There are so many rivers that can flow into maternity. Interchangeable are the words friend and sister; To be a sister is to be a friend to an exponent—and vice versa. And within that exponent is the infinite. I have stood in the gap for my own mother to care for younger sisters. I have been cared for in maternal ways as a sister. I love my friends as a mother would because to be a woman is oftentimes an instinctual need to rescue, protect and guide to safety—a responsibility to see love through which is a sometimes weary yet satisfying service.Read More
Regardless of the curious hairs on the back of my neck what's more important than anything, is knowing that there is space for droves of unapologetic brown people at peace inside themselves among others. Hair in every chroma, brown bodies in a myriad of forms exposed in a myriad of ways. Ancestry, support, freedom, enterprise—a dramaless communal mecca.Read More
For an entire week I’ve wondered why I’ve felt contrary to all that've I’ve achieved; in the wake of all the ways I’m growing professionally and creatively, I feel as though I myself, my entire life is in a holding pattern—in retrograde: moving against a current.
One of the most important pieces of advice I’ve ever heard is “feelings are not facts” (Myliek Teele). So I comfort myself in knowing that this feeling of moving against myself and feeling stunted isn’t forever. Yesterday in a flower shop I was told that that your 30s are for figuring out what kind of person you want to be—what kind of partner you want to be.Read More
“She is here to tell us a story. Her story, which was to become ours, almost without us knowing, as her words, her described experiences unraveled our deepest insides and pulled them out through our gaping mouths as we breathed out. We’ve been emotional since entering the space and it is here that we understand why. There is so much history. The history of women , more specifically black women, most specifically this Southern black woman.” - Devon McKnightRead More
I've tried making my own brines (which gives the turkey a weird vinegary twang), rubbing the bird down in mayonnaise to "seal in moisture" (who taught me this travesty)—Each year, I've gotten really creative (reckless?) with the process. But this year, instead of trying to fight our 19 pound bird (which we named Barb), I got creative where it counts: with the flavors and the process, which requires attention and hella patience. And what I delivered, was an excellent turkey that my massive family actually ate and enjoyed!Read More