Women Who Inspire Me

Sonia Sanchez (born Wilsonia Benita Driver in 1934) is a legendary American poet, playwright, professor, and activist. She is a seminal figure in the Black Arts Movement and is widely considered one of the most vital voices in contemporary poetry.

Here is a breakdown of her life, work, and legacy.

1. A Pillar of the Black Arts Movement

Emerging in the 1960s alongside contemporaries like Amiri Baraka and Nikki Giovanni, Sanchez used her art to advocate for Black liberation and cultural pride. She was one of the first scholars to introduce Black Studies courses at the university level (San Francisco State University), pioneering a curriculum that is now standard across the U.S.

Her early work was fiery and revolutionary, often using the vernacular of the streets and the rhythms of jazz to critique racism and sexism.

2. The Philadelphia Connection

While born in Alabama and raised in Harlem, Sanchez is deeply associated with Philadelphia, where she has lived since 1976.

• First Poet Laureate: She served as Philadelphia’s very first Poet Laureate (2012–2013).

• Temple University: She taught at Temple for decades, holding the Laura Carnell Chair in English until her retirement in 1999. She remains a beloved figure in the city’s cultural landscape.

3. Literary Style: Jazz, Blues, and Haiku

Sanchez is known for her innovative use of language. She does not just write for the page; she writes for the voice.

• Musicality: Her poetry often mimics the scatting of jazz or the moans of the blues. She is known for "performing" her poems with intense vocal fluctuations.

• Haiku: Surprisingly to some, she is a master of the Japanese haiku form. She uses this strict, short format to discuss expansive topics like civil rights, love, and African American history.

• Experimental Spelling: In works like We a BaddDDD People, she used non-standard spelling to capture the unique cadence and sound of Black speech.

4. Essential Works

If you are looking to explore her writing, these are considered her cornerstones:

• For Revolution: Homecoming (1969) – Her debut collection, marking her arrival as a major voice of the Black Arts Movement.

• For Prose & Poetry: Homegirls and Handgrenades (1984) – Won the American Book Award; a powerful mix of poetry and prose.

• For Epic Narrative: Does Your House Have Lions? (1997) – A finalist for the National Book Critics Circle Award, this memoir-in-verse explores her brother’s battle with AIDS.

• For Mastery of Form: Morning Haiku (2010) – A beautiful collection showcasing her mastery of the haiku structure.

5. Activism

Sanchez has never separated her art from her politics. She was briefly a member of the Nation of Islam (leaving due to its treatment of women) and has spent her life advocating for the peace movement, women's rights, and racial justice.

Bibliography:

Poetry Collections

This is the core of her body of work, tracing her evolution from the fiery rhetoric of the 1960s to her later mastery of haiku and jazz-blues forms.

• 1969: Homecoming (Her debut)

• 1970: We a BaddDDD People

• 1973: Love Poems

• 1974: A Blues Book for Blue Black Magical Women

• 1978: I've Been a Woman: New and Selected Poems

• 1984: Homegirls & Handgrenades (Winner of the American Book Award)

• 1987: Under a Soprano Sky

• 1995: Wounded in the House of a Friend

• 1997: Does Your House Have Lions? (Finalist for the National Book Critics Circle Award)

• 1998: Like the Singing Coming off the Drums: Love Poems

• 1999: Shake Loose My Skin: New and Selected Poems

• 2010: Morning Haiku

• 2021: Collected Poems (A comprehensive retrospective of her career)

Plays

Sanchez was a key playwright in the Black Arts Movement, often writing experimental dramas that utilized avant-garde staging.

• 1969: Sister Son/ji

• 1970: The Bronx Is Next

• 1974: Uh, Huh: But How Do It Free Us?

• 1979: Malcolm Man/Don't Live Here No Mo'

• 1982: I'm Black When I'm Singing, I'm Blue When I Ain't

• 1995: Black Cats Back and Uneasy Landings

• 2010: I'm Black When I'm Singing, I'm Blue When I Ain't and Other Plays (Collection)

Books for Children

• 1971: It's a New Day: Poems for Young Brothas and Sistuhs

• 1973: The Adventures of Fat Head, Small Head, and Square Head

• 1980: A Sound Investment and Other Stories

Edited Anthologies

• 1971: Three Hundred and Sixty Degrees of Blackness Comin' at You

• 1973: We Be Word Sorcerers: 25 Stories by Black Americans

Note on a Common Mix-up: If you search for her books online, you might see titles like The Little Red Fort or Here I Am. These are illustrated by a different person named Sonia Sánchez (a Spanish illustrator), not the poet Sonia Sanchez.

Sunday's Mental Health Check-In: December 28, 2025

Sunday Mental Health Check-In: Is Your Cup Too Full?

Happy Sunday, family. Take a look at the image above. Close your eyes for a second, tilt your head back, and just… breathe.

We are right at the edge of a new year. The air feels heavy with reflection, doesn’t it? Today, I want to pause and talk about what we are carrying into this new week (and this new year), and more importantly, what we need to set down.

I came across an African proverb recently that stopped me in my tracks:

"If you are filled with pride, then you will have no room for wisdom." (Origin: African / General)

The Overcrowded Room

We usually think of "pride" as a good thing—taking joy in our achievements. But in the context of our mental health, pride often masquerades as Ego.

It’s that voice that says, "I don't need help," "I already know that," or "I’m fine," when you are visibly crumbling.

Think of your mind like a living room. If that room is wall-to-wall with old furniture (your rigid beliefs, your need to be right, your defense mechanisms), there is physically no space to bring in anything new. You cannot bring in the comfortable couch of Healing if the jagged chair of Arrogance is taking up all the space.

Humility as a Healing Tool

The wisdom of this proverb reminds us that an overcrowded mind cannot learn. If you think you have all the answers, the universe (and your therapist, and your friends) cannot give you the clarity you are desperate for.

Humility is not about thinking less of yourself; it is about thinking of yourself less rigidly.

It is the quiet power of saying:

• "I don't know the answer to this."

• "I am actually really hurting right now."

• "I might be wrong about how I see this situation."

The "Emptying" Practice

So, for this Sunday Check-In, let’s practice clearing the room.

1. Drop the "I'm Fine" Shield: It’s heavy, and it’s blocking your blessings. Be honest about where you are.

2. Ask a Question: Instead of declaring a statement today, ask a question. Ask the world, God, or your own heart: "What do I need to learn right now?"

3. Breathe Like the Visual: Look at the animation again. Notice how she looks peaceful? That peace comes from surrender, not control.

The Takeaway: You cannot heal what you refuse to acknowledge, and you cannot learn what you think you already know. Make room for wisdom today. Clear out the pride, and let the healing flow in.

Tell me in the comments: What is one thing you are willing to "unlearn" or let go of this week to make room for peace?

Let’s grow together. 🤎 

Happy Kwanzaa from The Akua Projects' story from Rakia Ari

The First Fruits: A Kwanzaa Story

The morning sun of December 26th filtered into the cozy living room, casting a warm glow over the remnants of Christmas wrapping paper that had been cleared away to make room for a new setup. Nana entered the room, a calendar in one hand and a smile on her face that seemed to brighten the space even more.

"Good morning, family!" Nana announced, her voice rich with anticipation. "Today is a special day. It’s December 26th, the start of Kwanzaa!"

Kofi, bursting with the energy only a young boy possesses, looked up from the low table he had been inspecting. "Kwanzaa?" he asked, tilting his head. "Is that a religious holiday like Christmas?"

Nana shook her head gently, placing a hand on his shoulder. "No, Kofi. It’s a secular, pan-African cultural holiday. It runs from today until January 1st. It isn't about religion; it’s about celebrating our history, heritage, and community."

Nana’s eyes grew distant for a moment, reflecting on the past. "It was established in 1966 by Dr. Maulana Karenga, right after the Watts Riots in Los Angeles. It was a difficult time, and he wanted to bring African Americans together to restore our sense of community and pride."

Aria, who had entered carrying a woven straw mat, nodded enthusiastically. "He modeled it after traditional African harvest festivals, right Nana?"

"Exactly, Aria!" Nana beamed at her granddaughter. "The name comes from the Swahili phrase matunda ya kwanza, which means 'first fruits.'"

Aria moved to the low table and carefully unfurled the woven mat. "Okay, let’s set up the altar. First is the Mkeka."

"Yes," Nana affirmed, watching Aria smooth out the straw. "The mat represents our tradition and history. It is the foundation upon which everything else rests. Without it, the other symbols have nothing to stand on."

Next, Nana placed a beautiful wooden candleholder on the mat. Kofi rushed over, his hands full of candles—three red, one black, and three green.

"Here is the Kinara and the Mishumaa Saba—the seven candles!" Kofi announced, handing them over. "But why these colors, Nana?"

Nana began placing the candles into the Kinara. "The Kinara represents our ancestry. As for the colors, they are vital to who we are. Black is for the people, Red is for the struggle we have endured, and Green is for the future and the hope we hold."

She pointed to the seven unlit candles now standing tall. "These seven candles represent the Nguzo Saba—The Seven Principles. We dedicate one day to each." She ran her finger along the line. "There is Umoja for Unity, Kujichagulia for Self-Determination, Ujima for Collective Work, and Ujamaa for Cooperative Economics. Then we have Nia for Purpose, Kuumba for Creativity, and finally, Imani for Faith."

Aria returned from the kitchen carrying a bowl overflowing with fresh fruits and vegetables, which she arranged artfully on the mat. "We add the Mazao, the crops, to celebrate the harvest and the rewards of our productive labor."

"And I’m putting down the Muhindi!" Kofi exclaimed, placing two ears of corn on the Mkeka. "One ear for me, and one for Aria!"

"That’s right," Nana laughed softly. "The corn represents the children and the future of our family." She then placed a simple wooden chalice in the center of the arrangement. "And this is the Kikombe cha Umoja, the Unity Cup. We use it to pour libations to honor our ancestors."

As the day turned to evening, the atmosphere in the room shifted to one of reverence. The family gathered around the now-complete altar.

"So, how do we start the ritual?" Aria asked.

"Every night, we ask the greeting: 'Habari Gani?'" Nana said, looking at her grandchildren. "It means, 'What is the news?'"

Kofi puffed out his chest. "And we answer with the principle of the day! Today is day one, so the answer is 'Umoja'—Unity!"

"Correct," Nana said. She struck a match and lit the single black candle in the very center. The flame flickered to life, illuminating their faces. "We light the Black candle first. Then, over the next few days, we will light the others, alternating from the red on the left—representing struggle—to the green on the right—representing hope."

They stood in the glow of the candlelight, feeling the warmth of the moment.

"I can't wait for December 31st," Nana mused. "We will have the Karamu, a great feast with our community, food, and dance."

"And on the last day, for Imani," Kofi grinned, "we get Zawadi! Gifts!"

Aria nudged him playfully. "Yes, but remember, they are usually educational or handmade gifts. It’s about encouraging growth and creativity, not just buying commercial stuff." She smiled at her brother. "It’s going to be a beautiful week."

Nana put her arms around both of them, pulling them close as the black candle burned steadily.

"Happy Kwanzaa, my loves."

"Happy Kwanzaa!" they replied in unison.

 

The Akua Projects' Holiday Mental Health Check-In: Thursday, December 25, 2025

Title: The Donkey’s Kick: A Holiday Mental Health Reality Check

If you look closely at the image attached to this post, you’ll see it’s labeled as a "Holiday Mental Health Check-In" from The Akua Project. And honestly? It couldn't be more timely.

The holidays are often framed as the season of endless giving. We give our time, our energy, our money, and our emotional bandwidth. But there is a very specific, stinging type of pain that comes when that generosity is met not with thanks, but with hostility.

The image shares a West African proverb that captures this feeling perfectly:

"The way a donkey expresses gratitude is by giving someone a bunch of kicks."

It’s a warning about ingratitude. It reminds us that sometimes, you can do everything right for someone, and they will still turn around and hurt you. To illustrate this, I want to share a traditional folktale called The Farmer and the Crocodile.

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The Story: The Trap of Blind Charity

A farmer was walking by the river one day when he spotted a crocodile tangled hopelessly in a strong fishing net. The crocodile, seeing a chance for escape, turned on the waterworks. He wept and begged, "Please, brother man, cut this net. If you save me, I will be eternally grateful."

The farmer was a kind soul. Moved by the creature's tears, he took out his knife and cut the net.

The crocodile stepped free, stretched his massive limbs, and—SNAP. He immediately grabbed the farmer’s leg between his jaws.

"What are you doing?" the farmer cried in terror. "I just saved your life!"

"Yes," the crocodile replied coldly. "But I am hungry. And the way of the world is that good deeds are repaid with bad."

Desperate to stall, the farmer begged to find three judges to decide if this betrayal was fair.

1. The First Judge (The Old Mat): They asked an old mat lying on the riverbank. It said, "I was used for years, then thrown away. Eat him."

2. The Second Judge (The Old Horse): They asked an old horse, who said, "I worked until my back broke, then I was abandoned. Eat him."

It seemed the crocodile was right. The world was ungrateful. But finally, they asked a Rabbit (the trickster figure of folklore).

The Rabbit pretended to be confused. "I cannot judge unless I see exactly how it happened," the Rabbit said. "Show me how you were caught."

Frustrated, the crocodile crawled back into the net to demonstrate. "Like this!" he snapped.

In a flash, the Rabbit tied the net tight again.

"Now," said the Rabbit to the farmer, "you have your life back. Run away. Not everyone appreciates kindness, and you must know who you are saving."

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The "Mental Health Check-In"

So, how does this relate to the "Holiday Mental Health Check-In" mentioned in the image?

During the holidays, many of us play the role of the Farmer. We see people in "nets" (crises, drama, financial trouble) and we rush to cut them loose because we are good people.

But we have to remember the lesson of the Rabbit. Blind charity can be dangerous.

If you have people in your life who act like the crocodile—people who take your help and repay you with "kicks" or drama—it is not your job to keep saving them.

This season, protecting your mental health might mean acting a little less like the Farmer and a little more like the Rabbit. It means recognizing that:

• Boundaries are necessary.

• Not everyone receives kindness with grace.

• It is okay to walk away (or leave the net tied) to protect your own peace.

Don't let the "donkey's kicks" bruise your spirit this year. Know who you are saving.

Have you ever experienced a "donkey kick" after helping someone? Let me know in the comments how you handled it.