My mother grew up in the 1930s and 1940s in the mountains of West Virginia when assimilation had already affected her family for two generations. She shared with me the fears and insecurities she felt when her grandparents visited. Living in a coal-mining town, she and her siblings often tried to fade into poor white society, assuming a more “acceptable” role. It was clear they were not white, but it was also clear that they were aspiring to be “civilized.” To embrace Native heritage at that time was to be “savage and uncivilized.” When she shared the stories of her youth with me, I sensed that she too was working to deprogram herself from the cultural constructs of the shame that she felt for being native growing up.

Although she and her immediate family did not live on the North Carolina reservation where her grandparents were from, my mother’s parents preserved traditions of storytelling and spirituality that were central to the Twister Clan, also known as the Long Hair Clan. Storytelling, her most cherished gift to me, became her way of ensuring our family’s history was preserved. In her family line, there were diplomats and speakers. Her honesty and sense of justice were part of this legacy. She instructed me to keep our history, telling me from a young age never to forget who I was and where I came from. Though I didn’t understand this responsibility as a child, her guidance inspired a quest to reconcile my American identity with my Cherokee heritage in my early teens. In seeking my Native self, I fed my spirit and developed an even deeper hunger for truth. She taught me that a person with a hungry soul is both powerful and vulnerable, as the soul needs nourishing too.
My spiritual journey eventually found solace in faith, with Islam as a lighthouse guiding my soul toward comfort. The Arabic word Islam has the root “Sa La Ma,” which holds the meanings of peace and submission. This resonated deeply with me as another lesson from my mother: “You can’t lead until you can humble yourself to follow what is true. If you search, you will find it. But when you find it, you must not reject it.” But then there were times I felt parts of myself became invisible or even minimized as I began my path in Islam. This journey was beautiful, taking me across oceans and to many countries in my pursuit of knowledge. Everywhere I went, I often had to explain—and sometimes convince—people that I was really Native American on my mother’s side, a member of the Cherokee Nation. But because I inherited fair skin and green-blue eyes from my father, my heritage sometimes seemed to be met with skepticism, amusement, or ignorance. Often, responses would include stereotypes taught by Hollywood—remarks that subtly felt like mockery because American society has shaped perceptions of Native American culture as something mythical and entertaining. In more recent films there is a more noble view, however it still lacks authenticity.
I have passed down many stories to my children, hoping they may carry them forward in their own ways. Their journeys are different from mine, and I am uncertain if they will hold these stories close. Today, I no longer struggle with what others may or may not understand. Amid crises and global upheaval, the human spirit continues its search for meaning. In the end, truth will prevail, whether people nourish their spirits or not. But our existence would be far richer if more people sought to unite their minds, bodies, and spirits. After all, a “hungry spirit can be a powerful and a dangerous thing.”
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