{"product_id":"remember-me-now-isbn-9780593194157","title":"Remember Me Now","description":"\u003cb\u003eAn unforgettable invitation to treat our lives as the sacred things they are—and a call to embrace the love, dreams, and healing that only \u003ci\u003ewe\u003c\/i\u003e can choose for ourselves.\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e \u003cb\u003e“A must-read for all Black women . . . \u003ci\u003eRemember Me Now\u003c\/i\u003e is more than words on paper. It’s a journey back to ourselves.”—Toni Collier, speaker, podcast host, and author of \u003ci\u003eBrave Enough to Be Broken\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eWhen Breonna Taylor was killed, her police report was virtually blank. Feeling as if she was suffocating in the initial silence and lack of public outcry, anti-racism educator and activist Faitth Brooks wondered, “Would the world care about and remember me if I was killed?”\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003eIn \u003ci\u003eRemember Me Now,\u003c\/i\u003e Faitth grapples with the answer, charting the story of her activist grandparents and ancestors, as well as chronicling her own journey as the first-generation suburbs kid who becomes an activist and organizer herself. Part manifesto, part love letter to Black women, \u003ci\u003eRemember Me Now\u003c\/i\u003e shows us how we learn to celebrate the fullness of ourselves—a holy, defiant, and necessary move in a world determined to silence us. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eFilled with transporting stories, poems, and letters to sisters of all walks of life, \u003ci\u003eRemember Me Now\u003c\/i\u003e is a transformational read that calls Black women to be their own activists. It's a reminder to all that Black women matter, and our lives, voices, and stories are worth everything.“\u003ci\u003eRemember Me Now\u003c\/i\u003e is more than words on paper. It’s a journey back to ourselves—back to the strength of our ancestors, back to reclaim the joy that was stolen, back to lament and show up today with our heads held high. A must-read for all Black women.”\u003cb\u003e—Toni Collier, speaker, podcast host, and author of \u003ci\u003eBrave Enough to Be Broken\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Faitth Brooks opens her deeply generous and candid book with an invitation for readers to allow their story to merge with hers at that very tender junctionof empathy and humanity. This book made me feel honored and delighted to have been a guest at her table. I left nourished and satisfied.”\u003cb\u003e—Marcie Alvis Walker, creator of \u003ci\u003eBlack Coffee with White Friends\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Black women everywhere will be reminded that we are more than our struggles and are worthy of a life well lived.”\u003cb\u003e—Danielle Coke, illustrator and activist\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“\u003ci\u003eRemember Me Now\u003c\/i\u003e is for everyone who has felt unseen and unheard. It is a lampstand for the weary and a balm for the restless. It is the book we need now to encourage us on the journey of life. The words on these pages will lift every fatigued soul who has ever doubted themselves.”\u003cb\u003e—Latasha Morrison, founder and president of Be the Bridge\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Faitth writes with a level of authenticity that will connect with your soul.”\u003cb\u003e—Ekemini Uwan, public theologian and co-author of \u003ci\u003eTruth’s Table: Black Women’s Musings on Life, Love, and Liberation\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Brooks gives us a necessary source of light, forged at the intersections of womanhood, blackness, audacity, and failure. Moving? Yes. A triumph? Yes.”\u003cb\u003e—Danté Stewart, speaker and award-winning author of \u003ci\u003eShoutin’ in the Fire\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“\u003ci\u003eRemember Me Now\u003c\/i\u003e is beautifully affirming and extremely necessary. As a Black woman, this is a book I needed, and the divine timing couldn’t have been better. This book reminds us that we are worthy, we have a purpose, and celebrating ourselves is a radical act of resistance.”\u003cb\u003e—Lettie Gore, historian, racial-justice educator, and podcast host of \u003ci\u003eHistory Shows Us\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“One of the most prominent voices of her generation, Faitth Brooks offers words with power to uplift Black women and enlighten those with a different lived experience.”\u003cb\u003e—Rachel Macy Stafford, \u003ci\u003eNew York Times\u003c\/i\u003e bestselling author and certified special education teacher\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“With \u003ci\u003eRemember Me Now,\u003c\/i\u003e Brooks teaches us that our freedom depends on our courage to tell the truth about ourselves, one another, and this world. This is the book that I will read alongside my daughter with grateful tears and renewed resolve.”\u003cb\u003e—James Howard Hill, Jr., PhD, assistant professor of religious studies at the University of Oklahoma\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“An encouraging guide for those seeking self-discovery, fulfillment, and faith in an often unsafe world.”\u003cb\u003e\u003ci\u003e—Publishers Weekly\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“A sincere and inspiring celebration of Black womanhood and coping with trauma. . . . Brooks’s insight, compassion, and astute political analysis make this memoir a worthwhile read.”\u003cb\u003e\u003ci\u003e—Kirkus Reviews\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cb\u003eFaitth Brooks\u003c\/b\u003e is a writer, speaker, social worker, activist, and co-host of the \u003ci\u003eMelanated Faith\u003c\/i\u003e podcast. She engages in activism by working with nonprofits to find sustainable solutions to systemic issues, as well as by being a strategist and consultant for brands and influencers. Faitth has served as the director of programs and innovation for Be the Bridge and director of women's empowerment for Legacy Collective. In addition to leveraging her speaking and social media platforms to enliven collective liberation centered on the sisterhood of Black women, Faitth is crafting a communal space where Black sisters can explore rest, tenderness, and softness.\u003cbr\u003e \u003cb\u003eIntroduction\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThere I was, hunched over on the floor. My breathing was rapid; my skin felt clammy. I’d just finished an online workout class. But that wasn’t the cause of my distress. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003eI think I’m going to be sick. I think I’m having a panic attack!\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI texted a friend, crying. The weight of what had happened a week before had caught up with me. Hard as I’d tried, I couldn’t outrun the pain. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eA few weeks before, on a boring quarantine night, I’d joined a popular dating app. I’d talked to a few guys on other apps during stay-at-home orders, but nothing had materialized. Dating during a pandemic sucks, by the way. I felt frustrated and wanted to meet someone who was at least willing to hold a conversation. After a while, “wyd” and “how was your day” texts get old. It was time to change it up a bit. Maybe pandemic love was waiting for me on another app? \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eOne night I connected with a charismatic, funny man who knew how to hold a conversation. He was kind and easy to be around. I felt like he saw me. We talked on the phone for hours and hung out a couple of times. I desperately wanted to be loved and known. He was interested in me, and that felt special. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eMy happiness was short-lived. One night he came over. I made dinner for us, and we talked, laughed, and played chess. Then he started making advances beyond what I was comfortable with. I’d already established my boundaries, but he used his words to manipulate me and push back. When it was over, he confidently declared, “I marked my territory.” Those words still haunt me. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eFor the days, weeks, and months that followed, it was hard for me to process and understand what had indeed happened. I was afraid. I couldn’t sleep. A replay of that night haunted my dreams. I blamed myself, questioning my judgment and what I could have done or said differently. I scolded myself for breaking my own rules of dating. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eIt was the summer of 2020—a trying time in our country. I spent most of my time creating anti-racism education resources, both in my day job and after work. It was easier for me to focus on doing something purposeful than to deal with my pain. I could hide the pain, but I couldn’t hide being Black. It felt like a second civil rights wave was building, and I needed to be a part of it. So I put my personal pain in the back seat. It was the height of the nationwide outcry after the murders of Ahmaud Arbery and George Floyd, and my work at a racial literacy non-profit organization was busier than ever. I was finding my stride in my work away from work—advocating online, delivering to the thousands more who began following me after a few posts went viral, and feeling inspired to write more than I had in years past. I was getting noticed by literary agents, booking podcast interviews, and fielding requests for speaking engagements. At work, I managed a team of program coordinators and volunteers, leading meaningful projects to produce valuable resources for the community. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eInside, I was devastated. But it didn’t matter how I felt, because there was work to be done. With so much going on, I didn’t think I could stop and do what I needed to do to take care of myself. I coped with the lingering pain by busying myself and showing up to advocate, speak at events, organize protests, and take care of the endless tasks at work. I operated like a true Enneagram Eight—there was a crisis, and I was ready to respond and fight injustice. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI knew that many things would remain the same in the country after this “watershed moment”; nevertheless, I felt I couldn’t allow myself to ignore this moment in history and remain silent. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe murders of Breonna Taylor in March and Atatiana Jefferson the year before hit me in my gut. One day they were, like me, living life, pursuing love, playing video games with a nephew. The next day they were gone. From my recent experience, I knew how quickly an ordinary evening could turn into a tragedy that changed and consumed your life. I saw how easy it was for Black women and the pain we carry to be forgotten, our lives ended or upended. The silence from my white friends in the face of these tragedies made things crystal clear for me. If they weren’t devastated by the death of an unarmed twenty-six-year-old Black woman, what would compel them to care for me? If you can’t see me in Breonna, then you don’t see me. Knowing that hurt. Some white people around me, the ones who said they would stand by Faitth, felt no compulsion to speak up for Breonna. Some days it felt like I was drowning in the waves of silence. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe indifference toward Breonna’s life sent a strong message to Black women. I think it created a shift for Black women activists everywhere. I began to see Black women noting the futility of constantly engaging and educating white people about race. It began to feel like we were essentially trying to convince them of our humanity and worth. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eBut how could I shout “Protect Black Women” and “Say Her Name” and not prioritize \u003ci\u003ethis\u003c\/i\u003e Black woman? Me. I had to remember me now in the same way I was begging people to remember my sisters. I had to see myself as worthy of receiving the same advocacy I was giving. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eIt would take a radical change for me to pursue the kind of healing I needed. Along the way I recognized I would need to address hurts going back to my childhood in order to understand how I’d gotten to this place—wounded and unable to prioritize my healing over the desire to be everything I thought everyone needed me to be. That realization took me back to the young me fighting to find my identity while striving to belong.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI am a Black woman with a God-given purpose. I was never designed to fit into Eurocentric standards of beauty and culture. I am my mother and father’s daughter, my brother’s sister, my grandparents’ granddaughter, and my aunts’ and uncles’ niece. Most of all, I am my ancestors’ legacy. I’ve been formed and loved by Black people. I cannot and will not show up as anyone other than who I am. I have community and I belong—my heart rests in this assurance. I have nothing to prove. I have peace, so I dance in my living room, cry when I need to, laugh often, take risks, and know I am worth loving. I am a liberated Black woman, embracing every ounce of who I am. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThis is my mantra. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eBut it wasn’t always this way. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eIn the course of my life, I struggled. Growing up, I’d adopt whatever interests my white friends had. I remember being proud when people said I was “a white Black girl.” \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe racial and social justice activist I am today hates to admit this on paper, but it’s the truth. Being called “a white Black girl” made me feel accepted, valued, and safe. I didn’t know that assimilation was poison. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI didn’t know that assimilation was my way of avoiding the pain of rejection. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eBy God’s grace, I eventually learned how assimilation was a deep betrayal of my community. In the school of experience, I learned that there is no scale measuring Blackness. I now reject the lie of “not Black enough” and have come to discover that we are always enough just as we are. Once I realized that I, a first-generation suburban Black girl, was enough, I unlocked a new level of personal freedom. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eLetting go of these harmful mindsets transformed my life and motivated me to fight not just for \u003ci\u003emy\u003c\/i\u003e mental health and peace but for other Black women also. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThis book is the story of my journey as a single Black woman who was homeschooled and raised in conservative evangelical Christian culture and who grew up to become an activist. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI don’t know about you, but I’m tired of being suffocated by white supremacy. I want to breathe again, and I suspect you do too. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eIt’s hard out here. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eHow are we supposed to fit into a culture that was never ours? How are we supposed to fit into a beauty standard designed to exclude us? (A beauty standard that some Black men love and prefer.) I have felt undesirable and unable to fit into these boxes of belonging. The feeling was only multiplied when I was one of the few Black people in a friend group or one of the only Black women at an event, in a church service, or in a staff meeting. We have to endure a lot to survive in spaces where we are not fully seen. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAnd it affects us. Even when we get to grow up in an intentionally Black-affirming community, it still affects us. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eMalcolm X had it right when he said, “The most disrespected person in America is the Black woman. The most unprotected person in America is the Black woman. The most neglected person in America is the Black woman.”","brand":"WaterBrook","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":46303045845221,"sku":"NP9780593194157","price":23.0,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":false}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/1842\/7735\/files\/9780593194157.jpg?v=1767735626","url":"https:\/\/k12savings.com\/products\/remember-me-now-isbn-9780593194157","provider":"K12savings","version":"1.0","type":"link"}