By Elma-Lorraine Diggs • August 2026
Can I tell you something? I no longer want to be the "strong Black woman."
A few years ago, after experiencing several hard losses, I decided I was entering my soft girl era. What did that look like for me? Learning to say no. Protecting my energy. Prioritizing, and I mean really prioritizing. Pouring into myself. Not being afraid to show vulnerability. Creating spaces where my feminine energy could not only thrive, but be protected.
After a while, the soft girl era became my baseline. I wasn't going back.
No S On My Chest
That meant saying at work, "I'm overstretched." As a single mother, it meant telling my children, "I don't have an S on my chest. We all have to carry some of this weight."
Now, don't get it twisted. I can always pull from that strength. I always will. But if I'm honest, the more I've learned to be vulnerable, the more I've allowed myself to be soft, the harder it has become to make that transition back into survival mode.
The Women Who Held It Down Before Me
Recently, though, I had to reflect on the women who came before me. They walked this journey. They raised families. Supported loved ones. Built communities. Survived things I can barely imagine. And they held it DOWN.
So when I need that extra strength, I pray. I spend some time with the Lord. And sometimes, I reach for the things that remind me I come from something much bigger than myself.
I Wear My Legacy
I'll put on my cowrie shell necklace, knowing women have adorned themselves with cowrie shells for generations, a sign of protection worn entering into war. Or I'll reach for my brass pieces and think about the hands and the tradition behind them.
The designs may be new. The process isn't. The people aren't. We ain't new to this. We true to this.
And while I'm still figuring out my own path, I find comfort in knowing I am part of a much longer journey. I am the dream and the hope of the slave, and at the same time, I am becoming one of the women the next generation will look back to. I won't do it exactly the way the women before me did it. I don't believe I'm supposed to. But their pattern reminds me that being a strong Black woman does not have to mean carrying everything, suffering silently, or denying myself softness.
I get to define what strength looks like for me.
Softness can be strength. Vulnerability can be strength. Rest can be strength. Saying no can be strength. Faith can be strength.
And when I need a little reminder, I wear my legacy.
Handcrafted with pride. Made for the culture.
The Collection
Wear Your Legacy
Handcrafted pieces from across Africa. Each one carries a story worth wearing.
