Aja Barber

Aja Barber gives us her first-hand account of the Women's March — the good, the bad, and the ugly.

Recently I went through another round of unfriending on Facebook. It keeps things tidy, the arguments thoughtful and my head from exploding. This time around I just got rid of any white person that felt passionate about "certain political topics," but wasn't showing up for people of color, as we watch the meteoric rise of fascism in America and police violence. I’m not obligated to educate anyone for free, especially if they don’t appear to be absorbing what I’m saying or having the tough conversations on their wall with their peers.

I watched again and again, as reporters asked President Trump news related questions, and repeatedly rephrased their questions, in hopes of receiving anything close to a credible answer. As he continued to discredit the press by telling them their questions weren’t “nice,” I felt more and more as if I was living in some bizarro universe where the President is actually a huge baby.

In 2015, to be a woman (and a black woman at that) among the general public means having to keep your defenses up.

Warning: The author reminisces a lot in this piece and comes to conclusion that she has probably kept an unhealthy amount of clothing from high

Welcome to #RavsWriters, an opportunity for you to get to know some of the outstanding human beings who fervently type to make Ravishly the aw

I refuse to write some sort of inane rubbish about how sweatshirts are the new sweatshirt.

“I love my husband President Barack Obama and our children, Sasha and Malia,” ”

The entertainment industry allows abuse to flourish and allows abusers to hide behind fancy titles and big credits.

If gentrification bothers you, the first thing you have to ask yourself is “Am I part of the problem?” The world is better when it’s more diverse