In August, I was invited to attend the Highland Project Summer Dinner during the National Association of Black Journalists’ annual convention. The evening was a quiet, intimate event focused on food, fellowship, self-care and thought. During the five-course meal, Highland Project Founder Gabrielle Wyatt led a panel discussion, leaving us with a question to discuss between each course among the other participants at our table.
As women, we are expected to nurture families, build communities and hold movements together. And we tend to do that work quietly, faithfully and without applause or recognition. We balance generations of expectations, while our sacrifices go unnoticed because our strength is assumed and our resilience is expected. We show up, even when we are tired. We pour into others from personal wells we have to refill ourselves. We huddle together, finding release and care in each other because no one understands us like us. The dinner was a moment of self-care for us. A moment for us to rest, to nourish our bodies, our minds and our hearts.
At one point during the evening, Wyatt talked about bees—creatures that are wired for community. In a beehive, every single bee has a specific role to play. They work together and depend on each other to do what needs to be done so that the hive as a whole can thrive.
Bees do not “think of themselves as separate from the hive … they understand that everything that they do is for the good of the hive … to sustain the hive and support future generations,” she later posted on her Instagram with a photo from the night.
She then asked us, “What is your contribution to the hive?”
For a moment, we all looked at each other, trying to put into words the role we play, whether at work, in our homes or in our communities. There is a heaviness to the responsibilities that we as women bear that isn’t easily spoken.
That night in August, in a dimly lit restaurant, I answered quietly: “I’m a connector. I’m a teacher. I’m a leader.”
It was a short, semi-thoughtful answer.
Since that dinner, I have thought a lot about that question. What bees accomplish because of their dedication to community is admirable. As humans, we could learn a few things. How do we contribute to the greater good of the community and the world we live in? How do we make our work teams more productive or efficient? How do we inspire service in our communities? How do we teach our little humans to be good citizens and better people?
Now that I’ve had more than a month to think, I have a more thoughtful response.
As a Black woman, a mother, a wife and a writer, I see the power in my part of the hive. My life’s work has always been about tending to the hive around me. I may not have wings, but I know what it means to carry heavy loads for the good of the collective. I know what it means to pour from myself over and over, into my children, my students, my stories and my community, because I believe that one day my work will bear fruit.
As a writer, I record the stories that too often are overlooked, archiving the world so that those behind me can learn from their past and create better futures. As a wife, I anchor our home in love and faith. As a mother, I teach my children that their lives have purpose. That they come from ancestors who made something out of nothing. As a leader, I nurture spaces where others can bloom. All of these roles are important to building community and a better world.
Every bee in the hive, from the nurse tending the larvae, to the worker building the cone, to the forager bringing back sustenance, to the guard standing watch at the entrance, is essential for survival. I see myself in all of them. Some days I’m nurturing. Some days I’m defending. Some days I’m creating. And on the hardest days, I’m just trying to keep the hum going because I know others are depending on me.
I hope that when my children grow up, they will inherit a hive that hums a little louder, shines a little brighter and stands a little stronger than the one I entered. I want them to know that their mother didn’t just survive in this world; she helped change it. She worked to make it a fairer, kinder and more connected place.
That’s my role in the hive: to care deeply, to create without fear and to lead with love.
Sometimes the best lessons about how to build a better world don’t come from books, leaders or policies. Sometimes they come from nature and a beehive.
