This Ain’t Just a Book Review

When I picked up Dream Count, I wasn’t ready. I thought I was just reading a novel. But what I got was a punch to the gut and a hug for my heart—at the same damn time. Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie wrote a story that made me feel seen, especially as a Black woman navigating a world that doesn’t always care if we survive, let alone thrive.

At the same time, I was reading All the Black Girls Are Activists by EbonyJanice Moore. Two completely different books—but both had me sitting with myself. Like, really sitting. Thinking about my own choices, my own body, and how I move through this world as a Black woman. This post is me connecting the dots between these two books, womanism, and the life I’m living.

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What Even Is Womanism—and Why It Hits Different

So here’s the deal: womanism is what feminism forgot. Alice Walker coined the term because she saw how feminism—especially white feminism—didn’t have space for Black women’s full reality.

Womanism says I don’t have to pick between being Black and being a woman. I get to be all of me, all the time. It’s about our experiences, our communities, our healing, and our joy. It’s not about competing with men or climbing some corporate ladder just to prove we belong. It’s about freedom. It’s about wholeness.

EbonyJanice said it best:

“The most radical thing a Black woman can do is know herself and be herself on purpose.”

And I felt that. Because being fully yourself in this world as a Black woman? That’s not easy. That’s work. That’s resistance.

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Our Bodies, Their Systems, and the Fight to Be Believed

Let’s talk about the bodies we live in.

Dream Count lays it all out—fibroids, infertility, maternal death, disrespect in hospitals, silence, shame. All the stuff people don’t want to talk about, especially when it comes to Black women. But Adichie doesn’t look away. And reading it? Neither could I.

And All the Black Girls Are Activists just confirms it—our bodies have always been political. People want to control us, use us, shame us, and still expect us to be strong through it all. Nah. Womanism lets us tell the truth: this system was never built with us in mind. And we don’t owe it our loyalty, our pain, or our silence.

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Choosing Not to Have Children: A Womanist Rebellion

There’s a moment in Dream Count where Omelogor reflects on not having children, and it hit me straight in the chest:

“Sometimes I sense that I disappoint my mother by not being ravaged by my own childlessness. ‘Don’t worry, not everyone is meant to have children,’ she will tell me sometimes, seeking sorrow from me… Shut a door that I never even wanted to walk through and I grieve something lost.”

That quote holds so much. Omelogor isn’t mourning the lack of children—she’s mourning the way people expect her to mourn. The way society projects grief onto her. The way womanhood gets boiled down to motherhood, and how even when you never wanted that path, you’re still expected to feel broken when it’s no longer available.

Her refusal is quiet. Not bitter. Not loud. But it’s defiant in its own way. She doesn’t want the role she’s expected to play—and she’s honest enough to say that out loud.

And while my reasons for not wanting children are different, they’re rooted in the same truth: this world has never cared about Black women’s autonomy. I’ve seen how the medical system treats us—how we bleed, get ignored, die, and get gaslit the entire way through. I know the numbers. I’ve heard the stories. I’ve felt the fear.

So when I say I don’t want kids, it’s not because I lack love or capacity. It’s because I know what the cost can be—and I refuse to pay it with my body, my peace, or my life.

Omelogor and I stand in different rooms, but we’re both facing the same door. One she never wanted to walk through. One I actively chose not to. And in both cases, we’re allowed to choose. We’re allowed to not feel sorry.

Womanism makes space for that. It honors our “no.” It doesn’t require justification or grief. Whether it’s a quiet resistance or a loud refusal, it’s sacred.

Like EbonyJanice says:

“Liberation is saying no. Liberation is rest. Liberation is letting yourself be your own revolution.”

That “no”—hers, mine, and maybe yours too—is the beginning of freedom.

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Dreaming Is Radical. Period.

The title Dream Count isn’t just poetic—it’s a whole message. Dreaming, for Black women, is radical. It’s bold. It’s sacred. Because we’ve been told our dreams don’t matter. That we should just survive. Be strong. Be quiet.

But nah. I’m done shrinking. I’m done pretending peace doesn’t matter. I’m dreaming anyway.

Dreams about softness. About being seen. About choosing myself without guilt. About a life that isn’t about performance or pain.

That’s the kind of dreaming womanism invites. And that’s the kind of freedom I’m claiming.

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To Every Black Girl Reading This

Let me say this plainly:

Your dreams count.
Your peace counts.
Your “no” counts.
Your softness counts.

This isn’t about books. This is about us. Dream Count and All the Black Girls Are Activists helped me remember that I don’t have to justify my existence. That my choice to not have kids is sacred. That my story—exactly as it is—is worthy.

This is my womanist truth. My refusal. My freedom.
And if you’re reading this? You’ve got permission to claim yours too.