Being 50 with a 23-year-old daughter who adores her 70-year-old grandmother and 40-something-year-old auntie makes my heart smile. But more than that, she got to love and interact with her great-grandmother, who would pass away in August 2017. I am so grateful for the women who surrounded me in love and support–even when it was tough love. I am eternally thankful to my matrilineal family– but where are those villages of women? The women who are not related to us by blood but who love us all the same?
I have to admit that not every Black woman is blessed with a close-knit family to lean on. For so many of us, the “village” isn’t something we’re born into—it’s something we have to build from scratch. It’s in those spaces where other Black women step in, filling the gaps where a family might not exist. These bonds, forged outside of bloodlines, are nothing short of lifelines. They affirm us, uplift us, and remind us we’re not alone. When Black women show up for each other in this way, it’s more than support—it’s a ripple effect that strengthens not just the women involved but entire communities.
This spirit of solidarity was powerfully displayed on Feb. 23, when more than 10,000 people joined an emergency Zoom call to stand with Joy Reid after the announcement of her show, The ReidOut, being canceled. Organized by Win With Black Women and Win With Black Men, the call was a profound testament to the impact of Black women coming together in support of one another.
Activists Jotaka Eaddy and Khalil Thompson led the discussion, joined by Reid herself and other influential voices like Angela Rye. The virtual room was filled with notable attendees, including Don Lemon and Jacque Reid, underscoring the magnitude of the moment. During the conversation, Reid paid homage to Melissa Harris-Perry for paving the way for her at MSNBC, reflecting the cyclical nature of mentorship and support among Black women in journalism. the veteran journalist also emphasized the importance of continuing to uplift voices like Tiffany Cross, ensuring Black women’s perspectives remain central to national discourse.
The evening wasn’t just about solidarity—it was also a rallying cry. Participants were urged to follow Reid on social media and amplify the hashtags #WeNeedJoy and #TVOff. They were also encouraged to call MSNBC and voice their objections to the cancellation of The ReidOut. The collective action is a reminder of what happens when Black women unite with purpose. In a world that often sidelines their voices, these moments of solidarity not only push back against systemic barriers but also reinforce the invaluable role Black women play in shaping narratives. Whether through family, friendship, or professional networks, these connections are critical to resilience and success.
Reid made it her business to show her appreciation regarding the call to action.
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In 2009, I moved away from my hometown to Connecticut, leaving behind my nuclear family. I was on my own and alone, navigating unfamiliar territory. I’ll never forget my daughter’s cheerleading coach, Kelly. She stepped in when I most needed someone and filled the void with grace and generosity. Kelly wasn’t just a coach; she became a pillar. She showed up for my child, offering encouragement and structure, but she also showed up for me—a mother trying to balance everything while struggling to trust people in a new place. Kelly wasn’t bound to us by blood, yet she became a steady source of support when I desperately needed it.
When I had limited resources to keep my baby in cheer and tumbling, Kelly stepped in without hesitation, ensuring my daughter could continue doing what she loved—a selfless act that restored my faith in trusting others when life had taught me to be guarded.
Years later, when I relocated to Orlando, Florida, I found that same kind of support in my dear friend Sili. She became my sister in every way that mattered. In a city where I knew almost no one, she welcomed me and my young child with open arms, providing friendship, advice, and a sense of belonging. Sili was there for me in ways that reminded me of the strength of my chosen family. She saw me in my most vulnerable moments and never let me feel alone.
These women became my village—not tied to me by lineage but by shared humanity and the understanding that we all need each other to thrive. For my daughter, they were examples of love, resilience, and the beauty of community. For me, they were lifelines. In a world that often isolates, they reminded me that a village doesn’t always resemble what you expect. It’s not always the family you’re born into but the family you build when you dare to trust again.
Reclaiming the Village
For generations, the village has been the lifeblood of Black communities—a sacred web of connection where women leaned on one another for survival. It wasn’t just an ideal; it was a necessity. Grandmothers, sisters, neighbors, and friends came together to build networks of support that transcended bloodlines. In an era when systemic oppression denied Black women the right to own property, conduct business, or assert independence without the backing of a husband, they forged their own paths, cultivating resilience through collective care.
But today, the village feels fractured, if not absent, especially for young, single, low-income Black women navigating the challenges of modern life. A recent study of 35 single, low-income African American adolescent mothers revealed alarming trends. Over six months postpartum, nearly 65% experienced significant changes in their primary source of social support. These shifts often left them vulnerable, with fragmented networks replacing the consistency of an authentic village.
This erosion of communal care reflects more than personal challenges; it reveals the broader toll of systemic inequities. Poverty, racial discrimination, and the hyper-individualism of contemporary society have chipped away at the communal ethos that once defined Black womanhood. As judgment over age, marital status, or economic standing isolates young mothers, they are often excluded from the networks that should sustain them.
A Legacy of Survival
The original village wasn’t just about emotional support but a survival system. When laws and societal norms tied women’s identities and livelihoods to men, Black women built informal economies and pooled resources to sustain their families and communities. They shared childcare, cooked meals, and passed down the knowledge that ensured survival against seemingly insurmountable odds.
These acts of collective action were quiet revolutions, resisting a world that sought to strip them of agency. By leaning on one another, Black women preserved their dignity and secured their survival, defying systems that denied their humanity. Their reliance on one another wasn’t just about survival—it was a radical act of reclamation, a testament to the power of sisterhood in the face of oppression.
The Psychosocial Toll of a Fractured Village
Without a consistent village, today’s young mothers are often left to navigate parenthood alone. The consequences are profound: increased loneliness, lower self-esteem, and a ripple effect of challenges that can span generations. Emotional support correlates strongly with a mother’s self-worth, while its absence exacerbates feelings of isolation. Loneliness, in particular, is more than a feeling—it’s a public health crisis linked to mental health issues, weakened immune systems, and disrupted familial bonds.
Rebuilding the Village
The village can be rebuilt but will require intention and collective effort. It starts with compassion, rejecting narratives that shame young Black women for their circumstances. Communities, healthcare providers, and policymakers must create spaces where young women feel supported, valued, and seen.
One step is fostering intergenerational collaboration. The study showed that young mothers thrived when grandmothers, friends, and partners worked together. Programs that facilitate these connections—such as family-centered support groups or intergenerational mentorship programs—could reignite the village’s strength.
Community organizations can also serve as modern villages. Peer networks, virtual support groups, and initiatives designed for young Black women provide spaces for shared experiences and mutual empowerment. Healthcare providers can further strengthen these networks, acting as liaisons to identify consistent sources of support and helping women map out sustainable care systems.
Calling Back the Village
Rebuilding the village isn’t just about programs; it’s about changing mindsets. It means “calling in” the broader community, recognizing that everyone has a role to play in supporting Black women. It also means holding systems accountable—ensuring schools, workplaces, and healthcare providers prioritize policies that uplift Black women rather than isolate them.
Throughout history, Black women have shown what it means to thrive through collective action, using their ingenuity and unity to navigate oppressive systems. Reclaiming the village honors that legacy and ensures future generations of Black women can do more than survive—they can flourish.
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