“I ran around in circles, I think I made myself dizzy”- Solange
Today at work, I watched a mother comfort her crying daughter in the bathroom about her forgotten homework.
Mom says, “Honey, that’s okay, you don’t have to be perfect”.
Some days are good. Some days are bad.
I am in a period of destitution– I have nothing left.
You know when you’re watching a movie and the “strong” protagonist reaches the point of their journey where they become weak, seeming to have no fight left and you’re behind the screen like,
“NO! GET UP” “FIGHT BACK” “GET THE FUCK UP YOU GOT THIS”?
Yeah. That’s me.
But see, I am the protagonist and the watcher telling me to get the fuck up.
I feel weak, alone, and extremely exhausted of this ongoing fight I have with life. Which is ironic because my first instinct is to push everyone in my life- actually, my first instinct to completely eradicate everyone from my life. My lack of a tribe does not surprise me, in anyway.
I see, very clearly, that it is catching up to me.
I have never had anyone to shoulder these burdens with except for God and my ancestors. Which is why I take spiritual practices seriously; in the physical realm, I am without. I am lacking.
From financial stress and fears, a lack of purpose (post- college graduation), I struggle to find my worth and my sanity.
As jokester, I play off my inconsistencies well, where only God knows that my strength is failing.
This is the real reality of being a “strong African woman”.
No one will save you.
However, I am comforted in knowing that I, will save me. Despite the difficulties, the body pain, the tears, the exhaustion.
In honor of those who came before me.
Thank you to my maternal ancestors. ᥫ᭡
Why do I feel so pathetic for being a human being with vulnerabilities?
Of course I have the birds, the bees, the trees, and evolution I have yet to see.
I cannot help but feel a gust of cold wind pierce me in the heart, bringing me down to my knees.
it’s exaggerated in this sense to reference Fela Kuti’s “O.D.O.O”. Although the song has no reference to romantic love, the title always resonated in that way for me.
I discuss an avoidant lover that I have finally (after 4 1/2 years of back and forth) given myself the grace to let go of for good.
A love that was tied to the complex idea of having to “prove” myself to be loved, or needing to “become” something other than myself to be loved and accepted.
Anyway,
who’s this lover ?
We’ll call this lover, Geff.
Geff was a bit shy, a man of little words, but he noticed everything. He has big beautiful eyes that can intimidate you, melt you, or both. He is orderly and particular, yet sensitive.
Geff was my Ghanaian 6 foot something, dark skin, long loc’d lover. I met him 5 years ago through a mutual friend, and since the day I set eyes on him, he felt like home.
The realization of “home” meant familiar, and with my upbringing, that was not a good thing.
Born and raised in New York, Geff is my version of the NY skyline. Raw, sensitive, daring. I admire and have been fascinated by his mere being. I see him everywhere, in everything.
But despite the high of my encounters with Geff, we could never get on equal footing.
5 years ago, Geff had just gotten out of a relationship, and I had been single but dating someone “on and off”. Geff and I hung out from time to time, hooked up from time to time as well, nothing necessarily serious based on the circumstances. However, the energy between us was charged and heavy– the unspoken tension lingered around us, within us, over us.
I found happiness in our mundane of hangouts. Running errands, watching him edit photos (Geff is a photographer), and just being in his presence. I couldn’t fathom why I felt so deep for Geff, although the conditions of our relationship required “no feelings” (nonsensical).
differences
To be frank, that was the narrative Geff and I hid behind. To not be “needy”,”serious”, “committed”. To be in relation to one another, with no sense of direction, or purpose. I was (and continue to be) anxious-avoidant to the idea of love, although I pursued it. I’m not sure about Geff but I feel he was avoidant too–and that was it; the “chemistry” was just avoidance.There were moments he tried to connect and I brushed him off (my fear of vulnerability). I do regret it, deeply.
to cope
We both maintained ourselves under the guise of superficiality, being “cool”, but the depths of our souls were intersected, connected.
However, Geff and I had a hard time getting on the same page when it came to down to values, morals, and how things “should be”. Geff was a perfectionist in most cases, and I was a bit more fluid. To Geff, I was unserious, and he believed I didn’t respect him or take him seriously. Whereas, I felt he was a bit rigid and “fixed” (he is a scorpio, so yes, fixed, and I am a cancer).
power struggles
He can be cold when prompted, and I can abandon things completely when prompted. The “bad” and the “good” were equal. I feel we both had a tendency for control, with no one willing to put down their swords.
Love is a concept I have not been able to rectify, because I cannot sit in the feeling long enough to act on it. I fear love deeply, but crave it the most. I am mortified at displaying and acting on my love, to then be left, rejected, or in simpler words, unchosen.
before you leave me, I must leave you.
at the touch of love, everyone becomes a poet- Plato
love
Now I know the questions and perceptions are pouring in– “they weren’t even serious”, “why waste time on a situation like this”,
“he should’ve been doing …”, “you should have done …..”.
I’ve already heard it all from friends and family– still, I couldn’t listen when it came to Geff.
I’ll put the blame on the anxious- avoidant chemistry. We never got to see each other deeply, but dance to the tune of the imaginary selves we created for one another. The only time we got along was during the “highs” of our connection.
I do not regret loving him, in fact, I could not and cannot, NOT love him even if I wanted to.
……..
But I have to be rational about what I feel, and if it is love–and as time passes by, I doubt it. The push-pull dynamic that we mirrored, mirrored my inner wounds back to me. I loved longing for someone because that is love to me. The way I yearn for my father to come back from the spirit world; the way I yearn for a present mother that loves me for all my quirks and who is not motivated by conditionality.
Longing has unfortunately been my only form of contact with love.
Or, I’m just a masochist. I like the first reason better though.
Amor Fati
A latin term meaning “the acceptance of fate”
I accept the fate of the situation with Geff as is.
A lesson.
I am deep lover, but “loving” scares me. I feel everything deeply. through my bones, through the depths of my soul– that is why sometimes words do not do me any justice.
The mere thought of love not being reciprocated, has left me in a constant state of avoidance, unfortunate to my expression.
The End.
Today, what I feel is grief.
Grief for something that did not happen, and someone that could not stay, someone that I helped push away. To claim I “love” them because my form of love is grief.
They say,
“grief is love with nowhere to go”.
The irony.
Does this not prove my own point?
I wish us both strength, abundance, and the absolute best on our journey of life.
Sankofa!
I accept this connection as a stepping stone: grief is one form of love, but should not be my only definition of it. There are many forms that love takes form in, and I am free to experience all of them.
my heart yearns. I honor her today, as she is allowed to love!
“the highest form of knowledge is empathy”, and maybe, I have been lacking.
who am I to define your truth, when I am still discovering mine?
Judgment. I judge myself, and in turn, I’ve judged you, too. I once believed that striving for perfection was the only way to be seen, to be accepted. I don’t say this to shift blame, only to acknowledge how deep cultural expectations, especially in African households, can root performance into our expression.
Being perfect. Being everything. Being enough.
But somewhere along the way, I became hypocritical. Criticizing others for the very same flaws I carry. And how can I? How could I ever expect grace from others while denying it to myself?
Over the last six months, I made a decision: to live with integrity. To align my values with my actions. To become a woman of my word, even when that means owning my failures, my contradictions, and my humanity.
And here’s the raw truth: I am what I hate. All that running, from people, places, patterns that didn’t sit right with me — only led me back to my own misalignment. It’s easy to speak of self-awareness. But it’s much harder to live it.
Judgment is in my mind like muscle memory. It’s instinctual — but I’m starting to question the instinct. What if I resist it? What if I break the cycle? Who am I to judge, when every soul is just trying to make it through their own chaos?
The greatest declaration we can make is grace. Grace for others and grace for self.
mea culpa
I now know, what I did not know before.
the incongruence of black and white thinking
ying yang
The human experience doesn’t exist in black or white — it lives in the gray. I think of the yin-yang symbol as I write this. But what stands out to me most are the dots: the black dot inside the white, and the white dot inside the black.
There is darkness within the light, and light within the darkness.
I still remind myself: there’s no such thing as a “bad person.” Human beings do bad things. Human beings do good things. Labeling ourselves or others as inherently one or the other limits the fullness of our humanity.
However, it’s easier said than lived. Especially when I experience subtle betrayal, the rejection of my essence, or when I simply have to face the complexities of being in relationship with other people. That’s when all my thoughtful philosophies fly out the window. I enter a war zone — not with weapons, but with withdrawal, distance, cut-offs. I punish people for not being who I decided they were.
And in those moments, I have to ask myself: Doesn’t that make me what I claim to hate?
shame
Even when I recognize my flaws, and the flaws of others, I don’t want to see myself as a bad person. And honestly, I don’t believe I am.
So I carry the shame. Wear it like armor. Sometimes I even use my pain to justify my reactions. beneath all of that, the defense, the blame, the guilt, sits the deeper truth: shame. The part of me that whispers, “You are the bad thing.”
But let’s be real.
This idea isn’t new. It originates back to childhood. The fear of doing wrong, of disappointing someone, of facing harsh consequences — it shapes how we react as adults. That fear grows into anxiety. Avoidance. Anger. Silence. When we hurt someone or mess up, we either run or self-destruct. We brace for the sword, even if no one’s swinging it.
"And you live in a shell You create your own hell You live in the past and talk about war" - Drink before the war, 1987.
The real war we face, more often than not, is in the mirror. looking right back at us.
now what?
Well now, I can be honest. I can no longer live beneath the veil of perpetual victimhood. As much as it hurts to admit, I’ve carried the same wounds that once shattered me, and embodied them, even.
True self-awareness calls for accountability, and I am making the choice to answer with integrity.
That doesn’t mean I dismiss the weight of my actions; it means I’m learning to offer myself the grace to forgive, and the courage to not choose the same path twice.
This section of this post is still unfolding. In real time, in my life. I haven’t reached the end, nor do I claim to have answers for myself or for you. I’m still making peace with my truth, still sitting with the discomfort of being human.
Guilt still visits me, sometimes gentle, sometimes sharp. Some days I forgive myself. Other days, I punish myself subtly by replaying moments, thoughts, regrets.
But now that I know better, I will choose better. Over and over again.
My old life has been left behind. The juggling act I used to perform no longer fuels me. Energies that lack integrity don’t get a rise out of me anymore. I’ve come to understand that, all along, God was testing me: When it comes to self, how dedicated are you?
Friendships, finances, relationships, and ego — all of it has been broken down to the foundation it was built on. And honestly, the anticipation of those endings hurt more than the actual changes themselves. I think it’s because after spiraling through every worst-case scenario imaginable, what actually unfolds is rarely as catastrophic. Even when things fall apart, I’ve learned that I usually have more options, more grace, and more power than I thought.
This season of my life called me to question everything — where I’m going, and what I’m building, just as much as where I’ve been. 2025 illuminated my biggest fears and worst nightmares, but somehow, it also gave me the strength, love, and grace to rise like the phoenix.
war cry
my father, ben , 1984.
death
To die is to come alive. In this lifetime, we’ll experience countless cycles of death and rebirth — sometimes subtle, sometimes fateful.
survival mode
I truly thought I had it all figured out. After finishing my Bachelor’s degree in December 2024, I was filled with hope and motivation. I believed a well-paying job was just around the corner after months of grinding through the post-grad job search. I was ready for new roots and fresh beginnings. But life had its own plans — and they didn’t align with mine.
By May of 2025, I was completely jobless. No income. Just surviving off the small cushion of savings I’d set aside for moments like this. It was the first time in seven years — since I started working at 17 — that I had gone over a month without a job. And during that time, my life as I knew it began to unravel.
I’m an independent African woman, raised in a single-parent household after losing my father in 2007. Since childhood, it’s felt like the weight of the world has been on my shoulders. Hyper-independence became my normal — learning to navigate this complex world by becoming my own guide, protector, and source of strength.
the end of illusion
Being in school, working, and being praised for my “hustler” mindset was all I knew — and all I allowed myself to value. I clung to that version of life, regardless of what else might’ve been possible for me. But beneath the surface, I struggled to validate my dreams, honor my spirit, or give voice to my passion for life..
The more time I spent with myself, the more I began to see clearly: I had surrounded myself with people who didn’t truly see me. So, I became a people-pleaser. I dimmed my light in workspaces for the sake of security. I quieted my power out of fear that it would be “too much.” I silenced my truth to avoid being judged, rejected, or labeled.
my truth
What I realized was this: my external world mirrored my internal wounds.
With time to reflect, I came to understand that the life I was building — the friendships, lovers, jobs, even my old ideas of success — were not what I truly desired. I had followed the traditional path: school, graduation, work, the expected milestones. I thought that by checking all the boxes, I would find fulfillment.
Instead, life came to a halt.
I want a life full of creativity, community, sensuality, and love — a life that breathes with fullness, not just function.
My life was set ablaze, both internally and externally. And as the fire rose, so did my need for freedom. I needed to liberate myself — to live as my full self, even if that meant walking alone for a while. Choosing myself became the only honest option.
What is to give light, must endure burning. -Viktor E. Frankl
rebirth (affirmation)
The path to rebirth begins with acceptance — and through acceptance, liberation follows.
grace
I am still in the thick of it. Still straddling two realities: the old world I’ve outgrown, and the new world I’m slowly building. My footing isn’t always steady. I shift back and forth, because this new world of mine is still under construction — it’s raw, unfamiliar, and sacred.
duality
I’ve come to understand that two truths can exist at once. I don’t have to choose one over the other. I can honor both. I can carry the weight of grief and the lightness of hope. I can be healing and still hurt. I can be unsure and still have faith.
I accept that I don’t have all the answers — and maybe I never will. But in that acceptance, I’ve found grace. I remind myself that I’m human just as much as I am divine. That I’m allowed to be learning, unraveling, and becoming, all at the same time..
acceptance
I accept my uniqueness — my voice, my spirit, and the beautifully peculiar ways it needs to express itself.
I understand now that being misunderstood is okay. But I also know I must not stay in spaces that shrink me or stifle my expansion. I was made to take up space — fully, unapologetically.
I am not my mistakes, and I release the need to be so harsh with myself. Just as I offer others grace in my presence, I offer that same grace to me.
I release
I am not defined by material items. I define who I am.
I am not my job. I am not my friendships. I am not my trauma. I am not my past experiences.
The world may try to convince me otherwise — that my worth lies in my titles, my productivity, my possessions — but I know better. I know the human experience is richer, deeper, and far more sacred than what we’ve been told to believe.
