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Dear Friends

I’m not sure what’s wrong with me. I enjoy writing so much that I’m looking at the number of blogs I’ve written like, sis are we COVID positive again? I used to love writing, the amount of diaries I have burned, y’all I almost set the neighborhood on fire. I truly began to despise writing in a journal because people would sneak to read them like I was Judy Blume or something. Taking pics of my diary & sending it to people? That was end game for me.

Let’s stop acting like those WAC (Writing Across the Curriculum) classes in college weren’t keeping us up re-reading papers at 3 in the morning. After I found No Doz, it was smooth sailing. Reading my own writing? I almost retched, pardon me. I’m here for a good time, not a long time. WAC ruined it for me. 97 papers in one semester, I will fling someone across the room. Someone told me they’re waiting for my book. These blogs are long enough to fulfill that requirement. I would be SICK publishing a book. So, I get to sign books on a book tour? How do I attend my book tour & vomit at the same time? Asking for nobody because NO.

I read in my zodiac chart that I was some underground journalist collecting forensics level data, with other people that I will not name, in a past life. I’m looking at this shizz like um, no wonder I’m sick of people. And sick of writing. I started singing Wade in the Water this morning, I said what water are we wading in before I bust your entire a$$? My friends laugh at me because they see a human struggling with her spiritual gifts. Like I’m swinging on myself, that’s how funny they find this. I can’t even lead a meeting before someone says, “Here Anjanette goes Anjanette-ing.” This is usually in response to me offering to tear the roof off the healthcare system. It used to just be me running my mouth with people snickering in the background. A few “IKDR QUEEN.” Now the tables have turned. I can’t even turn my camera on because I’m laughing so hard that I’m lobster colored red in two seconds. The birthkeepers are GANGSTA. It’s like watching Set It Off, it just never gets old. I’m not Cleo btw. I’m the camera person. I’m the videographer, the photographer, the person that wipes the sweat from your brow. Someone caught me on video swinging my stiff ponytail in circles like dancers do. I made myself so dizzy I had to stop & grab hold of the wall. For that reason, I remain BTS.

I currently have a journal that I write in now, it feels so good just to write with an actual pen & paper. I love sending my loved ones handwritten notes & cards. I absolutely adore receiving pen pal mail. My typing speed is close to 70-80 wpm though. It’s way easier to type & that high school typing class I failed & retook did come in handy. I’m such a QWERTY lover. I’m so old-school & old fashioned to a certain degree. I love modern interior design, and the vaulted ceilings of cathedrals. I love the smell of Old Spice; it reminds me of my daddy’s bottle that remained behind after he was called home. Fahrenheit for Men, by Christian Dior? Baby Jesus. I always spray my wrist when I see that bottle sitting there waiting for me in Sephora, smell my wrist for hours. It’s just the simple things for me. Smells, touches, smiles, laughter, safety, gentle hands, hugs, French kisses, the galaxies that light up the sky in foreign spaces…a brilliant mind? It’s shower time for US love. I’ve only met one person that fits that criteria. So, yeah. Onto the next topic.

Nah, if he’s reading this, which he should not be btw, what’s up SIR? I thought we had an agreement? You can actually stop reading this and holla at me, tf you on. Ok now I’m done. No, I’m not. This man is ridiculously attractive to me, I could throw something across the room because this was so unexpected y’all because I was knee deep in the danger zone when I met him. I guess life will work out that way. He reminds me of myself; he never looks the same in any of his pictures yet every version of himself is in his smile. I’m actually feeling sick to my stomach just writing this, so now I’m done. I have no shame in my game even though my stomach hurts just thinking about it, I don’t want him reading this just like I don’t want to read about him. I’m sure he knows by now that I’m finna get scrappy if he even thinks about coming over here. Fr guys pray he doesn’t because that’s so embarrassing. Ok, let me play this off properly though.

My current diary is so beautiful. The cover reads:

God’s Plan (Jeremiah) 29:11

For I know the plans I have for you, declares the Lord, plans to prosper you and not harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.

These are the simple things that make me happy. Now, we’re changing gears which really hurts my heart but needs to be said, yet again. I won’t stop, can’t stop like your former bad boy who’s in solitary confinement. Yeah, him. His jet-black hair was what caught me off guard. Really, Sean? Completely silver one day, jet-black the next. Sus. That’s his middle name, not sure if you knew. I met this dude IRL, BET was across the street from my job. Early 106 & Park days. Sir Combs smelled like mothballs. When I met Biggie & Junior Mafia, they smelled like multi-millionaires, and they just started their journey. Jay-Z, met him too. He only came up because Biggie & Tupac transitioned. The people were boo’ing him at the concert I skipped. He smelled like opportunist. There was no Big Pimpin energy in the building, that took time. His wife, walked out the door of her career as a baddie. She was a teenager. He did not. People talk about he rhymes so well, nobody said he didn’t. That’s called improving your craft.

The butt & the legs didn’t match to me. Lemonade? I knew that was coming. Sasha Fierce & Beyonce are nothing to play with. He knows that now after she aired him ooooooooooooooooooout. Then she hands the mic to him at her concert to twerk on him for five seconds as she admires his talent. I love her fr. Her love is a blessing to have. You can see both of them in their children, which I adore. I had to get this off my chest. I couldn’t bear to carry this a moment longer lol.

Let’s proceed to why we are here.

Dear Diary,

I’m here yet again, really trying to stay positive, but sometimes knowing too much feels like the worst thing imaginable. Especially this year, my first year experiencing what it means to be in the emergency room several times for medical issues I’ve never encountered before.

Everyone with far less education and lived experience than I have seems to love telling me what I’m going through, as though I asked. Last week, I had to address someone on a committee I previously served on. She claimed to understand how much grief I was experiencing and how difficult things must be for me. She took the time to tell me she sided with people that are unethical as hell. What’s funny is that I don’t know this person from a can of paint. Others stood for her & tried to silence me.

She’s a white woman who knows nothing about the Black experience in the United States. Before anyone starts, I am 35% white, ok. She should know the black experience of her population very well; she’s a top-level person in a space where black maternal health disparities are a critical public health crisis. She’s older than I am, but my clinical knowledge and experience extend far beyond hers. She will never be able to speak to my level of expertise. That might sound like bragging, but it isn’t. Outside of this year, I rarely spoke about who I was, what I had accomplished, the communities I served, or the extent of my education because I knew it would eventually become a source of contention. And it did, the minute I stepped into the doulaverse.

And this is a major red flag. Why is someone with no clinical experience at such a high level in a healthcare space? It’s like Sir Andrew Witty of United Healthcare. Zero clinical experience yet runs an entire healthcare organization that aims to destroy its own members. I reported them repeatedly last week. DOJ, come this way!! Their compliance department dropped the case without following my demand. I hopped over to BBB. They gave me some copy and paste response. I gave them the two piece, three piece, four piece and extra fries. They destroyed the mental health of my entire department. Went after us during and after COVID. Tried to run us through bedside nursing to make themselves look good. They did not care, trust me.

This is why the black experience lives in us, rather than out into the Universe. I would NEVER sit in front of anyone claiming that I know what white women go through. My upbringing didn’t support that vantage point. I wish it did, because that is part of my family’s legacy.

We should not be speaking on what do not know when it comes to other people’s quality of life. End of story. I rarely see black doulas leading meetings. I’m here leading my own. I guide other doulas to do the same, regardless of their background.

I saw a local birth person suddenly advocating for LGBTQIA+ individuals. I had to cover my mouth from laughing. It took this person five years to do this while centering herself as a guru. I see tons of “professionals” do this. In my city though? I’m airing you out “sister.”

When you see someone move from quiet during a massive maternal health crisis to an ally of marginalized people overnight, all that means is their revenue is dropping & they’re hitting the panic button. The people that have been down for the collective over here? Oh, we’re good, no you can’t work with us. Who are you anyway?

I graduated from nursing school in 2008, but I’ve been a caregiver my entire life & spent close to 30 years caring for others professionally. Multiple degrees, countless credentials, and an almost irritating love of learning. I’ve always called myself a professional student, but I don’t want another degree. I don’t want another leadership position, either, unless it’s in a space where I genuinely feel safe.

I’ve had countless conversations with medical providers over the past several weeks. There’s an enormous body of research examining the lasting damage caused by COVID-19, which emerged in 2019. Some of what we're learning is devastating. It hurts to even discuss it because, somehow, some way, I still feel guilty for not being able to save more people. I felt that same guilt when my parents passed away. Just completely useless. That’s how my brain works sometimes. Being blamed for everything under the sun will do that to a person. It’s all part of psychological conditioning.

COVID-19 broke me in ways I’ve never publicly discussed. I saw too much, witnessed too much suffering, and once again found myself walking far too many people toward the end of their lives. There are things you witness in healthcare that never leave you.

Research continues to uncover the complicated relationship between COVID-19, immune function, and the reactivation of viruses such as varicella-zoster, which causes shingles. Studies have also documented cases of shingles in children following COVID-19 infections, although the relationship is still being investigated. Some of my own physician friends have cried while discussing what they're seeing in clinical practice. And I'm struggling to process some of it myself. I don't want to delve too deeply into subjects when I'm still trying to make sense of what I've learned.

My heart has always been with people affected by HIV/AIDS. HIV is another virus, one that has devastated communities while exposing some of the ugliest realities of healthcare inequity. In Black communities, where medical neglect and systemic inequities have persisted for generations, chronic stress becomes embedded in our lives & ultimately, our bodies. The physiological consequences of prolonged stress, including allostatic load and weathering, are well documented. These burdens contribute to serious disparities in chronic disease and health outcomes.

As I continued researching the long-term effects of COVID-19, I found myself asking difficult questions about immune dysfunction, viral persistence, and whether some of the complications we're observing might share features with other serious viral illnesses. I even explored research involving HIV/AIDS because I wanted to understand what scientists know, what remains uncertain, and what deserves further investigation.

I had to dig deep, forensics-level deep. And the more I learned, the more concerned I became about the people who are already medically vulnerable. Just one person suffering unnecessarily is one too many.

I'm pleading with people to do their research, advocate for themselves, and question systems that have repeatedly failed vulnerable populations. Please don't blindly trust the United States healthcare system to protect communities that have historically experienced discrimination, neglect, and unequal treatment. We have decades of evidence demonstrating why that trust must be earned.

If you or someone you know is experiencing hardships, struggling to navigate healthcare, or has questions about available resources, please contact me directly. My contact information is listed at the bottom of this page. I’m here for anyone & everyone of all ages, with the exception of anyone with bullying or twat tendencies, that’s a no thank you for me.

This is for the real ones

I pray that everyone who has dedicated their lives to caring for others knows that our work was not in vain. I pray that the people we lost are never forgotten. And I pray that those of us who are still here, still grieving, still healing, and still trying to make sense of everything we've experienced, find our way forward. I promise to help us find our way forward, no matter where I am in the world.

We can get things back together, but we need help getting there. We need compassion, accountability, education, and people willing to listen. Please read credible, evidence-based research. If you use AI on any platform, ask for factual information supported by verifiable sources and direct links. Take the time to confirm what you're reading, especially when it concerns your health.

COVID-19 Still Lives On

I saved lives during COVID. So many of us did. Imagine watching this country turn its back on us after we saved their lives. Imagine watching this country bleed red after being diagnosed with severe depression and anxiety. This isn’t about me; my story is the same as millions across this nation. My healthcare professionals are in behavioral health spaces receiving treatment for severe and chronic PTSD. That alone makes me angry af. The fact that all our work didn’t save Generation Z? Our own babies? The ones we went to work for day after day? That’s where this nation has us all the way messed up. We spent thousands of hours conducting codes, pleading with God to save the lives of people you might know very well.

I wasn’t the nurse assigned to this “patient,” but I took the hit emotionally anyway. My elementary school bestie lost her mother, who was on my pulmonary step-down unit. I don’t see patients; I see human beings with souls that leave their bodies after they pass away. I spoke to my bestie’s brother when I realized their mom was a patient on the unit. For her privacy, I let the charge nurse know I couldn’t be her nurse. I stood outside her door, getting meds ready for my people (patients), when she called me into her room. She was in the last stages of her disease process, and I was terrified to approach her. She looked up at me and asked if I was an angel. My heart sank because that’s what most of my people would ask me. Only this time, it felt off.

I smiled at her, trying not to let the tears I’d been fighting back roll down my face. I sat down next to her, and she reached for my hand. The energy in the room felt different. Many healthcare professionals will understand exactly what I mean. I watched her respirations drop into the single digits almost immediately. I hit the code bell, knowing I was going to be reprimanded for calling a code on my friend who was still living. And I was. I was yelled at as I screamed for someone to hurry tf up and get the code cart.

There were no EKG leads on her. Nothing to indicate she wasn’t still here with us. I told the residents to STFU and help me deflate her bed quickly so we could begin CPR. I told them not to touch her until I said so. The residents looked scared as hell because they had just started their rotation on our unit. Without a word, they all hurried to prepare for CPR. One ran to help the nurse bring the code cart. I checked her pulse. Nothing. I started compressions immediately, stopping briefly so cardiac monitoring could be placed. Undetectable rhythm, then asystole. I resumed CPR with tears running down my face. Everyone worked in silence as they ran the code, knowing this was it. She left us. We all knew that.

Thirty minutes later, I called the time. The residents stated her time of passing afterward. One of the kindest residents rubbed my back. I looked up at him and smiled. He was crying, shaking from the speed of everything. We hugged for what seemed like forever. We all quietly returned to our work. I gave out meds after completing the code forms for the nurse assigned to my person. She was a new nurse being preceptored by a nurse who sat at the nursing station.

In Honor of Those We Lost

She left nursing shortly afterward. A recent nursing school graduate who developed severe anxiety and ended up becoming a patient in our hospital. We lost so many good people, talented and loving people.

Walking past obituary notices in the hospital lobby was the most brutal reality of them all. Seeing your friend’s smiling face on one of those notices before starting work was the worst type of hell we experienced. And it was the norm. I left bedside nursing as a promise to myself, as I am the head, the Matriarch of my entire family. My mother designated me as such when I was 22 years old. As a Supreme Court-appointed legal guardian, that’s under Article 81 of the Mental Hygiene Law, y’all. Twenty-seven years of officially having my brother’s back. My brother and I established our own pact when he was in utero. My role expanded over the years. You don’t want to know the number of lawyers I have on my team now.

The Supreme Court says jump, you best be in the air before they finish their sentence. They came through for me like no other. Not the team asking me if I wanted another lawyer while I sat in a hearing. Why would I turn that down? More lawyers for my clients.

why are we like this? episode 69

Remember the scene from Bridesmaids? The one at the bridal shop after they ate that sus food? The gagging on candy while profusely sweating was me when I started HRT in May this year. Gagged on air for weeks, like the first trimester of pregnancy. I mention this because that scene reminds me of the people who tried to play with me, my birthworkers and my clients this year. Midwives are included and off limits unless you want that smoke? Lets continue because I know the answer is no.

Now the “opponents” are the ones GAGGED. And that’s on our entire lineage, beloved.

Clears throat once again for the people in the back because you guys need some MILK. I have a song on my heart. I’m a DJ in my head, please bear with me. My 11-year-old cat is purring in agreement.

On OUR mama, on OUR hood, we look fly, we look good.

That’s on my Gianvito Rossi Milano heels. The type of heels husbands slide off their wives’ feet with their tongue? Yessir. Gianvito Rossi gives me palpitations. Neiman Marcus chases me all day with their heels. I have a pair named Eden, I almost fainted when I opened the box. Thankfully my friend was on the phone to help me through that. Italy is that girl or guy. Its lit. I tell my close friends to go over there for a quick trip. The flight time is worth it. The air smells like love. They drive like absolute crazy people. Dollar van drivers have nothing on them.

But the human beings there are so friendly & loving. I was sick the first time I went which was the only time I visited at the time of this writing. I wanted pasta, but a stomach virus had me sitting at the dinner table with tears in my eyes. I love pasta. Pasta loves me, especially my hips. God is good.

The Amalfi Coast, Cape Town, Africa, and KENYA’s dive center will see these heels in 2027. That’s on YERRRRR. Birthkeepers love some luxury and pampering. If you’re married to one and not treating them right? Oh, no no no. Please hurry before they turn up on you. HURRY, the holidays are coming, friend. Temu is not a love language. Please follow the guidelines below accordingly. They love luxury & seggs on balconies, I’m just repeating what I was told.

If you want no sex in the champagne room, that’s on you, homie. I’m trying to warn you. If you play GTA this November and have zero giftssss on hand for the holidays after they’ve been asking me what to buy you since freaking January? I digress. You’ll get that a-word chewed out. Now, I digress.

GIANVITO, I LOVE YOU. Can I marry heels? Realistically, no. Will I try? Absolutely. Italy, come get me, please. My friend at the winery in Slovenia offered me a place to stay on her property. I would love an RV trip and time to sit under the stars drinking white wine. Or champagne. At this point, just pass the Henny, sis. Tap the bottom of the bottle first, then pour some out beforehand. I love you, bestie, and thank you (CALL ME).

There’s an adorable cat that walked right up to me for pets at this oasis of a winery. I give pets to feral cats, and I wish someone would try to stop me.

Nobody:

Me: PSSSST, pssst, pssst, psssst. Follows cat into unknown territory without fear. Gets pets behind the scenes. Returns to normal activities covered in fur. Orange cats pull up; I love orange feral baddies. That’s family right there.

Allergies activated in 3, 2, 1…

Friend, please pray for us birthkeepers. Well, me first, then them. LOL. Amen.

I’m not done, salary and/or degrees are not an emotional intelligence certification. Doulas don’t have stacks of degrees, but anesthesiologists do, as I was told as I left the OR for the 100th time.

Yelled at by a “man” who is used to quiet patients because their job is to put them to sleep. If you visit their subreddit, scroll back to two months ago…you’ll see them attempting to tear down a woman. I was banned for asking them if they wanted me to dog walk them now or later? I thought people liked dogs? So, it’s ok for them to call me an idiot when I requested them to drop their name & hospital affilation? Dude didn’t want to dox himself. I told him to go to work with that energy, idc who he is. But when I respond, I’m banned & they get to stay because their loyalty is that strong. I told the Mods that their frat boy logic is antiquated. They can get on their knees and bow down to the Queen if they stopped running. TF. There were residents tapping in, already running their mouth. Asking if a pregnant mom (who posted) had malpractice insurance? I asked if he did because we can get to suing you right now, playa playa.

Hit that malpractice insurance up for every year he has been in practice. This fade is retroactive. That’s on my clients if they decide to play with them while they’re giving birth.

Don’t take birth photos or videos, they say. I say, which angle would you like this photo/video from MOMMY AND DADDY. I record right next to the doctor, over their head, shoulder, on the ceiling. I know protocols very well because I took to Albany, NY to fight for them at the age of 10 years old. Maybe younger, but age doesn’t matter when you’re in front of flash cameras and news outlets. The case we attended was all over newspapers. Seeing my mother cry hysterically had me so messed up emotionally. I was too young to do anything but comfort my mother as she returned from the podium. She comforted me while I cried. That’s one of the greatest loves of my life & she gets to knucking and bucking if you play on her children.

Doulas are witnesses. Anyone standing in the room is a witness. We are the ones with no affiliation to this birthing space. Let’s be fr. The threat is in that witness that can take the stand IF something goes down. So let’s get that protocol changed. It’s 2026 and hospitals continue to protect themselves. We don’t work for them, so have fun with that. Smile doc!!!

The GOODT midwives & OB/GYNs pose for the pictures, oh yeah, we have evidence too. I love my midwives & OB/GYNs down. I’m here to protect them too. We all are. That’s how much our love & prayers bless the universe in which we live. Birthkeepers are proof that LOVE conquers all. God is love, so its lit over here lol.

Knowing is painful, yet beautiful

I learned so much from my aunts who I connected with last week. My dad was abused as a child. My dad was adopted by relatives; he didn’t live with his parents or siblings until he was of age. I’m floored right now; this is new information to me. Abuse runs in both sides of the family. This was a lot to learn but I’m grateful that I know this before I leave this earth. My aunt’s childhood mirrors mine. My mom always said I favored my dad’s side of the family. I noticed that I look like most of my aunts and cousins. Both my maternal and paternal sides of my family lived oddly close to one another throughout Ireland, England & Africa. One of my neighbors told me I looked like I was from Kenya. Another said I look like someone they met in Mali, West Africa. That made me happy but hurt my heart at the same time as their pain was brought forward too. Abuse, hatred, envy, lust, greed or anything of the like isn’t a legacy that will continue ever again in my family, that’s on my name. I’m glad that all these qualities were removed from the family tree. I’m grateful the men in my family, my core family members, weren’t like that. The women I turn to in my family are my best friends. That quickly life changed for the better, but my heart hurts knowing that people, like me, feel invisible. I pray for us every single day. I’ve cried more days than I can count. Crying freely is something that is new to me. It’s not a good time at all, but the only way through it, is through surrendering to that grief. Not bottling it in. My therapist told me to scream into a pillow. This poor pillow is about to get the business.

grief is the song of the alchemist

Losing both parents at 38 years old taught me there is very little that I can’t get through. Why God keeps choosing me as His strongest solider, I have no idea. We will need to have a talk a little later. I’m not sure what hood this is, but I’d rather play with Barbie dolls & stay outside until fireflies light up the sky. Listening to ‘90s music makes me realize why all my friends were pregnant in our early twenties.

Let me lick you up and down ‘til you say stop. I sang that at 15 years old, I believe. We sang it like we were auditioning for the choir of hot in the a$$. My mother called our music hot garbage. As We Lay? That song stayed on repeat on Sunday mornings. I just knew my mother was up to no good. Then we would settle in for the evening watching Like It Is. Mommy had range & booty shorts. I’m going to trip on something for even saying that. A legacy of booty shorts and forensic investigators disguised as human beings. I love it here, y’all. I mean that from the bottom of my heart. Mommy is Wild & Free, just like me. My daddy liked to get turnt with my mother. I saw the pics, absolutely freaking disgusting y’all. Trey Songz? My parents. Ok bye lol.

Like us actually, because back to school must mean hurry and get those kids to bed. A 6:00 pm bedtime is diabolical. These children must have no homework. 2027 is already looking like an army of children who will continue to shape the world like we have. I love that for us.

Future babies, I already love you. I would like to share something that’s between us: your parents are having sex while you take a nap (stay woke), your mother gets a period, your father tongue kisses your mom while you’re not looking. I saw him grab her you-know-what! This is what I lived through. Welcome to the world little one :)

I love learning about my family; I encourage everyone to learn more about theirs. Our legacy becomes our children’s hope for the future.

They hurt you? They hurt US

Hurting the people we love? That’s a hot cup of hell no, beloved.

Sending love to everyone who is hurting, healing, grieving, or trying to make it through another day. Love conquers all. No matter what happens, I will keep trying to hold that truth close to my heart. I wish I could hug all the good people right now. The amount of violence against women that has occurred over the years is astronomical. This year, it surpassed what I’ve personally witnessed across my entire life. My 27 investigations are now down to zero. Being a mandated report isn’t easy. Witnessing abuse isn’t easy. Praying that someone you love, including yourself, remains free from harm is absolutely devastating. Standing together is what we’re finally doing. We are no longer a minority, that’s the issue. WOC, specifically black women, are the targets for so many cases that haven’t been reported. When the tables flip, trust me, we will be back sitting on our thrones like nothing happened.

They won’t hurt you like they hurt me; that’s my moral obligation to the people that choose to work with me.

I guess that’s why I haven’t returned to my passion projects. Teaching is a huge one for me. It’s therapeutic for me to just be a normal human being sitting with other beings that love to learn. People being impressed with me touches me, but I’m so used to being criticized for having too much or doing too much that it weighs on me sometimes. I feel like I’m under a constant microscope, yet I never consented to be examined in that way.

How can I encourage others to be fearless when I sat terrified for a loved one that was harmed by people we trusted. Sitting in on abuse cases made me numb to my own pain. Seeing the people I love hurting really started to destroy any hope I had left. Abuse was all around me this year. When I reported people, I understood there was a high chance they’d come after me, which they did. It brought up my own abuse. I re-lived so many of those moments that were buried in my brain. I moved into weeks of involuntary somatic responses that I pray I never go through again. Just sitting on my bed caused my heart rate to skyrocket into the 200s. I had no idea that my body would head in that direction. The same experiences I witnessed as a healthcare provider became my own.

It’s what happens when safety doesn’t exist for us.

When I stepped into birthwork I found it so difficult to realize I’m one of the many that research touches on. A black woman with everything that the world demanded of her. From food stamps to six figure salaries, the income didn’t matter, the degrees didn’t matter, I still felt invisible. I was so close to losing my first pregnancy because I was medically neglected. Stepping into motherhood with that weight on me sent me into my first experience with postpartum depression.

I found out I’m a pre-eclampsia survivor two years ago. My heart health was at risk, yet I was the one that had to seek cardiology referrals. I had a known heart murmur from birth that progressed as I got older, no referrals for cardiology, no EKGs, nothing without me asking for it first. I’ve had to become my own patient this year. Not in diagnosing or treating, but just in recognition. I felt like I was stuck in a never-ending panic attack. People asked me how I survived that.

God, that’s my answer. My faith saved me. If I didn’t have that, I would have nothing.

OH, she’s done, done y’all

I missed 2 Chris Brown concerts this year. One last year. Met Life Stadium was one of the last shows. Hearing him and Usher sing Lovers & Friends? Residuals? I’m too sad for all that romantic stuff. Those songs were dedicated to me by men that turned their back to me. I still continued to love those songs until more recently. I sold my tickets for 10/15/26. Today. I’m retired & tired of everyone atp. Idc y’all. I had my hair done for no damn reason because it’s a freaking afro anyway. From silk press to Rick James because I dropped the soap in the shower. It’s not funny fr. I love baby oil but I’m not Diddy tf.
Can I blame Obama like everyone else still does? I blame Trump & his orange-stained sheets. Raiding a woman’s house…that right there was the final nail in the coffin for me. I was surrounded by FDNY, NYPD & EMS in August. I didn’t think I was going to survive the fear that showed up in my body that day. The idiot that called them had a smile on their face like they won. Imagine opening the door to your home being met with that. First thing in the morning. All because I wouldn’t sleep with someone. And other various reasons that aren’t worth my time explaining. People have that karma over their heads. That’s not my cross to bear. I’ll keep talking about abuse until it stops.
When women start taking men down like they tried to do to us this year or for the past 250 years? That’ll be karma. She’s making her rounds. Karma is known as a bitch for a reason. I’ll be that bitch too.
God make it clear that women are to be respected. Eve came from Adam’s rib for a reason; that’s one flesh energy. We’re not baby makers, sex objects, a substitute for mommy, nor are we everyone’s punching bag when they decide to skip therapy like it’s optional. We can be your worst nightmare or your best friend. Pick a side before one is picked for you. I picked my side. Next to the celestial souls that raised me & those that love me unconditionally. Abusers are going to pay for their karma the most. That’s not our issue either. If you have no idea what I’m talking about, please turn on the news for five minutes. It’s all around us. Privilege doesn’t give anyone the right to turn their heads to others suffering.
Black women aren’t here to save the world that failed to save us. Birthkeepers aren’t the Band-Aid to the healthcare systems inequities, they can go integrate own their own. They got enough money off of our work. Watch the statistical data over the next two years. We are here to stay. Get used to it.
PS. Vice RESIDENT of the white house (odd name, innit) JD Vance was FLAMED like a forgotten burger on the BBQ pit. I was laughing so hard that my laugh was silent. Microsoft is where Lindsey Clancy’s husband works, coincidentally. I can already tell you that work/life balance was non-existent. Yikes. The threads tie all these people together. God is who this country claims. Now you think He waited 250 years on the dot to just sit there & have tea in Heaven?
He put us in place so we could encourage Him to drink His tea hot. Thank you, God, you can take it from here. Oh, He already has. My bad. 2027 is going to be the best year ever. This chapter has literally just begun, and people are already dropping the soap in the shower. Diddy has baby oil fam, it’s going to be ok.
The song that just played in my head would get me banned from my own website. Happy Spooky Season & Day of the Dead!!! I’m so excited to see all the costumes & the shy kids who want candy, they’re so brave. That trick or treat takes a lot of energy, trust me. To the 6’19 teenagers & parents, come get this candy and stop playing. If someone judges you, they’re judging us. Point them out!! Our neighborhood is so kind & loving. Trust me we would cook you a seven-course meal if we spent more time together, at least I would :)

The End.