Fairytales are REAL

Black History Month Edition

I didn’t want to join the bandwagon of celebrating Black History Month.

And I’m not coming for anybody when I say that.

Since I was a kid, Black History Month has felt the same every year. We learn about the same people. Martin. Rosa. Malcolm. Important, yes. But our history goes far beyond those three names. Our history goes beyond slavery. Our history goes beyond trauma.

Over the last few years, I’ve been learning about so many Black people who made a difference that we were never taught about. Innovators. Creators. Visionaries. Ordinary people doing extraordinary things. That’s why this article isn’t going to follow the traditional Black History celebration.

This one is about representation.

And it’s about self preservation.

The First Time I Saw Myself

A few weeks ago, my daughter came to me and said, “Mom, let’s watch the Black Cinderella.”

I said, “They have a cartoon?”

She said, “No, it’s real people.”

She told me it was old, and instantly memories rushed back.

I was about eight years old the first time I saw Brandy as Cinderella. That was the first time I had ever seen a Black princess. Not a side character. Not a stereotype. A princess. A person.

Watching it again as an adult made me realize how close slavery residuals still are. Because representation should not feel that rare. Yet it did. Just like Black Panther did years later. It was a moment. A pause. A reminder that seeing yourself matters.

What I didn’t realize at eight was how much I needed that image. I didn’t have language for it then, but I know now. When you grow up never seeing yourself as the center of the story, you start believing you’re meant to stand on the side of your own life. Representation doesn’t just inspire dreams. It repairs invisibility.

Representation gives hope.

I was talking to someone I work with recently and he said, “You give hope through access.” That stayed with me. Because having access gives people hope. Seeing someone who looks like you, who’s been through what you’ve been through, and still has access, gives people permission to believe differently. To know differently.

Brandy gave me hope.

She didn’t even want to be treated like a princess in the movie. She said, “Treat me like a person.” And it’s sad how many people are still not being treated like a person today.

The Glass Slipper

Watching the movie again, the glass slipper meant something different to me.

It wasn’t about the prince finding Cinderella.

It wasn’t about being chosen.

It symbolized that no one can fit your story.

No one can walk your path for you.

No one can live your life for you.

The slipper only fit her.

Not because she was special.

But because it was made for her.

We say “walk a mile in my shoes,” but the truth is most people could not last a step in a story they did not live. And yet, we spend so much of our lives trying to squeeze ourselves into roles, relationships, and expectations that were never designed for us.

The glass slipper wasn’t about romance.

It was about identity.

When Identity Gets Distorted

We have an identity problem.

That’s why we struggle to read books by people of other faiths.

Why learning about different belief systems feels threatening instead of informative.

Why anything unfamiliar feels unsafe.

It’s not because we’re grounded in who we are.

It’s because we’re not.

When you don’t believe in yourself, you cling to what you were taught without question. When your identity is built on lies, truth feels dangerous.

That’s why if many of us were presented with a glass slipper today, we wouldn’t even try it on.

Because the reflection looking back at us wouldn’t match the story we’ve been telling ourselves. The glass would show everything we’ve been through. The good. The bad. The ugly. And instead of seeing wholeness, we’d see contradiction.

So we reject it.

We tell ourselves it’s not meant for us.

That we’re not worthy.

That fairytales aren’t real.

But the truth is, until you accept all of yourself, you will never be at peace with yourself. And when you are not at peace, you stop believing that the impossible is possible.

Why Fairytales Are Real

That’s the part of fairytales we miss as adults.

Cinderella didn’t become someone new.

She returned to who she already was once she stopped shrinking.

So many of us are not waiting to be discovered.

We’re waiting to stop abandoning ourselves.

We chase the American Dream, relationships, success, and approval thinking it will make us whole. But most of the time, we are just trying to prove we are worthy of a life we already deserve.

Watching Cinderella with my daughter made me reflect on how I felt as a child watching it for the first time. And I hope you remember what you were feeling too, before life told you who you were supposed to be.

Watching it again helped me understand why I’ve always believed fairytales are real.

That’s why I always believed in myself. I went after every dream. When I saw something I wanted, I went after it. And now that I truly know myself, I finally fell in love with who I had always been.

We search for love our entire lives. In our parents. Our siblings. Our family. Our friends. Our children. Our partners. Our work. And it still doesn’t make us feel complete.

Because it can’t.

Not until you love yourself fully.

Not until you reunite with your whole self.

Falling in love with yourself is the greatest love story.

The greatest fairytale.

That’s why I tell my story.

I always say, if I can do it, anybody can.

My story isn’t about me. It’s about giving hope. To all people.

Black history is filled with fairytales we were never taught. People who did impossible things without permission, without representation, without access. And yet they did it anyway.

As Whitney Houston said, impossible things are happening every day.

Ci Notes

Ask yourself:

Where have I been rejecting my own glass slipper, and what changes when I finally tell myself the truth?

Fairytales are real.

Not because life is perfect.

But because truth makes the impossible possible.