I believe deep in my head and in my heart that Black people are brilliant, bold and beautiful. But brilliance, boldness and beauty alone will not save us if we continue to look away from the cracks forming under our feet and in our communities.
My grandmother, a woman of wisdom and fire, used to say, “We cannot fix what we will not face.” And lately, I have been thinking about how true that is—especially now.
Everywhere I look, I see pain hiding behind pride. I see people carrying trauma like it is part of their wardrobe. I see our youth searching for direction, our elders feeling forgotten, and our neighborhoods being reshaped without us.
The headlines tell one story, but the streets tell another. And if we are honest, many of us are tired—tired of pretending, tired of surviving, tired of acting like everything is fine when everything around us is signaling otherwise.
We are living in a moment where truth must rise above comfort. And the truth is, some of our houses are burning from the inside, and we are still decorating the porch. We need to face what is really going on in our communities.
Let us face the rise in gun violence that is stealing the futures of Black boys and girls before they have a chance to dream. Let us face the gentrification that is displacing Black families from neighborhoods like Leimert Park, Crenshaw and Baldwin Hills—places we have called home for generations. Let us face the silent mental health crisis, the untreated trauma, and the generational wounds we have been told to pray away, push through or keep to ourselves.
We cannot keep normalizing pain and calling it culture. We cannot call survival success. We cannot look at the suffering around us and shrug like we do not know where it comes from.
We are not powerless—but we are running out of time to act like these issues do not belong to us all.
Let me be clear: This is not about blame; it is about responsibility. We did not create all the conditions we now endure, but we are responsible for how we respond to them. And we have more power than we think.
Some of our young people are not lost—they are looking for guidance, love and accountability. Some of our elders are not tired—they are tired of being invisible. Our families are not broken—they are bruised by silence, secrets and shame.
We must tell the truth in our homes, in our churches and in our schools. We must lead with honesty, not ego. With care, not control. With healing, not hate.
Our leaders—whether elected or self-appointed—need to be consistent, not just visible in crisis. We need less performance and more presence. We need people who do not just speak from stages, but who sit at kitchen tables and listen.
And yes, we need programs and policies, but we also need people—everyday people—willing to care, to show up, to stay.
Healing starts at home. It starts with checking on our neighbor. It starts with asking our kids what they are feeling, not just what they are doing. It starts with holding space for our grief and our joy.
We are not beyond repair. We are bruised, but we are brave. We are weary, but we are wise. We have experienced brokenness, but we are building something new.
Remember, we cannot fix what we are not willing to face. If we want healing in our communities and in our families, we must be willing to face the things we do not want to—even if they are uncomfortable. Our future generations will thank us.
Healing Without Hate: It’s a choice. It’s a lifestyle. Pass it on.
Visit www.WendyGladney.com and www.forgivingforliving.org to learn more. Wendy is a life strategist, coach, consultant, author and speaker.
