The moment I broke—and they filmed it.

I gave all that up—for a dream.

W.E.E.N. wasn’t some cute little internship. It was a promise that Black women like me could finally get in the room.
It was supposed to be the thing.
The launchpad. The “you go girl” montage moment before my career took off.

And for once, the room was full of us.
Black women. Braids. Degrees. Culture. Excellence. 

I thought—finally.
This is where I get to breathe. Where I get to blossom. Where I don’t have to explain myself or shrink to fit.

It was psychological warfare.
The kind of hazing I imagine fraternities brag about surviving.

But I kept showing up.
I smiled. I worked hard. I stayed late. I tried. So hard.

Until my mentor pulled me aside and said:
“If you want to graduate, you better speak up. Make yourself memorable.”

I listened.

Voice trembling. Knees weak. But I stood.

I had something to say—hell, I needed to say it.
After weeks of being told I was invisible, I chose visibility.
I chose myself.

I cleared my throat.

“Excuse me. I have something to say.”

Silence.

Louder now. “Excuse me. I have something to say!”

I looked toward my mentor—hoping for reassurance. Hoping she’d nod. Smile. Something.

Instead…
She laughed.

Laughed.

I saw her whispering in the corner.
I saw the smirk. The sideways glances.
And then I saw the phone. Recording.

I couldn’t breathe.
Couldn’t speak.
Couldn’t survive the moment with grace.

I sobbed.
Not a cute cry. A full-body collapse.

They just... let me unravel.

And the next day? I was cut from the program.
No phone call. Just a cold email.
“We’re moving forward without you.”

I was humiliated.
And heartbroken.

Because in a world where it’s already so hard for Black women to have confidence—
Why wouldn’t you try to build us up?

Why would you sharpen your claws on someone who came to you already bleeding?

I still don’t have answers.
But I do have power now.

That breakdown didn’t end me.
It birthed me.

Because here’s the plot twist:
Years later, I landed in a new room.
And this one? It was built different.

It was built by Sophia Chang.

The mentor to Wu-Tang.
Yes, that Wu-Tang.
Method Man. RZA. A Tribe Called Quest.

She’s worked with legends and then turned around to create an entire ecosystem for us.
Black women. Queer women. First-gen. The overlooked. The overqualified. The ones who don’t pass the vibe check with gatekeepers.

Sophia doesn’t just teach.
She sees.
She builds.
She reminds you who you are.

I went from sobbing in silence to speaking on panels.
From getting dropped in an email to being mentored by the woman who moves culture.

And now?
I’m not waiting for someone to tell me I’m ready.

I’m building my own table.

If you’ve ever been crushed in a space you thought would save you—
I want you to know: that wasn’t the end.

You’re not the mess they made of you.
You’re the masterpiece that comes after.

With fire,
Jasmine Patrice White
Writer. Hope Dealer. Alumni of Hell & Back.

P.S.  If you’ve ever been torn down by someone who claimed they were there to lift you up… hit reply and tell me what happened. Or just say “me too.” We’re naming these moments so they stop living inside us rent-free.