I'm a woman, Phenomenally.

Maya Angelou died today. The world has lost an amazing voice and a great inspiration to writers and artists everywhere. I read I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings when I was in sixth grade, and became hooked on Angelou’s memoirs. I suspected that maybe my teachers and parents were unfamiliar with the content—did they know that Angelou had been a sex worker? Did they know her writing was so frank and honest? For an adolescent girl, her writing and attitude were a revelation. She discussed so many topics without shame, subject matter that I could not bring myself to form questions about, let alone the courage to ask.

At about the same time that I began to read Angelou, my life changed dramatically. My father, who had worked on the road closing furniture stores for years, quit his job and moved back home. My mother subsequently became pregnant with my third and final brother. I was in middle school, with all the social, psychological, and physiological changes which that entails. There was no more recess, more homework, dances I was not allowed to attend, three-way calls—everything at school and home was different. Not to mention, of course, the changes of the body and mind of a person who is neither teenager nor child.

At the time, I had three things that kept me going: reading, writing, and acting. The old music teacher retired, and the new music teacher formed a Drama Club, something which had previously existed only in high school. I was thrilled—and for my first performance, I chose “Phenomenal Woman.” I owned the stage as I strutted and repeated her words, “Pretty women wonder where my secret lies. /I’m not cute or built fit a fashion model’s size.” Already, at thirteen, I had learned to hate my thighs, to be uncomfortable with my skin and flesh. I might not have believed Angelou’s words about myself, but when I acted out her poem, I tried desperately to channel her strength.

One of the most powerful portions of Angelou’s story was her discussion of her first writing group. She sought to dazzle them, to show how amazing she was. I wanted the same thing: I wanted to be complimented and loved for my writing. Instead, she was brought back down to normal size, and a group member recommended she start with a short story, and not a novel. She was told that it would be a challenge, and she scoffed. She learned, however, how challenging the form could be. As a young writer, I marveled at how she presented the experience, as well as what I had in store for myself.

Angelou was scheduled to read in Erie when I was in high school, but cancelled due to ill health. In high school and college, I fell in love with new writers and poets, less in love with her work as I once had been. But the lessons I learned from her work: self-acceptance, transforming difficulties to art, and not being ashamed—these are lessons I continue to learn, and her work is an excellent teacher.

My beautiful new niece. For her sake, may we all strive to be as strong as Maya Angelou and be the cause of great change.