Healing is HARD!

Healing is hard.

Nobody tells you that healing isn't a straight line.
It bends.
It breaks.
It doubles back on itself.
Some days, you feel like you're finally moving forward.
Other days, you're wondering if you've moved at all.

Healing is hard.

There will be mornings
when the weight of the world
feels heavier than your own body.
Mornings when getting out of bed
feels like the bravest thing you'll do all day.

So if all you did today
was put your feet on the floor,
brush your teeth,
wash your face,
or let the water remind you
that you're still here—

Celebrate that.

Because survival doesn't always look like victory.
Sometimes it looks like
one deep breath,
one small step,
one quiet decision
to keep going.

Don't let anyone convince you
that your small wins don't matter.
They do.
Every single one of them.
Because healing isn't measured
by giant leaps—
it's measured by the moments
you choose not to give up.

So be patient with yourself.
You're not behind.
You're becoming.

And hear me when I say this:

Don't quit on yourself.

The world may fail you.
People may leave.
Some will never understand
the battles you've had to fight in silence.

But don't become another person
who gives up on you.

Love yourself enough
to keep showing up.
Love yourself enough
to believe that this chapter
isn't the end of your story.

Keep going.

On the days you run,
keep going.

On the days you crawl,
keep going.

And on the days
all you can do
is whisper,
"I made it through today..."

Let that be enough.

Because every tomorrow
is another chance
to heal a little more,
to breathe a little deeper,
to believe a little stronger.

And if your heart ever grows too heavy,
if the silence becomes too loud,
or the pain feels bigger than your strength—

Please...

Reach out.

There is no shame in needing someone.
Strength isn't pretending you're okay.
Strength is saying,
"I need help,"
and believing
you are still worthy of love,
of hope,
and of another tomorrow.

Healing is hard.

But so are you.

And if you've survived every day that tried to break you...

Then believe this—

You can survive this one, too.

Cheyenne's Story and Question

Cheyenne, 23, shared parts of her life story with me.

She is biracial, with a white mother and a black father. She doesn't know much about her father. Growing up, her mother struggled with substance abuse on and off, and because she was a biracial child, she often felt unwanted by parts of her family. As a result, she spent much of her childhood moving in and out of foster care, experiencing instability, abuse, and neglect.

At 13 years old, she and some friends made choices that led to legal trouble and time in juvenile detention. Looking back, she sees those decisions as part of a much larger cycle of trauma, abandonment, and survival.

During our conversation, Cheyenne shared her belief that biracial girls, particularly those with white mothers and black fathers, face unique challenges that are often overlooked. She described feeling caught between worlds sometimes not fully accepted by family, sometimes misunderstood by society, and often judged based on assumptions about her appearance.

In her words:

"People see light skin, good hair, or light eyes and assume life is easier for us. They assume we have privileges that erase our struggles. But many of us grew up having to grow up fast. Some of us weren't loved or protected by the people who were supposed to care for us. Some of us ended up in foster care, where we faced more trauma instead of safety."

Cheyenne spoke about being placed in homes where she did not feel safe, feeling overlooked by the systems that were supposed to protect her, and running away as a young teenager. She described how vulnerable that made her to exploitation and abuse by adults.

Her experience has led her to ask a difficult question:

Do biracial girls—especially those with white mothers and black fathers—face disadvantages that are different from those experienced by black girls?

She is not suggesting that black girls do not face hardship, discrimination, or trauma. Instead, she wonders whether the specific challenges of identity, family rejection, foster care involvement, and feeling caught between racial groups create a different set of obstacles that are not always acknowledged.

Cheyenne's question is not about comparing pain or deciding who has it worse. It is about understanding whether the unique experiences of biracial girls are being heard, recognized, and addressed alongside the experiences of Black girls and other young women who face adversity.

Stay Aware, Bestie: Not Every Friend Is a Safe Friend

To my Besties, especially my Black teen girls:

Please stay aware of your surroundings. Put the phone down sometimes. Pay attention to the people around you. Pay attention to how you're feeling. Pay attention to what is happening in the moment.

Lately, I've seen stories that have weighed heavily on my heart, and they serve as a reminder that life can change in an instant.

Everybody deserves friendship, but not everyone who calls themselves your friend is truly looking out for your well-being. Real friendship is built on trust, respect, honesty, and care. A genuine friend wants you safe. A genuine friend notices when you're uncomfortable. A genuine friend doesn't pressure you to ignore your instincts.

Trust yourself. If something feels off, speak up. If you feel unsafe, leave. If you need help, ask for it. Your voice matters, your feelings matter, and your safety matters.

I want you to build friendships that pour into you, protect your peace, and encourage your growth. Never be afraid to choose yourself and your safety over fitting in.

Stay aware. Stay safe. Stay true to who you are.

Love,
Ms. Kym 💜

I Wasn’t Crazy… I Was Being Manipulated!

As I listen to more of these jail calls with Jarvis Butts and all of the women involved, I notice something many of us have in common. No, I don’t have the criminal allegations in common with them, but I do relate to something else: the abuse.

I’m talking about the psychological, verbal, and emotional abuse.

That’s where so many of us can relate because I’ve been there too. My situation didn’t involve a man in jail, but it involved the day-to-day reality of being with someone who constantly talked down to me and made me feel like I was never enough. You think you’re doing everything right, but somehow it’s still not good enough for a person like that. You find yourself confused, wondering what is happening and what you’re doing wrong.

Then comes the manipulation. They turn everything around on you. They make you feel responsible for things they actually did.

I remember one situation so vividly. I was in the process of trying to figure out who a white woman was in a picture with my now-deceased sister-in-law. I had questions, and I was trying to understand the situation. We got into an argument at his mother’s house while our children were there.

On the drive home, he was furious because I was asking questions. He was driving my car and speeding recklessly. Looking back, he could have killed all of us - himself, me, and our children - because he was angry that I was uncovering a lie.

Yes, his sister had recently passed away, and he may have been under a tremendous amount of stress. But that doesn’t excuse what happened.

As the days went on, they held his sister’s services, and I wasn’t invited. Not at all.

I share this because, ladies, we don’t have to settle.

Many of us have settled in the past, but it’s time to wake up and realize that we are okay without a man. Matter of fact, we’re okay without a woman too. We are enough on our own. We will be okay.

We need to value ourselves more and recognize the cycle of manipulation, emotional abuse, and mental anguish. Growing up, I was taught that if a man didn’t hit you, it wasn’t abuse. But nobody talked about the psychological damage. Nobody talked about the gaslighting, the constant criticism, the mind games, or being made to feel like you’re losing your sanity.

People say, “It’s just an argument.”

No, it’s not!

It’s someone talking down to you. It’s someone gaslighting you. It’s someone making you feel crazy when you’re not. It’s someone trying to control the narrative because they’re losing control of the game they’ve been playing. And when we finally start speaking up for ourselves, they can’t handle it.

Ladies, let’s wake up! Let’s find ourselves. Let’s make ourselves happy.

And if you find a man or a woman who genuinely loves you, who doesn’t gaslight you, who doesn’t make you feel crazy, who doesn’t wear you down, and who doesn’t throw your vulnerabilities back in your face during difficult moments, then that may be the person for you.

But until then, heal. Find happiness within yourself. Learn to love yourself first so you can create a better life for yourself.

Love you always. ❤️

Black Girl Joy

Life can be traumatic. It can be painful, disappointing, unfair, and overwhelming at times. There will be moments that try to dim your light and make you question your worth. But even in those moments, I want you to reach deep inside yourself and find what brings you joy.

Black girl joy is real.

It is the laughter that escapes when you least expect it. It is the peace you find in quiet moments. It is the freedom to be yourself, unapologetically and without permission. Black girl joy is not something that has to be earned it already lives within you.

No matter what narrative has been written about you, you have the power to write a new one. One filled with hope, healing, love, and joy.

Your joy may not look like anyone else's, and that's okay.

Maybe your joy is sitting outside while the rain falls around you. Maybe it's curling up on the couch with a warm blanket, a cup of tea or hot cocoa, and a good book. Maybe it's taking a drive with no destination, windows down, music playing, and watching the world go by. Maybe it's dancing in your room, creating art, spending time with people you love, or simply enjoying your own company.

Whatever your joy looks like, embrace it.

Protect it.

Celebrate it.

There will be difficult days. There will be moments of heartbreak, frustration, and uncertainty. But when those days come, remember to reach down inside yourself and reconnect with the joy that belongs to you.

Because at the end of the day, your joy matters.

Your peace matters.

Your happiness matters.

And there is nothing more beautiful than a Black girl choosing joy, again and again, despite everything she has been through.

That is your power.

That is your light.

That is your Black girl joy.

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.