I’m an ugly crier, but these weren’t ugly tears and I’m glad to be shedding them. Having a moment like this with my higher power is not something I know how to do. Before recovery, the only forces I knew were working in my life were music, Murphy’s law, and racism. I never felt like my solution could come from anywhere outside myself.

“I now see how I progressed over these many years and learned my voice mattered when I never did before. I get so much out of this community, and I also get to contribute to it.”

The Blackyard Collective is one of the ways Jamie has been able to give back. She knows that seeing people who “look like you, who have made it and are doing the work” can make a huge difference for someone coming into recovery. She can often be seen reaching out to newcomers, inviting them to coffee or the movies with other fellows, and trying to help them as she has been helped. 

In the tradition of Black communal care, this is what I believe we are doing, “being in community taking care of itself outside of the state.” Because the state is impervious to Black viability, Black people have had to sustain ourselves. We have had to create our own spaces, make our own meals, and hone our own cultures in order to survive and thrive.

I reconnected with people in recovery. Especially the folks who started The Blackyard Collective (BYC). I attended the BYC Juneteenth weekend events and was blown away by the community, the love, and the fellowship. I thought I had arrived years ago at Sound Factory, but now truly my tribe is found. These beautiful Black, queer, and trans folks were at times the topic of discussion when I checked-in monthly at court. The judge suggested that I keep these people close.