Lord, I am tired, and the year has only just begun. When it comes to social conflict, I am a realist.  Paradigms are nothing new.  It’s almost like 10 minutes after God created the hills, humans climbed on top of them, eager to die for their beliefs.  I am also familiar with political tension, being that I am a black person who often finds herself in predominately white spaces.  Now, personally, I believe that the journey from slavery to a respected citizen is more of a humanitarian issue.  Still, most people define the issues that manifest within that journey as political, so for the sake of uniform understanding, I’ll refer to them as such.   I attended predominately white schools and institutions from elementary school through college. With a career in wellness, I have continued the personal trend of being the token black girl.  Whether it’s a yoga class or wellness retreat, I’m usually one of, if not the only, black person in the room. The recurring theme of being the random black girl is in no way a reflection of self-hate.  I’ve never had a problem attracting and maintaining friendships with black women. In fact, it’s been those very relationships that have kept me grounded in an otherwise exhausting cycle of microaggressions and, if we’re bein honest, blatant racism. I was not raised to live in a segregated reality.  I grew up in Brooklyn in the 90s, and contrary to what the television show Friends would make you believe, New York is an insanely diverse place.  There were rarely scenarios where I was the only black person.  On the flip side, separate from family events, I don’t have many memories of being in exclusively black spaces. All this exposition for what, Dominique? Well, if we’re still being honest, I’m beginning to feel the desire to segregate.  Maybe it’s because I’ve been down South for too long. Or perhaps it’s the consistent dog whistle being blown by the current administration, which seems to believe that a “colorblind” society is anything but the definition of gaslighting. It’s all been so exhausting, and these Twitter fingers are tired.   This morning, I heard a white news reporter reference the “Woke Mob” and I audibly laughed.   Woke used to be a word exclusive to the black community.  Now, on a good day, it’s used to describe liberals.  On a bad day, it’s another dog whistle with a hard -ER. Historically, “Stay Woke” was a cautionary warning.  Remember what your ancestors sacrificed for you to be standing here today.  Remember the determination it took for them to rebuild a sense of functioning society from scratch with little to no resources while constantly being in fear for their lives, often separated from immediate family, and having to start bloodlines from scratch.   Never forget how much was sacrificed for the privilege of sleeping peacefully at night.  They ran from dogs so we could be free today.  They were beaten for drinking from water fountains so that we could know that our lives matter just as much as our oppressors.  As time progresses, the illusion may be created to make you believe that you are equal and the work is done.  But beautiful, black child, stay woke. If you do not, history will repeat itself.  And now, “Woke” belongs to the people who still hate us most. So, while I still find myself in predominately white spaces, my tolerance has been worn down.  There are too many resources for me to have the responsibility to explain what racism is.  It’s 2025, and we are in the age of information.  People are who they are on purpose, and that is their God-given right.  They not like us, and that has nothing to do with me.

What would it mean if I didn’t let my success define me?  To be proud of myself despite my accomplishments or the number displayed in my bank account?  I have no idea, really, because my framework is rooted in productivity.  I’ve been taught to base my value in the outcome of my actions. Recently, I have been reconnecting to the inherent beauty that exists within every single day.  The moment that I open my eyes in the morning, I give thanks for another day. Another opportunity to learn and another opportunity to love.   But some days are harder than others. I’m entering back into entrepreneurship and being confronted with familiar thoughts that insist that I simply do not have what it takes.  Though these thoughts are familiar, they are also reciting the same script that they recited in my early 20s.  This year, I turn 33.  I have matured, but it seems my intrusive thoughts have not. The beauty of getting older is that contentment is much more accessible if you prioritize the practice of contentment. I don’t compete with my colleagues, and I practice awareness when I start comparing myself to others. When I look in the mirror, I want to feel peace. The only way to make that possible is to live in a way that I consciously agree with. At the end of the day, if I am in alignment with my value system, what more is there to gain?  I know myself, despite living in a world determined to define me for its own benefit. What a precious gift. I am alive, biologically and spiritually.  My passion and my optimism are still intact, and I refuse to let external circumstances shadow the beauty of this life. For the first time in my life, I am aware of my light and its value.  It’s the most valuable thing I will ever own.

I feel recharged and inspired. In early 2020, I went viral on YouTube, and the algorithm supported me for upward of two years. During this time, I changed quite a bit.  Eventually, I became burnt out by the responsibility to provide content under a persona that no longer reflected my true identity. So I took a break.  I stopped making content and got a full-time insurance job.  I wanted to feel like a real person again. Life swiftly reminded me why I became a content creator in the first place: flexibility within my own schedule.  I have two small children and a disabled parent.  I worked full time for as long as I could, but eventually resigned.  I was being suffocated by guilt that I was not showing up for my people in the way that they needed me to. My husband and I are now back to one income.   I am slowly navigating the yoga community, and I have secured two weekly teaching positions.   I’ve also applied for grad school.  My children aren’t going to be small forever, and I would like to buy a home near my mother so that I may offer her more support.   Eventually, I will be able to work full-time again.  This time, I plan on actually pursuing a career that aligns with my identity. When I was a content creator, my subject matter focused on personal transformation.  This younger version of myself was more or less obsessed with employing the law of attraction and spiritual rituals to create personality shifts.  As I grew older, I learned to appreciate the more subtle transformative power of self-awareness. Now, as I (not so) patiently wait to hear whether I’ve been accepted to graduate school, I’m realizing that my dream of providing talk therapy may actually become a reality. Becoming a therapist will require countless hours of learning and working in my community.  I am choosing to pursue a Master’s in Social Work because I want to specifically work with the people suffering due to social and economic disparities.  Being that I plan on incorporating yoga and somatic healing into my services, I am overwhelmed by the realization that I will be able to help individuals transform themselves more deeply and intimately than I ever could by creating content.  I do plan on still creating content.  Still, I am more aware of the personal responsibility that will be assigned to me if/when I become a therapist.  The level of accountability is heightened as I will be raising my expectations of myself. Being a therapist for the marginalized will require me to be consistent in my own wellness routines, stay well-read on political issues, and most importantly, practice optimism. In this current political landscape, it would be too easy to become apathetic and to leave society to fend for itself.  As a content creator, this would be an option.  I could make videos about makeup and minimalism and act as an emotional escape for my community. On the other hand, as a therapist, I have the responsibility of staying locked in while balancing my mental health.  To be a leader in my community and a safe space for my clients, I must consciously decide if I am ready to answer this call. Well I didn’t get into school yet, lol.  But if the phone rings…I will answer.