The reality of an African American woman is restless. In particular, the personal experience as a southern, family oriented, African American woman living away from a place and people she’s always called home, reality is agonizing. The things that once gave me comfort and stability have assumed a new and unfamiliar face. I'm creating through my experiences in a space where I can’t seem to find a place, or a face that looks like my own. I am creating as the reality of my blackness kicks in. I’m constantly falling, not understanding completely what I'm tripping over. Then I look down and realize my clothes being ripped off slowly exposing the unhealed wounds caused by the toll of generational curses and strongholds produced by generations of oppression. It is tightly holding me back as I try to break free. I look around at those who look nothing like me, as they walk free. I now am understanding how my blackness actually fits into a world not created for me or those alike. My training wheels have fallen off, my eyes and ears are uncovered, and now holding on to the sides for dear life is how I survive. This work is an expression of my emotional, physical, and spiritual experience as I survive in the reality of a black woman.