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Abused, Black, and Beautiful

Abused, Black, and Beautiful

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 As a nerd, I love patterns. I’m trained to find patterns. But today there is one I don’t want to see. There’s a pattern—and it is costing Black women their lives. Not just in the streets, but in their homes… in their relationships… even in childbirth.This is a pattern we can no longer pretend we don’t see.There is a pattern emerging—no, not emerging, persisting—and it is costing Black women their lives.We cannot keep calling these stories “isolated incidents.” We cannot keep lowering our voices when the truth demands a roar. What we are witnessing is a crisis: intimate partner violence against Black women, compounded by a maternal health system that too often fails them at their most vulnerable. Love should not be lethal. Pregnancy should not be a death sentence. And yet, for far too many Black women, both are becoming dangerous terrain.In April 2026 alone, we’ve lost:• Dr. Cerina Wanzer Fairfax, a 49-year-old dentist and mother, killed on April 16 by her estranged husband in an apparent murder-suicide.• Nancy Metayer Bowen, Vice Mayor of Coral Springs, found dead on April 1; her husband was charged with premeditated murder.• Pastor Tammy McCollum, 58, killed on April 6 in her North Carolina home by her husband.• Ashly “Ashlee Jenae” Robinson, 31, a content creator who died under suspicious circumstances on April 9 while traveling with her fiancé after documented domestic conflict.• Qualeshia “Saditty” Barnes, 36, a pregnant Detroit rapper, shot and killed in Atlanta on April 8, reportedly by her boyfriend.• Davonta Curtis, 31, a Black trans woman beaten to death on April 8 by her boyfriend.• Barbara Deer, 51, an educator killed on April 15 in a murder-suicide.• Ashanti Allen, 23, eight months pregnant, murdered before she could bring life into the world.Say their names. Hold them in your mouth. Refuse to let their stories be reduced to footnotes beneath the names of the men who killed them.Because that is what often happens—we learn more about the killers than the women whose lives were stolen.This is not a coincidence. This is not rare. This is systemic, cultural, and deeply rooted.According to the Institute for Women’s Policy Research, more than 40% of Black women will experience domestic violence in their lifetime, compared to 31.5% of women overall. The National Center for Victims of Crime reports that 53.8% of Black women experience psychological abuse, and 41.2% experience physical abuse. These are not small numbers. These are not anomalies. These are patterns.Let me repeat: 32% of all women experience domestic violence. 40% of all Black women experience this violence. This should not be.Violence against women begins early.Teen dating violence already lays the groundwork. Data from Basile et al. (2020) shows that about 8% of high school students experience physical dating violence, with girls disproportionately affected—9% of girls versus 7% of boys. Sexual violence is even more skewed: 13% of girls compared to 4% of boys. These are children learning, too soon, that love can hurt.Then comes adulthood. Then comes partnership. Then, for many, comes pregnancy.And pregnancy—what should be a sacred, supported, protected time—becomes one of the most dangerous periods in a Black woman’s life.The Centers for Disease Control and Prevention (CDC) reports that in 2023, Black women experienced 50.3 maternal deaths per 100,000 live births, compared to 14.5 for White women. That is more than three times higher. The Kaiser Family Foundation (KFF) confirms this disparity persists across income and education levels. This is not about individual choices. This is about systemic failure.Even more devastating: over 80% of pregnancy-related deaths are preventable.Preventable.Let that word sit with you.Black women are dying not because we don’t know how to save them—but because we are not saving them.Structural racism, provider bias, unequal access to care, and the chronic stress of navigating a world that devalues Black womanhood all contribute. Black women are more likely to be ignored when they report symptoms, more likely to have their pain dismissed, and more likely to receive delayed or inadequate care.When you layer that on top of intimate partner violence, the risk multiplies.What is this pattern telling Black women?Work. Survive. Endure. But do not expect to be protected. Do not expect to be safe in love. Do not expect to be heard in pain.Is that the message?Because if it is, then we must reject it—loudly, collectively, and without apology.I am one of the lucky ones.I have a loving husband. I was supported. When complications arose during my pregnancy—when my daughter Ellen’s heart rate dropped in half with every push—my doctors and nurses listened. They acted. They ordered an emergency C-section. They saved her life. They saved mine.My daughter is alive and thriving today because I was heard.But I should not be the exception.My story ...
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