Healing changed what I could tolerate. Some people didn’t notice I was leaving the role until I was no longer available for it. This is a reflection on being needed but unseen, choosing yourself before the lesson comes back louder, and learning that care can move both ways.

You can be in therapy and still feel like you’re translating yourself. Softening the story. Explaining the family rules. Making your tone smaller so the room can keep up. This post is for the moment you start wondering whether your therapist can hold your whole Black self — the humor, the ache, the faith, the fire, the history, the side-eye, and the sovereignty — without shrinking you into something easier to digest.

FaceTime isn't a phone call. It's a surprise visit. And I don't particularly enjoy surprise visits. If somebody knocked on my door right now without calling first, I'd peek through the blinds just to see who it is, but I'm not opening the door. FaceTime feels exactly the same. One second I'm minding my business. The next second, your forehead is filling my entire screen...