How We Thrive in the World

In honor of Juneteenth, writers Laura Cathcart Robbins and Tracey Michae'l Lewis-Giggetts share their joys, challenges and hopes for the future. The biggest lesson? Community can come together in unexpected ways.

- Laura Cathcart Robbins and Tracey Michae'l Lewis-Giggetts

How I Became a Familiar Face

To those looking for a “sister” or just someone to lean on, I want to fill the gap.

by Laura Cathcart Robbins

"Remember, Laura, if you're ever in trouble, always look for a sister."

The year was 1972. I was 7 and about to fly by myself for the second time ever. As my father said goodbye, he knelt down, looked me in the eye and said those words. Meaning that a Black woman, any Black woman, would probably offer me more safety and protection than the white flight attendants.

Fifty years later, whenever I enter a room, I do just that. When we find each other and our eyes meet, we usually nod or smile, the unspoken code for "I see you."

In 2008, I was newly divorced and a mom to two young boys. I was also deeply ashamed about being an addict (Ambien was my drug of choice) and, oddly enough, even more ashamed to be in recovery. I had just left an all-white drug and alcohol treatment center and returned home to Los Angeles. When I arrived at my first recovery meeting after rehab, I looked around the room for a sister to make me feel safe. But I was the only non-white person there.

After a few months of daily meetings, I stopped focusing on the differences and managed to find some similarities. The woman in the seat next to me was also newly divorced. The lady with the Boston accent cried when she talked about the shame of being an alcoholic mom. As resistant as I was to "joining" this group, these meetings were saving my life.

It took 10 years to assemble a small group of Black women who felt safe enough to share in a mostly white space. Each time a Black newcomer walked in the door, one of us would welcome her. Slowly we became a small brown oasis in a sea of white faces.