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DESTINEY CARTER SR. DIRECTOR, BET SOCIAL How Destiney Carter and Her Mother Verlinda Blake Are Passing Down a Tradition of Strength, Joy, and Black Womanhood READ MORE >
AMBER MIKE VP, BRANDED CONTENT & INTEGRATION, BET Amber Mike and Laila Odom on Chosen Sisterhood, Surviving Cancer, and Showing Up Without Being Asked READ MORE >
TIMIZA SANYIKA Sr. Director, BET DIGITAL Timiza Sanyika on Legacy, Liberation, and the Revolutionary Spirit of Her Mother READ MORE >
KIMBERLY PAIGE EVP & CMO, BET Kimberly Paige and Daughter Morgan on the Power of Choosing Yourself, Evolving Together, and the Shared Strength of Black Motherhood READ MORE >
ROBI REED SR. VP, TALENT & CASTING, BET Robi Reed, Her Sisters, and Daughter Summer on Love, Legacy, and the Power of Showing Up READ MORE >
Celebrate the women of BET as they share powerful stories of motherhood, family, resilience, and sisterhood.
DESTINEY CARTER SR. DIRECTOR, BET SOCIAL How Destiney Carter and Her Mother Verlinda Blake Are Passing Down a Tradition of Strength, Joy, and Black Womanhood READ MORE
ROBI REED SR. VP, TALENT & CASTING, BET Robi Reed, Her Sisters, and Daughter Summer on Love, Legacy, and the Power of Showing Up READ MORE
AMBER MIKE VP, BRANDED CONTENT & INTEGRATION, BET Amber Mike and Laila Odom on Chosen Sisterhood, Surviving Cancer, and Showing Up Without Being Asked READ MORE
TIMIZA SANYIKA Sr. Director, BET DIGITAL Timiza Sanyika on Legacy, Liberation, and the Revolutionary Spirit of Her Mother READ MORE
KIMBERLY PAIGE EVP & CMO, BET Kimberly Paige and Daughter Morgan on the Power of Choosing Yourself, Evolving Together, and the Shared Strength of Black Motherhood READ MORE
in watching a mother and daughter evolve—not just in the expected ways, but in the ways that defy stereotypes, challenge outdated ideals, and create a legacy on their own terms. When BET Chief Marketing Officer Kimberly Paige sat down with her daughter, Morgan, for a candid conversation, it was clear that this wasn’t simply a mother-daughter duo—it was a partnership. A mutual reverence. A testimony to how Black women raise each other, support each other, and grow together.
Sitting side by side in front of the camera, there was an ease between them. A knowingness. A warmth that radiated past the bright studio lights. For Morgan, watching her mother operate in rooms where she was often the only Black woman—and often the one in charge—set a powerful example. But more than her professional success, it was the way Kimberly carried herself that made the deepest impression.
Kimberly nodded in agreement. “I love where our relationship is right now. She’s my daughter, but she’s also one of my best friends.”
Celebrating one another is something they do often and out loud. “I’m her biggest cheerleader,” Kimberly said proudly. “When she wins, I feel like I win.” Morgan returned the sentiment, adding, “I hype her up every chance I get—Instagram posts, long phone calls, random texts just to say ‘I’m proud of you.’ She’s so humble, but I want the world to know how incredible she is.”
When asked what they would tell their younger selves about their journey, the answers were tender and wise. Morgan said she’d tell her younger self to look forward to how their bond would deepen with time. “You have so much to look forward to,” she said. “We were both figuring it out—me as a daughter, her as a mother. And the journey is beautiful.”
Kimberly’s message to her younger self was equally emotional. “I would tell myself to breathe. Even when it doesn’t feel perfect, it will be. The flaws are part of it. That baby I held in my arms will one day hold mine—in ways I never imagined. And she’ll be one of my greatest sources of comfort.”
“She redefined what it means to be a strong Black woman,” Morgan said. “She taught me that strength doesn’t have to mean sacrificing yourself. You can choose yourself. You can honor your peace. You don’t have to lose who you are in service of your career or even your family. That was huge for me.”
That sentiment echoed a similar one shared by BET Senior Director of Social, Destiney Bishop Carter, during her interview with her own mother, Verlinda Blake. In both conversations, the women discussed how motherhood and daughterhood have shaped their identities, their career paths, and the way they show up for themselves and each other. And in both families, there’s a deep, visible thread of intentional love and legacy-building that spans generations.
For Kimberly, motherhood hasn’t just influenced her—it has reshaped her entirely. “It’s made me a better leader, a better listener,” she reflected. “You come into parenting thinking it’s all about telling your child what to do. But Morgan taught me to slow down and listen. She taught me that leadership—whether in parenting or in business—is about empathy, about being present, about showing up authentically.”
They both spoke openly about how their relationship has evolved. What once was disciplinarian and child has morphed into something softer, more collaborative. “Of course, she’s still my mom,” Morgan said with a smile. “But now she’s also my friend. And that’s not something I take for granted.”
Morgan shared that one of the most lasting pieces of advice her mother has instilled in her is around the idea of choice. “My mom always reminds me to stay in the driver’s seat of my own life,” she said.
in watching a mother and daughter evolve—not just in the expected ways, but in the ways that defy stereotypes, challenge outdated ideals, and create a legacy on their own terms. When BET Chief Marketing Officer Kim Paige sat down with her daughter, Morgan, for a candid conversation, it was clear that this wasn’t simply a mother-daughter duo—it was a partnership. A mutual reverence. A testimony to how Black women raise each other, support each other, and grow together. Sitting side by side in front of the camera, there was an ease between them. A knowingness. A warmth that radiated past the bright studio lights. For Morgan, watching her mother operate in rooms where she was often the only Black woman—and often the one in charge—set a powerful example. But more than her professional success, it was the way Kim carried herself that made the deepest impression.
“She redefined what it means to be a strong Black woman,” Morgan said. “She taught me that strength doesn’t have to mean sacrificing yourself. You can choose yourself. You can honor your peace. You don’t have to lose who you are in service of your career or even your family. That was huge for me.” That sentiment echoed a similar one shared by BET Senior Director of Social, Destiney Bishop Carter, during her interview with her own mother, Verlinda Blake. In both conversations, the women discussed how motherhood and daughterhood have shaped their identities, their career paths, and the way they show up for themselves and each other. And in both families, there’s a deep, visible thread of intentional love and legacy-building that spans generations. Morgan shared that one of the most lasting pieces of advice her mother has instilled in her is around the idea of choice. “My mom always reminds me to stay in the driver’s seat of my own life,” she said. “To weigh my options. To never feel like life is just happening to me. That mindset—that I’m in control of my own narrative—is something I carry with me in every space I walk into.” For Kim, motherhood hasn’t just influenced her—it has reshaped her entirely. “It’s made me a better leader, a better listener,” she reflected. “You come into parenting thinking it’s all about telling your child what to do. But Morgan taught me to slow down and listen. She taught me that leadership—whether in parenting or in business—is about empathy, about being present, about showing up authentically.” They both spoke openly about how their relationship has evolved. What once was disciplinarian and child has morphed into something softer, more collaborative. “Of course, she’s still my mom,” Morgan said with a smile. “But now she’s also my friend. And that’s not something I take for granted.” Kim nodded in agreement. “I love where our relationship is right now. She’s my daughter, but she’s also one of my best friends.” Celebrating one another is something they do often and out loud. “I’m her biggest cheerleader,” Kim said proudly. “When she wins, I feel like I win.” Morgan returned the sentiment, adding, “I hype her up every chance I get—Instagram posts, long phone calls, random texts just to say ‘I’m proud of you.’ She’s so humble, but I want the world to know how incredible she is.” When asked what they would tell their younger selves about their journey, the answers were tender and wise. Morgan said she’d tell her younger self to look forward to how their bond would deepen with time. “You have so much to look forward to,” she said. “We were both figuring it out—me as a daughter, her as a mother. And the journey is beautiful.” Kim’s message to her younger self was equally emotional. “I would tell myself to breathe. Even when it doesn’t feel perfect, it will be. The flaws are part of it. That baby I held in my arms will one day hold mine—in ways I never imagined. And she’ll be one of my greatest sources of comfort.” Toward the end of their conversation, they turned toward each other and offered three words to describe one another. “Charismatic, brilliant, and dynamic,” Morgan said of her mother. Kim looked at her daughter and responded without hesitation: “Loving, creative, and brilliant.” There it was again—that generational mirroring, that symmetry of spirit. Both women naming brilliance in the other, without apology or restraint. Like Destiney and Verlinda, Kim and Morgan represent the fullness of Black womanhood across generations. They are mothers and daughters, professionals and nurturers, mentors and students—all at once. Their stories remind us that Black motherhood is not just about survival; it’s about joy. It’s about agency. It’s about the freedom to evolve and the power of witnessing that evolution in someone you love. As we celebrate Mother’s Day and the legacies that live through us, Kim and Morgan’s story stands tall among them—a portrait of mutual respect, shared growth, and the kind of love that’s as transformative as it is timeless.
For Kim, motherhood hasn’t just influenced her—it has reshaped her entirely. “It’s made me a better leader, a better listener,” she reflected. “You come into parenting thinking it’s all about telling your child what to do. But Morgan taught me to slow down and listen. She taught me that leadership—whether in parenting or in business—is about empathy, about being present, about showing up authentically They both spoke openly about how their relationship has evolved. What once was disciplinarian and child has morphed into something softer, more collaborative. “Of course, she’s still my mom,” Morgan said with a smile. “But now she’s also my friend. And that’s not something I take for granted.” Kim nodded in agreement. “I love where our relationship is right now. She’s my daughter, but she’s also one of my best friends.” Celebrating one another is something they do often and out loud. “I’m her biggest cheerleader,” Kim said proudly. “When she wins, I feel like I win.” Morgan returned the sentiment, adding, “I hype her up every chance I get—Instagram posts, long phone calls, random texts just to say ‘I’m proud of you.’ She’s so humble, but I want the world to know how incredible she is.”
When asked what they would tell their younger selves about their journey, the answers were tender and wise. Morgan said she’d tell her younger self to look forward to how their bond would deepen with time. “You have so much to look forward to,” she said. “We were both figuring it out—me as a daughter, her as a mother. And the journey is beautiful.” Kim’s message to her younger self was equally emotional. “I would tell myself to breathe. Even when it doesn’t feel perfect, it will be. The flaws are part of it. That baby I held in my arms will one day hold mine—in ways I never imagined. And she’ll be one of my greatest sources of comfort.” Toward the end of their conversation, they turned toward each other and offered three words to describe one another. “Charismatic, brilliant, and dynamic,” Morgan said of her mother. Kim looked at her daughter and responded without hesitation: “Loving, creative, and brilliant.” There it was again—that generational mirroring, that symmetry of spirit. Both women naming brilliance in the other, without apology or restraint. Like Destiney and Verlinda, Kim and Morgan represent the fullness of Black womanhood across generations. They are mothers and daughters, professionals and nurturers, mentors and students—all at once. Their stories remind us that Black motherhood is not just about survival; it’s about joy. It’s about agency. It’s about the freedom to evolve and the power of witnessing that evolution in someone you love. As we celebrate Mother’s Day and the legacies that live through us, Kim and Morgan’s story stands tall among them—a portrait of mutual respect, shared growth, and the kind of love that’s as transformative as it is timeless.
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DESTINEY BISHOP SR. DIRECTOR, BET SOCIAL How Destiney Bishop Carter and Her Mother Verlinda Blake Are Passing Down a Tradition of Strength, Joy, and Black Womanhood READ MORE >
KIMBERLY PAIGE EVP & CMO, BET Kim Paige and Daughter Morgan on the Power of Choosing Yourself, Evolving Together, and the Shared Strength of Black Motherhood READ MORE >
Toward the end of their conversation, they turned toward each other and offered three words to describe one another. “Charismatic, brilliant, and dynamic,” Morgan said of her mother. Kimberly looked at her daughter and responded without hesitation: “Loving, creative, and brilliant.” There it was again—that generational mirroring, that symmetry of spirit. Both women naming brilliance in the other, without apology or restraint.
Like Destiney and Verlinda, Kimberly and Morgan represent the fullness of Black womanhood across generations. They are mothers and daughters, professionals and nurturers, mentors and students—all at once. Their stories remind us that Black motherhood is not just about survival; it’s about joy. It’s about agency. It’s about the freedom to evolve and the power of witnessing that evolution in someone you love.
As we celebrate Mother’s Day and the legacies that live through us, Kimberly and Morgan’s story stands tall among them—a portrait of mutual respect, shared growth, and the kind of love that’s as transformative as it is timeless.
“To weigh my options. To never feel like life is just happening to me. That mindset—that I’m in control of my own narrative—is something I carry with me in every space I walk into.”
From postpartum workouts to Grammy wins and building her daughter’s brand before preschool, Victoria Monét is proving that motherhood isn’t a setback—it’s the superpower fueling her rise to icon status.
In the closing moments of their shoot, the women shared the most profound gift they’ve received from their family: presence. “When you see one of us, you’ll see another,” Summer said. “We roll deep.”
and sisters for an emotional tribute to sisterhood, motherhood, and the bond that’s held them together through success, grief, and generational Black excellence. In a rare moment of pause and reflection, four generations of talent, love, and unbreakable bond converged in one room for a powerful on-camera tribute to matriarchy and memory. Sitting together—BET’s Senior Vice President of Talent and Casting Robi Reed, her daughter and singer-songwriter Summer Humes, and her sisters Andrea Reed Elmore and Donna Reed—the conversation unfolded like a family quilt: layered, warm, and full of stories that shaped the women they’ve become.
Together, they embody the phrase “legacy of love.” From the impact of their late parents Arthur and Ernestine Reed, to the way they continue to pour into each other’s lives—through sisterhood, motherhood, mentorship, and memory—this family lives out what many strive to represent: unity, grace, and generations of strength.
Asked to describe the women in their family using one word, their answers came without hesitation: loving. Big-hearted. Strong. Persevering. For Summer, growing up around these kinds of women meant growing up with high expectations—but also with the rare kind of support that empowers you to reach them. “They blazed the path,” she said. “And they made sure I knew how to walk it.”
That path began with their parents. Arthur and Ernestine Reed were childhood friends who became high school sweethearts and then soulmates. Married for 64 years before passing just three weeks apart, their love story is the foundation that still anchors this family. “Our home was full of love,” Donna reflected. “We were raised by two people who deeply loved each other, and we saw that every single day.”
Their home wasn’t just for them—it became a launching pad for others. Robi remembers hosting future stars like Spike Lee and Mekhi Phifer at her parents’ house in L.A. “It was always open,” she said. “Everyone called it home base.” That open-door spirit lives on in their work, their relationships, and how they support one another to this day.
Robi, now one of the most respected casting directors in the business, reflected on how her career was never taught—it was felt. “I wasn’t taught casting. It was a God-given gift,” she said. “I could see it before people even auditioned. That ‘it’ factor, the charisma—it just radiates.”
As Robi looked around at her sisters and daughter, she smiled, her eyes soft with memory and gratitude. “I love that we got to do this together,” she said. I know Mom and Dad would be proud.”
Then, turning to the camera with a tearful grin, she added, “Mom… we listened.”
For Summer, the impact of that legacy isn’t just professional—it’s personal. “I’ve watched my mom lead with grace, and it taught me I could follow my dreams and stay true to myself,” she said. “She carved out a space so I could become who I am.” It’s why she refers to being part of Black womanhood and legacy as a “privilege”—one built by the women beside her and the ancestors before them.
The conversation turned tender when they spoke about their parents’ passing. Each woman recalled the way they came together to grieve—with stories, open tears, deep laughter, and space for everyone to feel whatever they needed. “We let everyone express their feelings without judgment,” Robi said. “It was only love.”
That love and that legacy continues to show up in the little things. Andrea and Donna live down the street from Robi. They see each other every weekend. They work together, pray together, and—above all—show up for one another. “Being without my family feels odd,” Andrea said. “Being with them is where I find my strength.”
Their support of Summer is just as intentional. “Whether it’s helping me rehearse, dealing with performance jitters, or diving into our family history—they show up,” Summer said. “And they always will.”
As they spoke about the future, each woman acknowledged the sacred responsibility that comes with legacy. “It’s our job to keep building,” Andrea said, " to keep showing people who we are.” Donna echoed that sentiment, adding, “It’s a great responsibility—and a great honor.”
For Kim, motherhood hasn’t just influenced her—it has reshaped her entirely. “It’s made me a better leader, a better listener,” she reflected. “You come into parenting thinking it’s all about telling your child what to do. But Morgan taught me to slow down and listen. She taught me that leadership—whether in parenting or in business—is about empathy, about being present, about showing up authentically They both spoke openly about how their relationship has evolved. What once was disciplinarian and child has morphed into something softer, more collaborative. “Of course, she’s still my mom,” Morgan said with a smile. “But now she’s also my friend. And that’s not something I take for granted.” Kim nodded in agreement. “I love where our relationship is right now. She’s my daughter, but she’s also one of my best friends.” Celebrating one another is something they do often and out loud. “I’m her biggest cheerleader,” Kim said proudly. “When she wins, I feel like I win.” Morgan returned the sentiment, adding, “I hype her up every chance I get—Instagram posts, long phone calls, random texts just to say ‘I’m proud of you.’ She’s so humble, but I want the world to know how incredible she is.” When asked what they would tell their younger selves about their journey, the answers were tender and wise. Morgan said she’d tell her younger self to look forward to how their bond would deepen with time. “You have so much to look forward to,” she said. “We were both figuring it out—me as a daughter, her as a mother. And the journey is beautiful.” Kim’s message to her younger self was equally emotional. “I would tell myself to breathe. Even when it doesn’t feel perfect, it will be. The flaws are part of it. That baby I held in my arms will one day hold mine—in ways I never imagined. And she’ll be one of my greatest sources of comfort.” Toward the end of their conversation, they turned toward each other and offered three words to describe one another. “Charismatic, brilliant, and dynamic,” Morgan said of her mother. Kim looked at her daughter and responded without hesitation: “Loving, creative, and brilliant.” There it was again—that generational mirroring, that symmetry of spirit. Both women naming brilliance in the other, without apology or restraint. Like Destiney and Verlinda, Kim and Morgan represent the fullness of Black womanhood across generations. They are mothers and daughters, professionals and nurturers, mentors and students—all at once. Their stories remind us that Black motherhood is not just about survival; it’s about joy. It’s about agency. It’s about the freedom to evolve and the power of witnessing that evolution in someone you love. As we celebrate Mother’s Day and the legacies that live through us, Kim and Morgan’s story stands tall among them—a portrait of mutual respect, shared growth, and the kind of love that’s as transformative as it is timeless.
It was on the set of School Daze that she invited her sister Andrea to assist her—and it was then that Andrea realized she, too, had a place in entertainment. “Watching her do it with so much passion, it changed everything for me,” Andrea said. That experience led them to work side by side for years at BET, along with their sister Donna, creating a professional synergy rooted in familial trust. “Working with family meant you always had someone who had your back,” Robi said. “Front, side, top, and bottom.”
One of the first celebrations was at a friend’s party, where Amber looked radiant, and Laila made sure everyone knew it. “She kept stopping me to take pictures, introducing me to people, saying, ‘You wouldn’t believe what she’s been through,’” Amber said. “It meant everything. After cancer, your body changes, your confidence can dip, but my friend made sure I knew I still had it.”
They laugh now at how they’ve “grown up” together. From climbing on club banquettes and sneaking into parties in their twenties to planning international trips and talking about property investments. “I live through her now,” Amber joked. “I’m not climbing on tables anymore, but she can.”
When asked what advice they’d give to two friends going through a storm together, their answer was clear: you don’t have to show up perfectly. You just have to show up. “You won’t always be in sync,” Amber said. “But love them through their different versions. Keep holding hands until you find a version of yourselves that clicks again.”
Content & Integration Amber Mike sat down beside actress Laila Odom, it didn’t feel like an interview—it felt like two soulmates recounting a lifetime of sisterhood that began with a leap of faith and blossomed into the kind of bond that makes titles like “best friend” or “chosen family” feel too small.
Their story starts over twenty years ago in Los Angeles, when Amber—young, newly single, and raising her toddler son—invited Laila, a wide-eyed aspiring actress who had just moved from New York, to move into her home. They barely knew each other. And yet, as Amber explained with warmth and clarity, “That was what was supposed to happen.” What unfolded over the years was more than friendship. It was a merging of lives. Laila became a surrogate sister, an auntie to Amber’s son, and a constant presence during the chaos of early adulthood. Without proximity to their own families, they built one with each other. “You shared your family with me,” Laila said. “You shared everything. You were my main cheerleader. You made my dream possible."
But it all came pouring out when she flew to Atlanta to shoot. “The scene where I reveal my diagnosis—we only did one take,” Laila said, fighting tears. “I thought about Amber. I thought about everything she went through. And that’s what you saw. That wasn’t acting. That was real.”
Amber was stunned to learn that Laila had brought a camera to her home to document everything—how she felt, what she told her son, how she made it through the darkest days—not for sympathy, but to honor the story and do it justice. “I’m always behind the scenes,” Amber said. “But to know that someone was watching me and wanted to carry my story into their work—that blew me away.”
“For me, it’s family first,” Destiney adds. “I want my daughters to know that it’s always them against the world. That sisterhood and family are everything.”
As the shoot wraps and the twins twirl around their grandmother’s legs Destiney reflects on what it means to be part of a lineage of strong Black women. “It didn’t start with me. It started with my mom and her mom before her —my Grandma Catherine. I watched those women do it all. Now, it’s my turn to carry the torch.”
Navigating a new career in entertainment, Amber often had to travel every two weeks, meaning she needed someone she could trust implicitly. That trust was never in question. “Laila was team captain,” Amber laughed. “We raised my little boy together.” From helping with school drop-offs to taking Amber’s son to auditions and sets, Laila was there. And when her acting journey began to take off, Amber was in the front row cheering her on. But the true measure of their bond would come years later when life threw a terrifying curveball.
Laila didn’t cry in front of Amber. She didn’t collapse. She just held space, went home, and prayed. “I called my mother,” she said. “I told her to pray for my friend. And she did. Every week in church.” That was Laila’s quiet way of handling fear—with faith and action.
As Amber endured chemo, side effects, and surgery—including the removal of five inches of her colon—Laila was there. Showing up to the hospital. Staying in the room. Refusing to flinch when Amber’s body couldn’t hold itself together. “That’s how you know someone really loves you,” Amber said, “when they sit with you through the mess, literally.”
And then art and life collided in a surreal, heartbreaking way. While Amber was in recovery, Laila was cast in Season 2 of Zatima, a Tyler Perry series. Her character’s storyline? A young woman facing cancer. Laila got the email with her sides while sitting in the hospital room with Amber and didn’t say anything. It was too heavy. Too close.
In 2023, Amber was diagnosed with late-stage colorectal cancer. She had just undergone surgery when her body began showing troubling signs. After brushing them off, she finally got a colonoscopy, and her world changed. “The first person I told, in person, was Laila,” Amber recalled. “I told her in the garage. I remember saying, ‘If anything happens to me, I need you to take care of Alex.’ I needed her to promise me that.”
That reverence and deep friendship have remained unchanged, even as life has progressed. Amber finished chemo in 2024 and is officially one year post-treatment with no signs of disease. She’s cautious but optimistic. “I’ve still got my port,” she said. “But we’re moving. We’re traveling. We’re going out. I’m getting back to myself.”
Becoming a mom hasn’t just shifted Destiney’s day-to-day. It’s deepened her connection to her own mother in ways she didn’t expect. “You’re a lot more critical of your parents until you
walks through the doors of BET’s New York offices with her 3-year-old twin daughters in tow, she’s not just showing up as a Senior Director of Social—she’s stepping into a legacy that began long before her own title and career. Sitting beside her mother, Verlinda Blake, a proud Washington, D.C. native and retired federal employee, the two women reflect on their evolving bond, the unexpected beauty of motherhood, and the weight—and joy—of being part of four generations of strong Black women.
“This is probably the coolest thing I’ve ever done at BET,” Destiney says, holding back tears as her daughters whirl nearby on set. “I’ve had so many wins in this building over the past ten years, but to be here today, with my mom and my girls—this is the one I’ll never forget." Destiney didn’t expect to become a mom so soon after getting married. “We were that couple that said, ‘Let’s wait a few years and travel.’ But the girls had other plans,” she says, laughing. “At first I was overwhelmed—how was I supposed to raise twins at the height of my career? But I figured it out. We figured it out.” But her journey into motherhood came with deep emotional weight. “Essentially, we suffered a miscarriage a few years ago,” Destiney shares quietly. “So when I found out I was pregnant, I was of course anxious—but also reminded of God’s grace and perfect timing. Because although the miscarriage was traumatic, He gave us double for our trouble.” Verlinda, watching from the sidelines and occasionally jumping in to help raise the twins, has been amazed—but not surprised. “I always told her, ‘You’re gonna get it back,’” she says with a smile. “Everything you put me through? Now it’s your turn. And I get to enjoy it.” But her joy goes deeper than that. “To see her handle everything—being a mom, a wife, a professional—with such grace... it makes me so proud,” Verlinda adds. “She makes it look easy.”
Becoming a mom hasn’t just shifted Destiney’s day-to-day. It’s deepened her connection to her own mother in ways she didn’t expect. “You’re a lot more critical of your parents until you become one,” she reflects. “Now I understand things I didn’t before—why she parented the way she did, why she gave certain advice. I took it for granted. But I get it now.” And what advice sticks with her most? “Slow down,” Destiney says. “My mom always reminds me to take a beat, to be present with my girls, with myself. It’s such a simple phrase, but it grounds me.” Verlinda chimes in: “She goes a mile a minute. I just remind her—pause. You don’t have to be superwoman every minute of the day.” When asked what they hope to pass down to the twins, both women light up. “Holidays,” Verlinda says instantly. “Cooking together, being together, laughing in the kitchen—that’s our thing. Doesn’t matter what the occasion is. We show up.”
Destiney nods. “We also do this thing at family gatherings where we go around and say something we love about the person next to us. No one gets to skip it, even the guests. It’s corny, but it means so much. I want the girls to grow up knowing how important it is to give people their flowers.” And when it comes to values? “Honesty. Pride in who you are. Belief in yourself,” Verlinda says without hesitation. “For me, it’s family first,” Destiney adds. “I want my daughters to know that it’s always them against the world. That sisterhood and family are everything.” As the shoot wraps and the twins twirl around their grandmother’s legs, Destiney reflects on what it means to be part of a lineage of strong Black women. “It didn’t start with me. It started with my mom and her mom before her—my Grandma Catherine. I watched those women do it all. Now, it’s my turn to carry the torch.” Verlinda gets emotional recalling the moment her granddaughters first called her “Grandma.” “That name carries weight,” she says. “That’s a role I don’t take lightly. I want them to know they come from a line of women who never backed down, who made a way out of no way.” And Destiney agrees. “Legacy matters. Especially in the Black community. Especially among Black women. We’ve always had to be everything for everybody. And somehow, we still are. I hope my girls see that and know they can be whatever they want—because the women before them already were.” As they gather their things, Destiney smiles at her mom, then down at her girls. “We’re just getting started,” she says. “But we didn’t start from scratch. We started from love.”
Laila agreed. “You’re not always going to know the right thing to say. But presence? That matters. A prayer. A laugh. Just being there. That’s what gets people through.” It’s that simple, sacred presence—the willingness to just be—that defines their legacy, not only as individuals but as a unit, as chosen sisters, as family.
That reverence and deep friendship have remained unchanged, even as life has progressed. Amber finished chemo in 2024 and is officially one year post-treatment with no signs of disease. She’s cautious but optimistic. “I’ve still got my port,” she said. “But we’re moving. We’re traveling. We’re going out. I’m getting back to myself.” One of the first celebrations was at a friend’s party, where Amber looked radiant, and Laila made sure everyone knew it. “She kept stopping me to take pictures, introducing me to people, saying, ‘You wouldn’t believe what she’s been through,’” Amber said. “It meant everything. After cancer, your body changes, your confidence can dip, but my friend made sure I knew I still had it.” They laugh now at how they’ve “grown up” together. From climbing on club banquettes and sneaking into parties in their twenties to planning international trips and talking about property investments. “I live through her now,” Amber joked. “I’m not climbing on tables anymore, but she can.” When asked what advice they’d give to two friends going through a storm together, their answer was clear: you don’t have to show up perfectly. You just have to show up. “You won’t always be in sync,” Amber said. “But love them through their different versions. Keep holding hands until you find a version of yourselves that clicks again.” Laila agreed. “You’re not always going to know the right thing to say. But presence? That matters. A prayer. A laugh. Just being there. That’s what gets people through.” It’s that simple, sacred presence—the willingness to just be—that defines their legacy, not only as individuals but as a unit, as chosen sisters, as family. Amber summed it up best: “My son is grown now. He’s mine, but he’s also hers. We did that. We lived life, raised a kid, built careers, beat cancer—and did it all together. In 20 years, we’ll be sitting somewhere telling this story again, but with grandkids and more stamps on our passports. That’s what family looks like.”
Amber summed it up best: “My son is grown now. He’s mine, but he’s also hers. We did that. We lived life, raised a kid, built careers, beat cancer—and did it all together. In 20 years, we’ll be sitting somewhere telling this story again, but with grandkids and more stamps on our passports. That’s what family looks like.”
name carries weight,” she says. “That’s a role I don’t take lightly. I want them to know they come from a line of women who never backed down, who made a way out of no way.”
And Destiney agrees. “Legacy matters. Especially in the Black community. Especially among Black women. We’ve always had to be everything for everybody. And somehow, we still are. I hope my girls see that and know they can be whatever they want—because the women before them already were.”
As they gather their things, Destiney smiles at her mom, then down at her girls. “We’re just getting started,” she says. “But we didn’t start from scratch. We started from love.”
walks through the doors of BET’s New York offices with her 1 ½ years old twin daughters in tow, she’s not just showing up as a Senior Director of Social—she’s stepping into a legacy that began long before her own title and career. Sitting beside her mother, Verlinda Blake, a proud Washington, D.C. native and retired federal employee, the two women reflect on their evolving bond, the unexpected beauty of motherhood, and the weight—and joy—of being part of four generations of strong Black women.
“This is probably the coolest thing I’ve ever done at BET,” Destiney says, holding back tears as her daughters whirl nearby on set. “I’ve had so many wins in this building over the past ten years, but to be here today, with my mom and my girls—this is the one I’ll never forget.”
And when it comes to values? “Honesty. Pride in who you are. Belief in yourself,” Verlinda says without hesitation.
As the shoot wraps and the twins twirl around their grandmother’s legs, Destiney reflects on what it means to be part of a lineage of strong Black women. “It didn’t start with me. It started with my mom and her mom before her—my Grandma Catherine. I watched those women do it all. Now, it’s my turn to carry the torch.”
But her journey into motherhood came with deep emotional weight. “Essentially, we suffered a miscarriage a few years ago,” Destiney shares quietly. “So when I found out I was pregnant, I was of course anxious—but also reminded of God’s grace and perfect timing. Because although the miscarriage was traumatic, He gave us double for our trouble.”
Verlinda, watching from the sidelines and occasionally jumping in to help raise the twins, has been amazed—but not surprised. “I always told her, ‘You’re gonna get it back,’” she says with a smile. “Everything you put me through? Now it’s your turn. And I get to enjoy it.”
And what advice sticks with her most? “Slow down,” Destiney says. “My mom always reminds me to take a beat, to be present with my girls, with myself. It’s such a simple phrase, but it grounds me.”
When asked what they hope to pass down to the twins, both women light up. “Holidays,” Verlinda says instantly. “Cooking together, being together, laughing in the kitchen—that’s our thing. Doesn’t matter what the occasion is. We show up.”
Destiney nods. “We also do this thing at family gatherings where we go around and say something we love about the person next to us. No one gets to skip it, even the guests. It’s corny, but it means so much. I want the girls to grow up knowing how important it is to give people their flowers.”
But her joy goes deeper than that. “To see her handle everything—being a mom, a wife, a professional—with such grace... it makes me so proud,” Verlinda adds. “She makes it look easy.”
Verlinda gets emotional recalling the moment her granddaughters first called her “Grandma.” “That
Becoming a mom hasn’t just shifted Destiney’s day-to-day. It’s deepened her
connection to her own mother in ways she didn’t expect. “You’re a lot more critical of your parents until you become one,” she reflects. “Now I understand things I didn’t before—why she parented the way she did, why she gave certain advice. I took it for granted. But I get it now.”
Destiney didn’t expect to become a mom so soon after getting married. “We were that couple that said, ‘Let’s wait a few years and travel.’ But the girls had other plans,” she says, laughing. “At first I was overwhelmed—how was I supposed to raise twins at the height of my career? But I figured it out. We figured it out.”
Verlinda chimes in: “She goes a mile a minute. I just remind her—pause. You don’t have to be superwoman every minute of the day.”
she says quietly. “And with my mom, it’s still surreal.” Yet their teachings remain alive in her spirit. She reflects on the 42 Principles of Ma’at, the ancient Egyptian guide to a righteous life, and hopes that when her time comes, her heart will be as light as a feather.
“My name, Timiza, means ‘to fulfill.’ To fulfill the gathering of people. And I try to live up to that. I bring people together to create something bigger than us.”
Timiza reflects on the power of intentional parenting, the wisdom of self-love, and the balance between community activism and personal care. When Timiza Sanyika speaks about her mother, you quickly understand you’re not just hearing about a parent—you’re learning from a blueprint. The senior director of digital and video production at BET was raised in a household where love, liberation, and legacy weren’t abstract values but lived principles.
That balance between self-love and community care is everything. “Take care of yourself so you can take care of others. But don’t pour so much into community that you forget yourself. And don’t pour so much into yourself that you neglect your role in the collective. It’s a balance.”
The grief of losing both parents—her father 20 years ago, her mother just ten months ago—still cuts deep. “I miss my dad like it was last week,”
Timiza’s parents weren’t just caregivers—they were revolutionaries. Her father was an educator in African history, metaphysics, and dance. Her mother, a nutritionist and community organizer, instilled lessons in both resistance and restoration. Together, they created a home where she and her siblings were raised to be “little revolutionary soldiers.” Education, self-defense, and a deep sense of cultural identity were foundational. “They were very intentional about who they were raising,” Timiza says. “They didn’t want us to think our history started in bondage.”
That sense of self, anchored in legacy, shaped Timiza's movement through the world. “Your job,” she explains, “is to make sure that you leave people better than how you found them—especially Black people and other oppressed folks. That’s what my parents believed.”
She continues that belief system today through mentorship and opportunity-building in the media industry. “I hire a lot of people. I mentor a lot of people. I pour into people,” she says. “That’s my way of honoring what they did.”
Timiza also honors her mother in other, more personal ways. She owns a dessert company—just like her mother once sold pies and muffins—and she’s a fierce advocate for health and wellness. “Everyone who knows me gets a jewel,” she says, “about how t to stay healthy.”
Before entering public school, Timiza attended institutions like Marcus Garvey and W.E.B. DuBois, where Afrocentric values were the norm. “I never walked into a space feeling less than,” she says. “It didn’t even cross my mind.” But with that awareness came alienation. She was the vegetarian kid with the African name, who didn’t recite the Pledge of Allegiance and celebrated Kwanzaa before most of her peers had even heard of it. “I’ve been doing what Colin Kaepernick did since the ‘80s,” she says.
And in doing so, she carries the torch lit by her mother—equal parts nurturing and radical, joyful and fierce.
When asked what her mother would say to Black women navigating motherhood and activism today, Timiza doesn’t hesitate: “Love yourself exactly as you are. Your hair, your skin, your body—Black is beautiful.
“My mother had a lot of skills,” Timiza recalls. “I see her in the garden, growing vegetables. I see her looming rugs. I see her being resourceful, creative, always doing something.” That visual memory—of a woman cultivating life with her hands—sums up the multifaceted powerhouse who raised her. A mother who was as comfortable making pies and sewing dresses as she was challenging systems of oppression and publishing her own health food magazine.
Don’t try to fit into a box that was never made for you.”
