Special Message to Mothers

Mothers with black daughters:

Have you felt unheard, unnoticed, underserved, misunderstood, or disappointed in your quest to find solutions that meet you or your daughter's unique challenges in our schools?
Are you overwhelmed by life, work, social relationships, and systems that continue to lower your existence and have placed you and your daughter at the bottom of the social chain?
Do you suffer from low self-esteem and lifestyle challenges that were passed on to you by your mother’s unresolved care? Have you noticed that your unresolved issues with your mothers became yours - now a reflection your daughters, and have you noticed that your daughter is repeating some of the same struggles as you? Are you feeling disconnected from your daughter?
Is your daughter being disrespectful, getting into fights, involved in drama, seeking out attention, not interested in school, bullying, or lacking self-leadership? Black mothers with black daughters, have you searched for help and come up short?
Mothers, if you identify with this reality, I’m talking to you! Jevon Diming, Owner and Founder of Pierre Outreach Services Safe Home invites you to take the lead in your OWN personal healing discoveries that will result in lifestyle changes for you and the people you love.

I am Jevon Diming, the Owner and Founder of Pierre Outreach Services Safe Home, and I invite you to get on up and come on out! Join us in a mental self-fulling conversation that will result in YOU taking the lead in your OWN personal healing discoveries that will result in lifestyle changes for you and the people you love.

Some background about my challenging journey:

I hail from the heart of Chicago's Southside, 63rd Street, where I navigated the trials and triumphs that shaped the woman standing before you today. It was a place that demanded resilience and growth, where survival meant absorbing the wisdom and strength of my surroundings. My journey reflects a tapestry of love, joy, and pain – but today, I want to delve into the depths of that pain, a force that propels me to address the unspoken struggles within our Black community.

For a decade, I have poured my heart and soul into preparing for a battle that has long plagued our people. Raised in the shadow of gun violence, the year '94 marked a turning point when I lost my beloved cousins, Larry and Maurice, to the streets. Their absence carved a void in my life, yet their spirit remains a guiding light, instilling in me the resilience and knowledge needed to navigate life's challenges.

The grief of their loss plunged me into a dark place, where tears flowed freely, and anger festered unchecked. Therapy was a luxury we couldn't afford, leaving me to grapple with my pain and rage alone. Fueled by a fierce determination, I fought alongside my five sisters, battling not just external foes but the internal unclaimed pain that consumed us.

In our neighborhood, conflicts often escalated into senseless violence, claiming the lives of too many young souls. The cycle of gun violence and poverty entrenched itself, perpetuating a cycle of despair and destruction within our community. The weight of poverty, inherited through generations, shaped the environment that defined our reality – a reality marred by addiction, violence, and broken families.

This narrative isn't just mine – it's a shared experience of Black people navigating a world where the odds are stacked against us. It's a call to action, a plea to confront the invisible battles that threaten to tear apart the fabric of our families and communities.

The cycle began with parents overwhelmed by life's burdens, leading them down a destructive path towards addiction. These parents, once pillars of strength, succumbed to the grip of drugs, setting off a chain reaction in our community. The need for substances birthed dealers, who became gangs. The repercussions echoed through the generations, as these gangs became the fathers of many young girls, trapping them in a cycle of early motherhood while they were still children themselves. This toxic trend spread like wildfire, consuming our community in its wake, with few taking notice of the devastation gone unresolved.

The children born into this chaos were raised without structure or guidance, growing up in a world where order was a rare commodity. These children, developed with a lack of stability and support, are creating the next generational wave of Black youth caught in the crossfire of gun violence. With each passing year, more lives were lost to the pervasive norm of gun violence, a reality that hit home again in 2012 when my beloved nephew, William Pierre – known affectionately as Mookie – was taken from us. Mookie, the firstborn son of my oldest sister, held a special place in my heart, with a love that words could never fully capture. His passing shook me to my core, sparking a soul-searching conversations with a higher power about the pain and loss that defined my reality.

In the midst of intergenerational trauma and turmoil – a legacy of miseducation, dysfunction, and unclaimed trauma – I found myself grappling with a love-hate relationship with my community, questioning if God had forsaken Black people. Through moments of clarity and introspection, I began to unravel the complexities of the Black experience, comparing it to the poverty mindset that gripped those in Madison. While my roots were steeped in pain and poverty, I held onto a strong sense of self-identity that set me apart from those who had lost their spirit to the cycle of despair.

The influence of Black Chicago culture is popular globally. Our experiences of trauma are often interpreted as strength, courage, or wisdom, but not in here in Madison. I felt penalized and marginalized for attempting to help the schools address the struggles with Black youth, struggles I had overcome.

This journey began in 2015 in Memorial High School under the guidance of Joanne Brown, the multicultural service coordinator at the time. A significant altercation among Black students made local news headlines, leaving me feeling disheartened and sad for my community. This prompted me to act in Madison. I reached out to Joanne and offered to support the students facing challenges. It became evident that Black girls had been confronting unspoken challenges at Memorial. Subsequently, I discovered that Black girls had been encountering major difficulties across all middle and high schools in Dane County, a trend that persists to this day.

I dedicated time every Wednesday to volunteer with twenty of Memorial's most overlooked Black girls. My impact was evident as there were no further incidents during my two-month presence at the school. While I gained respect from the girls and students, some staff members were resistant to the change I brought. Coming from Chicago, I was unaccustomed to white women attempting to assert control over Black issues. Throughout my journey, I've encountered unfair mistreatment and intentional barriers from white women blocking my efforts to support Black mothers and their children. Spanning from my time at Memorial High School to my role as a foster mother for the state, and even in my Master’s program at Edgewood College I been targeted. Despite my efforts to contribute positively and address the challenges I've faced, I've consistently been diminished and demonized for my experiences and contributions toward overcoming a lifestyle I survived.

Having a senior staff member at Memorial deceive me and subsequently being removed from Memorial School was a profound injustice, robbing me and, more importantly, young women from a service that's been neglected for too long. I bonded with the girls through our shared experiences of intergenerational pain left unresolved, which had now become a part of our own realities. With my guidance, the girls confronted the unacknowledged pain that was consuming our community.

I realize now it was naive to anticipate recognition for my meaningful and impactful contributions. The school's expression of gratitude was paid with false accusations wielded against me, and to my dismay, they held weight. Afterward, I approached Joanne, knowing she was the one who had entrusted me to bring about change among the girls at Memorial. She had seen the positive changes in behavior that followed my efforts, therefore I hoped she could intervene to halt the attacks against me. Unfortunately, I discovered that even she was constrained in her ability to rectify the situation. Later, I reached out to several Black local professionals and community leaders for support, hoping they could assist me in seeking justice support for these Black girls. Unfortunately, I found that they, too, were constrained in their ability to address the issue.

Truth is, amidst the critical distress within the Black community, urgency often seems lacking, even from within our own ranks. The trauma experienced by Black people knows no economic boundaries. It's evident that many struggles with masking the shame stem from our unresolved history of racial violence. Coming to terms with this reality has been a profoundly devastating—a wakeup call for me, bringing many nights of tears along this journey.
As an unresolved community, we often find ourselves with unsolved action plans, in our quest to find social and economic solace for Black families.

For a decade, I've watched as the authentic essence of Black girls being diminished due to a lack of understanding of Black trauma. This deficiency in comprehension has the potential to cause significant harm, even among those with good intentions. Understanding Black trauma requires individuals who possess both a special insight and a high level of skill, individuals who have lived through the realities and navigated the depths of pain that give rise to certain lifestyles. Without this depth of knowledge, well-meaning efforts risk becoming diluted, inadvertently causing harm to those they aim to help.

After the Memorial setback, I was both surprised and motivated to continue forward. I entered Memorial as a concerned citizen, only to be kicked out. However, this setback propelled me to become the driving force behind trauma care for Black families.

The students at the school attempted to protest for my return, but their efforts were unsuccessful. Despite my brief time there, I left a lasting impression—a transformative impact that guided me to discover my true passion for life. This passion was ignited by the disappointment I felt witnessing the mistreatment of Black girls. Supporting Black families in unmasking and reclaiming their hidden wounds, particularly aiding Black girls and their mothers, became my primary focus. My commitment to becoming well-versed in the unaddressed origins of Black trauma has remained unwavering. I delved into challenging and overlooked research to explore these depths, preparing myself to address the systemic intergenerational wounds that have disrupted the well-being of our families, schools, and communities.

Despite facing minimal funding and recognition for my contributions, I often felt inclined to walk away. However, my spirit refused to allow me to do so. After meeting with numerous unspoken elders from Madison to Chicago and Washington DC, I was bestowed with their blessings to pursue my work. The work that validated their unspoken stories of brokenness. For the first time, I felt a sense of respect and appreciation for my endeavors to confront intergenerational, unexamined challenges that have led to a profound identity crisis within the Black community.

While encountering significant barriers in my efforts to support Black families and navigate cultural limitations, I received invaluable advice from elder women urging me to keep the POSH initiative nonpolitical. Following their counsel and remaining steadfast in my dedication eventually brought me to founder of United Madison.

Since our encounter, my initiative has been taken seriously in Madison for the first time. The United Madison connections have linked me with the faith and business community, greatly enhancing our reach and impact. United Madison’s tireless contributions to POSH have not gone unnoticed, and I deeply appreciate their commitment to our mission and vision. Oh, and by the way... the founder of United Madison happens to be a white woman. It's a testament to the power of collaboration and shared goals, regardless of racial background.

Throughout history, Black mothers have endured significant pain. Black mothers have often masked and reshaped their pain to fit societal norms, only to realize that normalizing their pain has caused great suffering for their offspring, particularly their daughters.

Caught up in the rapture of my mother’s love and untold pain, my story is a tribute to the remarkable woman, my beloved mother, Deloris Mitchell, guardian of eight children.
The cycle will always be.
“Remember, it is women who lay down culture” MAMA ZOGBE.

-Miss J.