From Silence to Strength: The Power of Sharing Our Full History
By Laura Thomas
Every Christmas Day since the 1960s, my maternal extended family has gathered in Lowcountry South Carolina for holiday dinner. I have attended throughout my life, and as a child, being with my cousins was always more exciting than receiving gifts—it was, and still is my greatest Christmas day joy. Yet, the unique part of these gatherings happens after dinner, when our elders share our family history. These stories have shaped me in ways I never fully realized, and are part of my history as a southern-raised Black American woman.
I vividly recall the dinner when my great-aunt gave us a copy of our first known ancestor’s history, “Mother Alice”. We traced her journey from the West Indies to her owners in the Lowcountry of South Carolina. Through that record, we learned how our family got its name, the plantations where they were enslaved, and our ancestors’ journey from slavery through Jim Crow and the Civil Rights Movement to the present day—where, in many ways, the struggles of our past have more so evolved rather than disappeared. The roots of our country’s ongoing struggle to acknowledge the experiences and harm inflicted upon Black people remain firmly in place.
What strikes me most is that while my family’s stories often focused on who accomplished what and how we persevered, they rarely delved into the pain of those times. This past Christmas however one story was mentioned of the abuse —my mother and her cousins endured from both adults and students when the integration of schools was mandated and enforced in South Carolina. This surprised me because I have never remembered them sharing the emotional weight of those experiences and how they protected each other during those times.
Hold up. Sit down, be humble… sit down, be humble. – Kendrick Lamar
Recently, I watched a clip of General CQ Brown, Jr., the first Black United States Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, speaking in the wake of George Floyd’s murder. He shared what I assume, for the first time publicly, was his personal story of navigating his military career while often feeling isolated as a high-ranking Black officer. I later read that some people resented his decision to use a national platform to discuss race and personal challenges.
But I believe true strength lies in sharing one’s story fully—not just the successes, but the obstacles as well. The United States is a nation built on the experiences of those who immigrated here for a better life, those whose land was stolen, and those who were brought here enslaved, stripped of their culture, language, and any natural-born freedoms. When we tell these stories, they must be told in full. It is through honesty—not just celebrating achievements but also being real and acknowledging the pains—that we learn to do better. Ignoring our struggles, burying our shame, or suppressing our emotions doesn’t make us stronger; instead, it fuels insecurity and manifests in ways that harm our health and those around us, ultimately hurting our shared humanity.
United States Black American history is a story of resistance—through freedom, civil rights, economic empowerment, education, protest, and even quiet resilience. But behind each act of defiance is an untold story of the personal traumas and collective sacrifice buried in the pursuit of future generations' ability to thrive. It is a tradition in my family to keep our stories of progress alive, skirting around the tension of honoring our pain while emphasizing humility and perseverance. That identity and determination are deeply ingrained in me. And yet, I know that for my well-being, I must give myself permission to fully acknowledge experiences and express my thoughts, not just for the sake of our history, but for my wellness.
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