When I was about 9 years old, I was invited to a birthday party for a girl named Kim. Kim was one of the popular girls in our neighborhood, and we really weren’t close friends, so I was surprised when she invited me. But this wasn't just a birthday party. It was a sleepover. And for me, that was a very big deal. Growing up as a little Black girl in a home with seven children, my mother was very protective. Sleepovers simply weren't allowed. But I begged. Eventually, Mama said

Lately, I’ve been thinking about identity and formation. I’m realizing how easily our identity can become attached to what we do instead of who we are. My mind went back to when I was a little girl.The people closest to me rarely called me Arlene. My friends and family called me Leni. My dad called me Lena. One of my cousins even called me Bert because she thought I looked like my Aunt Bertha. Almost no one called me Arlene. Except my teachers. And as I thought about that rec