The women in my family were not flat. They were wooden spoon warriors, courtroom commandos; daughters who birthed nations not only in delivery rooms but also in classrooms, sometimes laboratories and always in those quiet dark places where doubt often hid to steal hope.

My mother and her mothers, from grands to great-greats, were round and full women; filling all of themselves and the positions they chose to occupy. Although their signatures are not on many national documents, their fingerprints are embedded and imprinted on every cornerstone and pillar that holds up my world. This blog space is dedicated to all that I am and have come to understand because of them.