The Circle of Becoming: Self-Discovery •Becoming • Purpose

She wasn’t twerking.She wasn’t beat to the gods.She wasn’t sexualized or softened or made to look like a fantasy.

She was just… standing.
Braided hair. Full hips. Dark skin. A resting stance.
And that was enough to piss people off.

A Black woman statue, created by British artist Thomas J Price, recently went viral—and the responses were telling. People were disgusted. Not just non-Black people. Us too.

From Jim Crow jokes to cruel comparisons to cartoon characters, the disrespect was loud and quick.

But let’s be honest about what really happened.

They Didn’t Hate the Statue. They Hated the Reflection.

We say we want representation.
We say we want to be seen.

But when we are—unfiltered, unedited, everyday—we flinch.
Because we’ve been taught to hate our normal. To fear our own features.

What Thomas J Price created wasn’t just a statue. It was a cultural intervention.

He sculpted an average Black woman—no theatrics, no glam.
Just presence. Stillness. Dignity.
And that was the threat. Because her body didn’t ask for approval. Her posture didn’t seek permission.

She just existed. And for some, that was too much.

Internalized Mockery Runs Deep

We need to call this what it is: generational distortion.

From minstrel shows to Aunt Jemima, Black femininity has always been ridiculed unless it served someone else.
We were either the mule, the mammy, or the hypersexual.

So when a statue comes along that simply is—not striving, not serving, not sacrificing—we don’t know how to process it.
We attack it. Laugh at it. Degrade it.
Because somewhere along the way, we started doing the oppressor’s job for them.

This statue triggered a psychic wound in our community that we haven’t dealt with. And until we do, we’ll keep rejecting our own image whenever it’s not dipped in filters or fantasy.

Thomas J Price Saw Us

Let’s not forget the man behind the art.
Thomas J Price created this piece with intention. He said he wanted to elevate the ordinary.
To make the everyday Black woman visible in a world that tries to erase her.

This wasn’t just a statue—it was reclamation.
It was Black art, by a Black artist, for Black truth.

He didn’t choose a figure that fits whitewashed beauty standards.
He chose us. The women he sees on the train, on the sidewalk, in the grocery store.
The ones with headscarves and curves.
The ones that matter even when they’re not trying to impress you.

Dear Black Woman, Look Again

If your first response to that statue was laughter or shame, I invite you to look again.
Sit with the discomfort. Ask yourself why it’s there.

That statue is not an insult—it’s a mirror.
And maybe what you see has more to do with the lies you’ve been told than the truth of who you are.

She’s not a meme.
She’s not a mistake.
She’s you.
She’s us.

Unapologetic. Uncurated. Unmoved.

And most importantly—deserving of space.

If this post spoke to something in you, leave a comment, share with a sister, or journal through the discomfort. Healing starts with honesty.