Being a black woman, there's so many different sides of us. We

The words of Lauren London—“Being a black woman, there's so many different sides of us. We are funny, silly, romantic, professional, smart, and we have good jobs”—resound like a hymn of affirmation, a declaration against narrowness and erasure. In them, she speaks to the fullness of identity, reminding us that Black women are not bound to one face, one role, or one stereotype. They carry within themselves a vastness: laughter and tenderness, strength and intelligence, professionalism and romance. This is no small statement—it is the reclaiming of voice and space in a world that has often sought to flatten their complexity.

The origin of this truth is found in centuries of struggle and survival. For too long, the image of the Black woman has been distorted, confined to caricatures or burdensome roles. Yet from the earliest days of resistance and resilience, Black women have shown themselves to be multifaceted pillars of society. They were the mothers and midwives who held communities together, the singers and poets who carried the memory of their people, the workers and leaders who built futures from fragments. To speak, as London does, of being “funny, silly, romantic, professional, smart” is to restore the wholeness of their humanity.

History offers us countless examples. Consider Sojourner Truth, who stood in the nineteenth century to proclaim, “Ain’t I a Woman?” She was fierce, a warrior for justice, but she was also deeply human, carrying the scars and tenderness of a mother. Or think of Maya Angelou, whose voice could be solemn with wisdom yet playful with humor, fierce in advocacy yet tender in her poetry. These women embody the truth that identity is not singular. It is layered, shifting, and alive.

London’s mention of being romantic is especially powerful, for it defies the world’s attempts to strip Black women of softness and tenderness, to portray them only as strong or burdened. To say “we are romantic” is to reclaim the right to vulnerability, to love and be loved, to dream of tenderness without shame. To say “we are professional” and “we have good jobs” is to affirm the achievements earned through labor, discipline, and brilliance. To say “we are funny and silly” is to claim joy, which is itself an act of resistance in the face of oppression.

The lesson here is luminous: we must honor the full humanity of every person, refusing to let stereotypes or single stories define them. Identity is not a cage—it is a vast and changing landscape. For Black women, this truth is especially sacred, for history has tried again and again to deny it. To hear London’s words is to be reminded that dignity lies not in being one thing, but in being everything that one truly is.

Practically, this means listening with openness. Do not assume you know a person by their surface or by the labels the world has given them. Celebrate their many sides. Allow space for them to laugh, to succeed, to stumble, to love, to dream. For in this recognition, you not only honor others, but you expand your own heart to the fullness of humanity.

Thus, London’s words, though spoken in the present moment, echo across time. They remind us of what has always been true: that identity cannot be reduced, and that to love a people is to embrace their complexity. Black women are not one story but many, not one role but a symphony of roles, not shadows but light in all its colors.

So let this truth be passed down: see the fullness of others, and do not diminish them. Celebrate the humor, the romance, the professionalism, the brilliance, the tenderness. For in acknowledging the many sides of others, we learn to embrace the many sides of ourselves. And in that embrace, we find the essence of true humanity.