05/30/2026
I’m still reflecting on my visit to the National Museum of African American History and Culture.
If you’ve never been, I encourage you to go.
The lower levels were everything people said they would be and more. Heavy. Emotional. Necessary. As someone who usually has my phone out capturing every moment, I barely took any pictures. I was fully present. Some exhibits were difficult to see, but they were stories that needed to be told. Walking through those halls, I realized how much history was glossed over in school. I learned so much, and I appreciate that the museum doesn’t shy away from the truth.
Someone recommended visiting the Contemplative Court afterward to decompress, and I’m glad I did. It was exactly what I needed.
As we made our way to the upper floors, the feeling shifted. While they still highlighted struggle, they also showcased resilience, innovation, excellence, and joy. I felt an overwhelming sense of pride. Pride in being Black. Pride in seeing what we have accomplished despite every obstacle. It was a reminder that when we come together, there is very little we cannot do.
We explored the museum in one day, but honestly, I recommend giving yourself two days if possible. There is so much to take in, and it deserves time.
One of my favorite moments was hearing my little Walty ask question after question throughout the day. By the end, he proudly told his dad that he had been learning about American history because Black history is American history.
One final thought: my only critique (and maybe I missed it) was that I didn’t see much about HBCUs.
