Let’s talk about spirituality, respectability, and why Black women are still expected to make themselves smaller to be considered sacred. I’ve noticed something interesting abut the way people view spiritual women, particularly Black women.
There’s this unspoken expectation that if you’re spiritually inclined, you must look, dress, speak, and behave a certain way. You’re supposed to be modest. Reserved. Soft-spoken. Covered from head to toe. Never too sexual. Never too outspoken. Never too much of anything.
And God forbid you enjoy a little luxury or sex.
Apparently, spiritual enlightenment comes with a dress code.
Who decided that?
Because the last time I checked, spiritual power wasn’t determined by the length of your skirt, the number of scriptures you can quote, or how convincingly you can perform humility in front of an audience. Yet somehow, we’ve allowed these expectations to follow Black women into spaces that were supposed to offer freedom from them.
Respectability Is Not Spirituality
Black women have spent generations being told that our worth is tied to how well we present ourselves to other people. Be respectable. Be modest. Be agreeable. Don’t be too loud. Don’t be too sexual. Don’t make anyone uncomfortable. And for some reason, we’ve convinced ourselves that spirituality should operate under those same rules.
I disagree.
I don’t believe a woman becomes less spiritually grounded because she enjoys her sexuality. I don’t believe ambition makes her less connected to her ancestors. And I certainly don’t believe that wanting a beautiful life somehow makes her spiritually shallow.
You can honor your ancestors and still want a Birkin. You can work your roots and still wear six-inch heels. You can be deeply spiritual and still tell somebody exactly where they can go when they overstep a boundary. These things are not mutually exclusive.
And quite frankly, I’m tired of people pretending they are.
The Obsession With Looking Holy
One of the things that fascinates me about modern spirituality is how much emphasis people place on appearances. Somebody can wrap their head, dress modestly, speak in a whisper, and quote spiritual teachings all day long, and people will automatically assume they’re enlightened.
Meanwhile, a woman who wears revealing clothing, enjoys sex, speaks openly about money, or refuses to be submissive is somehow considered less spiritually developed. As though character can be measured by clothing. As though wisdom has a particular aesthetic. As though spiritual integrity is something you can identify from an Instagram photograph.
I’ve encountered enough people over the years to know that appearances tell you very little about someone’s actual character. Some of the most judgmental, manipulative, and spiritually irresponsible people know exactly how to look the part.
And some of the most grounded women you’ll ever meet wouldn’t fit anyone’s conventional image of a spiritual elder.
That’s worth thinking about.
Our Ancestors Were Human Beings, Not Aesthetic References
Another thing I think we need to discuss is how we romanticize our ancestors.
We speak about them as though every woman who came before us was endlessly patient, perfectly modest, and entirely devoted to sacrifice. But our ancestors were people. They had desires. They had complicated relationships. They experienced jealousy, joy, anger, pleasure, ambition, and everything else that comes with being human.
Some were deeply religious. Others were not. Some followed the expectations of their communities. Others challenged them. They were not all the same woman. And reducing them to one respectable, self-sacrificing archetype does them a disservice.
I refuse to believe that honoring the women who came before me requires erasing the parts of myself that make me human. Especially when so many Black women throughout history were denied the freedom to live entirely on their own terms.
I Can Be Both
I can appreciate luxury and understand the history of Hoodoo.
I can embrace my femininity without making myself submissive.
I can be sensual without making my sexuality available for public consumption.
I can respect tradition without agreeing with every expectation someone attaches to it.
And I can be a spiritual woman without needing to convince strangers that I fit their definition of one.
That’s the beauty of having a relationship with your spirituality that isn’t dependent on public approval. You stop performing. You stop explaining every aspect of yourself. And eventually, you realize that some people were never uncomfortable with your spirituality in the first place.
They were uncomfortable with your refusal to be controlled by their expectations.
A Final Thought
I didn’t create The Conjure Goddess to present another sanitized version of what a spiritual Black woman is supposed to be.
I created a space that reflects my understanding of conjure, my respect for the traditions that shaped it, and my belief that Black women deserve the freedom to exist outside the expectations placed upon us.
That includes being ambitious. Being sensual. Being outspoken. Being complicated. Being human. Because spirituality should deepen your understanding of yourself, not require you to become a version of yourself that makes everybody else comfortable.
And if that challenges someone’s idea of what a spiritual woman should look like? Well, perhaps that’s a conversation worth having.
Not every powerful Black woman was meant to look like a church mother.
And not every powerful Black woman wants to.
— The Conjure Goddess
The Conjure Goddess Journal
Conjure. Culture. Womanhood. Unfiltered.