LaDonna's Story

“I come from strength. I come from love. I come from a lineage of resilience rooted deep in Diné land, in ceremony, in my language and in my mother’s prayers.

My name is LaDonna Rose Dempsey. I’m a full-blooded Diné (Navajo) woman and daughter. I’m an Indigenous artist, storyteller, and survivor. I’ve walked through the fire of grief, illness, and injustice—and I’m still standing, softer and stronger than before. But I didn’t do it alone.

I want to share with you what Brown Hope’s Power Hour has meant to me—and why it changed my life. Power Hour isn’t just a meeting. It’s medicine. It’s laughter after tears, it’s affirmations spoken into the soul, it’s community where you don’t have to explain your pain—or your joy. It gave me room to be fully myself: messy, sacred, human.

When I think about Power Hour, I think about my mother. Her name was LaVerne, and she was my first teacher, my safe place, and my closest friend. She was a strong and loving Diné woman who taught me how to show up for others with compassion and humor. She grew up on the Navajo Nation in Arizona and later moved to the Pacific Northwest, where she continued to be deeply involved in our community and traditions.

In 2023 we both found Brown Hope, and **Power Hour became an extension of our relationship—**giving us a shared experience of belonging that we didn’t always find in the outside world. We showed up in those spaces with our full selves—sometimes quiet, sometimes laughing, sometimes just soaking in the presence of others who looked like us, sounded like us and understood us. We didn’t have to explain our history or translate our pain. The love was real and the laughter was medicine.

My mom passed away in 2024, and her loss turned my world upside down. She was my best friend and my anchor. I kept showing up to Power Hour, and I could feel her presence missing. At first, it was hard. But over time, Power Hour became a way to stay connected to her. There were two incredible women we met from Power Hour who became like chosen family to me and my mom. When my mom passed, they didn’t just offer sympathy— they showed up. They held me through my grief, sat with me in silence when there were no words, and continue to walk beside me even now. Their friendship has been one of the most tangible blessings to come from Power Hour.

This is what Brown Hope creates: real, radical, heart-centered spaces where healing isn’t transactional—it’s relational. Where Black, Brown, and Indigenous people can show up just as we are. Where we’re not “program participants”—we’re kin.

I believe in this work with my whole spirit. Because I’ve lived the impact. I’ve felt the power of a room full of people holding space for one another. I’ve laughed through tears. I’ve shared stories I didn’t even know I was carrying. And I’ve watched others come into themselves, one brave word at a time.

Power Hour gave me and my mom something truly special. In a world that often overlooks Indigenous voices, Brown Hope reminded us that we matter. That our stories matter. That healing is possible in shared space.

As I adjust to this new life without my mom physically beside me, Power Hour continues to hold me. Every Monday night that I attend, I’m reminded of her laugh, her strength, and the way we used to show up together. It’s proof that even though I lost my mom**—I gained a chosen family.**

I hope you’ll consider supporting Brown Hope. Your gift helps make spaces like Power Hour accessible for me and other Black, Brown, and Indigenous folks seeking connection, healing, and belonging.”

— LaDonna Dempsey, Power Hour community member