Orbit: On Rape, Manifestation, Octavia Butler, and Erykah Badu

Recently I revisited a journal I’d been keeping about the worst event in my life. When I did I discovered that I’d been writing about it in a way that focused mostly on the pain and damage I suffered, but never about my healing process or how much I’d grown.  Further, I believe that I’d unknowingly been fueling my grief and anxiety by doing so. Since then I’ve learned that writing things down is a big step toward manifesting them, so I’ve been using my pen to speak power into moving forward from the trauma.  It works too. In the words of Erykah Badu, Octavia Butler and many others: Write that sh*t down and watch it get real. Read More

Nebula: Why Everything Falls Apart Before Amazing Things Happen

Before new stars can fully form, some ancient star has to blow itself to bits and be broken down to space dust.  Then those bits and dust just float out there in the darkness looking sparkly and random until they fuse together and birth new stars. But after that, the glow up is inevitable. So fear not. Even if your life feels dismantled and scattered right now, accept it as part of your process. Transitional phases are as necessary as they are scary.  You got this.
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Warp Speed:We’re Failing Our Fast Girls

Every time I hear a story about a young girl engaged in risky behaviors, I feel an urge to reach her in some way.  Anecdotes about my past and the hard lessons I learned about womanhood and self-love always swell just behind my teeth, awaiting the brain signal that would springboard them from my tongue or inspire me to pen an open letter to the young women my grandmother would’ve call “fast girls.” Only, the world doesn’t really need any more open letters, and I’d rather be more of an advocate than a mentor for those girls. That works for me because I was once a “fast girl” myself, hurtling toward an uncertain future at warp speed.

Mini memoir of a Warp Speed Girl:

I survived Washington, D.C. in the ’90s with all of my fingers and toes, no crack addiction (if you grew up in Washington, D.C. during that time you’d know that this was no small feat), and no chronic or incurable illnesses. What I do have is a chemical batch of craziness that trickled down from my father’s side of the family tree like sugar maple sap. Other than that, I’m OK. I even managed to get hitched and give birth to a strapping boy  with a penchant for video games, pizza, and Regular Show. So why revisit my past at all?  Because under all my layers of spackled-on adulthood, I’m still bothered to my bad-girl core by what young girls have to contend with today. I’m especially bothered by this: Read More

Black Dwarf Syndrome: Avoid Hurtling Toward Burnout

Through trial and error, I found a flexible regimen that helps me finish the things I start. When it gets hard for me to stay the course, I just remind myself that the bigger the star, the more fuel it requires to produce light, and I plan to stay lit.

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