I am the physical manifestation of God’s grace.
I’m a wife and mother, grieving + joyful, an ethnographer and creative, loving + grateful, an educator and humanitarian, present + hopeful.
I am music + meditation, randomness + nonstop laughter, a book lover, a secret keeper, a dreamer.
I am the product of revolutionaries + freedom fighters, sharecroppers, washerwomen, + veterans, landowners, factory workers, and educators—the personification of prayer, pain, and possibility.
I am standing on the shoulders of ancestors whose names are followed by Asé--whose imprints are woven into every aspect of creation--whose stories breathe life into my own.
I am learning the necessity of rest as pleasure and resistance.
I am learning how to navigate life without the physical presence of my mother. And it is hard. It has been said that once your mother dies, you’re never the same. I believe that.
Amid the grief, the transformation has led me home. To you. With you. As you.
In 2009, I stood with my mother in the bathroom as she looked in the mirror and discovered the color and beauty of her eyes. “They’re brown…and beautiful,” she marveled. I didn’t understand. How was this a new discovery? She shared that each time she’d looked in the mirror she saw me, my brother, my father, her mother, sister, students—everyone but herself. She was 63 years old. In this moment, she’d just signed the permission slip I’d desired my whole life—an invitation to meet her differently, fully, uninhibited—as Black women, as friends.
Seven years later, she passed away from Stage IV Pancreatic Cancer.
While I spent much of my life thinking we were so different, we shared many of the same insecurities, passions, and dreams. As a child, I desired to learn the lyrics to her love. As an adult, she welcomed me into the co-creation of a new melody. Those final seven years were so intentional. We laughed fully, listened openly, and extended grace to ourselves and one another. We shared our relationship journey with Black teenage girls and their mothers, aiding in their paths to healing. In our final conversation, my mother told me to keep going with this work. “You have so much to give and so many people need it.” I told her I didn’t know how to continue without her. She reminded me that as long as I carry her with me, I’m not doing it alone. “Don’t let me go, ok? Please don’t let me go. I love you dearly.”
Grieving, lonely, fearful, and hopeful, I pressed forward and created safe + sacred spaces for Black women and Black mothers and daughters to cultivate healthy, difficult conversations and create new understandings of forgiveness, trust, and grace. From individual sessions and focus groups to conferences and community gatherings, I’ve spent the past 13 years in conversation with Black girls and women in their homes, college campuses, conference rooms, auditoriums, on the phone, Skype, Zoom, etc.
After leaving my previous career as a university professor, a year-long battle of postpartum depression, suicidal ideation, grieving multiple deaths in my family, I was broken. I kept hearing the phrase, “get back to you,” but that version of me was no longer. Though my initial forms of therapy were individual, I needed to know that I wasn’t alone. I needed to hear collective stories of grief that could hold space for mine. I needed to know how to stay open after closing. I needed to hear stories of Black women asking for help, desiring to take off the cloak of strength as a badge of honor. I needed to believe in the possibility, the necessity of strength and vulnerability. I needed to be reminded of the underlying theme from years of research: The power of Black women lies in the sharing of our lived experiences. When Black women talk, nations move.
I needed a homecoming.
So, I created it.
And brought my mother with me.
Combining my 13 years of research and practice with Black girls and women with my lived experiences, I became a Certified Neuro-transformational Life Coach. My darkest, most confusing, and disruptive times felt like I was navigating life blindfolded—like everyone but me had solutions and could see their way out. But once I learned there was no cheat sheet, that everything I would ever need was already in me, I dedicated my life to helping others use their stories as passageways to freedom. Being a Neuro-transformational Life Coach means I use various techniques and healing modalities to help identify strongholds, fears, and limiting beliefs in your mind and body.
But you are your own way out.
My unique area of focus is Intergenerational Connection and Healing. I champion individual and collective evolution in the lives of Black women, Black families, and Black communities. Simply, I am in service to the necessity of sharing our stories for survival, healing, and freedom—mine and yours.
I am because we are.
