What if Keisha had a mentor?

Keisha’s story in Forever mirrors the girls we serve. Help us build the village she never had.

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Have you seen the new Netflix series Forever? As a proud Gen X'er, I was flat-out elated to learn that one of Judy Blume's iconic books was being adapted for TV—and through the lens of a Black girl?! I was ready. I grew up reading Judy Blume's books and was beyond excited to binge. But I wasn’t ready for how deeply the story—how deeply Keisha Clark—would remind me of the girls we serve every day at TCI. Before I go any further: spoiler alert! If you haven’t seen Forever yet, this is your cue to pause, log into Netflix, and come back after episode one (or four). I promise—we’ll still be here. Now, for those of you who stayed—let me introduce you to Keisha Clark. Keisha is from the Crenshaw district of Los Angeles. She's a go-getter. A track star. Outgoing, hilarious, and smart as all get out. She’s got her eyes set on Howard University. She’s the girl who seems like she has it all together. And in many ways, she does. Keisha is beautiful, talented, and focused. But behind all that brilliance is a young woman doing everything she can to hold it together—to be as close to perfect as possible. She’s fully aware of her mother’s hard work, and she knows their resources are stretched thin. It’s painfully clear that Keisha is strong, tough, and resilient. But as I watched, I couldn’t help but wonder: Is Keisha healthy? Does she feel seen? Heard? Chosen? Safe? Does she have someone to turn to who isn’t grading, parenting, or judging her? Does she have anyone in her life who doesn’t expect something from her? Now that we know who Keisha is, let’s talk about her circumstances. She attends a predominantly white school on scholarship. She’s navigating young love, her body, and her identity—alone. Then her world is turned upside down when her boyfriend shares an intimate video of them without her consent. Keisha chooses not to tell her mother, and eventually transfers to a costly neighborhood Catholic school. The shame and guilt of the added financial burden is a load she carries silently. When she finally opens up, she says: "I'm sorry I didn't tell you—I was trying to navigate it on my own." Later, she explains: "My mom deserves to think I'm amazing because, guess what? If I am, she is too." That line gutted me. Because at TCI, we know that story. We know that silence. We’ve lived that feeling of carrying more than any young girl should have to carry. That’s when it hit me: What if Keisha had a mentor? A lot of people don’t really understand what we’re doing at TCI. They don’t always see the value in mentoring a Black girl. We’ve even been denied grants and have literally been told the reason behind our denial is that people didn’t see the importance of our work. But that doesn’t stop us. And it never will. As much as we try to explain adultification, criminalization, the pressure to be the “strong Black woman,” and the complexity of relationships with parents, peers, and partners—some people still don’t get it. But watching Forever forces you to see the life of a Black girl through a Black girl’s lens. It forces you to see Keisha—the human being. If Keisha were a TCI mentee, we’d remind her that mistakes are a part of growth—and that she was never meant to navigate life’s hardest moments alone. At TCI, we don’t just say we’re your village—we show it. Keisha would feel it in every call, every check-in, every hug. She would know, without a doubt, that she has a community of Black women behind her—here solely to support, uplift, and affirm her. We’d help her understand that carrying it all by herself won’t lighten her mother’s load. That she doesn’t need to silence herself to protect anyone’s peace. That she is amazing because of who she is, not because she’s holding it all together. And we’d tell her something she might never have heard: She is not responsible for making her mother’s dreams come true. Her life is her own. Through our real-talk conversations—the kind we have with all our girls—we’d help her process her experience with love and honesty. We’d encourage her to tell her mother—not from a place of fear, but from a place of healing. We’d remind her that sex is normal. That curiosity is normal. That she should never feel ashamed for being vulnerable or human. And we’d also prepare her for the possibility that her mother might be hurt or disappointed—and gently explain that those reactions are rooted in fear. Fear of what the world might do to her daughter. Fear of her becoming a statistic. But never a lack of love. If Keisha had a mentor, she’d have someone—another Black woman—to talk to, to cry with, to process the hard stuff with. And at TCI, when a girl gets a mentor, she doesn’t just get one—she gets a community. I can’t even count how many hours we’ve spent on FaceTime just listening. How many tears we’ve wiped. How many lunches and dinners we’ve covered—just to sit across the table and say, “Tell me your dreams. I’m listening.” Because that’s what we do at TCI. We show up—for the Keishas of the world. That’s why your support matters. TCI isn’t just funding meals, confabs, or curated excursions—we’re funding safe space. We’re building a space where Black girls can breathe, cry, question, grow, and be loved through it all. And keeping that space alive comes with real costs. When I started this program, I knew it wouldn’t be easy. But I took it on willingly—because girls like Keisha Clark are worth it. Our community must rally around the Keishas of the world. We must uplift and support them—not just so they can succeed, but so they can be healthy, whole, and seen. 💛 If you believe in our vision—if you believe in our girls and the transformative power of mentorship—now is the time to act. Your gift today helps us continue creating safe spaces, meaningful relationships, and life-changing opportunities for Black girls and gender-expansive youth at USC. Help us reach our $30,000 goal today—because they’re worth it. Make a Donation Now View email in browser · Los Angeles, Ca 90006 · USA update your preferences or unsubscribe