At 4am, alone in my living room, I danced—not to be seen, not to be understood, but because my body needed joy, and I trusted it. Somewhere between the movement, the meditation, and the music, it became clear: I don’t crave validation anymore. I crave alignment. I crave flow.

9/28/2025 11:46 am

Last night, I had the pleasure of attending the premiere of Love, Loyalty, & Death at the Neon Theater in downtown Dayton—an incredible film by our city’s own Jason DBKS Hampton.

Water has been calling to me lately. This happens often—a quiet, persistent yearning to relax my mind, body, and soul. Over time, I’ve come to appreciate water not just as a physical element, but as a form of meditation and escape. For the past few weeks, I’ve told myself I needed to soak in a bubble bath. Yet each day, I faced the same dilemma: I felt like I had no time. My mind constantly is under war, with the quiet struggles that many of us face but rarely articulate- especially the tension between productivity and self-care, and the yearning for peace in the midst of constant motion. 

Ever wonder why celebrities like Mya, Jennifer Lopez, Pharrell, and Nia Long seem to defy aging—without obvious signs of plastic surgery or cosmetic enhancements? Read this post to discover one of the natural secrets behind their youthful glow.

August marks the beginning of my ritual—a quiet turning inward as I prepare for the new year ahead. It’s the season when I begin to look back, not just at the past twelve months, but at the echoes that stretch beyond them. I revisit the intentions I set, the goals I envisioned, and gently ask myself: Did I move toward them? Did they still matter?

Journal. Prayer. Meditation.

My journaling has evolved profoundly since I first began in 2021. Time has ushered in a quiet maturity, and I can feel it in the way my words have changed. In the beginning, my journal was a vessel for venting—a place where I could scream and cry in ink. I poured out my frustrations with myself and others, too afraid to speak those truths aloud in the real world. I cast myself as the victim in every entry, using the page to release the negativity I worked so hard to hide from others. In many ways, I was misusing my journals.

For years, I felt an energy within me—subtle, mysterious, waiting to be named. It stirred quietly beneath the surface, not demanding attention, but patiently asking to be acknowledged.

My home is slowly becoming my sanctuary, and I hold this feeling close—it’s sacred. But it’s not just the walls or the space; it’s me. I’ve changed. Grown in ways no one else could see, layer by layer, moment by moment. Every lesson etched itself into my spirit, reshaping me. The long-standing bonds, the fleeting encounters—they’ve all left something behind, a truth, a mirror, a spark. And here I am now—settled, radiant, whole. I feel joy. I feel peace. I am proud of the woman I've become. Proud of the mother I am. And proud of how far I’ve come to be this version of me.