Unmasked: A Conversation With My Higher Self

Lately, I’ve been on edge. Walking through life as the strong one, the grounded one, the put-together one. Fixing shit. Helping everybody. Being kind, open, warm—even when people didn’t earn that access.

I’ve been pretending I’m okay when I’m not. Pretending I don’t see what I see. That I don’t feel what I feel. That I’m not two seconds away from crashing out on people who don’t even deserve to be in my orbit.

So I sat down with myself—not the me the world sees, but the one who lives underneath the exhaustion, the rage, the layers. My higher self. My truest form. I asked the hard questions. I answered them with no filter. And what came out wasn’t pretty.

But it was real.

I Told the Truth. And the Truth Set Me Free.

I admitted I’m tired of wearing the “fixer” mask in my friendships. Tired of always being the glue in work spaces that drain the hell out of me. Tired of seeing people clearly and realizing they don’t have the range—and that they never did, probably never will.

I’m tired of biting my tongue, swallowing my boundaries, and playing small so people won’t call me the “angry Black girl.”

And beneath all of that? I’m tired of losing myself—my peace, my softness, my sense of control—to people, to jobs, to men who were never worthy of my energy in the first place. Burn out. Exhaustion. Rage.

The Illusions I’m Leaving Behind:

• That being silent means I’m at peace.

• That if I just keep loving people through it, they’ll change.

• That I’m too much, too loud, too passionate, too emotional.

• That my anger isn’t holy. That my truth isn’t divine.

• That I have to work twice as hard to be respected.

• That being soft means being stupid.

And The Truth I’m Reclaiming:

• My anger is sacred.

• My voice is necessary.

• My peace is not passive.

• My energy is precious.

• My truth is enough.

I’m no longer watering myself down to be digestible for people who never deserved a taste. I’m not bending to systems, jobs, or situations that don’t honor my brilliance, my boundaries, or my Blackness.

I’m done performing. I’m choosing alignment.

Who I’m Becoming:

She doesn’t hold back. She says what needs to be said. She dresses sexy and elegant and free, like her body is a poem God wrote on a good day. She loves hard—but only where it’s safe, reciprocal, and real.

She writes, she teaches, she heals. She makes money doing what she loves. She walks into every room knowing she belongs there.

I’m not her yet—but I’m close. I can feel her. I’m breathing her in.

My Vows to Myself:

• I vow to speak up—not just to protect my peace, but to honor my power.

• I vow to get to the bag with integrity and fall in love with every part of the process.

• I vow to move my body, feed my spirit, and continue being the sexy Black motherfucker God made me to be.

To The Woman Reading This—Still Pretending:

You don’t have to stay masked. You don’t have to keep shrinking, pleasing, overgiving, or overperforming. Your rage is a compass. Your exhaustion is information. Your silence is a wound—not a solution.

Ask yourself: Who are you trying to protect by staying small?

And what would happen if you let her go?

Affirmation for the Journey Ahead:

I am not too much. I am too powerful to stay masked.

My peace is not passive. My rage is not wrong.

I am real, radiant, and reborn in truth.