Trying to make sense of my frustration and why I refuse to stay quiet.

Hi. My name is Tasha Monroe. I am a writer, small business owner, a woman living with a chronic illness that makes daily pain my most reliable companion, and someone who has spent years building worlds on the page, in community, and inside my own stubborn hope that humanity can do better. I read policy reports like some people read romance novels (though I enjoy a good romance or Hallmark movie like anyone else). I write poetry on nights when I cannot sleep. And like so many of you, I have been looking around lately and asking myself, What more can I do?

It frustrates me that so much influence is wasted on the most self-absorbed people on the planet. Yes, there are people with big platforms who use their reach for good. I see them and I am grateful for them. But at the same time, the lack of humanity and empathy I see from the top all the way down to the bottom of the barrel feels like a gut punch. It is like staring at a house on fire while the people with the loudest megaphones are selling tickets to watch it burn.

I have been part of local activist groups. I have shown up at events. I have met people who are pouring everything they have into defending the vulnerable, protecting the planet, and demanding something better. They have turned me on to causes I did not even know needed support. I want to do more. I want to help in all the ways. But the truth is, I feel small. My voice does not carry far. It feels like I am standing in the middle of a storm yelling into the wind.

And yet, here I am. Still yelling. Still showing up. Still refusing to be quiet.

Because what else do we do.

We are watching a political culture where some leaders are openly entertaining things that should never even be up for debate. Child marriage. Stripping away protections. Making it harder for women and girls to simply exist safely. We are watching empathy get stripped out of law, out of policy, and out of leadership. And when that happens, it becomes everyone’s job, especially women’s job, to push back with whatever voice we have.

Maybe mine is small. But small does not mean useless. One voice connects to another, and then another. That is how movements are built. That is how history shifts, even if it is by inches at a time.

I keep coming back to this. Influence may be wasted in some places, but it is not wasted everywhere. The question is where do we put our voices, our time, our presence. Who do we choose to echo.

I am not naïve. I know a single op-ed or a single post will not undo systemic rot. But I also know silence does not save anyone. So here I am, with my small voice, saying the thing out loud. We have to protect our girls. We have to demand better. We have to stay human in a world that is getting more inhumane by the day.

Small does not mean nothing.

I know I am only one person. A Black woman, a storyteller, an activist in progress. Someone who cannot turn away even when the weight feels impossible. I write because words are my survival tool, my way of leaving a trail for whoever comes after me. If my voice is small, so be it. But it will not be silent. And if you have read this far, maybe your voice will not be either. 

Still here. Still her. Still with you.

 

Tasha Monroe 

Founder, Simply Edyn & Co.   | Fight + Light

Writer & Editor, The Commons Dispatch

PS — A few things worth your attention right now:

·       📚 Banned Books Week begins today. The theme this year is “Censorship is so 1984. Read for your rights.” Pick up a banned book (shop 🔗: Lioness Books), share it with a friend, or read it out loud to remind yourself why stories matter.

·       🧡 The Center for Child Protection continues to do vital work to keep children safe from abuse and exploitation. Learn about them, support if you can, and spread the word.