Christian Living
![Faitth Brooks - [object Object] author](https://res.cloudinary.com/readsomnia/image/upload/authors/a_B08XWWG8MS.jpg)
Remember Me Now: A Journey Back to Myself and a Love Letter to Black Women
An unforgettable invitation to treat our lives as the sacred things they are-and a call to embrace the love, dreams, and healing that only we can choose for ourselves.
"A must-read for all Black women . . . Remember Me Now is more than words on paper. It's a journey back to ourselves."-Toni Collier, speaker, podcast host, and author of Brave Enough to Be Broken
When 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?"
In Remember Me Now, 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, Remember Me Now shows us how we learn to celebrate the fullness of ourselves-a holy, defiant, and necessary move in a world determined to silence us.
Filled with transporting stories, poems, and letters to sisters of all walks of life, Remember Me Now 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.
"A must-read for all Black women . . . Remember Me Now is more than words on paper. It's a journey back to ourselves."-Toni Collier, speaker, podcast host, and author of Brave Enough to Be Broken
When 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?"
In Remember Me Now, 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, Remember Me Now shows us how we learn to celebrate the fullness of ourselves-a holy, defiant, and necessary move in a world determined to silence us.
Filled with transporting stories, poems, and letters to sisters of all walks of life, Remember Me Now 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.
Editorial Reviews
"Remember Me Now 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."-Toni Collier, speaker, podcast host, and author of Brave Enough to Be Broken
"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."-Marcie Alvis Walker, creator of Black Coffee with White Friends
"Black women everywhere will be reminded that we are more than our struggles and are worthy of a life well lived."-Danielle Coke, illustrator and activist
"Remember Me Now 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."-Latasha Morrison, founder and president of Be the Bridge
"Faitth writes with a level of authenticity that will connect with your soul."-Ekemini Uwan, public theologian and co-author of Truth's Table: Black Women's Musings on Life, Love, and Liberation
"Brooks gives us a necessary source of light, forged at the intersections of womanhood, blackness, audacity, and failure. Moving? Yes. A triumph? Yes."-Danté Stewart, speaker and award-winning author of Shoutin' in the Fire
"Remember Me Now 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."-Lettie Gore, historian, racial-justice educator, and podcast host of History Shows Us
"One of the most prominent voices of her generation, Faitth Brooks offers words with power to uplift Black women ...
"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."-Marcie Alvis Walker, creator of Black Coffee with White Friends
"Black women everywhere will be reminded that we are more than our struggles and are worthy of a life well lived."-Danielle Coke, illustrator and activist
"Remember Me Now 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."-Latasha Morrison, founder and president of Be the Bridge
"Faitth writes with a level of authenticity that will connect with your soul."-Ekemini Uwan, public theologian and co-author of Truth's Table: Black Women's Musings on Life, Love, and Liberation
"Brooks gives us a necessary source of light, forged at the intersections of womanhood, blackness, audacity, and failure. Moving? Yes. A triumph? Yes."-Danté Stewart, speaker and award-winning author of Shoutin' in the Fire
"Remember Me Now 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."-Lettie Gore, historian, racial-justice educator, and podcast host of History Shows Us
"One of the most prominent voices of her generation, Faitth Brooks offers words with power to uplift Black women ...
Readers Top Reviews
Natalie BrownAlas
Faitth Brooks writing is good for the soul. This book is needed for today’s generation of black women! “Remember Me Now” is a love letter, touching tribute, and fierce declaration of resilience all at the same time. 10/10. I am truly grateful this book exists.
Francine PiersonN
Faitth is a poetic writer with heart and deep emotions that resonate with the soul. The journey of persistence and not giving up on yourself or your dreams amidst adversity is an empowering message in Remember Me Now. Many women of various ethnicities can relate to the posture of being a nurturer, peacemaker, and caregiver. Faitth reminds us of the importance of taking care of ourselves too. Read this one.
Kelsie ColetteKel
I can’t even begin to explain how life-changing and needed this book was for me. Faitth says exactly what I have thought for years, and I find so much familiarity in her life experiences. This book is truly a safe space for the unseen. She has of way of making you feel like you are just two friends talking about the journey. I have cried and released so much while reading this book. I have already ordered more copies for my family and friends. Black women, this is a book for us. I truly hope you will give it a read and share it with your friends.
Joycy A.Kelsie Co
Faithh draws you deeply into her journey in the first few turns of her pages. Having first encountered Faithh through her racial justice work, I was stunned to learn what was going on behind the scenes during this highly sought out season. In that same moment I connected with the bind she found herself in - the tug between tending to her private self, and managing her public calling. Faithh leads us readers back to ourselves. No longer seeking to find balance between both worlds but inviting us to prioritize caring for our most authentic selves & all the rest will fall in line. Will be walking more ladies to explore their own journeys via book club soon!!
carolynmharperJoy
Full disclosure: I know Faitth from when she was working with Legacy Collective. So when she posted that she’d written a book, I pre-ordered it immediately. So what’s a White woman doing reading a book written specifically for Black women? Well, like I said, I know Faitth, and I wanted to read what she wrote. I have learned over the years to sit and hold thoughts that make me uncomfortable and explore why that’s the case. Some of this book did that to me, and I listened and learned from this fabulous Black woman about Black experiences that I didn’t understand. At the same time, there is much that resonates with me as a woman, because many of the truths that she writes about are universal truths for women. This book is well-written, flows beautifully, and shares truths from deep within the writer’s soul. A great memoir and writing debut. Well done, Faitth Brooks!
Short Excerpt Teaser
Introduction
There 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.
I think I'm going to be sick. I think I'm having a panic attack!
I 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.
A 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?
One 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.
My 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.
For 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.
It 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.
Inside, 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.
I 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.
The 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.
The indifference toward Breonna's life sent a strong message to Black women. I think it created a shift for...
There 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.
I think I'm going to be sick. I think I'm having a panic attack!
I 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.
A 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?
One 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.
My 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.
For 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.
It 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.
Inside, 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.
I 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.
The 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.
The indifference toward Breonna's life sent a strong message to Black women. I think it created a shift for...
