Happy Anniversary

Happy anniversary to the person who said they would love me through sickness and in health.

When you make it to ten years, everything seems like it’s going exactly the way it’s supposed to. You marry for love, partnership, companionship. You marry the person you want to do life with. The person you want to grow old with. The person you want to see the world with.

As time goes on, you’re struggling yourself, but you put your own needs aside to help someone else. You keep sacrificing. You keep showing up. You keep believing that love is enough.

You have children, but somehow you feel like a single mother.

And even though you barely worked, I was still the breadwinner.

Happy anniversary to the person who said they would love me no matter what.

Happy anniversary to the narcissist.

Happy anniversary to the abuser.

Happy anniversary to the cheater.

Happy anniversary to the liar.

Happy anniversary to the family who helped keep the secrets.

When you’re young and in love, you don’t realize you’re being manipulated. You don’t realize you’re being coerced. You don’t realize that what you’re calling love is sometimes control wrapped in pretty words and empty promises.

So you keep going.

You separate and somehow find your way back together.

They come back crying. Promising to do better. Promising to be better. Promising to finally become everything you’ve been asking for.

And because you love them, you believe them.

Nobody tells you that abuse isn’t always physical.

Sometimes it’s financial.

Sometimes it’s emotional.

Sometimes it’s mental.

Sometimes it’s psychological.

Sometimes it’s spiritual.

And sometimes the bruises nobody sees take the longest to heal.

Then you make it to twenty-five years.

You renew your vows.

Through sickness and in health.

For better or for worse.

Looking back, maybe I should have known then.

Because even on the day that was supposed to celebrate us, I compromised what I wanted to fit your narrative.

Again.

Happy anniversary to the person who was always smooth.

Happy anniversary to the person who could walk into a room and make everybody smile.

Happy anniversary to the person who could make me laugh by saying something stupid.

Happy anniversary to the beautiful memories.

Happy anniversary to the road trips, the inside jokes, the dreams we built together.

Happy anniversary to the children we created.

Because not everything was bad.

Some of it was beautiful.

That’s what makes grief so complicated.

You mourn the person who hurt you, and the person you thought they were.

Happy anniversary to the person who eventually stabbed me in the back.

Happy anniversary to the person who broke my trust one more time.

Happy anniversary to the person who never truly chose me.

Happy anniversary to the person who claimed they loved me but didn’t know how to love me at all.

Happy anniversary to the motherfucker who didn’t want a divorce but had no problem building a life with another woman.

Happy anniversary to the motherfucker who had a child outside our marriage while his family helped keep the secret until she was graduating from school.

Thirty years.

Thirty years of loyalty.

Thirty years of sacrifice.

Thirty years of choosing someone who never fully chose me.

I deserved honesty.

I deserved respect.

I deserved loyalty.

I deserved the same love I gave so freely.

Happy anniversary to the love of my life.

You were once the love of my life.

But somewhere along the way, I became the love of my own.

And that’s the anniversary worth celebrating.

Happy anniversary to you, motherfucker.

Women, We Need to Talk: Why Is Nobody Asking the Hard Questions?

As I sit here listening to these jail calls that Toot Reacts goes over and Shaneatra Speaks have been covering, I have to give a shout-out to these phenomenal women. The journalism they put into these calls—the dates, the times, the receipts, and tracking all the women Jarvis speaks with—is incredible. Kudos to you ladies. I truly appreciate the work you're doing.

Now, on to Jarvis.

That is one sick individual!

As I sit here and listen to these calls and hear about the 5011 women he's talking to and the game he's running on all of them, it's sickening. And honestly, I don't even know what's worse.

Not only is he a predator times 20, but the women paying for these jail calls, the tablet usage, the text messages, and everything else? Y'all are spending your hard-earned money on this man knowing exactly who he is.

At this point, the information is everywhere. It's on the news. It's on Facebook. It's on TikTok. It's on Instagram. It's across every social media platform imaginable.

Yet somehow y'all act like you don't know anything. I don't know what's worse.

Then I'm listening to these calls after we know Jarvis allegedly did something to your child and/or children, and y'all are still having full-blown conversations. "I love you." "He loves you." Meanwhile, he's talking to you disrespectfully, and you're eating it up simply because this fool called you.

And here's the part that really gets me: Not one time—out of the 5011 women he's talked to—has one of them asked him about Na’Ziyah. Not one time. Nobody is pressing him about this case. Nobody!

He has manipulated y'all so much that every time something comes up, it's, "I don't want to talk about it, man. I don't want to talk about it, man." And somehow that's enough.

Instead, he keeps bringing up something that happened over 20 years ago, or when he was 20 years old, or some gun charge from years ago. What does any of that have to do with what's happening right now?

None of this makes sense.

Seriously, is it that y'all can't read? Is it that y'all aren't on social media? What is really going on here?

Women, let's talk about it.

Are you that deprived of love that you're willing to accept anything from anybody? Because there's a difference between not knowing and knowing. And when I tell you all knew about each other in some way, shape, or form, I mean exactly that. A small lie, a white lie, a big lie, a little lie—it doesn't matter.

Y'all knew! Y'all knew about each other. And y'all did nothing. Nothing!

I need some of y'all to come to the front. I need some of y'all to send Toot a message and say you want to talk because we want to hear it. We want to hear your side. Clear yourself. Tell your story.

Help us understand how this happened, because from the outside looking in, it simply does not make sense.

My God, on today!

Domestic Violence Doesn’t Discriminate: A Pride Month Conversation🏳️‍🌈

June is Pride Month, and it’s also an important time to talk about something that is often overlooked: domestic violence in LGBTQIA+ relationships.

Too many people assume that abuse doesn’t happen in same-sex relationships because it’s “two women” or “two men.” That assumption is dangerous. Abuse is abuse, regardless of gender or sexual orientation.

Domestic violence can look like emotional abuse, financial control, intimidation, manipulation, isolation, verbal attacks, threats, or physical violence. Survivors in the LGBTQIA+ community often face additional barriers to seeking help because their experiences are dismissed, minimized, or simply not talked about.

Recently, I listened to someone share her experience of being abused by the woman she loved. She described being cursed at, having things thrown at her, being financially controlled, and feeling like her thoughts and feelings didn’t matter. Sadly, her story is not unique.

Survivors in the LGBTQIA+ community deserve to be seen, believed, supported, and protected. Domestic violence does not discriminate, and neither should our advocacy.

This Pride Month, let’s make room for these conversations. Awareness saves lives. Support matters. Every survivor matters.

Growing Through It: Teen Love, Accountability & The Conversations We Need to Have

After watching the Mackenzie Shirilla case at 17 years old, in my opinion, she showed a lot of narcissistic traits. It felt like she isolated her boyfriend, Dom, and when she wasn’t getting her way, things escalated into something tragic. They had an off-and-on relationship, and after watching the case and listening to her parents speak, I kept thinking… somewhere along the line, something was missed.

She got 15 to life, and for me personally, it didn’t feel like enough. Especially now with the Netflix documentary, seeing how animated she appeared and hearing the phone calls being released. Listening to them, I personally didn’t hear remorse. It came across more like she was adjusting to her environment than reflecting on what happened.

Then there’s Jahara Malik, 18, who got 17 years for stabbing her boyfriend, Yahkeim “Kemo.” Again, another teenage relationship, another off-and-on situation, and still speculation about whether they were together at that time or not.

Watching Jahara’s body cam footage, what stood out to me was how calm she appeared. There was blood on her hands, but her focus seemed to be on what would happen to her next. I didn’t see concern for anyone else in that moment. Again, my personal opinion after watching.

What also stuck with me was hearing that they used to play fight. Do they? And why are teenagers normalizing play fighting? Play fighting can turn into real fighting faster than people realize.

Teenagers are still developing emotionally and mentally. They’re often focused on attraction, attention, appearances, and wanting to be loved, but not always recognizing unhealthy dynamics or understanding their own emotions yet. You’re still learning yourself, and now trying to carry somebody else’s emotions too.

Do we blame the parents? That’s complicated. Parents matter, accountability matters, and choices matter too.

Could people this young change and rebuild their lives one day? Possibly. People grow. But accountability has to exist too.

This is why it’s so important to create spaces for teen girls to learn about healthy relationships, emotional regulation, red flags, boundaries, and what toxic relationships can look like before things escalate.

Make sure you grab Growing Through It, Bestie — a journal/book created for Black teen girls filled with real-life stories, lessons, and prompts designed to help you think deeper, ask questions, and grow through what you go through.

The Betrayal That Released Me

That betrayal was a blessing. Yeah, it hurt. But some pain arrives carrying scissors.

You thought they were breaking your heart; whole time God was breaking chains.

See, betrayal has a way of exposing what loyalty was pretending to be. Some people only know how to love you when you are useful, quiet, struggling, small enough to control.

And the moment you started growing, they started switching.

The calls changed.

The energy shifted.

The truth leaked through fake smiles and half-hearted apologies.

You kept asking, “How could they do this to me?”

Baby… because they were never assigned to go where you’re going.

Read that again in your spirit.

Some people are exits, not destinations. Lessons, not lifelines. Warnings wrapped in familiar faces.

And yes, it broke you for a minute. Made you question your worth, your discernment, your softness.

But look at you.

Still here.

Still loving.

Still becoming.

Because betrayal didn’t bury you. It introduced you to yourself.

Now you pray different. Move different. Trust your intuition different.

Now your peace matters more than being accepted. Now your circle got smaller, but your healing got bigger.

That betrayal?

It pushed you out the door you were too afraid to walk through on your own.

So, stop calling it your downfall.

Some betrayals are divine redirections. Some heartbreaks are heaven saying, “You’ve outgrown that room.”

And one day, you’re gonna thank the very thing that almost destroyed you for having the nerve to let you go.

Black Women Deserve Grace Too

As women, especially Black women, we carry so much on our backs. We survive trauma, heartbreak, cheating, abuse, disappointment, motherhood, grief, and still somehow find a way to keep showing up for everybody else. But somewhere along the way, many of us were taught to be strong before being soft with ourselves.

Grace is necessary.

Give yourself grace for the season when you were simply trying to survive. Give yourself grace for the relationships that broke you before you understood your worth. Give yourself grace as a parent because none of us come with a manual. Give yourself grace for the decisions you made while wounded, exhausted, manipulated, unloved, or unsupported.

Yes, accountability matters. Healing requires honesty. But you cannot punish yourself forever for what you did not yet have the tools, knowledge, support, or safety to understand.

Sometimes we didn’t know better because nobody showed us better.

That does not make you weak. That makes you human.

Grace is allowing yourself room to heal without constantly replaying your mistake like they are the only chapters that define you. Grace is understanding that survival mode can make people shrink, settle, react, and lose themselves. Grace is choosing to grow without hating the version of you that was trying her best with what she had at the time.

Black women deserve softness too. We deserve rest too. We deserve healing too. And we deserve the same compassion we so freely give to everybody else.

Happy Mother’s Day to all the amazing besties in our tribe

Today, we celebrate every mother, grandmother, bonus mom, and mother figure who leads with love, strength, and care. We also want to send extra love to the besties missing their mothers today. We know this day can be hard, and we’re holding space for you too.

No matter what today looks like for you, we hope you are surrounded by genuine love, peace, and the reminder that you are deeply appreciated.

Keep loving yourself the way you love everyone else. You deserve that too.

He Broke Me, But I Woke Up

He broke me. He broke me in ways I never knew were possible. He made me lose who I was. When you genuinely, wholeheartedly love someone, you think you’re supposed to make them happy by any means necessary while still holding on to your own happiness.

He broke my spirit. He made me feel like I was crazy all the time. Everything was twisted. He was good with his words, and it made me feel slow and dumb. Even with the education I have that he doesn’t that man still made me feel small. He twisted things so much that I started thinking “maybe it’s me.” But it wasn’t. It was his manipulation, his lies, his control.

When you love someone, you’re supposed to love them through thick and thin, through all seasons. And in the hard seasons, when one is down, the other is supposed to carry the love for both. But somehow, I was the only one loving us and he wasn’t loving me at all.

I want us, as women, to wake up. When you see a red flag, don’t ignore it. Intuition is real. That feeling in your gut, that ringing in your ear, that loud inner warning that your sign. That’s Danger! But we silence it, tuck it away, pray on it, and hope it gets better. It doesn’t.

Nine times out of ten, his life gets better while ours falls apart. We live in turmoil day by day, minute by minute, hour by hour. Yes, there are good days. Days that feel warm and full of love again. But it’s one-sided.

I’ve realized I am triggered and bothered by infidelity it makes me feel ill. Because once trust and loyalty are gone, they’re gone. Now, I see a red flag, even a small one, and I’m done. The trust is gone.

I allowed that man to make me feel like I’m not lovable. But I am.

Grieving a Love That Still Breathes

Grieving someone you love so deeply while they’re still alive is one of the hardest things a person can go through. You question yourself and the decisions you made. Then, in the middle of all that pain, you learn to give yourself grace.

You knew the signs. You saw the signs. Everything was right there in front of you, but you ignored them because, in your heart of hearts, you wanted to love him through anything.

Grieving someone who is still alive is an emotional roller coaster. There are lows where you think about them, miss them, and even yearn for them. But deep down, you know you can’t go back, no matter how much you may want to, because it could destroy you. Putting your feelings aside, carrying constant stress, and making yourself sick just to hold on to someone who doesn’t truly want to be with you is not love—it’s self-abandonment.

I can’t wait until I reach the other side of no longer grieving him. Until then, I’m going to give myself grace, take it one day at a time, and choose myself, even on the hard days.

Today is the day You Choose YOU!

Today is the day you take yourself back.

Today is the day you stand on business - ten toes down - about YOU.

Today is the day you forgive, and you let it go. And I mean LET IT GO!

Today is the day you take back your power, your energy, your love, your compassion, and your sympathy, because it’s no longer needed there. Reroute all of it back to yourself.

Love you more.

Care for you more.

Depend on yourself more.

Treat people the way you want to be treated, and if they can’t give you that same care and respect, MOVE ON.

Today is the day you see you again.