Hey. I’m She/her. A Mama. A survivor. I’m a writer, author & former blogger. An ESFP. A recovering addict… of sorts. Long story. A Jesus follower. A woman hellbent on recovery. A lover of black womanhood. An “SJW.” (quoted ironically). An Advocate for the oppressed through and through. A lil cute + a lil silly. A lil obsessed with self-development. A lil fashion forward but also, tired. Welcome. 

A bit more

Back in 2016 - 2018, I endured trauma that changed me permanently. I was severely abused. I was diagnosed with Acute Stress Disorder and eventually P.T.S.D. I am recovering. At some point, I decided to survive. I decided to fight for myself, but even more I decided to fight for my three children. It seems cliche to attribute my aliveness to them, but it’s true. If it weren’t for them, I would have killed myself. I wanted so badly to die with equal intensity that I wanted to watch them grow up. When my lows got too low… their precious faces and high-pitched voices won. They saved me. Each time I considered death, I considered Ransom, Rhys & Reverie. Each time, they saved me. And they keep saving me, every single day.

For now, I am writing privately about everything that happened, which were the single most significant and traumatic events of my adult life. With time and understanding I may see things differently. Yet, as of today, it’s March 24, 2019 and I am not ready to share more in book or blog form. In other words, I ain’t it over it.  One thing I’ve learned over the past 10 years of being a public writer? Give yourself time to heal first. At least half a year if you can swing it. If not, a few weeks will do in a pinch. I do not advise same day processing. Let’s just say, I’m thankful Instagram stories only last 24 hours.

I started writing in earnest about 13 years ago. I’d given birth to my 1st son and I aspired to be a Mommy blogger. Over the years, I branched out to write on faith, marriage, social justice, racism and divorce. I started writing personal essays about surviving a traumatic childhood -an abusive father and racist brother, etc. Through that exploration, my life as memoirist was born. Much of that content is lost to blogs I never quite figured out how to keep up with.

Look. Let’s face it, I’m an Enneagram 7 and predictably detail averse. Still somehow, I grew a robust blog following and became an award winning blogger (see video below) before my personal and professional life spiraled out of control after years of white-knuckling an addiction and several layers of unearthed grief. Even though I was actively trying not to, I still took a blow torch to my life and the annihilation was complete. I ended up broke, in rehab, divorced, re-married, abused and bankrupt. It was a total shit-fest, which I have somehow miraculously survived by God’s grace alone. Yet, I haven’t arrived anywhere. I’m still surviving…

Before I completely lost it, I served in a Campus Ministry as a Campus Minister focused solely on black student ministry for 16 years. I spoke all over the country, I organized and planned conferences and influenced several thousand black college & university students. Those were some of the best times of my life and I’m proud to have contributed to something so important even as my personal struggles continued to press into me in ways I could never quite figure out how to manage.

All my life, I’ve struggled with some form of depression: clinical, postpartum, P.M.D.D., anxiety and have had serious bouts of suicidal ideation. I write a lot about mental health, surviving oppression and trauma. I didn’t necessarily set out to be a mental health advocate, but it’s my story so I need to tell it. I didn’t set out to be so emotionally + psychologically traumatized that I’d write about abuse and the lingering effects of PTSD on black women, but it’s my story so I intend to tell it.

I did intend to tell my story of growing up with a Schizophrenic mother, a sexually abusive father and a racist white brother… those stories I’ve carried like a backpack for 15 years that I’ve opened but refused to set down so others can see. I started a memoir to tell that story over a decade ago, and one day I will publish it. I promise. 

I’ve struggled to find my place (not always, but often). I’ve struggled to find my footing in all the ways. I’ve never been able to keep a marriage together -and I’ve tried twice. I give up. Sort of. It’s complicated. I’ve struggled with just about every aspect of what being alive means despite those who seem to think I’m a happy, pretty and wonderfully functioning human being -the truth is… I don’t have my shit together.

I fall. I fall harder. I get up. I get up harder. I never give up. I keep trying to be a better human being. Not only for my children, or because the world needs me at my best, or even because of God’s love for me, but because I love me and I need me. I honor my struggle and my life. I forgive my mistakes and I have loads of grace for my journey. Maybe very few will know my story and come to those same conclusions, but there’s this: I don’t need you to. There is something profoundly beautiful in learning to let go and loving yourself any damn way. No one has to pick me for me to survive. Which is consequently, why I’m choosing to self-publish my books. I’m tired of waiting to be chosen. I choose me dammit.

I write because I love to write. I can’t not write. I have the healthiest relationship to writing I’ve ever had. Maybe you’ll like me, maybe you’ll find me to be too much. Either way, I’m good. That’s probably more than you ever wanted to know for an about section in 2019. I have a bent towards rambling.

If you’re here, I love you & I’ve prayed for you.




I’ve Been Seen…