Poet, performer and civil rights activist Maya Angelou once famously said, “there is no greater agony than bearing an untold story inside you.” She saw storytelling as a path to healing and freedom.
Award-winning science fiction writer Octavia E. Butler, who advocated for creating your own narratives as she did in her numerous novels once said, “You got to make your own worlds. You got to write yourself in.” Both women were passionate about storytelling as a form of empowerment and liberation, especially for Black women.
In an environment where many women of color are having their stories erased by our current government that is hostile to diversity and the richness it brings to society, the idea of women owning and sharing their own stories is more vital than ever.
A groundbreaking new digital initiative is hoping to continue a legacy of storytelling by, for and about Black women. Black Girl Narrative, founded by Dr. DeLisha Tapscott, Ed.D., and Dr. Nardos Ghebreab, Ph.D. aims to redefine the digital landscape for Black women by creating nurturing online spaces and authentic narratives, merging rigorous research with heartfelt storytelling that empowers a community of digital innovators.
As a writer, researcher, and digital theorist, DeLisha’s work centers the stories Black women carry—often unseen, always powerful. She is the author of the forthcoming book ‘Race, Gender, and Resistance in Digital Relationships’. Nardos is an educator, researcher, and DEI consultant currently working in the nonprofit sector. With a Ph.D. in Teaching & Learning, Policy & Leadership from the University of Maryland, her research focuses on race, racism, and Black teachers’ experiences in education systems.
Launched in May 2025, Black Girl Narrative has set out to amplify the voices, stories and lived experiences of Black women today through writing, research, multimedia formats, strategic consultations, campaigns, and toolkit creations, all which center storytelling as the main driver. It’s not just about content creation. Instead the organization is about context, where every offering is shaped by lived experience, cultural fluency, and Black feminist thought.
In line with their commitment to driving more visibility for Black women in digital spaces, Black Girl Narrative also recently released their inaugural report, “The Love We Code: Black Women, Digital Safe Havens, and Resistance.” Drawing from extensive survey data, it documents the ways Black women push back against digital exclusion, cultivate spaces of belonging, and claim agency over their narratives. More than a report, The Love We Code is a statement of presence—demanding accountability from digital platforms while honoring the creativity, ingenuity, and care Black women pour into online spaces.
What would it look like to live in a world where Black women are the main drivers of their stories and lives? To answer this question, we spoke with both Dr. DeLisha and Dr. Nardos about Black Girl Narrative and how they hope to impact and shape the lives of Black women in America today.
First tell us how you both met – what did you see in each other that sparked a connection, and led you where you are today with your work?
Nardos: I love telling this story. DeLisha and I worked in the same office, but under different employers. DeLisha started working there a few months after I did, so both of us were fairly new to the space. I guess she walked around the office when I wasn’t around, and she noticed that I had a few books on my desk. They were ones that I referenced regularly– mostly books on liberatory education and equity-centered organizational development.
Later on, DeLisha came up to me, didn’t introduce herself, and said something along the lines of, “Ohh, you have books. Tell me– what do you do? Who are you?” I just stared for a second, but I answered with my job title. DeLisha probed, “But no, who are you? No one else here has books this explicit about Black folks, organizations, and equity. So you do something outside of this job.”
We spent a little time going back and forth, learning about who we are, where we come from, and what we consider as our life’s work. I’ll admit, I had no idea that we would become such close friends. I honestly thought we’d be work friends, at best. However, over the years, we bonded. First, we bonded over being two Black girls from Prince George’s County, Maryland who almost went to the same high school at the same time.
Then again over our journey as Black female scholars in doctoral spaces. Then all over again when we began to share our stories of family, of professional life, and of Black girlhood. Our friendship became a sisterhood over countless moments of care, support, and vulnerability. So our connection was sparked with curiosity and seeing another Black woman who cares deeply about community and liberation, and it only got deeper after hearing similarities and differences between our day-to-day stories.
How did the idea for Black Girl Narrative come about, and what was the catalyst for forming this organization?
DeLisha: Honestly, it’s something that had been sitting with me for a long time. Years ago, I started a small project called Black Superwoman Chronicles—just a space for Black women to let go of the pressure and be real about what we were carrying. Then life happened, and I paused it. But it stayed with me. Fast forward to a few years later—during a moment when folks were questioning the 92% of Black women voters stat—I put out a survey asking Black women to share how they’d experienced misogynoir. The stories flooded in—over 2,000 in a week. That moment made it clear: we needed a home for these stories. A space built with intention, care, and truth. That’s how Black Girl Narrative was born.
Nardos: I would say it goes back a bit further than the survey. DeLisha and I have been friends for quite a few years by the time Black Girl Narrative came to fruition. Overtime, and especially during the 2020 pandemic, we had been talking about everything that the pandemic unveiled—state sanctioned violence on Black folks, how our roles in our families were changing, our doctoral programs, work, and how we balance it all with our mental health at the center. We found, in all our conversations, we were sharing stories that healed and celebrated ourselves. At some point, we realized that Black women deserved a space that honored stories in the same way we chose to honor ours.
Why is narrative so important, especially for underrepresented voices, or folks whose stories and lives have been historically controlled by other voices and powers?
Nardos: Because when people try to speak for us, they either get our stories wrong, water it down, or turn it into something that benefits their perception of who we are. Storytelling, on our own terms, lets us reclaim the mic. It’s how we name what’s happening, how we process it, and how we remind ourselves—and each other—that we’re not alone. For Black women, narrative isn’t just about history or art—it’s survival and celebration. Storytelling is our way of fighting and resisting the distorted ideas that others have of us without having to raise our voices.
You say that “visibility is a radical act”, and that feels so relevant today where we are seeing the erasure of especially women’s stories, attacks on DEI schools eliminated books about important historical events. Can you explain more about the power and significance of this statement?
DeLisha: Being visible as a Black woman doesn’t necessarily mean we’re being seen. We’ve always been visible when folks want something from us—our labor, our style, our votes—but when it comes to care? To being heard fully? To being safe? That’s when the silence comes in. So choosing to show up and tell the truth anyway—not to perform, but to be real—that’s radical. Especially now, when books are being banned and people act like equity work is a threat, us just existing out loud is a disruption.
With many social issues, we see a disproportionate impact on Black women – maternal care, healthcare access, equal pay, funding for startups and more. How can narrative change and cultural advocacy that position Black women front and center potentially impact the status quo in these social issues?
DeLisha: Because numbers don’t move people the way stories do. You can throw all the stats in the world at someone, and they’ll nod and move on. But when a Black woman tells her truth—about what happened in a hospital room, or how she’s building a business with no funding and still getting overlooked—it’s different. It hits. And it makes it harder to ignore the systems that keep failing us. That’s why we do this. Stories bring the receipts and the emotion.
Nardos: Everything that DeLisha said, and I’ll add that our stories each show different receipts. The numbers and stats often share one high level point—that these systems weren’t designed for Black women. But our storytelling shares so much more—how people uphold these systems that lead to violent outcomes.
It’s also important to note that our stories also share how we continue to hold each other and celebrate ourselves. Our stories, without a doubt, center the need for change and for people to listen to Black women the first time, but they also show the world what cultural advocacy and inclusive change can look like, too.
What are the mediums you will be using to capture Black women’s stories, and what can your audience and followers expect to see now that you have launched?
Nardos: We’re using a mix of everything—digital campaigns, visual storytelling, audio, short form, long form. You’ll see affirmations, toolkits, even merch that carries messages we actually believe in. We’re also collecting real stories through voice notes, written submissions, whatever feels most natural. Eventually, it’ll grow into a full digital archive. But right now, we’re building slowly and intentionally, giving people options to share in whatever way feels safe and honest.
Who are some of your role models, and what have you learned from them about leadership, storytelling, visibility, advocacy and beyond?
DeLisha: bell hooks. Audre Lorde. My grandmothers. But also—the Black women I talk to every day. The ones showing up tired but still making room for others. The ones starting collectives, running businesses, raising babies, building whole ecosystems online and offline. They’re not always the ones getting the credit, but they’ve taught me what it really means to lead: with care, with community, and without pretending to have it all together.
Nardos: Certainly, for me, it’s the Black women who made me and raised me. I’ve been raised by many Black women—both blood-related and chosen family members. It was with my momma’s and aunties’ love, care, and protection that taught me to choose moments of fierce advocacy and radical leadership as well as moments of soft love and care. They modeled how important community was to our survival, joy, and livingness.
When it comes to storytelling, it just has to be said—oral histories and storytelling has always been a part of Black families and communities. Our ancestors kept our histories and our cultures alive across generations, villages, and borders. So while I draw inspirational storytelling styles from folks like Toni Morrison, Zora Neale Hurston, and Chinua Achebe, I have to name that I’ve been raised with storytelling from my momma and my aunties.
You have already built a huge following on your platforms. What has been the response from your audience so far, and what are the stories being shared with you that inspire you to keep going?
DeLisha: It’s been overwhelming in the best way. Black women are sharing everything—burnout, joy, heartbreak, boundaries they’re finally holding, dreams they’re scared to speak out loud. I get messages like, “I didn’t even know how much I needed this,” or “I’ve never told anyone this before.” That kind of trust? We don’t take it lightly. It’s that connection that keeps us going.
Malcolm X once said, in a speech that is now quite famous, “the Black woman is the most disrespected person in America”. If you can envision a future where the opposite is true, thanks to narrative shift, what would our country look like, designed by Black Girl Narrative?
Nardos: It would feel like freedom. Like softness. Like rest that doesn’t come with guilt. Like being paid well and treated well. Like walking into a room and not bracing yourself to explain your words or your worth. We’d have platforms, power, and peace—not just performative praise. We wouldn’t need protection. And we wouldn’t have to fight to be believed or held.
For someone interested in getting involved, work with the organization, or share their story with you, how do they get in touch, and what are you looking for?
DeLisha: Easiest way to plug in is through our site: BlackGirlNarrative.com. You can also find us on Instagram and Threads at @blckgirlnarrative.
And if you’re interested in partnering, collaborating, or hiring us for narrative building and storytelling support we’re always open to that too—especially if it feels aligned. Just shoot us an email at contact@blackgirlnarrative.com. We’re building something honest and community-centered, and we love working with people who get it.
You can take a look at all the powerful work Black Girl Narrative are doing on their website, and follow the organization on Instagram.
