As soon as I open my mouth, one can immediately tell that I’m a Black woman from a southern or midwestern state and that I grew up in the hood.

Growing up, this was something I tried to change. I was embarrassed*. I tried my hardest to “code switch”, but despite my best efforts, it never quite felt authentic. I didn’t code switch because I didn’t want people to know I’m Black—I’ve always been taught to love my Blackness, and have never wanted to be anything else—I wanted people to know I had an education, that I was intelligent.** You see, I, like most little Black kids (especially those of us who grew up in the hood), was also taught that in order to get a job, for others to feel comfortable, to get respect, we had to have what journalists call, a “universal accent” so that the masses would accept us. You know, treat us like the human beings we are.

So we adapted. Or at least tried. I’ve never been good at accents—ask my high school Forensics coach.

Then I heard Angela. The first time she came into my life was when she called Joe Walsh “playboy” on national tv.

Wait, what?!?

Slang—on Cable News Network?

I felt as represented as when I discovered that Misty Copeland also has a nice thicket of fur on her arms.

I immediately began researching Angela, and, while she's considered everyone else's "little sister", she's been my big sis ever since.

Angela Rye, an accomplished, intelligent, influential Black woman was not afraid of her “Blaccent”. I’m not sure if she’s ever had insecurities about it, or if she was ever told she needed to “sound more white”, but hearing the ease in how she navigated the media without slipping into her “professional voice” made me more comfortable with my own.

Now, I understand that I do not have the accolades that Angela has, and while I’ve been on the radio (shout out to Hot 103 and KPRT 1590 in KC), I haven’t had the pleasure of being on CNN or The Breakfast Club, so I’m certain that there are things she can get away with that I cannot. Still, being able to see and hear someone who sounds like me and still deemed intelligent in the public sphere means the world.

Representation comes in many ways. For me, it’s deeper than a Black face and natural hair. Hearing Angela speak, and knowing she knows she doesn’t need to use “SAT words” to articulate herself, gives me the confidence to be me. Unapologetically.

But I never felt more seen than when Angela gave the disclaimer she did before loudly cackling, with her mouth wide open, about Omarosa's "departure" from the White House. Sometimes, a diplomatic, "proper" critique of Omarosa, or any of the other cretins of society, doesn’t quite cut it, and it takes an eloquent, "Bye, girl, bye! Good riddance!” to adequately express how you feel.

So dear Angela, thank you. Thank you for allowing this Black woman the space to authentically use my voice, despite who it may make uncomfortable.

*You’d think this embarrassment would prevent me from pursuing public speaking opportunities, but I think my personality won that fight. I have always loved to share my voice. I just didn’t like to hear it.

**As we know, society automatically deems those of us who are from the hood as uneducated, unprofessional, and undeserving of humanity.