Power From the Inside Out

Power is a word I didn’t always understand. Growing up in Portland, I used to think power meant being the loudest voice in the room, having the highest title, or being in charge of everyone else. But as I’ve grown into myself—as a young Black woman navigating politics, community spaces, and a city that hasn’t always made room for me—I’ve come to see power differently. My power is not just about what I do on the outside; it comes from the inside out.

I'm learning to see myself as powerful. There were times when I walked into political meetings or community events and felt invisible. I would look around the room and realize I was the youngest there, often one of the only Black women, and I felt like people were waiting for me to prove I belonged. Those moments used to shake me, but over time I realized something: my presence alone carried power.

I am the daughter of a community that has survived displacement, disinvestment, and violence. I carry the beauty of my people, the brains of my ancestors, and the wisdom of my city. That combination makes me powerful before I even open my mouth. I had to learn that being powerful doesn’t always mean dominating a conversation—it means knowing when and where to use my voice, and trusting that it deserves to be heard. I have come to recognize five vital elements of power within myself: politics, beauty, brains, the city, and my core values. 

The power in politics in Portland can be overwhelming. It often feels like decisions are made far from the people they affect most. As a young Black woman, I’ve learned that my role isn’t always about having my name on a ballot—it’s about showing up consistently, asking hard questions, and holding leaders accountable. There was one meeting in particular I’ll never forget. I had prepared notes, rehearsed what I wanted to say, and when the time came, I spoke from the heart about the way violence touches our community every day. I could see people shifting in their chairs, some uncomfortable, others nodding in agreement. That was when I realized my words had weight—not because I was the loudest, but because I spoke truth that couldn’t be ignored. That day taught me that political power isn’t about fitting in; it’s about refusing to disappear.

For a long time, I didn’t see my beauty as power. In Portland, where there are not many Black women in certain spaces, I sometimes felt like I had to blend in or make myself smaller. But the more I embraced my natural hair, my skin, and my style, the more I understood that beauty is a statement. Walking into a room with confidence, head held high, is its own form of power.

I think of beauty as my armor and my light. When I take the time to present myself with pride, I’m not just dressing up for others—I’m affirming myself. I’m saying, “This is who I am, and I will not apologize for it.” That kind of confidence has carried me through doors that weren’t designed for me, and it reminds me that beauty is not shallow. It is rooted in self-love, and self-love is a powerful tool for survival.

Brains are another layer of my power. And when I say brains, I don’t just mean grades or degrees. I mean the kind of intelligence that comes from experience. It’s the ability to read a room, to sense when something unsaid is hanging heavy in the air, or to know when to push back and when to pause.

I’ve been underestimated more times than I can count. People assume that because I am young, or because I am a Black woman, I don’t know what I’m talking about. Instead of letting that break me down, I’ve used it as fuel. Every time I come prepared, every time I speak with clarity and conviction, I remind myself that my intelligence is not up for debate. I don’t need anyone’s permission to own my brilliance.

Portland itself has shaped my understanding of power. This city has shown me both its contradictions and its lessons. On one hand, Portland has a history of pushing out Black families, silencing our voices, and overlooking our needs. On the other, it has also given me community, resilience, and a determination to keep fighting.

The wisdom I’ve gained here is that power doesn’t always come in grand gestures. Sometimes it’s the small moments—mentoring another young woman, speaking up in a meeting, or organizing around an issue that others overlook—that shift things in the long run. Living here has taught me to value those ripples of change and to never underestimate their impact.

What I know now is that real power cannot be handed to me, and it cannot be taken away. It is something I build within myself every day. My beauty, my brains, and the wisdom I carry are all connected. They make me powerful in ways that titles or recognition never could.

Being a young Black woman in Portland isn’t always easy, but it has taught me that my power is needed. It’s needed in politics, where voices like mine disrupt the silence. It’s needed in community spaces, where young women deserve to see themselves represented. And it’s needed in everyday life, because the more I own my power, the more I create space for others to own theirs.

Power, to me, means having the courage to speak when others won’t, the wisdom to listen when others can’t, and the resilience to keep going when everything in the world tells you to stop. It means using every part of who I am—my history, my intelligence, my beauty, and my voice—to shape a future where Black women like me don’t just survive, but thrive.

And that kind of power, the kind that comes from the inside out, is something no one can take away from me.

From a young age, Asianique has worked to decrease gun deaths and shootings in Portland, always with the understanding that we must listen to the voices of those who’ve lost loved ones to gun violence and those who gun violence directly affects daily. She is now the Director of Gun Violence Prevention Programs at Alliance for a Safe Oregon, where she does community and political advocacy work to spread equal opportunity to help shape policies and laws centered around gun violence in Oregon. Prior to working with the Alliance, Asianique worked in advocacy and direct service roles supporting veterans, youth, unhoused community members, and survivors. Asianique has a Bachelor of Arts in sociology and psychology from the HBCU Grambling State University. 

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