Dr. Crystal de Gregory
Thought Leader, Historian, Storyteller
Can you share your journey into the work you do? What experiences, moments, or values led you here?
My journey into the work I do began in childhood, sitting at the feet of women—especially Black women—who understood that stories are a form of inheritance. My grandmother was my first archive. I loved to ask her for stories: about family, about struggle, about joy, about the quiet triumphs that never made headlines but shaped our lives. In listening to her, I began to understand that memory is not passive—it is powerful.
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That early love of stories grew into a love of social studies in grade school and high school, and eventually into a major in history in college. But it was never history as a distant or abstract subject. It was history as lived experience. History as responsibility. History as a way to honor the people whose labor and faith built the worlds we now inhabit.
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Who or what has most influenced your leadership and commitment to this work? This could include mentors, community, lived experience, books, faith, or movements.
The values that guide my work—hard work, respect for everyone, and deep regard for the people and institutions we love—were formed first by my grandmother and then by my mother. They modeled discipline, dignity, and devotion. Along the way, I have been mentored, molded, and sometimes scolded by women who expected me to carry those values forward with integrity.
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Today, whether I am teaching, writing, or building public-facing projects, I am still doing what I did as a child: listening carefully, honoring stories, and working to ensure that the lives and contributions of others are remembered with care and clarity.
Beyond my grandmother and the women in my family, my leadership has been profoundly shaped by the Black women I watched, studied, and eventually came to know.
As a little girl growing up in The Bahamas, figures like Rosa Parks and Mary McLeod Bethune lived in my imagination not as distant icons, but as moral anchors. They taught me that leadership can be disciplined and deliberate. That courage is often quiet. That institution-building is sacred work.
As I grew into my own calling, that early influence deepened through the example of Fisk alumnae and my sorors of Delta Sigma Theta Sorority, Incorporated—women who fused scholarship, service, and strategy. Chief among them are Johnnetta B. Cole, whose intellectual rigor and institutional leadership demonstrated what it means to think expansively while leading responsibly, and the late Jayme Coleman Williams, the first woman general officer elected in the history of the African Methodist Episcopal Church. Dr. Williams embodied theological depth, administrative excellence, and spiritual courage. She did not separate faith from intellect or conviction from compassion.
From these women, I learned that leadership is stewardship. It is not about visibility alone; it is about tending people, protecting legacy, and expanding possibility. My commitment to this work—centering Black women’s histories, strengthening Black institutions, and building public scholarship—flows directly from standing in that lineage. They did not simply hold titles. They transformed spaces. That is the standard I carry forward.
For those who feel called to doing this work, where would you suggest they begin? Is there a book, organization, practice, or resource that helped shape you?
If someone feels called to this work, I would tell them to begin with themselves.
Before you try to save an institution, document a community, or lead a movement, tend to your own story. Much of the work we feel called to is rooted in something personal—sometimes purpose, sometimes pain. For me, that meant reading self-care and healing-centered books that addressed fatherlessness, including Whatever Happened to Daddy's Little Girl? and Longing for Dad: Father Loss and Its Impact. Those texts helped me name what I carried and understand how loss shapes ambition, attachment, and drive. You cannot lead well if you are unaware of the wounds steering you.
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From there, I would suggest immersing yourself in the lives of Black women—through biographies, autobiographies, and, most importantly, their own words and archives. Read letters. Read speeches. Read diaries. Study how they thought, how they built, how they rested, how they endured. Let them speak for themselves. The archive is not just research; it is mentorship across time.
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And then: practice. Join formal organizations aligned with your values. Build and keep your circle of friends. Volunteer. Teach. Write. Build something small and tend it faithfully. Leadership and institution-building are muscles—you strengthen them through use.
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Begin inward. Move outward. Stay rooted in both care and rigor. That balance will sustain you far longer than passion alone.
What wisdom or encouragement would you offer to the next generation of Black women leaders entering this space?
To the next generation of Black women leaders: keep your circle of women friends close. You will need them in every season—when you are rising, when you are rebuilding, when you are simply tired. Sisterhood is not ornamental. It is infrastructure. Protect it. Invest in it. Be honest within it.
But do not hold so tightly that you cannot release what no longer serves you. Not every friendship is meant for every chapter. Growth sometimes requires distance. Bless people and keep moving. Your peace is part of your assignment.
Stay your course. The road will rise to meet you. There will be moments when doors seem closed, rooms feel hostile, or timelines stretch longer than you expected. Do not confuse delay with denial. There is no scarcity of what is meant for you—no shortage of opportunity, provision, brilliance, or impact. What you need will come as you become ready to steward it.
Trust God. Trust the process. Trust yourself. And trust others as they deserve to be trusted—wisely, not blindly. Discernment is a leadership skill.
Lead with rigor. Rest without guilt. Love without shrinking. Build what you were born to build.
How can people stay connected to and support your work? Please share your website, social media, current campaigns, or other ways to get involved.
You can stay connected to and support my work in several ways.
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Follow me on social media at @hbcustorian (Instagram, X, and LinkedIn), where I share reflections on HBCU history, Black institutional life, women and girls, diaspora, and the ongoing work of building and preserving legacy in real time.
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Visit crystaldegregory.com for speaking inquiries, writing, media features, and updates on current projects. The site serves as the central hub for my scholarship and public-facing work.
I am currently leading the Bethune at 150 Syllabus, a public digital monument honoring the life and intellectual legacy of Mary McLeod Bethune. You can support this initiative by sharing the syllabus, assigning it in classrooms, and engaging the materials in community spaces.
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I am also preparing to launch HerDue, a forthcoming podcast and storytelling platform centered on women whose contributions deserve deeper recognition. Following, subscribing, and sharing when it launches will help expand its reach.
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The most meaningful ways to support the work are simple: read, share, invite, collaborate, and build alongside me. Public scholarship thrives in community.