Director Shantrelle P. Lewis talks ‘In Our Mothers’ Gardens,’ a new docufilm that celebrates the trials and triumphs of Black womanhood

East Germantown author, scholar, and filmmaker Shantrelle P. Lewis knows her maternal lineage by heart. She is the daughter of Patricia, who is the daughter of Gladys, who is the daughter of Verna, who is the daughter of Susan, who is the daughter of Celestine.

And in her directing debut of the documentary In Our Mothers’ Gardens, which premiered in August at Philadelphia’s BlackStar Film Festival, Lewis examines the intricacies of Black ancestral lineage, the gravity of self-care, and the possibility of healing. Lewis produced In Our Mothers’ Gardens in collaboration with the D.C.-based public health nonprofit GirlTrek and drew inspiration from a 2017 TedTalk by T. Morgan Dixon and Vanessa Garrison, the organization’s founders.

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The film took two years to create and features interviews with such women as Tarana Burke, activist and founder of the #MeToo movement; Latham Thomas, wellness and lifestyle maven; Delphine Fawundu, photographer and visual artist; and Brittney Cooper, author and associate professor of Africana Studies/Women’s and Gender Studies at Rutgers University in New Brunswick, among others.

“I wanted to make sure that the stories were diverse and that they were not just reflective of varying U.S. centered African American Great Migration narratives,” Lewis, 42, said. “I want to make sure that — whether it was somebody from the Caribbean living in Amsterdam, or someone from the continent [of Africa] living in France — people can watch In Our Mothers’ Gardens and relate to any of the stories.”

The film’s world premiere was in August during BlackStar’s virtual festival. The movie is now streaming on Netflix.

The Inquirer talked to Lewis about how working on In Our Mothers’ Gardens informed her own journey to healing, the untapped power of rest, and the sacredness of ancestral relationships.

This interview has been edited and condensed.

When you know your group, when you know your lineage, you can call the names of your ancestors and that creates a sense of power within you. Because we are people of African descent, ancestral veneration was always central to who we are as a people and our spirituality.

It gives us power to know our ancestors, to be able to call on them to help, and intercede with the struggles that we’re going through. Not only in terms of that spiritual type of power and access but also helping us to navigate life’s challenges by looking at what our mothers and grandmothers survived. How do they thrive? How do they take care of themselves and each other? How are they able to be well? How did they bring us into being? And so I think it’s essential for Black women as a cornerstone of the Black community, to be able to call the names of their ancestors and also to know their mother’s story.

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I learned that, in the words of my friend Tarana Burke, “healing is possible.” When I first started this project, my mother and I were not really speaking. In full transparency, I was having my own reckoning with my family over my sexual abuse that happened as a child. And so we were at odds in how I was dealing with that and trying to create a frame for my own healing.

So when I first began the project, it was very hard for me to help tell these stories. I was looking for a way to tell the story because I was feeling so much hurt and pain and anger. Through the work of therapy, a lot of spiritual work, and a lot of unpacking with my mama, I got to a place where healing became possible for me.

[Healing] was always elusive in a particular type of way. I didn’t know if it was possible to heal. I didn’t know if it was possible for me not to be angry. I didn’t know if it was possible for me not to walk around with all of this hurt. And through this film, I recognize that [healing] is possible, but you have to do the work, be willing to do the work, and be OK with the discomfort of doing the work.

I think that people will understand, like they do in all of my work, that Blackness is not a monolith, that Black womanhood is not a monolith. I think they will understand that being a Black woman and being a Black mother is complicated. It’s not always this redemptive, holy, sacred relationship between mothers and daughters that exists.

Because of the stress, trials, and trauma that Black women have to carry, not only in their own families but for the entire community, sometimes that complicates the relationship with their daughters in particular.

But I think that our generation has the capacity and the privilege to do some of the healing work that our mothers were not capable of doing because the only thing they could do was cope. This film gives us all an invitation to reexamine our mothers, to give them grace and compassion to do the work that we need to do. They fought so hard so we can live more free, more joyful, more pleasure-filled lives.

Theoretically, I understand it. It’s something that I preach, “We need to take care of ourselves. Self-care is necessary.” Often, we don’t rest because we think if we drop any of the balls that we’re juggling that the whole circus tent will fall down. We have to first feel we deserve rest, that we’re worthy enough for rest. We have to give ourselves permission to rest. Those around us also have to support us when we’re resting. So when we put up “away” messages, or we tell our friends that we can’t show up for this or don’t have the capacity for that, we have to be gracious enough to accept that from folks in our lives. We need to support and encourage that.

Holding space for other people and being concerned about how other people will respond to you, not only telling your truth but standing in your truth, and in your power. I often have to make decisions about choosing myself and my own boundaries at the sake of upsetting others.

I’m constantly negotiating and navigating that balance between, “Do I maintain my boundaries? Do I tell my truth?” It’s not that we have a hard time with owning peace for ourselves, it’s, particularly as Black women, our over-concern for other people that stop us from setting boundaries, from saying no, from getting out of toxic relationships or friendships.

In the words of my beloved Zora Neale Hurston, “If you are silent about your pain, they will kill you and say that you enjoyed it.”

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