(There’s a version of self-love that isn’t loud or performative — it’s quiet, grounded, and honest. It doesn’t always glow; sometimes it sits in silence, sometimes it sheds, sometimes it simply breathes. This reflection is about that kind of love — the one that grows from tending, trusting, and returning to yourself, over and over again). Self-love, for me, has become less about the grand gestures and more about the rhythm of my days. It’s the quiet rituals that bring me home

Before the ceremony, I told my therapist that I felt it was time to release Michael. He agreed. He said keeping him in orbit, even from a distance, isn’t good for either of us. It delays the work we both need to do. And I knew he was right. Allowing small pieces of connection to linger kept me tied to an old version of love. It felt tender, but it wasn’t healing. So tonight, I honored that truth. I blocked Michael, then I lit two candles -- pink for me, purple for him (I mea

Dear My People,   The system is broken. I know this from lived experience, from study, from what the world already sees.   It failed my father. It failed my mother. It failed me, it failed you, it failed Black and Brown bodies everywhere.   They patch us with scraps, Band-Aids just enough to keep us moving— and then they act surprised that we are still in survival mode.   But survival is not living. “I’m alive” is not enough. Joy is our birthright. Abundance is holy. God is l

Dear Ma,   I wish you had shared more of your truth, more of your pain than your anger. I wish you had truly let me in— so, I could understand you as a girl, as a woman, as a human.   I’m sorry for the things I may have done that triggered you without knowing. I didn’t understand how deeply you suffered until you were gone.   I always knew your value. I saw you as omnipotent. Before you left, I told you; you were my Earth angel. I meant it.   There is something about a mother

Boston feels brilliant but not always soulful. It’s a city that knows how to think but rarely how to feel. Walking its streets, I could sense how intellect is currency—how tone, posture, and conversation are all designed to affirm a certain kind of whiteness. It’s beautiful, yes, but also cold. Thoughtful but not tender. I came here expecting inspiration, not initiation. But Boston became both. I’ve learned that intellect without soul isn’t wisdom. Some people can talk about

This piece is both research and revelation. It explores how we, as Black women and seekers, can reclaim our ways of knowing from colonial frameworks and return to the sacred wisdom of the body, spirit, and community.   It’s a call to remember that decolonization begins within—through alignment, truth-telling, and healing. , and healing.   Zariah N. Perkins   Abstract This article introduces an emerging epistemological framework—Endarkened Africana Womanist Epistemology—that d

Mixing his Nigerian village upbringing with his first American experience at Tufts and living in Boston created a man who could never fully understand or appreciate my soul, because he has no access to his own. He was raised on resilience, not rest. Conditioned to achieve, not to feel. A man I deeply loved became the embodiment of this. His archetype is the kind that lives entirely in the mind because the soul never had space to breathe. He moves through life with an intellec

I’ve been reading my old journals lately. The pages smell like another lifetime — inked in longing, grief, and hope I didn’t yet know how to hold. The girl in my old journals loved hard, even when it hurt. She mistook intensity for intimacy and silence for rejection. She wrote about people who made her feel small, then apologized for wanting more. She said she loved herself, but I can tell she didn’t like herself. She admitted it. Her handwriting curls around insecurities she

The trick to manifesting and dreaming is aligning the subconscious vision with the tangible goal. It doesn’t matter how realistic or unrealistic the manifestation seems. If it’s clearly defined in your imagination, your subconscious will begin working toward it. Writing it. Affirming it. Speaking it. These acts invite you to walk the path, consciously and subconsciously weaving your desires into existence. When I want to take a trip, I talk about it with my therapist and my t

They call me angry, but really I’m just expressive. Direct. Liberated. Free. Most Black women in America’s anger is misunderstood....

I wasn’t always talked to with kindness growing up, and it hurt me very deeply. Sometimes I still hear those echoes: the tone, the way...

There is a kind of guilt nobody talks about. It sits quietly under your gratitude when you survive, when you make it out, while others...

I’ve been feeling like I’m standing in two worlds at once. One foot planted in survival — clocking into work that drains me, exchanging...

I’ve been giving my career a lot of thought lately. I’m sketching a clear vision where I don’t have to choose which side of me shows up....

Lately I’ve been sitting with a question that unsettles me: does love actually exist? According to bell hooks in All About Love , very...

I don’t ignore reality. I see the layoffs, the competition, the uncertainty that comes with building a life aligned with my dreams. I...

Peace has never felt abstract to me — it’s something I have to choose daily, even when my spirit feels heavy or my heart is tender. Some...

Dear Atlanta, You were the first city I moved to outside of my hometown — and then you became my home. I’ve spent a decade with you. You...

The system is truly fucked up. I know this by lived experience, by education, and by what is public knowledge. The systems have failed my...

My dad really knows how to piss me off. I just got published in a mental health magazine. For me, this is huge. I’m just beginning to...