I watched the women in my family center their entire lives around men, men who were emotionally unavailable, abusive, manipulative, or just not capable of loving them the way they deserved. I saw them give everything and still be left empty. I saw them abandon their own needs to try and hold a relationship together. And I decided that wouldn’t be me.

The lyrics call her a wild flower. Not because she’s reckless, but because she’s resilient. She didn’t grow in a garden. She grew in the wild. In chaos. In grief. In silence. And yet, she still became something beautiful.

I had a moment where I said no. A firm, honest no. And immediately, I felt that gut-level fear rush in. My body tensed up like something bad was going to happen just because I chose myself. That’s when it hit me I have a history of feeling unsafe when I try to protect myself. Especially with family. Especially with people I care about.

One thing I’ve been hearing a lot lately is people saying, “Being nice got me nowhere,” or “Being a loving person only got me hurt.” And listen, I get it. That kind of pain cuts deep. But let’s be real. Being nice isn’t what got you hurt. What got you hurt was your lack of boundaries.

Because for so long, “yes” was survival. “Yes” kept the peace. “Yes” made other people comfortable. “Yes” gave me a role to play: helper, strong friend, dependable daughter, the one who always comes through. But now I’m learning that every “yes” I didn’t mean was a little betrayal of myself.

Okay, so… not even just lately. My whole life I’ve been obsessed with old school soul and R&B music. I mean real singers. Not to throw shade on today’s music (I do enjoy some of it), but I’m an old school girl to my core. There’s just something about that era of music that feels so pure, so authentic. It speaks to something deep in me.

I was talking to a friend today about my business, about my purpose, my vision, and the direction I’m moving in. I was excited, passionate, and full of fire. And their response?

“Oh my gosh… not another entrepreneur.”

Being stuck in your own tornado is hell. It’s not romantic. It’s not powerful. It’s exhausting. You lose yourself. You forget your voice.

I’m so tired of the “strong Black woman” narrative being romanticized through pain. Why do we only get softness after we’ve endured? Why do we have to earn gentle love through surviving hell?

And I had to let them know, you can’t just come to Becoming Herrss. This ain’t no walk-in-the-door type of space. I prayed over this brand. I asked God to align Becoming Herrss with the right people, the ones who are ready. Ready to heal. Ready to unlearn

Lately, I feel like God been throwing tests back to back like, “Oh you healed? Bet. Let’s see how you handle this.” I’ve been pushed to the edge, tempted to snap, to beat a bitch up, to fall back into old habits. But I’ve changed… and that old version of me don’t live here no more. Still, I’m human. I feel it. The shift. The fear. The unknown. And I’m praying what’s coming is something good ‘cause I can’t take no more loss.