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.

The Wounds Left Behind

Betrayal cuts differently depending on who cause it. A parent’s betrayal can shake the foundation of who you are, because parents are often the first place we learn safety, trust, love, and protection. When that trust is broken, it can feel like the ground underneath you were never solid to being with.

A partner’s betrayal can feel like the death of the future you believed in. Especially in a marriage or deep commitment, you build of life, a home, children, memories, promises. When someone cheats, abuses, manipulates, or harms you after you gave them your loyalty and vulnerability, it can feel like your reality was stolen from you.

What you described goes beyond ordinary heartbreak. Abuse, repeated betrayal, manipulation, violence, and someone trying to take your life after you chose to leave that creates deep trauma. The confusion afterward is real because the mind keeps asking: How could someone who said they loved me do this?

The hard truth is this: some people do not love in a healthy or safe way. Love without accountability, empathy, honesty, or protection is not love in the way it should be.

Can you come back from betrayal? Sometimes relationships survive betrayal when there is genuine accountability, radical honesty, sustained change, safety, and remorse. But when abuse, violence, chronic cheating, manipulation, or attempts to harm you are involved, the question often stops being “Can the relationship be saved?” and become “How do I save myself?”

Forgiveness is also misunderstood. Forgiveness does not mean:

• pretending it did not happen

• reconciling with unsafe people

• allowing access to you again

• excusing abuse

• carrying the burden for what they chose to do

Sometimes forgiveness is simply releasing the grip the pain has on your nervous system, so it no longer controls your life every day. Sometimes it means accepting that you may never get the apology, accountability, or justice you deserved.

Moving on is rarely one dramatic moment. It is usually small acts repeated over time:

• believing what happened was real

• grieving the person, you thought they were

• rebuilding trust in yourself

• learning that survival was not weakness

• creating safety

• allowing yourself to feel anger, sadness, confusion, relief

• understanding that leaving took courage

And one of the deepest wounds after betrayal is self-betrayal the pain of realizing how much you ignored, tolerated, explained away, or endured trying to save someone else. Healing often begins there: learning to choose yourself again.

You asked, “How can you ever repair that?” Some things are repaired. Some things leave scars. Some things end. But people do heal. Not by erasing what happened, but by rebuilding themselves around truth instead of illusion.

What happen to you was profound betrayal. The fact that you survived it matters.

Was That Love?

Love is love… but was that love?

At 13, passing notes, stealing glances, heart racing over a hallway smile - was that love or was that me chasing a feeling I didn’t have the words for yet?

At 14, calling it forever after two weeks, crying over silence, mistaking attention for intention - was that love, or was that me wanting to be chosen?

At 15, 16, 17… holding on tight the more it hurt, excusing what should been a warning, calling it “ride or die” when it was really losing myself piece by piece.

I thought I was in love. I said it with my whole chest. Felt it in my whole body. But love… real love… doesn’t look like confusion. It doesn’t feel like betrayal on repeat. It doesn’t require you to shrink just to stay.

I was young. I didn’t know the difference between being seen and being valued.

I lusted.

I attached.

I hoped.

And every red flag? I painted it pink and called it passion.

We were kids trying to play grown, building forever on a foundation we didn’t even understand.

And then life said - “Pay attention.”

Because the same boy who showed me who he was at 13 never changed at 18. I just kept calling it love instead of calling it what it was.

And maybe that’s the truth we don’t say out loud enough: Just because it felt deep doesn’t mean it was love. Just because you stayed doesn’t mean it was right. Just because they chose you doesn’t mean they valued you.

And love? Love doesn’t start with them.

It starts with YOU!

Because if I had loved me more - I would’ve walked away sooner. If I had known me more - I wouldn’t have settled for less.

But growth sounds like this: “I see it now.”

And healing looks like this: “I choose me now.”

So, no - that wasn’t love.

But it taught me what love will never be again.

And Suddenly

And suddenly—

they called it sudden.

Like healing just knocked on my door and I answered on the first try.

But what they didn’t see was the nights that stretched longer than my faith, the mornings where breathing felt like a chore I didn’t apply for.

They didn’t see me folding into myself like a letter never sent, silently asking, “Will I ever feel like me again?”

And suddenly—

I came out of depression.

But truth is, I crawled. I clawed. I begged the dark to loosen its grip one finger at a time.

And suddenly—

I picked myself up. Not in one motion, not gracefully, but in pieces— a spine rebuilt from whispered affirmations, knees strengthened by “just try again.”

And suddenly—

I left my partner.

But that “suddenly” was stitched together with red flags I tried to paint pink; with apologies I accepted just to keep the peace while losing my own.

I didn’t just leave— I chose me in a room where I forgot I existed.

And suddenly—

I left that toxic work environment.

Where my worth was measured by how much of myself, I was willing to abandon. Where I smiled through disrespect and called it professionalism.

No more. I clocked out of shrinking.

And suddenly—

I found peace.

Not the loud kind, not fireworks— but quiet. Soft. The kind that lets you sit with yourself without needing to escape.

And suddenly—

I found me.

Buried under expectations, under survival mode, under “be strong” when I really needed to be held.

I found her—

still there, still worthy, still mine.

And suddenly—

I forgave my God.

For the silence, for the waiting, for the “why me” that echoed unanswered.

I realized— maybe I wasn’t abandoned.

Maybe I was being carried through a version of myself I was never meant to stay in.

And suddenly—

I am healing.

Not healed. Not finished. But blooming in places I once bled.

And suddenly—

I understand… nothing about this was sudden.

It was survival. It was courage. It was choosing, over and over again, to stay.

And suddenly—

I am still here.