This week, I found myself in conversation with a sister-friend about why most Black women (and many others who abide by the fundamental principles of equality and community care) felt so undone after the 2024 election.
She’d recently read the prologue of my new book, You Are Before the World: Lessons on Doing Good without Being Undone, in which I address the impact of political action on our emotional wellness and ability to live freely and fairly.
“It’s a beautiful story. But…do you have to get into politics?” she asked, gently raising a red flag. After she explained her less weighty response to the election result, I paused and took a breath—grateful for the important reminder that Black women are not a monolith.
Do you have to get into politics?
The question is not new. The first time my husband read the prologue, he expressed concern that my candid commentary on what I perceived to be an existential threat to our shared humanity would limit my audience.
“I’m not sure it’s necessary,” John suggested. “The book isn’t really about that.” He was right, of course. You Are Before the World isn’t about politics. And at the same time…isn’t everything?
For millions of Americans (and billions of global citizens) who’ve been relegated to the margins, the “hard line” between the political and personal is not a line at all. It’s more like a broken circle—airy and uneven—where harm seeps into the cracks and drowns things: opportunities, safety, health, family, peace. So, while I understand that pointing at the inciting incident may narrow my audience, I’m choosing to trust myself to close that circle with care. Is trust a strategy? Maybe not, but this isn’t strategic for me. It’s spiritual. And I’m not managing risk. I’m being obedient.
What’s more, the last time I sanitized a book, I regretted it. In 2014, I’d written Say Yes: A Woman’s Guide to Advancing Her Professional Purpose specifically for women of color. The stories, advice, and watchouts were about and for Black and brown women. I knew there was a gap in the market, but well-meaning friends and family insisted the work was relevant to all women. “So why limit it?”
In failing to name its true audience, I didn’t “broaden the appeal” of that book. I generalized it, and without the resonance—an overt invitation to those who needed to be seen and guided during that time—it fell short of its potential.
I don’t blame those who encouraged the pursuit of a wider audience. They were trying to help. What bothered me is that I ignored my intuition. In the years since Say Yes was published, many business books boldly targeting Black and brown women have made a tremendous impact on people’s hearts and lives. Proof that I was attuned, even if a bit early.
This time, I’m honoring my experience and my story. In the days and weeks following the election, new levels of spiritual awareness, clarity, and courage were unlocked in me. I’m not the same person I was almost a year ago. It took a watershed moment to facilitate this shift—to inspire a reckoning that was hard to go through but healing to get through. I can’t leave that out.
I know I’m not the only person who felt what I felt or saw what I saw. We weren’t being dramatic, or partisan, or tunnel visioned. We were—we are—keenly aware of the fragility of our social contracts. We were sensitive to the realities of those who have been and are being left behind. We sensed the future…and knew we couldn’t afford to take our independence for granted.
And then.
And now.
Like an accident you warned people to avoid right before they drove headlong into it, this “now” is so very hard to witness. It hurts. And the fact that it’s not surprising doesn’t make it hurt less.
Even so, from brokenness can come a holy reimagining—a new vision that makes room for healing and beauty and forgiveness and light. A clearing that calls us to fill it with our voices and art and knowledge and action. That’s what happened to me. For me. That’s what’s possible for you. And this, my friends, is what You Are Before the World is really about.
Tara Jaye Frank
Photo by Ku Nakagawa from Ninety-Two: The Rest Rebellion No One Saw Coming