospital was fairly quick—island traffic jams aside—he never regained consciousness: A massive heart attack at 31 years old. Dead.

I was calm… too calm. Maybe the experience of him passing out the day before had in some way prepared me for his mortality. Yet I'm guessing it was complete shock that explained my state of stillness. Someone I loved—who was so young and so full of life—was gone.

After the doctor left the room I was on my own, tasked with making sense of something so senseless. I picked up the phone, called my mother and then his sister, and waited for someone to come rescue me.

I had no concept of time. I just knew it was late, but I was wide awake. The sun had set hours ago, turning day to night, warm to cold. After speaking with a few of my family and friends, I convinced my mother that I could manage my flight in the morning on my own. There was no need for her come to me in St. Martin.

I got off the phone and let the reality of my situation sink in: I was alone. Completely and utterly alone. Miles upon miles of ocean separated me from any sense of normalcy.

I remember turning on the television in an attempt to drown out my thoughts. I laid in bed watching the sun peek behind the water with my favorite episode of The Cosby Show playing in the background. Rudy was belting out “Baby!” Her hips were gyrating, her smile as wide as could be, performing in the living room for her grandparents’ anniversary.

It was a small dose of familiarity.

But in the coming weeks, months, and years, my life would be anything but familiar. I would spend a lot of time and energy shaping a new reality, a new sense a self. In an effort to become more self-evolved, I became more self-centered in a way that made sense for my new situation. There was no one that I needed to consider; there was just me. So, I lived my life accordingly—in a way that didn’t hold a space for someone else. Especially a child.

The more trips I began to take by myself or with my girlfriends, the freer I felt. I embraced that feeling. I embraced being single because it meant I wasn’t responsible for meeting someone else’s needs. I still missed Russell and the relationship that we shared ( it’s ten years later and he still occupies a major space in my heart), but I finally felt OK with being by myself.

And it’s not that I despise children. On the contrary, I take pride in being a godmother, honorary godfather, and “fairy god-cousin,” but I'm OK with being childless. As much as I embraced the pain of my miscarriage I felt a few summers ago, I was also completely devastated when the ibuprofen wore off and the reality of my empty womb sunk in. However, in the process of healing, I accepted how loss can give birth to life.

I feel like a woman renewed and redefined. I don’t feel pressured to get married and have babies, or live my life in any one particular way. There's something very powerful in that for me; something very liberating and spirit filling at the same time.
It’s not to say that I will never love again or have children. But if and when I do, it will be on my own terms and according to my own rules. It will not simply be because that is what my mother did, and my mother’s mother before her, and so on. And it most certainly will not be because it’s what women are “supposed” to do. I have vowed to live my life in a way that makes me happy, and I’m not willing to compromise that for the sake of someone else. I understand compromise is the very core of being a good mother or spouse. They both require offering oneself completely to other beings. That is beautiful, but most certainly not for me—not at this time.

People often say that once you have children and get married that these feelings will change. Well, what if I don’t want to change? I want to continue living and being just as I am. I love the freedom of just being able to get up and go—no plans or approval needed. Indeed, I felt free just typing that! I would hate to end up being someone who had children or got married just for the sake of doing both, rather than truly wanting those things for myself. Why set myself up for that type of resentment… or anyone else, for that matter? Instead I choose to do what makes me feel good, however selfish that may sound.

Loss has forced me to live a more authentic life and I am forever grateful for that type of rebirthing. While we may never really know what the world is going to throw our way—or how to even begin to preparing for it—our work is simply to adjust, trusting that the universe will guide our way.

 Photo: Shutterstock 

Neena Robertson is a native Washingtonian and practicing psychotherapist. She specializes in depression and anxiety, helping her clients manage grief and loss. Neena also recently launched a clothing line (www.mypsatees.com) where she enjoys flexing her creative muscle by way of statement tees. She's also in the process of finalizing a mental health app, Sister Sessions, for women of color to help minimize the stigma of mental health. (Be on the look out!)

Today, and everyday, I am thinking about what it means to engage in transformative, Black queer love.

Engaging in queer black love means not only surviving your own trauma, but holding the paralleled trauma of your partner and navigating the ways in which that trauma collides. In existing, navigating, and surviving as queer Black folks within a white supremacist patriarchy, it feels impossible to heal our own selves, yet alone offer healing to each other. In seeing each other, holding each other, and loving each other, we must engage in community practice and dialogue around what transformative love looks like beyond survival. Revolutionary Black love is often praised within our organizing and activist spaces, yet rarely engaged in practice enough to garner understanding of how our mental health, political growth, and prospering are cultivated within our intimate partnerships.

In a sea of dating apps and websites catered towards Black people, MELD emerges as a distinct option for black professionals.  The dating app is designed to bring like-minded singles together in a safe environment.

by Venessa M. Perry

It was a relatively sunny, warm autumn day in October when my husband said he was leaving. It's funny how you know the end is near. For us the end was probably at the beginning of our marriage, but that's another story for another time. I was recovering from a major surgery and just starting to move around on my own again.  He waited until I could drive before he sprung on me that he couldn't do this anymore. The “this" was our relatively new marriage. I thought if I gave him some space and went away that we could work it out.  But when I left he didn’t ask me where I was going or when I was coming back. Truth is I knew that when I came back he would be gone. When I got back home, the closets and drawers were empty. It was as if he had never lived there. The only remnants of him were the pictures of us on the walls and the mantle of the fireplace. It was the loneliest feeling that I ever had.

By Layna Jade

Last month, I went to the wedding of one of my oldest friends. Well, technically I was in the wedding as one of her lovely bridesmaids and although there were some bridezilla type issues (ironically, not coming from the bride), everything was quite lovely.

by Krislyn Domingue

by Dee Rene

When I told a friend I fully intended to submit to my future partner, he dismissed the idea as a sign of weakness. I soon came to realize it’s because he, like many other people in communities of color, hold on to antiquated assumptions about submission.

by Diana Veiga

It’s summer which means it’s wedding season. I, myself, have several weddings to attend in the next couple months. And while I love to see people in love (or at least what I hope is real love – cue Mary J.), as a single gal, it can be hard to be around so much happily ever after.

by Kesiena Boom

For anyone who knows me — and quite a few people who don’t (thanks to this essay I recently published about the whole sorry mess) — it’s no secret that I have made some really awful decisions with regard to my love life. To be specific, it is widely known that for a significant period of time I dated and lusted after white women who could be described, quite frankly, as ‘the worst.’ I misguidedly and self-destructively sought acceptance and worth in the arms of whiteness, as though it could strengthen my sense of self and firmly place me in the box marked ‘validated.’ Luckily for me, there was light at the end of the ‘internalised racism/reverence of white girls’ tunnel and now I’m firmly of the belief that dating another Black woman is the best thing a queer Black girl can do for herself. I really believe that even if you happen to live around the most switched on and knowledgable white women in the world — who take the time to make themselves aware of the way that racism operates — and consistently and quietly tackle it in their everyday lives, you should still date a Black woman.

by Malaika Jabali

Between Meek Mill gushing over girlfriend Nicki Minaj during the BET Awards and Russell Wilson pronouncing that his relationship with Ciara is “anointed,” black love has been winning in the last few weeks. But rapper-turned-podcast-host Joe Budden is none too satisfied with these developments. When recapping the BET Awards on a recent podcast, Budden expressed disgust at Meek Mill’s loving interactions with Nicki throughout the awards show. While Budden’s female co-host admired the affectionate pair, Budden protested. Amid his color struck nonsense about how light skinned men don’t engage in similarly “sappy shit,” Budden said Meek’s behavior was “nasty” and that it contrasted Meek's typically hardcore lyrics.

by Saaraa Bailey

We fall in love much like we begin life—naive and full of hope. Like many women around the world, I have experienced certain romantic issues that jilted my perception of relationships. I call these embodiments of my romantic misfortune the five types of “Mr. Wrongs.” Collaboratively, the men of my past paved my road to love and ultimately self discovery in blood, sweat, tears, and heartache.

by Andrea Tyler

Last fall, I went to Boston to participate in a think-tank conference designed to brainstorm creative solutions to the education gap. By the end of the week, each team was to make a final presentation to various stakeholders in the community. For the presentation, I was assigned to a sub-group that was tasked with creating a narrative arc. My sub-group leader was full of passion, but short on comprehension and ideas. I talked him through what it means to create a narrative and sketched out what I had been envisioning for the presentation while he took copious notes. When we reconvened as a full group, he recited my comments verbatim and they were met with praise from the rest of the cohort. It was decided that he would be one of the presenters because as my group leader stated, “No one could express those thoughts better” than he did. I half-heartedly waited for a clarifying statement along the lines of, “Actually, no. These are Andrea’s thoughts. She should do it,” but it never came. With an eye roll and a shrug of the shoulders, I let it go. That opportunity to speak clearly meant something to him, so he should do it.

by Jade Perry

I grew up in a nondenominational Black church setting with strong Evangelical and Pentecostal influences. I also grew up “across the way,” a term that extended family used to describe my family’s location in a neighboring suburb that housed a great deal of lower middle class Black families. This mixture of evangelical religion, socioeconomic status, racial identity and gender identity converged to form an environment in which ‘respectability politics’ became the name of the game. It was the expected script that I was to follow as a young, Black woman. And for quite some time I’d internalized and followed the script within my dating and partnership choices.

by Dalila Thomas

For too long, it seems women—especially black women—have been led to believe that living with a significant other prior to marriage is the worst thing we can do. Whether it’s because of religious beliefs, the stereotype of black men getting “too comfortable,” or the fear of starting a family out of wedlock, us cohabitating with partners before marriage is often frowned upon.

by Hilary Christian


In a recent interview, singer Kelly Rowland spoke openly and honestly about the joys of motherhood and marriage. When speaking specifically about how she balances marriage and being a mother, Rowland said she prioritizes her husband over their baby since her husband was in her life first. According to Rowland, parenthood shouldn’t change who people are. She boldly stated, “My priority is my husband first. That’s how the baby got there.”

I didn’t think too much about her comments and was mostly just happy to see black love and marriage being celebrated. However not everyone was thrilled about her declaration as evidenced in the comments sections of a few sites that posted about the cover story. Some flat out disagreed with Rowland and others admonished her for seeming to not prioritize her child stating that she is “crazy” to put a man before her kids and may even be suffering from postpartum depression. The backlash seemed a bit over the top and made me wonder why exactly so many women seem to be uncomfortable with this concept.

The topic of prioritizing the husband over the children first made headlines ten years ago, when writer Ayelet Waldman wrote a New York Times essay declaring that she loved her husband more than she loved her children. Mothers around the world were shocked and Waldman even appeared on the Oprah Winfrey Show to defend herself. Many could not understand how she could not prioritize her children since the general belief about motherhood is that the children always come first. One could even argue that since the parents make the choice to have children, it is their responsibility as parents to now make them a priority and raise them until adulthood.

Waldman disagreed, asserting that the relationship between a husband and wife should always be the focal point. Far too often, she believes, once children come into the picture, the marriage takes a backseat. Mothers coddle their children, putting all of their passion and attention into them, leaving nothing for their husbands to come home to at the end of the day. A recent study of more than 5000 unfaithful men found that the majority of men cheated after having children, with many pointing to the lack of attention from their wives as a reason.

Being a divorcee myself, I do not proclaim to be an expert on marriage. My marriage failed for reasons I’ll only discuss over a bottle of a glass of wine. In hindsight I acknowledge that there were times when I focused more attention on our child than on my husband. Although it was not a conscious decision, I would like to believe that had our relationship as husband and wife been stronger (and his penis hadn’t been so wayward), I wouldn’t have put my ex-husband second, and sometimes even last.

Waldman also suggested that some mothers begin to develop unhealthy emotional entanglements with their children which could be detrimental to the child’s emotional development. This occurs often between mothers and their sons, with the mothers treating their sons as they would a spouse. It is fact that children take up a great deal of time, energy, attention and love. But focusing all of your emotional passion on your children can cause you to neglect the very relationship that brought those children into existence.



The notion of a wife putting her husband first is not a new concept. Historically, the traditional role of the husband is the head of the household and provider for his family. In some cultures it is common practice for a woman to submit to her husband, placing his needs above all others, including her own. The onset of the feminist movement in the late 60’s began the shift in views about gender roles as women started to question the need to marry. While feminism has improved the trajectory of women professionally, and allowed us the right to choose what we do with our own bodies (which is still questionable), it seems to have had the opposite effect on male-female relationships and shifted the perceived role of women in marriage.

That is not to assert that feminism is to blame for the breakdown of the institution of marriage. In many ways feminism has helped to redefine traditional roles within the family with some husbands taking on more responsibilities at home. But there seems to be a warped I-can-do-bad-all-by-myself notion of independence that was born out of a misguided—albeit well intentioned—kind of feminism that perhaps did more harm than good. Yes, women are powerful, strong and just as capable as men. We can bring home the bacon, fry it up in the pan and so on. Women can do it all.

But do we really want to?

Admitting that we want and desire a committed relationship does not undermine our own independence and accomplishments as women. But being able to have a loving and supportive partner to share in those successes and accomplishments is even nicer.

Juxtaposed to feminism is this so-called “bae” culture, in which men are openly unfaithful, fathering several children by different women, side chicks act like main chicks, main chicks rarely become the wife, and baby mamas are the norm. It’s no wonder the idea of prioritizing a man before your child can seem blasphemous. Many of us have no idea what a healthy marriage looks like. Hearing Kelly Rowland, a successful, independent woman herself, talk passionately about placing her husband before her baby, may make some women uncomfortable because they can’t possibly relate to having the kind of relationship that even allows for that type of love.

So, should the marriage be a priority? I would say yes and there is evidence to support this idea. Your husband isn’t just some man or the latest boo in your life. He’s your partner, and deserves as much love and attention as he can stand. This doesn’t mean that you don’t love your children, it just means you see the importance of cherishing the man who you deemed worthy of being your partner for life. Plus without him, you wouldn’t have those little rugrats in the first place.

A happy and healthy marriage sets the foundation for a happy and healthy family. When children see their parents in a loving, committed relationship they’re given a model of how marriage is supposed to be. It also helps them to be less self-centered if they can realize, at a young age that the world and their parents do not revolve around them.

As with most things in life there should be a balance. Any parent will attest that raising children is hard work and most of us can’t afford nannies and housekeepers to help with the daily tasks of managing a household. However, when the husband and wife equally share in the childrearing and household chores, it frees up more time that can be put toward the relationship, long after the kids are asleep. For instance, Waldman claims her husband cooks, cleans and cares for their children at least 50 percent of the time which probably explains why she is still married, still happy and still stands by the statements she made over a decade ago

For years Essence Magazine has featured love stories of recently engaged and married couples in an effort to celebrate black love and I am here for it. We live in a culture that doesn’t seem to value marriage anymore. But celebrating marriage is a good thing and it doesn’t make us any less the independent feminists we see ourselves as. Hell, even Beyonce shed some of her Independent Woman image after she became Mrs. Carter. Now she sings love songs about their relationship and mutual love for surfboarding, all while being a devoted mother to little Blue Ivy.

There is no denying that the bond between a mother and her child is unbreakable and parents must invest as much as they can into loving, nurturing and providing for their children. But the investment you make in your marriage can also pay dividends. When the day finally comes for your children to leave the home—which is what they are supposed to do—the last thing any couple wants is to stare into the face of their beloved spouse and wonder why in the world they married each other in the first place.

Photo: Shutterstock

Hilary Christian is a freelance writer and fundraiser from Chicago who is a regular contributor to For Harriet, and her work has also been featured in Wild Sister Magazine and Corset Magazine. Check out her blog, follow her at @HilChristian and like her Facebook.

by C. Imani Williams


Last week, WNBA stars Brittney Griner and Glory Johnson were married. The celebrity couple had been in the news two weeks prior when they were both arrested on assault charges following a physical altercation between the two at their Arizona home. As various professional sports associations crack down on domestic violence, it was confirmed on Friday, May 15, 2015 that both women will be suspended for record number of seven games during the upcoming WNBA season.