the Super Sistah Site All Sistahs are Super! Thu, 19 Jan 2017 21:31:33 +0000 en-US hourly 1 Author Stephanie Small aka the SuperSistah on She Struts Radio! Tue, 15 Mar 2016 15:12:42 +0000 Readers, fans, and the entire Super Sistah family, come join me on Thursday, March 17th @ 6:30pm on the She Struts Radio program hosted by Debora M.  Ricks. The host and I plan to sit and chat about love, life, the book: Black Girl’s Guide to Winning at Love & Life and what it means to be a Super Sistah in a world where #BlackGirlMagic is considered a threat. Tune in and we’ll see you there!

You have a question for me? Call in @ 718.766.4468



Season’s Greetings from Me to You! Fri, 18 Dec 2015 01:34:52 +0000 Hello All,

I just wanted to take a quick moment to thank all my friends, readers and subscribers for all the love and support throughout the year.  May 2016 be prosperous, transformative and of course …Super!

And don’t forget, if you need a gift for that deserving Super Sistah in your life? I have your gift right here. Black Girl’s Guide to Winning at Love & Life is available at Amazon, B & N, Smashwords and Kobo in the U.S, Canada and the UK.

May we all seek and find our better selves in the New Year.

Blessings to all.

the Super Sistah
Are You Super? Yeah, you are!


BGG2W Xmas


Hate or Hashtag? Thu, 01 Oct 2015 03:58:34 +0000 A white friend, who I like and admire, recently posted a picture on her Facebook page of a police officer holding a sign saying #AllLivesMatter, more specifically, #PoliceLivesMatter. Ahhhh, duh. I consider this person well-read and in touch with the world in which we live in, so I was disappointed that she would post something so provocative. The picture and the sentiment itself isn’t incendiary, it’s the ideology behind it. Let me explain. I wanted to comment on the picture with scathing a retort, a response destined to incinerate her timeline. Instead, I checked my initial impulse and thought of ways to turn the post into a teachable moment. Not only for her but for everyone who doesn’t understand what it means to be black in America or who view the #BlackLivesMatter campaign as a poorly-disguised hate group.

I envisioned myself having a party at my home, inviting all my clueless friends and schooling them on the basics of what it means to be black, i.e. “Blackness 101.” In this classroom masquerading as a dinner party, I would make it clear that the #BlackLivesMatter movement is NOT a competition about whose life is more valuable. It’s a cry—a cry for help, acknowledgement, recognition, mercy, and peace. It’s a lament, a mourning-call, a shout into the darkness of inhumanity.
To say all lives matter is ludicrous. ALL, as it’s used in main-stream and social media is a euphemism for white. No one is debating or denying the value and worth of white lives (or police lives). People should, and do, value them. The proof is in the outcry that ensues when someone white is harmed or killed. There is a demand for retribution when a non-black person becomes a victim of some senseless act of violence. No one questions the circumstances behind such tragedies. No one debates whether the victim deserves justice. There isn’t the question of if the parents of the deceased deserve our sympathy or our compassion. Their pain isn’t ridiculed along with their sons’ or daughters’ reputations being slandered by racially-coded slurs. Their lives mattered. We know. We concur. We get it.

Yet no matter how much brutality, excessive force, wrongful death, and unnecessary violence against people of color is shown by the media, the #AllLivesMatter faction remains unconvinced that a dehumanizing double-standard exists. When a fourteen-year old girl at a pool party, clad only in a bikini, is manhandled by an officer three times her size, she’s somehow seen as a criminal, a threat. The #AllLivesMatter coalition was silent on the matter. If that young lady was anything other than black there would have been no end to the outrage. The problem is internal. The truth is that many people use the #AllLives hashtag to mask their belief that when blacks are killed or abused, they simply got what they deserved. If they’re being honest with themselves, they consider our lives disposable. Black lives can’t matter because those lives matter less than everyone else’s. Just say it. Don’t disguise the truth with pro #AllLives propaganda. For those still firmly embedded in the clueless club let me reiterate: believing black lives matter DOES NOT mean anyone else’s life matters less. The world should value all lives. As a reminder of this, black people rally, black people fight, and black people proclaim that #BlackLivesMatter! If we don’t put that record on repeat who will?

The human race is in jeopardy when bigotry fueled brutality doesn’t make us angry and sad. I urge everyone to concentrate more on ending racism and hatred and worry less about the hashtag.



Becoming Badu Mon, 31 Aug 2015 15:27:13 +0000 I was told recently that my image, my profile and my persona needed a makeover, a do-over and a facelift. My personal brand needed to be more positive, more chill and much more Zen. It was suggested that I emulate more popular writers and try to be a tad more upbeat. It was good advice even though I wasn’t having it. My problem with the instruction was that it didn’t feel authentic. It felt disingenuous to who I was and my life’s philosophy. Too many times in my past I’d sacrificed truth for the sake of being well liked and popular. I couldn’t agree to neglect the truth of myself for the sake of likability and call myself a truth teller. I received the advice though with a open heart. The reason? I understood what I was being told you see. Understood that some people shroud their pessimism and negativity in the guise of being pragmatic and practical. I get it, but I’m not that chick. When people come to me for real talk I often don’t spend the time to make that talk pretty. I don’t decorate my words with flowers or poetry. I don’t bother with euphemisms or go around the bend when the direct route is open to me. This is interpreted sometimes as me being …harsh. I get it and I’m trying to learn to be softer but no less sincere. It’s tough because like all of you, I have role models and women I admire. They have traits and qualities that I wish came naturally to me. I realize, however, that even though these traits aren’t an inherent part of my personality, this isn’t a tragedy. If all I can aspire to be is a better version of myself then that’s okay. I aspire to be authentically Super. Authentically me. You dig?

These days many women want to be someone else. We have this picture in our minds of the best female role models. We want to be earthy, intuitive and spiritual like the lovely Erykah Badu and India Arie. These mothers of the earth are wise and deep and we want to embody their traits. Some of you do, but not me. Yes, I’d rock their t-shirts Erykah taught me and India taught me; I’d admire their shaved heads, natural hair or lengthy locks but that would be it. Although becoming Badu is appealing and has its perks, I much rather be me. The way I see it, before these women we admire became role models and women worthy of emulation, they had to overcome who they were yesterday. Before Badu was Badu, she had to deal with her baby fathers and failed relationships. Before India was India, she had to battle self-hatred and gain self-respect. Before Oprah was O, she had to battle feelings of inadequacy and being unworthy. Before Jill was Jill Scott, she had to banish negative self-talk from her head to the exclusion of all else. They were becoming their better selves, still are and so are we. None of us arrive on the earth fully formed and functioning human beings. I’m the Super Sistah. What does that mean? It means I’m in the act of becoming completely unapologetic, unafraid and unfiltered. I’m guiding myself to greatness in a way that is meaningful to me. So yes, I could be perkier, more meditative and more Zen, but that may not be my destination. Maybe the road I travel will lead me to becoming more truthful, more fearless and more powerful. That’s okay with me. More important than becoming Badu is becoming the best version of the woman I see in the mirror.

So what’s up? Y’all disagree? For complaints call (555)897-6633.

Erykah says to ask for Tyrone, but you can’t use her phone.


Insincerely Sorry Fri, 17 Jul 2015 12:36:24 +0000 I’m sorry, so sorry, that I was such a fool. Brenda Lee’s song is sung plaintively with the tone and tenor of overall remorse. These days; however, in an era of overwhelming hatred and intolerance, people, after saying or doing some real hateful sh*t, now have the get out of jail free loophole called the apology. Now after being cruel all that is required for a clean slate is to ramp up the acting skills and say, I’m sorry, so sorry, that I was such a fool, and all is forgiven. Not likely. Brenda Lee’s goes on to say that, mistakes are part of being young but that don’t right the wrong that’s been done. I agree with Ms. Lee and this doubly applies to those who are old as hell and should know better.

I for one am not on the side of the pc folks who believe that people should keep their hateful thoughts to themselves. Nope, I think they should speak up and loudly. They should bellow and spew their discontent so everyone from miles can hear and identify them. Spout as much ignorance as all our ears and hearts can take that way we’ll know who we’re up against. I don’t want racists and misogynist to pretend. I want them waving their hate flag high. The haters have gone underground now because of social pressure. Inevitably of course, they have a lapse and are socially reprimanded for their wicked tongues. When this happens their not worried because they now know just what to do to smooth things over. What you ask? You guessed it. Say sorry.


That’s it?

I know it’s what our mothers taught us to do when we did something wrong but mom wanted us to wear our sorry on our souls not just our sleeves. Our sorrys were supposed to evoke change in us and reflection. Not just words said over airwaves to save endorsement deals or salaries. Case in point, Andy Cohen, host of Watch What Happens Live, recently called 16 year old Amandla Stenberg a jack-hole for some hair beef she had with the constantly controversial Kylie Jenner. No matter one’s take on the matter, to me, it was a disagreement between children with a side order of cultural commentary. Andy decided to get all up in it and criticize Amandla for having her say. How he did this was by calling the young black teen names. After social media let the fur fly, Andy said he was sorry. Was he? He said he was but I’m not buying it. Andy, like all of us, is entitled to his own opinion but let kids be kids and let their squabbles not result in schoolyard name calling from adults way past puberty.

People hate. Lots of individuals do it privately. I personally like the Donald Trump approach. He takes his hate to billboards with bright shining lights. He’s not subtle and as a minority I know exactly how he feels about me. He’s not hiding it. He’s a hatemonger with a hairpiece. He’s many things but what he isn’t, is sorry. He doesn’t apologize for anything. He doesn’t care if what he says or does offends people. In a time of duplicity and fake apologies I respect his lack of hypocrisy. If you hate me, I want to see you coming.

So for the sake of clarity, for those who dislike me and have said so openly don’t backpedal and apologize, I promise I won’t shed a tear. Stand firm in your dislike and keep talking trash. I’ll show you sorry. I got your sorry right here.



This Weird Thing Called Life Podcast Interview w/Stephanie Small Sat, 11 Jul 2015 22:46:15 +0000 Sometimes you need to hear the truth & @theSuperSistah brings it for women who are ready for great relationships says Nadia of the weekly podcast show, This Weird Thing We Call Life. If you missed the interview about the book Black Girl’s Guide to Winning at Love & Life then catch it on the rewind here! #SelfHelp #Relationships

Podcast Link:



Ask Rachel Mon, 15 Jun 2015 14:53:02 +0000 During the Rachel Dolezal debacle, like everyone else, I viewed the situation with confusion, perplexity and saw the hilarity behind the sad saga. If you’ve been living in a cave and missed the controversy, or worse, you don’t have Internet or cable, then allegedly, Rachel is a white woman who gained and kept her position as the Spokane NAACP leader by pretending to be black for over a decade. During all the discussions regarding her actions I remained relatively neutral on the subject until someone asked the question on their Facebook page whether she should keep her job at the NAACP or not. Out of nowhere this opinion of mine leapt out:

Rachel could have done all her good works as a white woman. Instead she lived a life of permanent black face. My hair, my color and my roots are not something I can put on and take off as the mood strikes. Being black means that I live with my history, my culture and my childhood as a person of color every time I walk out the door. I can’t pay for it via a layaway plan or by installments. Accepting grants for people of color, giving and getting paid to speak on issues of race and getting scholarships meant for people of color is criminal and unacceptable. She doesn’t get a pass for her good intentions. Our actions and not only our intentions count and Rachel, whether she is a exceptional leader and lover of all things black, is a liar, a cheater and a fraud and her character is in question.

Columbus may have had good intentions when he first spied the Natives in the New World. Old school religious folks may have had good intentions when they gathered up witches and pagans and burned them at the stake. America may have had good intentions when it sought to rid the world of weapons of mass destruction. Are our intentions and good works the only things that matter? Paul Bundy (serial killer) once volunteered at the suicide hotline I’m told. I’m sure his intentions were good, until of course, when they were bad. I don’t hate Rachel for wanting to do good. I dislike her actions and her deception. Race is a social construct they say. Well it is until I go into a high-end store and linger in the aisle too long. I can’t pretend to be white when it suits me so she doesn’t get to pretend to be me. I hope she gets the psychiatric help she needs.

I guess I had an opinion after all.

I want to #AskRachel how it felt when she was a child the first time the N word was used against her as a whip that struck. Was it then during her white years as a person of privilege that she decided that race was fluid and nothing more than a social construct?


The Caitlyn Controversy Tue, 09 Jun 2015 19:25:45 +0000 I don’t usually write or talk about reality TV stars, cause well, I just don’t. Putting the spotlight on people who crave the spotlight seems like a waste of time so I just refrain. While I don’t want to paint all reality TV folks with the same brush, I’ll still state with confidence and conviction that some folks crave the camera like crackheads crave crack. I for one am not into feeding anyone’s addiction. Which brings me to the purpose of this post.

I went on a work assignment recently and on my way back into the city I had a conversation with my really chatty female cabbie. Usually when I come back from these things I just want silence and the half sleep I can enjoy while I make my way home after hours on a plane. My cabbie wasn’t having it. On and on she went moving from topic-to-topic from subject-to-subject not taking my grunted responses as a hint that maybe I wasn’t up for the jibber jabbering. She chatted endlessly until she settled on the subject that made her voice go high and made her thick Spanish accent deepen. The topic was of one Mr(s) Bruce Caitlyn Jenner.

Suddenly when discussing this topic my cabbie became eloquent, passionate and philosophical. I believe gay and transgender people should have their rights, you know, she said hands flung high in the air for effect. I don’t believe you should beat them up and do bad things to them because you don’t believe in their lifestyle. But this Bruce guy, he crazy! she said with conviction. He have problems, you know? He wants to mutilate himself and people are calling him a hero. Hero! she said with disgust. If he wants to be a woman that is his business but hero my friend he is not. We have to teach our kids and society what the real meaning of hero is. Heroes are people who risk their lives for others, who sacrifice their lives for others, heroes are people who do great things to make the world a better place. If a man wants to wear makeup and a dress on national TV how is he a hero? The world is going to hell if this is what we think makes someone heroic. He is brave, maybe, but that is it. She ended her rant with that dramatic statement and was quiet for the rest of the trip leaving us both silent with our thoughts. While I would have rather made my way home to  Brooklyn without the social commentary, in my half sleep I acknowledged silently that my cab driver had a point.

Bruce Jenner, sorry, Caitlyn Jenner whether you agree with his/her change or not is a man making a personal life choice. With Memorial Day just weeks ago and bodies still coming home draped in the American flag to families that they will never see again, I too question having the word hero brandished about so freely. Ms Jenner (Not Kris) is a woman with a plan, a purpose and a mission to self express, may she wave her freaky flag in peace and prosperity. But hero is a big word and it has muscle and teeth.

In today’s day and age where tolerance and acceptance are at its zenith, I pray that we don’t diminish what it means to be heroic. I hope that despite our acceptance of other in all forms, a hero doesn’t only mean rocking a new pair of double D’s, a tight designer dress and lipstick.


Sistah Support System Wed, 20 May 2015 19:45:47 +0000 Social Service, called welfare back in the day, was built originally to support the needs of the nation’s poor, needy and sick. The goal of the program was to give a helping hand to those without support. Whether you agree with the program in its current form, its originators understood one basic human fact: all of us, from time-to-time, could do with a little help. Outside of a financial obligation, I feel women, like the social service system, should come to the aid and assistance of other women. This support system can come in the form of a relative, friend or best bud/BFF.

No matter how gifted, talented or how close to Olympus some of us have reached, we all need that sister-friend, compadre or girlfriend who is in our corner until the last bell rings. Every woman needs a Sistah Support System.  If you’re lucky as I am, then this person can be a blood relative but she doesn’t have to be.

In my case, the Super Sistah (Stephanie by birth) has a sister. She’s younger than me so she’s been pre-programmed to love me no matter what. But when I’m down, when the world has gone dark and grey, when my superpowers have failed me and I feel like I have nothing left, like the welfare program of old, she steps in with the resources I need.

She replenishes me in these simple ways:

  1. She accepts me as I am. Acceptance goes a long way.  My sister is very clear about my shortcomings. She’s cognizant of my failings, insecurities and shortcomings, but despite my imperfections her good opinion of me hasn’t changed. Love without judgment feeds our starving hearts with the food we need.
  2. She encourages me. If my sister sees that I can’t leap as high as I once did, she selflessly gives me a boost. If I tell her I feel alone, she declares she is always here with me. When I express my doubts, she reminds me that I am powerful. When I share my fear of not being good enough, she reminds me that I am a fear-fighter. Sometimes a kind word is all the currency we need.
  3. She’s there when I need her. Sometimes just being there for someone is all the help they require. Knowing a friend is present gives us the added reassurance of knowing that if the bottom opens up in our world, that those who care about us won’t make us fall. A safety net in times of trouble is comforting.
  4. She listens to me. Often, all we need is an understanding ear when things have gone crazy in our lives. Advice is good but often overrated.
  5. She’s trustworthy.  No matter how stupid, foolish or irresponsible I’ve been, I know that my secrets are safe. Sometimes knowing that our thoughts are confidential is invaluable.

I’m blessed, but a Sistah Support System does not have to be a blood relative. She can be any woman who supports us as we navigate through a world that is not built to encourage love and friendship between persons of the same sex. As women, a support system with women of like minds is a must.

We’re not meant to live off the kindness of our friends, but to use their support as a stopgap until our lives are back on track. Here’s to the many women we call friends and family who love us and have our backs.



Black Girls Rock? Wed, 08 Apr 2015 14:16:12 +0000 With shame and regret I admit that when it aired the first time I missed it. I forgot it was on. I didn’t watch it as I should have but that doesn’t mean I don’t have a comment on the commentary floating around the internet pertaining to the show Black Girl Rock. Lord, help me to understand why this show title, this affirmation and this declaration to God is such a cause of controversy for so many? Catching the show later on rewind, I celebrated its positive message, its enthusiasm and its commitment to showcasing the best of black women. Imagine my surprise then when I heard comments claiming reverse racism, bias, bigotry and doubt about the need for a show that highlights our diversity.

For those who claim we’re being self-indulgent, whiny or narcissistic let me briefly explain. If it was obvious to everyone that black girl rock, if it was believed wholeheartedly by the masses, if most black women believed this unquestionably then we wouldn’t need a show to remind us and the world of this universal truth. The belief would be embedded in our hearts. The affirmation would be one with our souls, society would champion our claim and endorse its positive message, but this is not the case! Hence, I declare, BLACK GIRLS ROCK! I declare it because no race besides our own will understand the urgent need to uplift our girls, remind them of their beauty, and be a champion for their talent and courage. The show and its message are necessary and needed because we have no one to tell us we are wonderful so we tell our selves. Don’t hate on the message nor its handful of talented and beautiful black women who act as its messenger.

Why is it a problem if just for a second black women are on top? Is discrimination the reason behind why people hate the idea of Black Girls Rock?