Hey Friend,

"Unprecedented times" feel like precedented times, don't you think?

For so long, it’s been Black women at the forefront—rising to meet crises, holding communities together, calling for justice, all while carrying a weight we never asked to bear. And now, once again, the world asks us to step forward, to be strong, to endure.

But after all we’ve been through, it’s no wonder that cape of strength we wear has started to feel heavy.

Worn like a second skin, this cape—woven from forced resilience, survival, and sacrifice—has been a shield against a world that too often refuses to see our humanity. It has shielded us against oppression, colonization, and enslavement, against a society that took our labor as a right and treated our bodies as property.

We’ve inherited this strength from the women before us—mothers, grandmothers, sisters—who wore the cape not out of choice but necessity. For them, strength was a form of protection. In a world where Black women’s survival often depended on being “strong,” they raised us to be vigilant, to brace for what might come. They taught us resilience because they had no choice, because they wanted us to survive.

But here’s the truth: while this strength has kept us safe, it has also come at a cost.

Decades, even centuries, of carrying this weight have left marks on our bodies—stress embedded in our muscles, tension from constantly being on guard, and trauma passed down through the generations. Holding onto survival as a constant way of being makes it hard to remember how to rest, how to breathe, how to feel whole.

More and more, it’s clear that this cape is not freedom; it’s a burden.

We’ve fought so hard for a voice, to shape history, to make change. Yet we are reminded, time and again, that America has yet to care about our wellbeing.

This isn’t a new realization, but maybe it’s a sign—a signal that it’s time to do something different.

Imagine what it would mean to set this cape down, even just for a moment.

Imagine a legacy where our children inherit not only our strength but also our softness, our joy, our ease.

What if, instead of only preparing them for a world’s unkindness, we could teach them to live fully, to breathe deeply, to rest?

What if we could pass down a legacy where “strength” includes the right to be vulnerable, to be cared for, to simply be human?

To set down the cape is not to reject strength but to redefine it.

It’s to say that our worth is not measured by how much we can carry or how much we can endure, but by how freely we can be ourselves, unburdened and whole.

Setting down the cape is an act of resistance, a declaration that our lives are worth more than the labor we produce or the pain we suppress.

Imagine ease as a Sunday afternoon where laughter fills the kitchen, the smell of sweet potato pie and collard greens lingers in the air, and there’s no rush—just presence. Imagine that this moment of rest, of comfort, could be our inheritance.

What would our world look like if ease were the legacy we left behind?

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If you’re ready to explore a new kind of strength—one that includes ease—I invite you to join me in Embracing Ease. Together, let’s create a legacy of softness, self-care, and unburdened joy.

​Join me here.

Set down the cape today; claim ease as your legacy.

PS. If you’re looking to bring these values of ease and emotional connection to the next generation, my new children’s book, "Ella and the Whispering Wind," is now available for preorder. You can learn more here.