Look at us. Just look at us. Now, if this doesn't apply to you... replace all of the "us" and "we" with "me" and 'I." I digress. But it is officially March, and if I have to see one more "Save for Later" folder on my Instagram, I might actually lose my mind. We spent all of January romanticizing our potential like it was a Tyler Perry movie. We bought the cute glass jars for the overnight oats, the bag of tupperware from Sam's club, and the glass bottles for pressed juice.

Lord, give me the strength to not throw this phone across the room. I was just getting excited, mentally picking out an outfit. I was just about to check if my favorite wedges still have the heel intact, when my phone lit up again. "Just so we’re clear, I’m a 50/50 type of guy." sigh At least we're still on the app, God knows my block list is already too long. The blue bubbles haven't even turned green yet! And he has the unmitigated gall to send me a paragraph that reads l

I stood my black ass in the rain for 45 minutes. I checked the box. I did my part. I was part of that 92%—the collective of Black women who saw the writing on the wall, written in bold, blood-red ink, while the rest of the country was playing footsie with chaos. And now? Now I’m looking at the news, looking at my refrigerator, looking at my children, and I’m asking the heavens: A war?! I’m not surprised. Well, let me take that back! I was surprised to wake up and find out tha

Okay, y'all, let's keep it 100. I don't know about you, but February just flew by for me. Now that it's over, I'm taking stock of my goals for the month, my New Year's resolutions are looking less like triumphant achievements and more like... Well, let's just say "in progress."  Pause… I did say keep it 100! So let me tell you, they're looking worse than a bad perm; worse than one of my meal prepped meals that sat in my lunch bag all week. Matter of fact… worse than my ex’s g

I’m sitting here, staring at a pile of bills that look like they’re multiplying when I blink. Meanwhile, my three kids are in the next room asking for snacks that I just bought five minutes ago. It hit me like a ton of bricks: I am tired of the performance. I am exhausted by the costume. I am officially done with the scam that is "Adulthood." We spend our whole lives rushing to grow up, only to realize that "being an adult" is just a fancy way of saying "professional stress-m

I am a simple woman. I don’t ask for much. I don’t need a week in Tulum or a designer handbag that costs more than my first car. My "Soft Life" doesn't involve silk robes and organic acai bowls; it involves 15 minutes of silence, a locked door, and the only surface in this four-bedroom disaster zone that I personally sanitized with the ferocity of a surgical nurse. My bathroom. My fortress of solitude. My literal throne. I am a tactical bathroom user. At the office, I treat t

You know the one—she’s loud, she’s bitter, she’s got a stank attitude, and she stays whispering some straight-up lies  in your ear the minute you try to be great. You know exactly who I’m talking about. She’s the one who waits until you’ve finally put on that cute outfit—the one that makes you feel like a whole snack—to whisper, "Look at that roll. You look like a bag of laundry. Why you even trying?" She’s the one who waits until you’re about to speak up in a meeting to his

I saw a reel where the guy said everything that’s going on in the world was "Just another Tuesday" for black people, and I felt that shit. I woke up this morning, looked at the news on my phone, looked in the fridge, and was reminded that I need groceries. Damn! Do y’all know how much ONE pound of ground beef is?!! I look up and ask the ceiling: “Are we really doing this right now?” Nobody responds, but RJ, my miniature mountain lion (domestic house cat, if Akira asks), and

Yeah... I said it!! Pour yourself something cold—or something strong, actually both!! (I don’t judge) And let's have a good old-fashioned talk. I’ve got laugh lines to prove I’ve enjoyed life... and plenty of gray hairs to prove I’ve survived it!! (I'm dying those mofos though...as soon as I take these braids down!!) I’ve been through some BULLLLLLLLLLLLLLSH*T!! I’ve had my heart broken, reconstructed, and broken again by men who promised me the moon but couldn't even giv

We need to talk about the lie we tell at brunch. You know the one—the narrative where we’re either the "scorned woman" or the "brave soul who left a monster." But there’s a third category, one that’s a lot harder to admit to over mimosas but easier over tequila: I didn’t want him anymore either. The ugly truth? I was done. The fire hadn't just gone out; the fireplace had crumbled. But admitting that felt like a confession of failure. I had spent years pouring every ounce of m

Back in 2009, when life was GOOD GOOD... everything was looking up and I somehow laughed of Sir Katt Williams' sound advice of "taking care of your star player!" I mean WTF?!! Another Monday. Another 4:30 AM alarm that feels less like a wake-up call and more like a gentle nudge off a cliff. The kind of cliff where the fall isn't painful, just... endless. You know the feeling, right? The kids are still asleep, thank God. Their little faces so full of dreams, and demands are

Listen, I’ve been where you are. I’ve been single since my divorce six years ago, and let me tell you, these streets are sounding real inviting right now. In six years, I’ve had exactly two "situations" that lasted about as long as a carton of milk in July. (Milk doesn’t last that long by the way)  And about 16 other guys that didn’t even get past a week of  "Good morning, beautiful" before I edited his contact to DNA, followed by a lifetime of "Who is this?" if they happen

Let’s be clear: I am a woman. I am a mother. I am "Ma," "Mommy," "Hey girl!" and "Excuse me, ma'am, I can't get past" more often than I’d like to admit. I’ve got the curves, sometimes a bonnet, and a purse full of old receipts, lip-glosses, earrings, role on parfum and peanut-free snacks to prove my femininity. But lately? In this season of solo-parenting, corporate-climbing, and being the sole provider, protector, and plumber of this household? I am feeling suspiciously masc

Right after Christmas, I was walking through Walmart. And if you know me... y'all KNOW I'm going to the clearance section FIRST!! OKAY! Anytime I'm shopping I sort "Low to High..." not paying full price for nothing... well for most stuff. But anyways... EVERYTHING was on sale, and I almost walked right past it tucked in the corner of the bottom row: There it was: AUDACITY!! I knew it was on sale most of the year... but NOW, it was on CLEARANCE!! Buy one, get ten free—a

Now tell me WHY in the world are you at the window at McDonald's shuffling through debit cards trying to buy a breakfast combo?!! You knew you didn't have "McDonald's money" when you pulled in!! Come on now, this is one of the very first lessons in financial literacy we learned as children... or at least in my household! Look, I'm 44, and if there's one thing I’ve learned about grown folks, it’s that a whole lot of y'all did not listen to your mama. I see it every day. But

We’re tired. Exhausted  from hearing the same old story every time a sister upgrades her life, her standards, and her look. You finally get your money right, your body tight, your edges laid, and your mind sharp, and suddenly the struggle bus pulls up with some man whispering the tired line: “You’re too high maintenance for me.” We gotta shut that down. Right now. The truth is, honey, demanding excellence from a partner doesn't mean you're  too much. It means he is simply not

If I could gather all the "friends" I used to claim back in my 20's and early 30's, I could fill up a whole stadium. And you know what the truth is? About 80% of those folks were wearing a title that was just way too big for them. Now that I’m in my fabulous forties, I’ve learned a thing or two about labeling people in my life, and let me tell you, discernment is peace. We mislabel people all the time, and that mislabeling is the express train to disappointment. Don't get me

I didn't misspell a damn thing!! The air is getting crisp. The leaves have fallen. But forget the pumpkins, plunging temperatures, and the basic people yelling "sweater weather', the real seasonal shift is happening in the EMOTIONAL ecosystem. The siren son of Cuffing season has begun its annual, deeply predictable wail. Now, listen up. I'm a grown woman. I done paid my dues, living in my own damn house, and perfected my Sunday self-care routine. And you want me to believ

It's the day after Thanksgiving, and while I'm trying to hold true to the culture and boycott Black Friday, I was out in them retail streets today. Just to get some groceries... but I was in them streets! The only difference between yesterday and today is that I can officially get on the "Christmas Season" bandwagon. It's not like I could help it if I tried. The Christmas music is playing, all the sales, and all the decorations are OUT. And looming in my red Christmas st

Somebody hold my purse, cause y'all might want to fight after this… but we going to have this little come-to-Jesus moment, just us girls. (even though this applies to the fellas too!) I’m scrolling through my feed, and I see y’all posting these flawless brunch pictures, these "soft life" affirmations, and these perfectly manicured nails. (And it don’t matter if they’re press on or not!)   Hair coifed to the Gods, eyebrows on fleek, and lashes cat-TF-eyed!! (I’m a cluster girl