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Thousands of Black children enter the foster care system every year and struggle with adjusting to their new and ever-changing surroundings, especially at bedtime, when many foster children suffer from night terrors and sleeplessness. After watching her own foster sister go through this trauma, Nicole Russell started the Precious Dreams Foundation, a nonprofit dedicated to helping children cope with fear and anxiety in healthy ways.

One of those ways is through journaling.

“In writing your truth, it allows you to self-reflect and work on your issues and become more clear about the situations and events you’re going through,” Russell shared…

A child-free life is just as rich and meaningful as anyone else’s

Black woman tickling a young Black boy, he is giggling and covering his face.
Black woman tickling a young Black boy, he is giggling and covering his face.
Photo: Sean De Burca/Getty Images

I love babies. Always have. I love their chubby little cheeks, the way their little hands grasp around my fingers, and the bug-eyed, unblinking way they look at you when you make any sort of unexpected sound.

Kids seem to take to me pretty well and pretty easily too. I’m among the eldest of my cousins, with the youngest being eight years old. I also taught elementary students in the earlier stages of my career. Nothing about children mystifies or confuses me. I don’t find them strange or repulsive. Most of the time, they’re pretty funny. Sticky, but funny.


Our second-grade teacher said it was a ‘fast flu’ that ‘scatters fast’

Photo: MoMo Productions/Getty Images

The teacher told my seven-year-old about the novel coronavirus, and I’m glad she did.

Ever since the first fears came down about COVID-19 back in January, I’ve wondered aloud how to tell my children how to deal with what I knew back then would become an epidemic. So I said nothing but focused instead on stocking up on foods and medicine and reminding my children how to properly wash their hands. Three weeks ago seems like a very long time now. And of course, I was wrong about the virus as it became a pandemic. …

Despite what my auntie taught me, being a mom doesn’t require martyrdom

Credit: Ariel Skelley/Getty Images

It took me one hour to birth a healthy daughter — and another four years to conceive a healthy version of motherhood. A version that didn’t require the death of my dreams or my former self.

One that allowed space for the woman who once spent three months exploring Spain solo. It’s a version of motherhood that is the exact opposite of what I saw in my community and family.

The Black mothers in my life have killed their dreams in the name of love. Because once you have children, the woman you were and the mom you currently are…


Bold, yet refined. A publication from Medium for Black women.

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