My being a black woman is not a deficit. It is a strength.

Hear, O children of justice and resilience, the voice of Stacey Abrams, who spoke not in whispers but in the power of truth: “My being a black woman is not a deficit. It is a strength. Because I could not be where I am had I not overcome so many other barriers. Which means you know I'm relentless, you know I'm persistent, and you know I'm smart.” These words are a hymn to endurance, a proclamation that what the world calls weakness may, through struggle, become a wellspring of strength.

The origin of this saying lies in Abrams’ own journey, as a daughter of the South, shaped by history and scarred by injustice, yet rising above them through labor and vision. In America, to be Black and to be a woman has too often meant to be doubly burdened—facing both the chains of racism and the weights of sexism. But Abrams declares that these burdens forged her resilience. The very barriers set to halt her path became the grindstone upon which her persistence was sharpened. Her identity, far from being a hindrance, is the source of her power.

This truth is ancient, found wherever the oppressed have turned chains into crowns. Consider the story of Harriet Tubman, who, though enslaved, rose not only to seize her own freedom but to become the liberator of hundreds. Her being a Black woman, in the eyes of the world, was marked as a disadvantage. Yet it gave her insight, courage, and cunning—the tools to defy empires. She, like Abrams, teaches that what is scorned by society may yet be transfigured into the very heart of greatness.

Abrams’ words also resound with the universal lesson that every struggle endured becomes a teacher. To overcome barriers is to learn the art of persistence, to endure prejudice is to cultivate patience, and to rise again after failure is to build an unbreakable spirit. Thus she proclaims herself relentless and persistent—not because the road was smooth, but because it was filled with trials. And by enduring them, she proved not only her strength but also her wisdom.

O listeners, let this be your guide: never despise the hardships that shape you. The world will tell you that your difference is a deficit, that your challenges disqualify you, that your wounds weaken you. But Abrams declares the opposite: every challenge is a forge, every wound a scar that testifies to survival, every barrier an altar upon which persistence is consecrated. What the world names as weakness may, through courage, be transformed into the mightiest strength.

History is filled with such transformations. The Jewish people, persecuted and dispersed, carried their trials into enduring faith and wisdom. The suffragettes, mocked and imprisoned, turned their endurance into victory at the ballot box. The Civil Rights leaders of America, beaten and jailed, turned suffering into a trumpet call for justice that shook the foundations of a nation. Abrams’ words stand in this tradition: strength born from barriers, victory born from struggle.

Practical is this counsel: when you face barriers, do not despair or curse your lot. Instead, learn from them, rise through them, and let them forge your character. Be as Abrams counsels—relentless, persistent, and smart. Turn every rejection into a lesson, every setback into a step forward, every insult into fuel for your journey. In this way, what was meant to break you will instead crown you with strength.

Thus remember her words: “My being a black woman is not a deficit. It is a strength.” Let them echo in your heart, not only for women or for the oppressed, but for all who struggle. For every soul has barriers, every life has battles. And if you endure them with persistence and courage, then what once seemed your weakness will become your song of triumph, your proof that you are unstoppable.