I asked a simple question: Are you okay?
There was no answer. No text. No call. Just silence.
At first, I thought it was about one project, one agreement that unraveled. But the truth is, it was never just about that. The summit mattered — not for the money, but for what it represented. What cut deeper was what the silence revealed: the absence of integrity, the absence of respect, the absence of sisterhood.
Because in this life, very little truly belongs to us. Not our children — they grow and become their own people. Not the spaces we build or the clothes we wear — the world reshapes those, too.
What we do own — what no one can strip away — are our values. Our character. Our integrity. Our loyalty.
And when those fail, when silence replaces honesty, when ghosting replaces truth, it is more than disappointment. It is betrayal.
Sisterhood or Slogan?
As Black women, we preach sisterhood. We hashtag it. We sing about holding each other up. And often, we do. But the harder truth — the one we whisper only in quiet corners — is that sometimes our sisterhood is more performance than practice.
Sometimes we wear the jackets, chant the slogans, post the memes. But when it’s time to show up — to call back, to keep a promise, to stand in the gap — too often, we disappear into silence. And that silence is devastating.
It doesn’t just stop a project. It chips away at trust. It chips away at belief. It chips away at the fragile threads holding us together in a world that already places us at the bottom of the totem pole.
Stories That Stay With Me
Just weeks ago, I sat in a bank lobby and overheard two Black women talking. One, an elder, thanked her friend for always standing by her side. But then her tone shifted. She admitted that even within her sorority, the “sisterhood” she expected had failed her. The slogans didn’t translate into support. And the room grew heavy, because we all knew what she meant.
Or think of Kelly Price — a voice straight from heaven, singing her soul out on stage. Instead of receiving the flowers she deserved, she was mocked online by Black women for her clothes, her look, her size. Sisters in name, but not in action. And the pain in her response was undeniable.
I’ve felt that pain, too. Maybe you have.
Where Do We Run?
There’s an old song that asks, “Who Can I Run To?” — first sung by The Jones Girls, later echoed by Xscape. For me, the answer has always been God. Not as a last resort, not as “what’s left,” but as the foundation that has held me when people fell away.
When betrayal cut deep.
When silence screamed louder than words.
When “sisterhood” turned out to be branding instead of bond.
Because God has never failed me.
A Call to Presence
Character matters. Integrity matters. Showing up matters. We can talk about unity all day long, but when our actions don’t align, our words are propaganda.
So maybe the question isn’t just, “Where is the sisterhood?” Maybe the deeper question is, “How am I showing up as a sister today?”
Because sisterhood isn’t titles, hashtags, or jackets. It’s action. It’s calling instead of critiquing. Protecting, not projecting. Presence, not propaganda.
My 2 Cents
We don’t own much in this world. Not people. Not places. Not even the plans we make. What we do own is our word, our integrity, and how we choose to show up for one another.
And when silence replaces honesty, when loyalty disappears, when accountability goes missing, what remains is betrayal.
So the next time you call someone “sis,” ask yourself:
Will your actions prove it?
Because when someone asks, “Where were you?” — there should be an answer.