Queendom is more than being just a strong black woman. That title is not simply for women with degrees, wealthy bank account, nor wives. It is not for the indecisive, nor for those that refuse to move past the roadblocks in their life. We must understand to be a Queen requires a sister to be above the may lay, and she must be willing to stand above reproach. To make the best decisions in the situations she finds herself faced with, and she must be willing to sacrifice for what she believes in.

So many of our sisters are running with the logic respect me because I’m a Black Queen, and they are literally admonishing and demanding black men honor their Queendom. I love the self-esteem, and the positive affirmation over one’s life, but you must do more than that. Sisters you must first believe in your own Queendom, and in doing so it will require to set some order to your realm. “Every Queen isn’t the same”. That is true when it comes to preference and individuality…not principle. If your realm is not to fall to confusion and disarray there must be order, standards and boundaries. Sound decisions will not come from a mental space riddled in confusions and contradictions. Believe me there are men that need to evaluate the usage of King for these same principle reasons when it comes to leadership, but that’s for a men’s meeting. If you don’t respect your own Queendom, you can’t get angry with black men for not respecting, or acknowledging, what they can’t see…or what they view as a walking contradiction.

Queens are treated with the utmost respect regardless of their individualities. Things are done for them not because they aren’t strong enough to do for themselves, but simply because it is an honor to serve them. We need to understand this when we allow white women to use our energy and essence for their feminist fight. I have seen sisters stand in a crowded room and when a brother takes notice, and offers her his seat she accuses him of objectifying her. I’ve seen men hold open the door only to be told “I can do that for myself”. Well, sisters are you Queen or commoner? That is one you truly need to mediate on. Men will want to serve you, and treat you according to your mantle if you insist on being a Queen…that does not make you less of a woman. Make up your mind. Know that just as the nature of black and white women are different…so shall our embodiments be of constitutes the very nature of a Queen.

Whether you are a Queen choosing to stand alone…or one awaiting a King you must implement standards. It’s quite easy to have standards for the man, but it would be wise if you start with self. How you carry yourself, handle your business, the amount of integrity you have, how much truth you live in, your standard of loyalty, and implementation of order will scream who and what you are before the man ever arrives. Yes, some women will hate, but there will be some that desire to understand your nature as a Queen when the above-mentioned flow in a positive energy. None of us are perfect, but Queens aren’t such because they call it. This is the very nature of their being, and they must earn that aura.

Queens are the epitome of grace, mystic, manner, control, accountability, and continued growth. Her path isn’t perfect but she grows from mistakes, and she masters challenges. Queendom doesn’t mean she deals with foolishness from others; it’s quite the opposite as Queens are not to be trifled with. She is not insecure in the strength of her womanhood, so a man catering to her very existence doesn’t make her feel objectified nor belittled. She is graceful in recognizing when she is being honored. When Queens are walking even the brothers that aren’t Kings take notice, and they are strengthened by her presence though they aren’t worthy of her. Sisters you must decide because you can’t be ratchet, drama filled, indecisive, void of accountability, and addicted to insecurity while screaming respect my Queendom.

Everything comes with a price, and to be Queen is to face your past, pain, hurt, and challenges head on. It is to evolve from that previous place, and you must be in control of, and accountable to, yourself. Queens exude order…they don’t repel such. If you claim to be a Queen don’t just say it…please walk in it. Our people are in dire need of the Queens. We need the healing and magic only they can wield. Furthermore, the over saturation of the use of the title without its energy threatens to diminish the respect it invokes. If you can’t handle the weight of the crown there is no shame in such. All a Queen will ask is that you purpose to earn it, or please put it down.

Staff Writer; Chelle’ St James

May also connect with this sister via Twitter; ChelleStJames.

Feelings without reason nor understanding can lead to hypocrisy, failed relationships of all sorts, and a false sense of what is and is not right. Personal experience is steeped in feelings, and if not careful how you feel based on your experience can cause the wrongful judgment of others. How many times have we stated “that’s just how I feel” when trying to argue a position? Think about it. Some of us have cursed all men or women to hell because of how we feel. Some have been abused and exposed to toxic behavior because of the way we feel. Sometimes we aren’t able to absorb information that would allow us to make an informed decision, or position, because feelings get in the way. If one isn’t careful feelings will become the lie that one uses to justify why they have behaved in an unfavorable manner. So, you felt disrespected in a space by which you were uninformed and initially disrespectful; when the truth was told it didn’t defend you so it had to be wrong. No, in that moment you were wrong…regardless of your feelings.

How you feel is not a pass to mistreat others. Please take a moment to stop, and re-read that statement. Having a bad day, not feeling well, dealing with past hurt, annoyed with the direction of your life, upset with another, upset with God…regardless of what is wrong, none of these things gives one the right to mistreat another. Emotional intelligence is a very important skill to work on in one’s own personal life, not just at work. There is nothing wrong with getting help to manage feelings and emotions so that you are a more balanced person. The people in your life that love you will appreciate you for taking the time to heal so that you are better for yourself and others.

Feelings can also enforce anti-intellectual positions in various spaces such as places of worship and activism. Age doesn’t always make you right…regardless of your feeling on the matter. Years and feelings are not replacements for objective diverse study of a matter. If you want to argue with someone about religious beliefs you can’t just go on how you feel. You’d need to be able to logically, and rationally back up your position. You can’t expect someone to concede to your position regarding politics or race relations simply because you were alive, and an age of understanding, when Dr. King was alive. You must the time to study, research, and be humble and open enough to hear from others that are doing the work and can add to the discussion. We are never to old to learn more. Titles don’t mean we know it all…even though we might feel like as though we do.

I remember my dad instructing: “get out of your feelings and look at the situation truthfully even if you don’t like it…your dislike doesn’t change the truth”. This is wisdom that I share often. You have a right to your feelings, but your feelings don’t change the truth. Your hurt, anger, embarrassment, fear, or concern doesn’t change the matter. It is important to sees matters and people aside from your feelings. Hear what is said on a matter without hearing it through the filter of your feelings. Read about what is happening in the world around you from an objective perspective. This doesn’t erase your feelings, but it does give you a better chance of being fair with yourself, and others.

Staff Writer; Christian Starr

May connect with this sister over at Facebook; https://www.facebook.com/christian.pierre.9809 and also Twitter; http://twitter.com/MrzZeta.

Now, don’t get me wrong. I’m not here to tell anybody to “be strong” in that tired, dismissive way the world loves to throw at Black women. We’ve carried enough. We’ve swallowed enough. We’ve been told to “calm down,” “relax,” “stop being emotional,” and “be the bigger person” more times than we can count. That’s not what this is about. What I’m talking about is something deeper — something rooted in self‑respect, self‑protection, and self‑awareness.

Because the truth is, we feel deeply. We love deeply. We hurt deeply. And sometimes those emotions rise up so fast and so strong that they try to take the wheel before we’ve even had a chance to breathe. But just because a feeling shows up loud doesn’t mean it deserves the microphone. Giving those feelings the microphone can kill relationships and even land us in the hospital or jail.

One of the most powerful things we can do for ourselves is to learn how to sit with a feeling before we act on it. Not suppress it, pretend it’s not there, nor shame ourselves for having it. Just sit with it. Let it breathe. Let it explain itself. Let it pass through without letting it drag us into decisions we’ll regret later.

Because knee‑jerk reactions? Whew. They feel good in the moment, but they can cost us more than we realize. A job opportunity. A relationship, friendship, peace, reputation…our credibility. And sometimes, the hardest pill to swallow is that even when we’re right, even when the facts are on our side, the way we respond can overshadow the truth we’re trying to stand on.

I’ve learned, especially in my 40s, that being in control of my emotional state doesn’t make me weak… it makes me powerful. It allows me to speak firmly without yelling. It allows me to set boundaries without burning bridges. It allows me to make decisions that are consistent, not chaotic. It keeps me from being tossed around by every irritation, every misunderstanding, every moment of disrespect.

And let’s be honest: some situations really do require us to pause. To breathe, process, and cry if we need to. To journal, pray, and call a sister‑friend who won’t hype us into foolishness but will remind us who we are. That pause is not weakness. That pause is wisdom. That pause is protection.

We can’t tell young women not to fight in the street if we’re still fighting in the boardroom, the group chat, or the family text thread. We can’t tell them to “use their words” when our own words are cutting, impulsive, or fueled by unprocessed hurt. Growth requires consistency. Accountability. And sometimes, humility.

And let me say this plainly: controlling your verbal response is one of the hardest parts of emotional maturity. Especially when you know you’re right. Especially when someone has disrespected you. Especially when you feel misunderstood or dismissed. But sometimes the most expensive thing in the room is the sentence you’re about to say. Sometimes silence is the strategy. Sometimes restraint is the win. Sometimes walking away is the real flex.

This doesn’t mean we let people walk over us. It doesn’t mean we shrink. It doesn’t mean we stop advocating for ourselves. It means we choose our battles with intention. It means we respond from clarity, not chaos. It means we protect our peace like it’s an asset — because it is.

As Black women, we are often expected to be emotional caretakers for everyone around us — partners, children, coworkers, siblings, parents, entire communities. But part of our personal growth is learning that we don’t have to absorb everything. We don’t have to react to everything. We don’t have to carry everything. We get to choose how we show up.

And when we choose to lead with emotional discipline — not suppression, not denial, but discipline — we become more stable, more grounded, and less prone to drama that drains us. We become women who can be trusted with responsibility, leadership, and influence. We become examples for the younger women watching us, whether they’re our daughters, nieces, mentees, or the girls in our neighborhoods who see more than we think.

Putting our emotions in their proper place isn’t about silencing ourselves. It’s about strengthening ourselves. It’s about honoring our feelings without letting them sabotage our future. It’s about becoming the kind of woman who can feel deeply and still choose wisely.

And that, sistahs is real growth.

Staff Writer; Chelle’ St James

May also connect with this sister via Twitter; ChelleStJames.

When I talk to women in our community, I hear the same quiet confession over and over… “I know what I need to do, I just cannot seem to stay consistent.” And I always tell them, you are not broken, you are not lazy, you are not lost. You are simply human, carrying a load that was never meant to be carried alone. Discipline is not a personality trait; it is a practice. It grows with you, not ahead of you.

Sometimes discipline slips because life has been loud. You may have been in survival mode for so long that structure feels foreign. You could have been pouring into everybody else and forgot what it feels like to pour into yourself. Maybe you are healing, grieving, rebuilding, or just trying to catch your breath. Whatever your story is, you deserve compassion while you find your rhythm again.

One thing I have learned in my short existence is that discipline becomes sustainable when it is rooted in honesty. Not the polished honesty we give the world, but the quiet truth we whisper to ourselves. The truth that says, I am tired and I need help. It says, I want better for myself but I am scared I will fall off again. When you start from that place, you are no longer forcing discipline, you are nurturing it.

Start small. I know that sounds cliché, but it is real. We love a big transformation story, but the truth is that sustainable discipline grows from tiny choices repeated over time. Five minutes of stretching in the morning. Drinking water before your coffee. Cleaning one corner of your home instead of the whole room. Reading two pages instead of a whole chapter. These little moments build trust. They remind your body and your spirit that you can follow through.

Do not underestimate the power of environment. Discipline is not just about willpower; it is about designing a life that supports the woman you are becoming. That might mean putting your phone in another room at night, keeping your journal on your pillow, setting out your vitamins where you can see them, or choosing friends who speak life into your goals. You do not have to fight yourself every day. You can set yourself up to win.

Another thing we do as Black women is try to discipline ourselves through shame. We talk to ourselves in ways we would never talk to a friend. We say things like, “I should be further along,” or “I always mess up,” or “I am so inconsistent.” But shame does not create discipline, it creates avoidance. You cannot bully yourself into a better life. You have to encourage yourself into one. You have to speak to yourself with the same softness you give everybody else.

And let me say this gently… discipline is not punishment. It is not a rigid schedule that squeezes the joy out of your days. Nor is it a constant grind that leaves you exhausted. Discipline is a form of care. It is a way of saying, I matter enough to create a life that supports me. It is a way of honoring your future self, the woman you are becoming, the woman you deserve to be.

You will experience days when you fall off. There will be mornings when you oversleep, evenings when you skip the gym, weeks when your routine unravels. That does not mean you failed. It means you are alive. Sustainable discipline is not about perfection; it is about returning. Returning to your intentions, your practices, and to yourself. Every time you come back, you strengthen the muscle.

Also do not forget community. We were never meant to do life alone. Sometimes discipline grows best when you have people around you who hold you accountable with love. A friend who checks in on your goals. A group chat where you celebrate small wins. A sister circle where you can be honest about your struggles without judgment. Community makes discipline feel less like a burden and more like a shared journey.

So if you are trying to re‑establish discipline, or build it for the first time, give yourself grace. You are not starting from nothing; you are starting from life experience. You are wiser now, and you know yourself better. You know what drains you and what feeds you. You know what you want your life to feel like. Let that guide you.

Discipline is not about becoming a new woman, it is about supporting the woman you already are. And she is worthy of consistency, care, and commitment. She is worthy of routines that nourish her. She is worthy of a life that feels steady. She is worthy of showing up for herself again and again. You are capable of this, ready for this, and you deserve discipline that will move forward with you.

Staff Writer; Chelle’ St James

May also connect with this sister via Twitter; ChelleStJames.

Some of us grew up in homes where love was complicated, survival came before self-discovery, our voices were silenced before we even learned how to use them. Those early wounds can shape the way we move through the world, making us doubt our worth, our abilities, and our right to want more. Others of us made decisions we regret—choices born out of fear, pressure, or simply not knowing any better at the time. In this ignorance is never bliss, and consequence can fall upon us regardless of what we know impacting our life path.  And then there are those who faced illness, trauma, or life-altering setbacks that forced everything to pause. When your body or mind betrays you, it can feel like the whole world is moving forward without you. You often wonder if you will ever be able to catch up to life, and the longer you are ill the more discouraged you become.

And then one day, you look up and realize you’ve been living a life that doesn’t feel like yours. Maybe you’ve been letting other people steer your story—family, partners, employers, society. Maybe you’ve been shrinking yourself to keep the peace or dimming your light so others won’t feel uncomfortable. You’ve been so busy being dependable that you forgot what it feels like to be fulfilled.

Here’s the truth that matters most: it is never too late to start over. Not at 35, not at 45, not at 55, not at 65. Never. Black women have a long, powerful history of blooming on their own timeline. Some of the most influential, creative, and impactful women in our culture didn’t find their stride until later in life. They didn’t let age, circumstance, or past mistakes stop them. They didn’t let the world’s expectations define their future. They simply decided to begin. And that decision changed everything.

You deserve that same chance.

Starting over doesn’t require perfection. It doesn’t require a clean slate or a flawless past. It doesn’t require approval from anyone. It only requires willingness. A quiet, steady willingness to choose yourself. To choose your joy. To choose your purpose. To choose the dream that’s been tugging at your heart for years.

And yes, it might be hard. Growth often is. You may have to unlearn old patterns, set boundaries you’ve never set before, or walk away from people who benefited from your silence. You may have to rebuild your confidence piece by piece. You will have to face the parts of your story that still sting. But you can do it. You’ve already survived things that would have broken someone else.

What you’re reaching for now isn’t just a dream…it’s a reclamation. It’s you taking back your narrative. It’s you deciding that your life still has chapters left to write. It’s you choosing to live with intention instead of obligation.

The beauty of it all is that your journey won’t just transform you. One day, another Black woman—maybe younger, maybe older, maybe standing at her own crossroads—will see your courage and feel something awaken in her. She’ll see you starting over, choosing joy, pursuing purpose, and she’ll think, “If she can do it, maybe I can too.” Your decision to rise could be the spark that lights someone else’s path. That’s legacy. Not just what you leave behind, but what you inspire while you’re still here.

Don’t talk yourself out of the dreams that keep tapping on your spirit. Don’t let fear convince you that your time has passed. Don’t let anyone—family, friends, partners, coworkers—tell you that you’re reaching too high or wanting too much. They don’t get to decide what’s possible for you. You are allowed to reinvent yourself. You are allowed to dream again. You are allowed to choose a life that feels meaningful, joyful, and aligned with who you truly are. And you are allowed to begin today.

Your story isn’t over. It’s unfolding. And this next chapter might just be the one that finally feels like home.

Staff Writer; Chelle’ St James

May also connect with this sister via Twitter; ChelleStJames.

This isn’t about blaming or attacking anyone. It’s about naming a pattern that Black women have lived with for generations — a pattern we see up close in our friendships, workplaces, communities, and even in the so‑called “sisterhoods” we’re invited into. Because the truth is, the solidarity we extend is not always the solidarity we receive.

Many of us have had relationships with other women of color and white women where we showed up fully — emotionally, intellectually, spiritually — only to realize later that the connection wasn’t mutual. We’ve been the friend who listens deeply, supports consistently, and holds space generously. We’ve been the one who helps raise children that aren’t ours, who advocates for fairness at work, who steps in to mediate conflict, who brings cultural understanding and emotional labor to the table without being asked. And yet, when we need that same care, that same protection, that same energy returned, the room gets quiet.

Black women are not a weapon to be used in someone else’s fight. We are not a shield for other people’s battles. We are not a costume for others to slip into when they want to feel bold, edgy, or “empowered.”

Our culture is not an accessory. Our pain is not a rallying cry only when it’s convenient. Our strength is not a resource for others to drain.

And yet, we’ve seen it happen. We’ve watched people adopt our slang, our style, our confidence, our rhythm — the very things we were once mocked or punished for — and wear them like a trend. We’ve watched people celebrate our culture while distancing themselves from our struggles. We’ve watched people call us “strong” as a way to avoid offering us softness, care, or protection. We’ve watched people praise our resilience while ignoring the conditions that forced us to be resilient in the first place.

And we’ve watched people call us “sisters” when they need our voices, our votes, our labor — but not when we need their courage, their accountability, or their willingness to stand beside us when the climate gets uncomfortable.

This is not imagination. This is lived experience.

But here’s the part we must hold with clarity and caution: the political and social climate in this country is shifting in ways that require us to be more discerning than ever. Not fearful — discerning. Not closed off — intentional. Not isolated — wise.

We cannot afford to give our energy away carelessly. We cannot afford to assume solidarity where it has not been proven. We cannot afford to let people borrow our voice while silencing our needs.

Black women have always been powerful, but that power must be protected, not exploited.

This doesn’t mean we stop building bridges. It doesn’t mean we shut ourselves off from community. It doesn’t mean we refuse connection with other groups of women. What it does mean is that we move with awareness. We pay attention to patterns. We notice who shows up when the conversation centers us. We observe who stands firmly when our issues are on the table. We watch who listens, who learns, who unlearns, who advocates, who stays consistent when the world isn’t watching.

Because sisterhood is not a title — it’s a practice. Allyship is not a claim — it’s a commitment. Solidarity is not a moment — it’s a pattern of behavior.

And Black women deserve relationships, across all communities, that honor us fully, not selectively.

So to every Black woman reading this:

You are not here to carry the world on your back. You are not here to be the emotional anchor for everyone else. You are not here to be the fixer, the fighter, the nurturer, the translator, the cultural guide, and the moral compass for people who do not pour back into you.

You deserve reciprocity. You deserve rest. You deserve protection. You deserve joy that isn’t earned through labor. You deserve community that doesn’t collapse when you need it most.

Move with caution, yes but also move with confidence. Move with boundaries, but also with pride. Move with awareness, but also with the knowledge that you are worthy of genuine connection, real sisterhood, and relationships that honor your humanity, not just your usefulness.

And above all, remember this: Black woman, you are not alone. You have a whole lineage behind you, a whole community beside you, and a whole future ahead of you that is richer when you protect your spirit and honor your worth.

We deserve better, and we are allowed to demand it.

Far to often we do not realize the gravity of this mistake until what we could do for self is threatened or no longer an option. Reality hits us when we can’t move…when those we love leave us here, and when we become faced with out own mortality. All of a sudden, the “maybe another time” box comes to the forefront of our mind. We realize we are not living…we’re just here. We’re just here moving from one day to the next until we are no more. No matter what is happening sometimes you must stop and tell yourself…don’t forget to live.

I have lived with debilitating health conditions for the majority of my adult life. I decided I never wanted to marry because I felt it was wrong to burden someone else with my health challenges, and I knew having children was not an option. I would find ways to try to justify my existence by giving all I could to those I loved. I tried to show up to everything that my body would allow. However, I never allowed myself to think about the things I wanted…places I wanted to see and things I would like to accomplish. The only thing I never gave up was writing…but even that became more of a necessity than the joy it had always been. Before my last aunt passed away, she asked me a very profound question, “Chelle do you want up with the intention of living, or dying”? At the time I couldn’t really process what she was asking, and once she passed the time for asking for clarity was gone. I continued in the way I had been…active in my family, my neighborhood, my church, just making my body move past its limits like this was my penance. If I am limited by illness this is the least I can do to justify my being alive. You see, I never understood my existence was enough. I deserved a chance at happiness because I was alive. I didn’t understand that I had a right to truly live as much as possible.

Those dear to me tried to help me live some, tried to introduce me to different things but I didn’t feel I deserved it so I blew it off. Well, just when I thought life couldn’t get any more challenging it did. My body started shutting down. I was admitted to the hospital and for the first time in a long time I thought I was on my way to the other side. As I laid in the hospital bed, I remembered my aunt’s question. I understood in that moment that I was not living with the intention…I was just existing and waiting to die. I was moving through life like I just didn’t want anyone to come to my funeral and say she never worked, never tried, and never helped. What was missing was I didn’t realize…she had not lived. Here I was laying in the hospital bed, and I had not seen anything outside of my city, I had not written the books I wanted to, I had not played the video games on my list, and there were many different foods I wanted to taste. More importantly, I wanted to taste life. Even if I had to have an abridged version due to my health, I needed to do more than just exist. I promised myself if I made through this health scare I would life with intention, and I would take care of myself…my whole being.

Life is difficult, and being a Black woman adds to the challenges. However, take the time to live. Move the ideas and dreams from your “maybe later box” and move them to a vision board. Live with intention, not just for others, but also for you. When it’s over you deserve to say, I have no regrets. Only you can make that a reality, and your every existence is deserving of such. No matter what is going on…do not forget to Live.

Staff Writer; Chelle’ St James

May also connect with this sister via Twitter; ChelleStJames.

Nothing is more upsetting than realizing there is an issue, you decide to seek help, and the mental healthcare professional is horrible to you. Negative experiences can lead you to feel the outcome of mental health care is not in your favor. Yes, you have a diagnosis, but you don’t trust the provider to prescribe treatment that involves medication.  You don’t know what the overall lasting effects will be if you are medicated; you also wonder how it will affect your interaction with the ones you love. There is nothing wrong with any of us seeking mental healthcare and choosing to medicate according to one’s diagnosis from a healthcare professional. We are about to look at navigating mental health unmedicated.

One reason some are unmedicated is simply because there is no diagnosis. For various reasons there has not been an appointment for a mental health professional so one may try to self-treat for what is assumed to be going on. One may start with diet, supplements, environment, managing stress as best as possible and paying attention to triggers. This is also how one might decide to see a doctor; when all of this fails it leads to something else being an issue. Furthermore, everyone is not capable of working through their own mental. Taking the step to make an appointment to get an understanding of what’s happening is taking control of your health.

Some of us are unmedicated out of fear of how we will be seen by those we love. Family and friends within our community are not always supportive of getting treated for mental health challenges. Even if the intention is one of concern, too many find themselves being talked down to, gaslit, and ridiculed. There is a constant use of the word crazy, and in those moments, one may feel the need to defend self or prove a point. Proving the point to your detriment is never wise. There are times when we must decide that one’s own wellbeing and sanity is more important than the words of others. It is important to center those that center you in a positive way. Mental health challenges are tough, and it helps to have supportive positive people with you as you navigate uncharted territory.

Lastly, for some navigating mental health challenges unmedicated is a conscious decision made after much research, thought, and mediation. Navigating without medication tends to mean one lives a very structured life with discipline the setup, and they have a support system that helps them navigate. I personally made that decision as a writer. I weighed what I was faced with against the side effects of the medications suggested for my diagnosis. I was concerned about how the medication would affect my cogitation, I had seen horror stories up close, and I wanted to be in control of myself as much as possible. I never discouraged anyone else from medication, nor did I suggest the path I chose to anyone else. I am so grateful for my village, primarily my parents and grandmother who helped me create the routine and boundaries that keep me functioning to this day. Yes, at times I adjust as life happens, but the foundation of how I navigate has not changed. There had to be an understanding of diagnosis and a commitment to life as organized as possible. I compartmentalize most things. As everything has a place in my home the same can be said for my mental. I have accountability partners, and they are truly a blessing. Environment and boundaries are key for me to function well. So, I tend to remove myself as much as possible from triggering situations, and I am adamant about my boundaries. Understanding when things begin to slip is important and I have learned to be vocal when I need help so that I don’t get to a far-gone space whereby I can not function.

Trust me, this is not as easy as it sounds, but with discipline, consistency, and communication it has been manageable. Navigating mental health unmedicated is not always a choice. However, either way you must weigh the pros and cons for yourself based on you and what challenges you face specifically. There is no right or wrong answer. Just know if one chooses to navigate unmedicated, within reason, it’s hard work but it can be done.

Staff Writer; Christian Starr

May connect with this sister over at Facebook; https://www.facebook.com/christian.pierre.9809 and also Twitter; http://twitter.com/MrzZeta.

It is wonderful to want to see a Sistah win. It is a beautiful thing when we get out and support other Black women in both the private and public sector. We are giving care to our sistahs when we sit when them and comfort them in their time of need and sorrow. In like fashion we must also love them enough to say, you were wrong about that. To remind them, “Sis if that was don’t to you we’d be ready to fight so lets not do the same to another.” It is out responsibility to say no this has to stop, you can’t abuse other sistahs, you should not hit this man, you shouldn’t project trauma onto your kids…or sis please don’t embarrass yourself or us in public. None of this is shaming each other. This is holding each other as accountable as we hold others. This is a part of what love looks like. If you say, I’m more of an address it behind closed doors…that’s fine however, the problem is we are not addressing it.

I sat in a gathering of just Black women behind a closed door and watched us cape for a sistah that was completely out of pocket in a way that could affect us down the line. When anyone tried to mention, maybe next time we should address this differently…or sis how you handled this matter was wrong and the consequences are costly most of the room attacked her. Other sistahs insisted we support the one in the wrong, called for her not to be shamed, brought up the actions and men that had nothing to do with the situation, and accused anyone speaking up is shaming, gaslighting, and not supporting their own. Luckily, none of that swayed me as I calmly ran down the reasons, in love, that the sistah would want to re-evaluate her behavior in their situations. I expressed this isn’t about shame, it’s about not allowing her to be shamed any further as the matter had become public. It literally took two hours to get the room to understand this was about growing and not being hypocrites.

Iron sharpens iron, that is what I was always taught. Sharpening is friction and confrontation; none of this has to be disrespectful as it can all be done in love…but it has to be done if we are to all be sharp together.  If we can’t tell the truth when the door is closed, we have no right to demand that truth from anyone else. We are not the “Karens” of the world; shunning accountability is damaging to our person, witness, and community. It is damaging to each other. We are not white women…our mistakes are blown up and there is no grace for us.

It isn’t right but it is the world we live in, and to be honest regardless of the state of the world we ought not want to live in a way by which we are unaccountable, can’t be told anything, and can’t be taught anything. We are quick to ask Black men did they check their boys on the disrespect, the absentee father behavior, the mistreatment and violence against women, and of the state of our youth. Too many, not all, of us ask these questions but will overlook, ignore, or justify the damaging behaviors in each other from the private space to the public and political space. We are better than this. Before we can firmly continue to hold everyone else to a standard, we must continue to help each other maintain said standards by holding our sistahs accountable in love. There is no way we can continue to grow community without this part of sisterhood.

Staff Writer; Christian Starr

May connect with this sister over at Facebook; https://www.facebook.com/christian.pierre.9809 and also Twitter; http://twitter.com/MrzZeta.

For me, anxiety shows up quietly at first. A tightness in my chest. A thought that loops a little too long. A feeling that I’m supposed to be doing something even when I’m already doing everything. Nothing seems to be enough, so there is no rest. Eventually a shutdown of sorts happens, but not in a way that is noticeable to others. And being Black adds its own layer, because half the time, I’m not just worried about life, I’m worried about how I’m being perceived while living it. It’s like carrying two backpacks: one filled with normal human stress, and another stuffed with the weight of being watched, judged, targeted and misunderstood. Through it all I am expected to be functional, and “grateful” in the mist of blatant oppression.

This year especially, it feels like the world is moving faster than anyone can keep up with. Technology is changing, politics are loud, and every time you open your phone, there’s another headline that makes your stomach drop. And while everyone feels that pressure, being Black means you’re also navigating the subtle and not‑so‑subtle reminders that your safety, your voice, and your peace aren’t guaranteed. That alone can make your nervous system feel like it’s running a marathon.

I’ve noticed that a lot of us carry anxiety in silence because we were raised to push through. We come from families that survived things far heavier than panic attacks, so we tell ourselves we should be able to handle it. But survival mode isn’t the same as peace. And pretending you’re not anxious doesn’t make the anxiety disappear, it just makes it louder when it finally breaks through.

What’s helped me is admitting that anxiety doesn’t make me weak. It makes me human. And honestly, it makes sense. When you grow up hearing stories about what could happen if you’re in the wrong place at the wrong time, or if you speak too boldly, or if you don’t speak at all, your body learns to stay alert. Even when you’re safe, your mind doesn’t always believe it. That’s not paranoia. That’s conditioning.

In 2026, therapy is more normalized in our community than it used to be, but there’s still hesitation. Some of us don’t trust the system feeling that what we share will be weaponized in some way. Some don’t want to open up to a stranger. Some don’t want to revisit things they’ve spent years trying to bury. I get that. But I’ve learned that talking to someone who understands—whether it’s a therapist, a friend, or even a journal—can feel like finally loosening a knot you didn’t realize had been there for years.

I’ve also had to learn that rest is not a reward. It’s a requirement. Black people are often expected to be strong, productive, unbothered, and endlessly resilient. But resilience without rest turns into exhaustion. And exhaustion turns into anxiety. So I’ve been practicing small things: stepping outside for air, putting my phone down when the news gets too heavy, letting myself say no without guilt, and reminding myself that I don’t have to earn calm.

Another thing that helps is community. There’s something healing about being around other Black people who just get it without you having to explain. The laughter hits different. The silence hits different. The understanding hits different. Sometimes managing anxiety isn’t about fixing anything, it’s about not feeling alone in it.

And honestly, joy is medicine too. Not the forced kind, not the “smile through the pain” kind, but the real moments that remind you your life is bigger than your stress. Cooking a meal you love. Listening to music that makes your shoulders drop. Watching something silly. Dancing in your living room. Letting yourself feel good without apologizing for it.

Being Black and anxious in 2026 is complicated, but it’s not hopeless. We’re learning to name what we feel, to ask for help, to rest without shame, and to build spaces where our nervous systems can finally unclench. We deserve that. We always have. And maybe that’s the quiet revolution happening right now—not just surviving but learning how to breathe again.

Staff Writer; Christian Starr

May connect with this sister over at Facebook; https://www.facebook.com/christian.pierre.9809 and also Twitter; http://twitter.com/MrzZeta.