Why Resilience Isn’t Enough: Beyond Survival and the Need for Real Change | Op-Ed
Resilience may inspire us, but when it’s praised without accountability, it risks normalizing struggle instead of demanding change. We discuss it here!
By: Jamila Gomez
“She remained strong through it all.” It’s the kind of line we’ve all seen—splashed across headlines after disasters, tucked into profiles of grieving families, repeated in stories of women carrying impossible loads. The word “resilient” is always meant as praise. But when you hear it often enough, it begins to sound less like admiration and more like an evasion.
Resilience is the ability to bend without breaking, to endure hardship and still move forward. That is undeniably a powerful human quality. But the way our media frames resilience often does more to soothe the public than to confront reality. Survival is elevated as if it were the whole story, while the conditions that required such resilience are left unexamined.
The patterns are easy to spot. After a hurricane, neighbors rebuilding their homes with bare hands are celebrated, but little attention is given to why infrastructure failed or why government aid was delayed. In the aftermath of shootings, survivors are praised for their courage, but coverage often avoids asking why the violence keeps recurring. And when a Black woman shoulders caregiving, community leadership, and full-time work, she is hailed as strong, while the lack of structural support that forced her into that role goes unquestioned. In each case, admiration of resilience replaces accountability.
Resilience stories are seductive because they give audiences permission to look away. They transform painful realities into inspirational content. It’s easier to marvel at how someone endured than to demand changes that might prevent the suffering altogether. “Look, she survived” is a much tidier ending than “she should never have been put through this.”
But resilience comes at a cost. Bending without breaking still leaves scars. Constant endurance drains bodies, frays relationships, and erodes trust in institutions. When media outlets elevate resilience as the ultimate virtue, they normalize struggle as something to be admired rather than addressed. The unspoken message is that we should expect to suffer and expect to keep going—no matter the toll.
What if the media told a different story? Imagine if, alongside honoring strength, headlines interrogated the failures that made strength necessary. Instead of “She rose from the ashes,” imagine “She should never have been left in the fire.” Instead of celebrating communities for bouncing back, imagine celebrating the policies, infrastructure, and care that kept them from being knocked down in the first place.
Resilience deserves respect, but it should never be the end of the story. Real progress begins when we move beyond marveling at survival and start dismantling the conditions that make survival the only option. Until then, resilience will remain both inspiring and tragic: a testament to human willpower, and a reminder of how much we still refuse to change.
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Wellness, Self-Care, and the Need for Real Structural Change | Op-Ed
Op-Ed: Why true wellness goes beyond yoga mats and meditation apps and must address systemic issues like inequality, wages, and access to care!
By: Jamila Gomez
Wellness is everywhere. It’s in the apps on our phones, the aisles of our grocery stores, the curated corners of social media urging us to “breathe, reset, and find balance.” It’s sold through yoga mats, green juices, therapy-inspired journals, and weekend retreats designed to make us forget the weight of our daily lives. The message is consistent: if you invest in yourself—your body, your mindset, your routine—you can create calm no matter what chaos surrounds you.
But here’s the problem: the chaos isn’t always of our own making, and no amount of lavender oil or positive affirmations can erase it. The wellness industry has built an empire on personal solutions to systemic problems. It tells people to “self-care harder” while ignoring the fact that much of what keeps them unwell—low wages, unaffordable housing, unsafe workplaces, systemic racism—cannot be fixed by buying another product or waking up at 5 a.m. for meditation.
This disconnect is more than frustrating—it’s dangerous. When wellness ignores structural harm, it subtly shifts the blame onto the individual. If you’re burned out, you must have skipped your morning routine. If you’re anxious, maybe you didn’t manifest the right mindset. Struggle becomes evidence of failure, rather than a natural response to being overworked, underpaid, or constantly on guard. The very people most in need of care end up feeling like they’re not doing enough to “heal.”
And who exactly does wellness center? The glossy branding usually assumes a person with disposable income, flexible time, and access to safe environments. But for the single parent working double shifts, the caregiver who cannot clock out, or the essential worker living paycheck to paycheck, “just slow down” is not advice—it’s mockery. Those who need relief most are often the least able to access what’s being sold.
None of this means that wellness practices are useless. Many people find genuine comfort in meditation, journaling, or movement. The problem isn’t the practices themselves; it’s the narrative that these rituals alone can undo what society has broken. Wellness without justice is incomplete.
If the industry really wants to live up to its promise, it has to start telling the truth: personal rituals cannot replace structural change. True wellness is collective. It’s affordable housing, safe workplaces, accessible healthcare, and communities where survival isn’t mistaken for thriving. Without that, the industry is just selling candles for a house still on fire.
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Reigniting Your Inspiration: Finding Your Way Back When Creativity Feels Blocked
When creativity feels stuck, sometimes the block is really an invitation to pause, shift, and rediscover your spark in new ways. We discuss it here!
By: Jamila Gomez
Every creative person hits that wall at some point. You sit down to make something—write, paint, sing, build—and nothing comes. The ideas that usually flow so easily feel stuck behind a closed door. It can make you question yourself, like maybe the spark is gone for good. But blocks don’t mean you’ve lost it. They just mean it’s time to approach things differently.
Sometimes the simplest shift makes the biggest difference. Step outside, move your body, change your view. A new environment gives your mind fresh material to work with. Even something as small as working in a different corner of your house can open things up. Creativity feeds off of contrast, and when everything feels the same, your imagination runs out of oxygen.
Other times, it helps to shrink the task. Instead of aiming for a finished piece, aim for the tiniest step. Write one sentence. Doodle for five minutes. Hum a tune with no expectation it will turn into a song. Lowering the stakes takes off the pressure. What often follows is momentum, and momentum is what pulls you out of the block more than perfection ever could.
And then there are moments when you need to switch it up completely. If the words aren’t coming, maybe it’s time to pick up a brush. If painting feels heavy, maybe turn on music and move. If nothing else, try cooking something new. Changing the medium gives your brain a chance to play without rules. You’ll usually return to your main craft with fresh energy and looser hands.
Don’t forget: creativity needs input to keep going. When you’re running dry, fill yourself back up. Watch something outside your usual taste. Listen to music that takes you somewhere different. Read words that stretch you. Inspiration rarely shows up when you’re empty—it needs something to spark against.
And sometimes the best move is to stop trying. Rest. Take a nap, stretch, or sit in silence. Some of the best ideas arrive not when you chase them, but when you create enough stillness for them to find you.
The truth is, blocks are part of the creative process. They’re not the end. They’re invitations—to pause, to experiment, to look at your craft from a new angle. And if you let them, they’ll lead you back to your creativity in a way that feels freer, deeper, and more alive than before.
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Balancing Your Hustle: A Mental Health Check-In For Creatives and Entrepreneurs
Balancing ambition with self-care is essential for creatives and entrepreneurs, reminding us that protecting our peace is just as important as chasing our dreams. We discuss it here!
Balancing Your Hustle: A Mental Health Check-In For Creatives and Entrepreneurs
By: Omar Cook
As creatives and entrepreneurs, we’re often told to grind harder, hustle longer, and sacrifice everything for the vision. And while chasing dreams and building empires can be beautiful, it can also be draining if we’re not intentional about how we care for ourselves along the way. I know this firsthand. With multiple passions and businesses pulling me in different directions, I’ve had to remind myself: if I don’t take care of my mind, body, and spirit, I can’t give my best to the world.
Self-care isn’t a luxury—it’s a necessity. It means finding balance between ambition and wellness. Go to the gym or take a walk outside and let the sun remind you that life is bigger than your to-do list. Drink water. Eat food that fuels you with energy. Read a book that stretches your perspective. And don’t forget the hobbies. Personally, I like to play video games as a reward after a good day’s work—it’s my way of reminding myself that joy and play are just as important as productivity.
Keep Growing
Part of taking care of yourself is also feeding your mind. I call YouTube “YouTube University” because it’s a space where you can learn anything—new skills, fresh ideas, new approaches to business and creativity. Keep yourself curious. Keep yourself open. Growth is its own form of self-love.
For me, keeping my prayer life strong and spending time with God keeps me grounded. It reminds me that even when I feel “behind,” I’m always right on time—because I’m on God’s timing. Trust Him. Have faith in His plan. The peace that comes with that trust allows you to create from a clear and powerful place.
Protect Your Vibe
The energy you surround yourself with matters. Listen to inspirational music that makes you feel good. Spend time with other people on the same wavelength—people who push you higher instead of pulling you down. Go enjoy creative arts—live music, poetry, theater—and let that energy refill your soul.
Set realistic goals and give yourself permission to be human. Don’t be too hard on yourself—you are exactly where you need to be. Every step, every stumble, every small win is part of the journey. Loving yourself, fully and unapologetically, allows you to radiate the best version of who you are. And when you operate from that state of peace, you give your greatest creations to the world.
At the end of the day, your dreams need you—whole, healthy, and present. So this is your check-in: drink some water, step outside, say a prayer, laugh with friends, learn something new, play, rest, and keep building. The empire will come, but protecting your peace along the way is what will keep it standing.
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Choosing Yourself Is Harder Than Anyone Tells You
Choosing yourself means facing the lonely nights, hard truths, and quiet victories that come with honoring your worth and protecting your peace. We discuss it here!
Choosing Yourself Is Harder Than Anyone Tells You
By: Jamila Gomez
People talk about “choosing yourself” like it’s a clean, glamorous act of self-love. Like you light a candle, make a vision board, and boom—you’re healed, whole, and standing in your power. The truth is, it’s nothing like that. Choosing yourself is messy. It’s lonely. It’s questioning whether you made the right choice while also knowing deep down you did.
I had a hard day recently—the kind of day where you walk through the door and feel the weight of the world on your shoulders. My first thought was how nice it would be to have somebody there. Not to fix anything, not to solve the problem, just to be present. To sit next to me, maybe bring me a cup of tea, or say, “Yeah, today was rough.” That longing was real.
But then I remembered what it was like when I did have somebody. The truth is, those hard days didn’t magically get better just because I wasn’t alone. Sometimes, I still felt lonely in the same room with them. Sometimes, their way of being “there” came with extra weight—judgment, distraction, or even the silent reminder that my needs weren’t really understood. And it hit me: being partnered doesn’t always mean being supported.
That’s the part people skip over. Choosing yourself often means saying no to situations that look good from the outside but drain you on the inside. It’s walking away from what’s familiar because it costs too much of your peace. And when you do, the empty space it leaves behind can feel unbearable at first.
You have to learn how to hold yourself in that space. To sit with your own feelings instead of numbing them. To be your own witness on the hard days. And that’s a skill nobody teaches you—because most people don’t want to sit with themselves long enough to learn it.
Choosing yourself isn’t about isolation. It’s about knowing you’d rather stand alone than stay somewhere that requires you to shrink. It’s about building a life where you are not a side character, where your needs matter as much as anyone else’s. That doesn’t mean the longing disappears—it means you don’t let longing be the only reason you settle.
So yes, it’s hard. It’s uncomfortable. But over time, you notice the small victories: how you speak to yourself more gently, how you trust your own judgment more, how your peace feels less negotiable. And then one day, even on a hard day, you realize—you’d still choose yourself.
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Designing a Trip That Actually Feels Good to You
Learn how to plan travel that truly nourishes your spirit, prioritizes rest, and aligns with your personal rhythm instead of performance-based pressure. We discuss it here!
Photo Credit: FG Trade via iStockPhoto.com
By: Jamila Gomez
It’s not just in your head. When Black women say something feels off, we’re often met with blank stares, rushed explanations, or worse—dismissal. Whether it’s pain being minimized, symptoms being overlooked, or valid concerns being downplayed, the truth is this: healthcare was not built with us in mind. And you can feel that in the way you’re spoken to, treated, or ignored altogether.
You shouldn’t have to prepare for a fight every time you book a checkup, but in many cases, that’s what it becomes. A tug-of-war between what you know about your body and what someone else assumes based on their bias or lack of training. So you learn to prepare—not because you want to, but because you have to.
Start by treating your body like a case file. If something doesn’t feel right, log it. Don’t wait until the day before your appointment to remember when it started. Track your symptoms in real time—note the frequency, what makes it worse, what helps, and how it interferes with your daily life. This isn’t about proving you’re in pain. It’s about refusing to let anyone act like it’s unclear.
Walk into that office with questions—real ones. And expect real answers. If they hand you a vague explanation, ask for specifics. If they dismiss your concern, ask what diagnostic process they’re using. You’re not being difficult—you’re being informed. There’s a difference.
And let’s be honest: you might need a witness. Having someone with you—a friend, partner, cousin—can change the entire tone of the visit. They don’t even have to speak. Just being there can interrupt that tendency providers have to steamroll, assume, or rush through. If you can’t bring anyone, prepare a list of questions and take notes. If they push back on that, take that as a sign.
If you feel ignored, move on. Ask for a referral, a second opinion, or a complete switch. Don’t explain your discomfort. You don’t owe loyalty to a system that hasn’t earned your trust. Keep records. Ask for your charts. You have rights—use them.
And above all, trust your own expertise. You’ve been living in your body long enough to know when something’s off. Listen to that. Act on it. Say it without softening your tone.
You don’t need to convince anyone to care about your health. But you do need to make sure they can’t ignore it.
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Getting Heard in Healthcare: A Survival Guide for Black Women
Black women are often dismissed in healthcare settings, but learning to track symptoms, ask informed questions, and advocate for your body can help protect your health and ensure you’re taken seriously. We discuss it here!
Photo Credit: nortonrsx via iStockPhoto.com
By: Jamila Gomez
It’s not just in your head. When Black women say something feels off, we’re often met with blank stares, rushed explanations, or worse—dismissal. Whether it’s pain being minimized, symptoms being overlooked, or valid concerns being downplayed, the truth is this: healthcare was not built with us in mind. And you can feel that in the way you’re spoken to, treated, or ignored altogether.
You shouldn’t have to prepare for a fight every time you book a checkup, but in many cases, that’s what it becomes. A tug-of-war between what you know about your body and what someone else assumes based on their bias or lack of training. So you learn to prepare—not because you want to, but because you have to.
Start by treating your body like a case file. If something doesn’t feel right, log it. Don’t wait until the day before your appointment to remember when it started. Track your symptoms in real time—note the frequency, what makes it worse, what helps, and how it interferes with your daily life. This isn’t about proving you’re in pain. It’s about refusing to let anyone act like it’s unclear.
Walk into that office with questions—real ones. And expect real answers. If they hand you a vague explanation, ask for specifics. If they dismiss your concern, ask what diagnostic process they’re using. You’re not being difficult—you’re being informed. There’s a difference.
And let’s be honest: you might need a witness. Having someone with you—a friend, partner, cousin—can change the entire tone of the visit. They don’t even have to speak. Just being there can interrupt that tendency providers have to steamroll, assume, or rush through. If you can’t bring anyone, prepare a list of questions and take notes. If they push back on that, take that as a sign.
If you feel ignored, move on. Ask for a referral, a second opinion, or a complete switch. Don’t explain your discomfort. You don’t owe loyalty to a system that hasn’t earned your trust. Keep records. Ask for your charts. You have rights—use them.
And above all, trust your own expertise. You’ve been living in your body long enough to know when something’s off. Listen to that. Act on it. Say it without softening your tone.
You don’t need to convince anyone to care about your health. But you do need to make sure they can’t ignore it.
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Depth Doesn’t Trend: The Loneliness of Being Real Online
In a digital world obsessed with performance and virality, being authentic online can feel invisible—but for Black creators committed to truth and depth, meaningful impact still matters and builds over time. We discuss it here!
Photo Credit: Jacob Wackerhausen via iStockPhoto.com
By: Jamila Gomez
Let’s be honest—being real online can feel pointless. You share what actually matters, you speak from the heart, and it’s like shouting into the void. Meanwhile, the loudest, flashiest, most watered-down content gets all the attention.
Social media says it’s about connection, but most days it feels more like performance. If you’re not entertaining or overexposing yourself, you’re invisible. And if you’re someone who values honesty, nuance, and slow, meaningful growth? It’s easy to feel like you just don’t fit.
You try to share truth. You try to speak to people’s hearts. But the algorithm doesn’t reward truth—it rewards reaction. Soyou’re left wondering: is anyone even listening? Is it worth it to keep showing up?
There’s a specific kind of loneliness that comes with being genuine in a space that’s built for performance. You don’t want to fake it. You don’t want to scream to be seen. But you still want to matter. You still want your work, your voice, your presence to mean something.
What makes it worse is seeing content that feels empty take off, while your most thoughtful posts go untouched. You start second-guessing yourself. Maybe I should be louder. Maybe I should post more selfies. Maybe I should jump on the trend just this once. And maybe you do. But it never feels right. It feels like you’re borrowing someone else’s voice, someone else’s lane.
There’s no quick fix for that feeling. But what helps is remembering you’re not the only one. There are others out here building quietly. Sharing things that don’t scream for attention but still have weight. Still have value. Still matter.
You don’t have to become something you’re not to be seen. And you don’t have to shrink your message down to get a like. The right people are paying attention. They may not always show up in the comments or the DMs, but they’re there. They’re listening. They’re watching. They’re taking in every word.
It’s not about being viral. It’s about being clear. Being consistent. Being rooted. That kind of presence doesn’t explode—it builds. It lingers. It lands where it’s meant to. And that’s more than enough.
Not being seen right away doesn’t mean your presence lacks impact. It means your work is building something deeper than views. And deep always takes time.
Keep creating. Keep showing up. And don’t water down what’s real just to be seen faster.
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We Need to Talk About Emotional Manipulation in Black Families
Many Black families struggle to differentiate love from control, mistaking emotional manipulation for tradition and loyalty, but healing begins by naming the harm and breaking generational cycles. We discuss it here!
Photo Credit: Rawpixel via iStockPhoto.com
By: Jamila Gomez
There’s a difference between love and control—but in many Black families, that line has been blurred for so long, we’ve been taught to see them as the same thing.
Emotional manipulation isn’t always loud or aggressive. Most of the time, it shows up quiet and familiar, wrapped in phrases we’ve heard all our lives:
“After all I’ve done for you.”
“That’s just how I was raised.”
“You think you better than us now?”
It’s the guilt trip when you try to set boundaries. The silent treatment when you say no. The expectation that you’ll show up, pay up, and never speak up. And if you dare to name what’s happening, you’re suddenly the disrespectful one—the ungrateful child, the outsider, the problem.
In Black families, there’s often an unspoken belief that elders are above accountability, that “family business” should stay quiet, and that loyalty means silence—even in the face of harm. It’s a survival response rooted in real history. Our families have spent generations trying to hold it together under systemic pressure, economic struggle, and racial trauma. Control, shame, and fear became tools to protect and preserve. But those same tools are now damaging us from the inside.
When love is measured by obedience, and respect is weaponized to silence you, it’s not protection—it’s manipulation. And what gets dismissed as “just how they are” ends up becoming our emotional blueprint. It teaches us to ignore our own needs, overextend ourselves, and mistake guilt for connection. We carry that into our friendships, romantic relationships, and even into parenting, where the cycle threatens to continue.
This isn’t about blame—it’s about awareness. Because healing starts with naming what hurt us, not pretending it didn’t. And some of the things we normalized growing up were never okay. The problem is, if you try to break the pattern, you risk being labeled difficult, distant, or “not family-oriented.” But what they don’t understand is that choosing your peace isn’t abandonment—it’s protection, too.
Black families deserve better than cycles of emotional silence and manipulation dressed up as tradition. We deserve relationships built on mutual respect, real communication, and space to grow. But we won’t get there if we keep pretending that guilt is love and silence is strength.
We’re allowed to want more. We’re allowed to choose differently. And we don’t owe anyone our emotional freedom just to keep the peace.
The truth is that the only way to truly honor our families is to do the work they weren’t allowed—or willing—to do. That starts by being honest about what’s been passed down… and deciding which parts end with us.
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Your Attachment Style Isn’t a Personality Trait
Understanding that attachment styles are learned coping mechanisms—not fixed personality traits—can help you break free from emotional patterns and build healthier, more secure relationships. We discuss it here!
Photo Credit: SolStock via iStockPhoto.com
By: Jamila Gomez
Attachment styles have become a popular topic lately—people are quick to label themselves as anxious, avoidant, secure, or fearful. Social media quizzes, memes, and quick-hit psychology posts make it easy to say, “Oh, I’m just anxiously attached,” or, “I’m avoidant—that’s who I am.” But here’s the truth we often overlook: your attachment style isn’t actually your personality. It’s not something you were born with, and it certainly isn’t fixed for life.
Attachment styles are coping mechanisms formed in early relationships—usually with caregivers—and shaped by later life experiences. If you felt consistently loved and safe as a child, chances are you developed a secure attachment style. If affection was unpredictable, you might have become anxious—always bracing for the possibility of being abandoned. If your emotional needs were consistently neglected or dismissed, avoidance became your armor. And if your caregivers were unpredictable or unsafe, fearful attachment—mixing anxiety with avoidance—likely became your default mode of navigating relationships.
But these styles aren’t personality traits; they’re survival strategies. They’re what you learned to do to protect yourself from emotional pain, disappointment, and rejection. And what was learned can also be unlearned.
When you see attachment as something fluid rather than fixed, you create space to grow, heal, and transform. Labeling yourself permanently as anxious or avoidant can lock you into patterns of behavior that no longer serve you. It can even become an excuse to avoid doing the deeper emotional work necessary to develop healthier, more secure connections.
Consider this: if your attachment style were truly a core part of your personality, you’d never feel the urge to change it. Yet, many of us do. We grow tired of sabotaging good relationships, exhausted by constantly needing reassurance, or burdened by our instinct to emotionally withdraw whenever intimacy feels too real.
Healing begins by recognizing that your attachment style is not who you are—it’s simply how you learned to be. With awareness, intention, and often professional or therapeutic support, you can reshape your emotional habits and responses. You can develop trust, communicate openly, and build emotional safety within yourself and with others.
Your attachment style doesn’t define your worth or your capacity to love and be loved. Instead, it’s a roadmap showing you exactly where healing needs to happen. By treating your attachment style as something to understand rather than something to accept as your permanent identity, you reclaim your power and invite genuine connection into your life.
So remember: your attachment style isn’t your destiny. It’s your starting point—and your invitation—to heal.
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Designing a Trip That Actually Feels Good to You
In a world full of noise, true spiritual clarity often comes through stillness, reminding us that God's voice is often found not in the loud, but in the quiet moments of intuition, presence, and peace. We discuss it here!
Photo Credit: andreswd via iStockPhoto.com
By: Jamila Gomez
There’s a difference between traveling and actually enjoying the trip. Too many women return from vacation exhausted, overstimulated, and needing another few days to recover. What was supposed to be a reset turns into another task—a tightly packed schedule designed for aesthetics more than actual enjoyment. Somewhere along the way, leisure started to feel like performance.
Designing a trip that feels good to you begins with clarity. Not every destination needs to be trendy. Not every restaurant needs to be Michelin-rated. And not every moment needs to be posted. The real question is: what kind of travel makes you feel most like yourself? Because if the trip isn’t aligned with who you are, it won’t serve you—no matter how far the flight.
Some women want movement—museums, excursions, and planned days from start to finish. Others want slow mornings, late breakfasts, and no alarms. Both are valid. But problems start when people plan around pressure instead of preference. If you’re not a morning person at home, forcing a sunrise hike on vacation isn’t self-care—it’s performance. Trust your rhythm.
Start by identifying the purpose of the trip before you book anything. Is it a break, a celebration, a recovery, or just an escape? That answer will tell you what kind of space you need, how much energy you have to give, and who (if anyone) should come with you. Don’t say yes to trips that don’t reflect your needs. Grown woman travel should feel good before, during, and after the flight.
Build space into your itinerary. If every hour is accounted for, it’s not leisure—it’s obligation. You need room to wander, to nap, to cancel plans without guilt. The best memories often happen during the unscheduled time. A good trip leaves space for spontaneity without leaving you drained.
There’s also power in traveling for yourself—not for photos, not for content, not for a recap. You don’t owe anyone a slideshow or proof of fun. If the experience felt meaningful to you, that’s enough. The views can stay in your head. The peace can stay off the grid.
And when the trip ends, ask yourself: did it give something back to me? Whether it’s calm, clarity, connection, or just a reason to smile when you think back on it—that’s what matters. Because a trip done right doesn’t just take you somewhere new. It brings you back to yourself.
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Gentle Words for a Mind in Overdrive
Feeling overwhelmed is not a weakness—it's a human signal to slow down, breathe, and take one compassionate step toward peace and clarity. We discuss it here!
Photo Credit: Viorel Kurnosov via iStockPhoto.com
By: Jamila Gomez
When overwhelm sets in, it often feels like being trapped beneath a wave, struggling to catch your breath. Let’s pause right here. First, breathe with me—slowly in, and slowly out. Let’s ground ourselves before we unpack everything swirling around inside.
It’s completely understandable to feel buried under this weight right now. Life has a relentless way of piling on challenges, obligations, and expectations. Recognize this: your overwhelm doesn’t indicate weakness or failure; it’s a signal from your body and mind that you’re juggling more than feels manageable. That’s not a flaw—it’s being human.
Take a moment to acknowledge everything that’s causing your overwhelm. It can feel counterintuitive to face it directly, but clarity often begins with gentle acknowledgment. What specifically feels too heavy today? Is it work pressure, relationship struggles, health concerns, or perhaps the accumulation of many smaller tasks?
Now, let’s compassionately observe what’s happening inside. Overwhelm often whispers lies that sound like truth: “You can’t handle this,” or “You’ll never catch up.” But pause here—these are feelings, not facts. Feelings are valid but not permanent, intense but not all-knowing. You have navigated moments of overwhelm before, even when it felt impossible, and each time, you have found your way through.
Even now, in the fog of too much, there is still something steady inside you. That part of you that got up today, that part of you reading this right now—it matters. It counts. You are not frozen, even if you’re moving slowly. That is still movement. That is still you choosing to try.
Consider for a moment what small action could create some breathing room right now. Not a sweeping, overwhelming solution—just one small step. Maybe it’s writing down a single task to complete, asking someone for help, or choosing to postpone something until tomorrow. Allow yourself permission for small actions that feel gentle rather than Herculean.
And if the small step today is simply letting yourself cry, or rest, or sit in silence for five minutes—that’s valid too. You are not lazy for needing to pause. You are not broken because your capacity is lower today. You’re responding to the weight of your life the best way you can in this moment.
Finally, remember this: you are not alone in this feeling. Many others have stood exactly where you are, feeling exactly what you’re feeling. Overwhelm is isolating, but the reality is profoundly human and deeply shared.
Give yourself the grace you would generously offer someone else in your shoes. Talk to yourself gently: “It’s okay that I’m feeling this. It won’t last forever. I’m allowed to take this slowly, step by step.”
Trust your resilience—it has quietly helped you move through countless tough moments before. It’s okay to slow down, reach out, and prioritize care. You’ve got this—not because it’s easy, but because you have the strength, even in exhaustion, to show up for yourself one gentle step at a time.
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Dare to Want What’s Truly Yours
Discover how shedding expectations and embracing your authentic desires can lead to a more fulfilling, purpose-driven life rooted in self-trust and clarity. We discuss it here!
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By: Jamila Gomez
If you woke up tomorrow morning completely free of anyone else’s expectations, judgments, or opinions, what would you truly want? It’s a deceptively simple question, yet many of us struggle to answer it honestly. We spend so much of our lives shaping our choices around how they’ll be perceived by others—family, friends, coworkers, even strangers—that we often lose sight of our authentic selves. But beneath the layers of external validation and approval-seeking lies a powerful clarity waiting to be uncovered.
Discovering what we truly desire, independent of others’ perceptions, requires courage. It demands that we peel away the protective layers we’ve built up over the years—layers formed by societal pressures, familial expectations, and cultural norms. Beneath it all, you’ll find not just your authentic desires, but also your unique passions, joys, and purposes that are truly yours.
The journey of self-discovery begins with curiosity. Start by asking yourself small, yet deeply revealing questions: What activities make me lose track of time? When do I feel most alive and genuine? Which dreams excite me even if they seem impractical or unconventional? These questions can guide you back to yourself, illuminating paths you may have overlooked because they weren’t “acceptable” or aligned with traditional expectations.
Imagine for a moment how liberating it would feel to genuinely prioritize your own desires without the noise of judgment clouding your decisions. Maybe you’d pursue a career that society doesn’t typically celebrate but makes your heart race with excitement. Perhaps you’d relocate to a city or country that resonates deeply with your spirit, despite skepticism from those around you. Or maybe you’d finally commit to a passion project, whether it’s writing poetry, making art, or traveling solo.
It’s not selfish to seek out what fulfills you; it’s self-respect. The beauty of authenticity is that it doesn’t diminish your relationships—it enriches them. When you’re living in alignment with your true desires, your connections become deeper and more genuine, rooted in who you truly are rather than who you’re expected to be.
Consider taking just one brave step today toward embracing your truth. Speak a desire aloud, journal about your secret dreams, or explore a small, unconventional choice that resonates with your soul. By gradually nurturing this inner authenticity, you’ll build confidence and clarity, ultimately discovering a life shaped by your genuine desires rather than others’ expectations.
So, ask yourself again: What would you truly want if no one else’s opinions mattered? Your answer could be the beginning of a remarkable journey toward your most authentic and fulfilling life.
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“But That’s Your Family”: Untangling Guilt, Loyalty, and Limits in Blood Ties
Setting boundaries with family is an act of self-preservation, not betrayal, empowering you to prioritize mental health, protect your peace, and challenge toxic generational patterns with love and courage. We discuss it here!
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By: Jamila Gomez
There’s a phrase many of us have heard when we try to assert ourselves with family: “But that’s your family.” As if the word alone should override disrespect, excuse harm, or obligate us to stay in proximity to pain. The truth is, family ties can complicate boundaries in ways that are deeply emotional, often tangled in guilt, loyalty, and the hope that things might change. But blood doesn’t give someone the right to bleed you dry.
Setting boundaries with family isn’t about being cruel. It’s about reclaiming agency. It’s the moment you stop shrinking yourself to keep the peace. It’s choosing your mental health over traditions that teach silence. It’s saying, “I love you, but I will not abandon myself to stay connected to you.” And sometimes, that love means loving from afar—or not at all.
The idea that family is sacred often becomes a weapon. You’re told to forgive quickly, to “just let it go,” to keep showing up even when you’re breaking inside. But boundary-setting is not about bitterness. It’s about self-preservation. It’s how you teach others how to treat you—and how you finally begin to believe that you deserve peace, too.
Still, it’s not easy. When you set a boundary with a parent, a sibling, or an elder, it can feel like betrayal. The grief is real. You might mourn the relationship you wish you had. You might battle shame for “disrespecting” someone who raised you. You might fear being labeled ungrateful or dramatic. But honoring your truth is not disrespect. Protecting your energy is not betrayal. And grief, while hard, is often the evidence that you’re doing something necessary.
Some will not understand. Some will push back harder. They’ll say you’ve changed—and they’ll be right. You are changing. You are breaking patterns. You are learning how to live from a place of self-trust instead of fear. And that transformation is often lonely—but it’s also where healing begins.
Letting go of unhealthy dynamics, even in the name of family, is an act of courage. It takes strength to say no more, to create distance, to demand reciprocity and mutual respect. And while some relationships may survive the shift, others won’t. That’s okay. Closure doesn’t always come with mutual understanding. Sometimes, it’s simply a quiet decision to choose yourself.
So the next time someone says, “But that’s your family,” remember: Yes. And I’m still allowed to have limits.
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You Don’t Owe the Past an Explanation
Obsessing over the past may feel like healing, but true peace begins when you stop over-analyzing the wreckage and start choosing yourself. We discuss it here!
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By: Jamila Gomez
Life hands us countless puzzles, messy moments, and confusing relationships. Sometimes we become so absorbed in analyzing and replaying every detail of these situations that we get stuck—frozen in the past, endlessly wondering what could have been done differently.
There’s a quote by 2Pac that cuts through this cycle with sharp clarity:
“You can spend minutes, hours, days, weeks, or even months over-analyzing a situation; trying to put the pieces together, justifying what could’ve, would’ve happened or you can just leave the pieces on the floor and move the fu\*k on.”
That statement reminds us of a hard but necessary truth: there is a point where reflection becomes self-sabotage. It’s one thing to understand our past so we can grow. But it’s another to stay stuck in a loop, obsessing over things that will never change, waiting for closure that may never come.
The need to make sense of our pain is deeply human. We replay conversations, analyze our actions, and search for a missing piece that might explain the hurt. But the reality is that not all pain has a neat origin story. Not all relationships end with clarity. And not all decisions were made with fairness or logic.
Sometimes, the healthiest thing we can do is put the magnifying glass down and step back from the wreckage.
Leaving the pieces on the floor doesn’t mean you’re weak or careless. It means you’re wise enough to know when something is no longer worth your time, your peace, or your energy. It means you recognize that healing doesn’t always begin with answers—sometimes, it begins with acceptance.
Letting go isn’t passive. It’s one of the most courageous and active choices you can make. It’s looking at the wreckage and saying, “I’ll build something new anyway.” It’s choosing your future over your past. It’s deciding that your growth doesn’t require permission from your pain.
Moving on doesn’t mean the experience didn’t matter. It just means you matter more. You are not abandoning your truth by walking away—you are protecting it.
There is strength in refusing to make yourself small for the sake of understanding someone else's harm. There is power in leaving the door closed, even when curiosity wants to reopen it. Choosing peace over clarity is not weakness; it's wisdom earned through experience.
So if you find yourself endlessly dissecting a moment, a decision, a heartbreak—ask yourself if it’s helping you heal or just holding you hostage. Ask yourself if those pieces on the floor are really worth picking back up, or if your energy is better spent elsewhere.
Sometimes, the only way to reclaim your peace is to walk away from the mess and leave it exactly as it is.
Unfinished. Unanswered. And no longer your responsibility to fix.
Because what deserves your energy now isn't what broke you, but what builds you next. You owe yourself that much.
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Is the Black Church Still a Safe Space? Depends Who You Ask
The Black church holds a powerful legacy of faith, resilience, and community, but it also carries a complicated history of silence, shame, and spiritual harm that continues to shape conversations about healing, inclusion, and transformation today. We discuss it here!
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By: Jamila Gomez
The Black church has always been more than just a building. It’s been a refuge, a gathering place, a sanctuary when the rest of the world felt unsafe. For many of us, it’s where we learned to pray, to praise, to hold on. But for others, it’s also where we first learned how to hide.
Because while the Black church gave us faith, community, and language for survival—it also gave us silence, shame, and suppression.
The Duality We Don’t Talk About Enough
To say the Black church saved lives isn’t an exaggeration. It has carried generations through slavery, segregation, systemic injustice, and communal grief. It built leaders, movements, and entire cultural traditions.
But alongside that power sits a less often acknowledged truth: the church has also been a space where many of us first encountered spiritual manipulation, misogyny, homophobia, and emotional abuse—all wrapped in scripture.
And that’s the part folks don’t always want to admit: you can love a space and still name how it hurt you.
The Pain That Got Dressed Up as Doctrine
For many Black women, the church taught us to be small and silent. To serve before we spoke. To stay in marriages that were breaking us. To “pray it away” instead of going to therapy. To mistake suffering for virtue.
For many queer folks, it meant sitting in pews that preached damnation over dignity—learning to perform identity in order to survive the judgment.
For survivors of abuse, the message was often clear: protect the reputation of the church, even if it costs you your voice.
What do you do when the place that taught you about God also taught you how to disappear?
Why Some of Us Left
Some of us didn’t leave the church because we lost faith—we left because we found ourselves.
We started asking questions no one wanted to answer. We got tired of being told that our trauma was a test, or that our boundaries were rebellion. We craved a God who didn’t require erasure as an offering.
And so we left. Not always in anger. Sometimes just in silence.
And Yet, for Some, It’s Still Home
There are Black churches doing real, radical work—centering mental health, embracing LGBTQ+ members, challenging generational harm. For some, it remains a lifeline, a chosen family, a vital anchor in the chaos of the world.
So when someone asks, “Is the Black church still a safe space?”—the most honest answer might be: For some, yes. For others, it never was.
The Black church has a legacy of resilience and contradiction. It has held us up and held us back. It has birthed liberation and enabled silence. It has given us hope, and for some of us, it has demanded our hiding in return.
But telling the truth about that complexity isn’t betrayal—it’s healing. Because safe spaces don’t just feel good. They make room for hard conversations. They grow. They evolve. They repent when needed.
And maybe the real question isn’t whether the Black church is a safe space—but whether it’s willing to become one.
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Misdiagnosed and Misunderstood: What the System Gets Wrong About Black Emotion
This powerful article explores how the mental health system often mislabels Black pain, calling survival strategies symptoms and overlooking cultural context, while offering a path toward healing through culturally affirming care and self-reclamation. We discuss it here!
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By: Jamila Gomez
You sit across from someone who’s supposed to help. You try to explain the weight you carry—the irritability, the sadness that won’t leave, the constant fear of being too much or not enough. But instead of asking what happened to you, they start jotting down what’s wrong with you.
And just like that, your rage is aggression. Your grief becomes a diagnosis. Your survival instincts are now symptoms.
This is what happens when Black people’s pain gets filtered through a lens that was never meant to see us clearly.
The System Was Never Neutral
Let’s be honest: the mental health system is not as neutral, objective, or inclusive as it wants to believe. Most of what we’ve come to accept as psychological “norms” were built around white, Western ideals of expression, behavior, and functionality. So when we show up with a completely different cultural blueprint—one rooted in resilience, resistance, and generational trauma—we’re often misunderstood.
Studies have shown that Black people are more likely to be diagnosed with psychotic disorders like schizophrenia, while white patients presenting the same symptoms often get milder mood disorder labels like depression or anxiety. Black children are more likely to be labeled “oppositional” than “traumatized.” Black women are told they’re too guarded, too angry, too loud, too resistant.
Too everything.
What You Call a Disorder, I Call a Defense Mechanism
What happens when you grow up in environments where being too emotional wasn’t safe? When silence and strength were expected just to survive? When no one ever said “I see you,” so you stopped expecting to be seen?
You develop defenses. You shut down. You get sharp-tongued. You armor up.
And then, when you finally sit down in front of someone with a clipboard and an acronym behind their name, they name the behavior—but not the why. Suddenly you’re “avoidant.” “Hypervigilant.” “Disregulated.”
No one ever stops to ask: What would it look like to treat the context, not just the symptoms?
Labels Without Language
When you’ve spent your whole life navigating racism, family trauma, economic stress, and cultural silence, your emotions don’t always show up politely. Some of us dissociate in church pews. Some of us stay booked and busy because the stillness is triggering. Some of us laugh too loud, too long, because we’ve never been allowed to cry in peace.
But these are not disorders. These are strategies. They were our ancestors’ armor—and now they’re our inheritance.
And yet, if you walk into the wrong office with the right pain, you might leave with a label that cages more than it frees.
The Cost of Misdiagnosis
It’s not just about hurt feelings—it’s about missed healing.
When our anger gets labeled as aggression, no one investigates what we lost.
When our numbness gets labeled as detachment, no one asks what we’re still trying to survive.
When our silence is labeled as non-compliance, no one considers that maybe we’re just exhausted from not being believed.
Mislabeled pain doesn’t get healed. It gets managed, medicated, monitored. But it doesn’t get met with compassion or curiosity.
And that’s the real danger—when the system treats our trauma like a character flaw, our healing becomes harder to reach.
So What Do We Do?
We name it. We question it. We stop blindly accepting frameworks that were never built with us in mind.
We seek therapists who see us fully—not just as a bundle of symptoms, but as whole human beings with rich cultural lives and layered histories. We explore alternative healing modalities that speak to the soul, not just the psyche—ancestral healing, somatic work, storytelling, ritual, reclamation.
And most importantly, we remember this:
Not every emotion needs to be fixed.
Not every reaction is dysfunctional.
Not everything needs to be diagnosed.
Sometimes it’s just being Black… and tired.
To anyone who has ever felt misread, mislabeled, or mishandled in a space that was supposed to help you—you are not imagining it. The system isn’t broken. It was built this way.
But so were we. Built to endure, built to adapt, built to remember ourselves whole.
And now? We get to heal on our terms.
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Why Narcissists Prefer Long-Distance Relationships
Narcissists often prefer long-distance relationships because the emotional and physical separation allows them to manipulate, avoid accountability, and control their image without true intimacy. We discuss it here!
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By: Jamila Gomez
At first glance, a long-distance relationship might seem like a challenge most people would avoid—especially if they crave connection, intimacy, or physical closeness. But for a narcissist, it’s often the perfect setup. The emotional distance and physical separation offer them unique advantages that in-person relationships just don’t.
One of the main reasons narcissists prefer long-distance relationships is control without accountability. When there’s physical distance, it’s easier for them to curate a persona and show only the parts of themselves they want you to see. Through texts, calls, and video chats, they can love-bomb you with exaggerated affection and charm—all while hiding manipulative behavior, lies, or even other relationships. You can’t observe their day-to-day actions, so it’s harder to call out inconsistencies or see red flags clearly.
Long-distance also allows the narcissist to stay emotionally detached. Vulnerability and emotional closeness threaten their need for superiority and control. In-person relationships often require empathy, compromise, and consistent emotional presence—things narcissists struggle with or avoid altogether. The physical absence gives them room to avoid deeper emotional responsibility while still receiving admiration, validation, and attention from afar.
Another draw? They can idealize and devalue more easily from a distance. Narcissists tend to swing between putting their partner on a pedestal and then tearing them down. When they don’t see you often, it’s easier to sustain the fantasy phase longer. But when the pedestal crumbles—and it always does—they can also withdraw or discard you without the uncomfortable confrontation of real-life proximity. The breakup can be as abrupt and cold as a text message.
Narcissists also thrive on having multiple sources of supply—people who feed their ego and meet their emotional needs. Long-distance relationships make it easier to juggle other partners without being caught. You’re less likely to know their friends, frequent places, or see who they’re interacting with. This secrecy feeds their need for control and power without much risk of exposure.
Lastly, a long-distance dynamic allows them to play the victim if things go south. If you become suspicious or frustrated with the lack of presence, they can flip the script and claim you’re the needy one. They might say you’re “too emotional,” “overreacting,” or “never satisfied,” when in reality, you’re just trying to get clarity and connection.
In the end, long-distance relationships give narcissists the perfect illusion of intimacy—with very little of the actual work required to sustain it. It’s not about love. It’s about access, ego, and escape.
And if you’re in one, it’s worth asking: Is this person really unavailable…or just emotionally inaccessible by design?
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Why Being “Low-Drama” Isn’t the Flex You Think It Is (When It’s Just Suppression)
Being “low-drama” is often praised, but for many—especially survivors of narcissistic abuse—it’s a trauma response rooted in emotional suppression, not genuine peace. We discuss it here!
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By: Jamila Gomez
We live in a world where being “low-drama” is praised like a personality trait. You hear it everywhere—“I don’t do drama,” “I’m chill,” “I just keep the peace.” But here’s the hard truth: sometimes that low-drama energy is not peace. It’s emotional suppression in disguise.
Especially for survivors of narcissistic abuse or emotionally unavailable dynamics, being “low-drama” is often not a sign of maturity—it’s a trauma response. It’s what happens when expressing your needs was punished, when being honest got flipped back on you, or when standing up for yourself only made things worse.
So you learned to stay quiet. You learned to shrink. You learned that feeling less was safer than being too much.
But here’s the danger: in the name of being easygoing, you can lose touch with your own emotional reality. You convince yourself that your standards are “too high,” your boundaries are “harsh,” or your feelings are “too sensitive.” You start settling for crumbs and calling it grace. You stop asking for what you need because silence feels safer than rejection.
You begin to wear your lack of reaction like armor.
But you weren’t made to be numb.
There is a difference between peace and passivity. Peace is intentional. It’s rooted in clarity, honesty, and alignment. Passivity, though? That’s when you don’t speak up because you’re afraid of conflict. That’s when you tolerate mistreatment and call it “not wanting drama.”
And let’s be real: narcissists love a low-drama woman. They thrive when you don’t question, don’t challenge, don’t confront. They count on your silence to keep control.
Healing means learning to stop seeing your voice as a liability. It means recognizing that emotion doesn’t equal chaos—and expressing hurt doesn’t make you difficult.
Being “low-drama” is only admirable if it comes from regulation, not repression. If it’s based on self-awareness, not fear of being abandoned.
So if you’ve ever prided yourself on being “unbothered,” ask yourself: is that peace—or is that shutdown?
You don’t have to explode to be expressive. You don’t have to argue to advocate. You don’t have to be chaotic to be clear.
You just have to believe that your feelings matter—and that drama isn’t the issue.
Disrespect is.
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When God Feels Silent While You’re Breaking
In times of deep suffering when God feels silent, it's not always absence but often sacred presence—an invitation to trust what’s already within. We discuss it here!
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By: Jamila Gomez
There are moments in life when everything inside you is collapsing, and heaven feels closed for business. You pray, but the words echo back. You beg for answers, but silence fills the space. In those moments, it’s easy to believe you’ve been abandoned. That God’s off somewhere else. That maybe you were wrong to trust Him in the first place.
Silence in suffering can feel like cruelty. You’re bleeding emotionally, spiritually, maybe even physically—and all you get is quiet. No signs. No reassurance. Just stillness while your world is on fire.
But what if the silence isn’t absence? What if it’s presence in a different form?
Think about it. When a teacher is silent during a test, it’s not because they’ve left the room. It’s because the test is designed to reveal what’s already been taught. Maybe this isn’t God ghosting you. Maybe it’s Him trusting what He’s built in you.
That doesn’t mean the pain isn’t real. It doesn’t mean you should pretend it’s fine. You’re allowed to scream, to cry, to not know what to say. Even Jesus, in His final moments, cried out, “My God, why have you forsaken me?” If the Son of God could say that and still be in the center of God’s will, so can you.
We often want comfort to come in noise—answers, feelings, a miracle. But God doesn’t always speak the way we want. Sometimes He speaks through the waiting, the wrestling, the long nights of not knowing. And the silence? It can strip away everything we thought was holding us up until all that’s left is raw faith.
Not the polished kind. The gritty, trembling kind. The kind that says, “I don’t understand, but I’m not letting go.”
And that’s the point. Silence doesn’t have to mean distance. In fact, sometimes the quiet is the closest we’ll ever feel to the edge of something holy. Because when all the lights go out and the noise dies down, there’s a chance to hear something deeper—not outside of you, but within.
The silence may not give you answers, but it can give you presence. It can hold space for you to be broken, and still be beloved. God’s silence isn’t the same as His absence. It might just be His way of saying: I’m here. I see you. Keep breathing.
So if you’re breaking right now and God feels silent, know this: the silence doesn’t mean you’re forgotten. It might mean you’re being held in ways words can’t express.
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