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Your eyes told the truth, and then the headlines told you they didn’t. That whiplash has a name—DARVO—and once you see how deny, attack, and reverse victim and offender operate, it becomes impossible to unsee the pattern in both intimate relationships and public life. We connect the dots between personal narcissistic abuse and national narrative control, exploring how gaslighting erodes trust in your senses, scrambles your nervous system, and turns outrage into exhaustion.

I share hard-earned survivor tools to navigate this moment with clarity and care. We unpack the Minneapolis case as a live example of how stories get spun within hours, then zoom out to the larger system that punishes truth tellers, manages its image, and conditions the public to accept the unacceptable. Instead of feeding the doom machine, we build a plan: set an information diet, refuse trauma loops, block freely, and pick one role—caller, donor, organizer, caregiver, or witness—so your energy touches real people. We talk about why sleep is resistance, how a regulated body is harder to manipulate, and we practice a simple grounding reset you can use today: feet on the floor, long exhale, and the affirmation “We are here and safe enough in this moment.”

This conversation is a warm hug of solidarity for Black and brown women carrying too much for too long, and an invitation to stay awake without burning out. If this spoke to you, share it with a friend who’s been doom scrolling into despair, subscribe for more hope-oriented storytelling, and leave a review so others can find their way here. What boundary will you set this week to stay engaged without being consumed?

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The camera rolls, a woman dies, and then the story tries to kill her again. We talk about Renee Good’s killing and the speed with which power moves to rename a victim a threat, turning language into a shield for violence. As Black women, we know this pattern by heart. The harm happens, then the management of the harm—press briefings, headlines, talking points—asks us to doubt our eyes. We refuse that bargain. We grieve without confusion, and we get practical about what comes next.

I share why the DOJ’s non-action reads as posture, not neutrality, and how labels like domestic terrorism blur law on purpose. We look at the long history of “law and order” as a tool to justify surveillance, force, and public fear, and we name the cost of that blur: fewer checks on state power and more room for abuse. For white listeners, this is a mirror as much as a map. Organizing is not a slogan; it’s sustained work—roles, logistics, fundraising, safety teams, and local pressure where you actually live. Study what Black organizers have built for generations and put your numbers to use.

We also draw a hard line around energy and care. Doom scrolling is wrecking our nervous systems, so we set simple rules: choose two reliable sources, read once, log off. We talk through roles beyond protests—mutual aid, childcare, food banks, mental health support, and raising children who refuse dehumanization. If you do march, plan like it matters: buddies, meeting points, charged phones, shared locations, exits. If you don’t, support those who do. Most of all, we hold memory. They will try to erase what we saw and who Renee was. Don’t let them.

If this lands heavy on your chest, you’re not broken—you’re human. Stay informed but not consumed. Stay connected so fear can’t isolate you. And if a Black woman you love is carrying too much, send this her way. Subscribe, share with a friend who needs clarity and care today, and leave a review with the role you’re choosing this week.

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Headlines love a simple story, but real relationships rarely fit clean plots. When Christy filed for divorce and Desmond responded publicly, the internet crowned a villain overnight. We slow down the scroll and ask harder questions: why does a stranger’s breakup cut so deep, what myths about beauty and “being enough” do we keep swallowing, and how do religious rules shape the way people stay, confess, and finally leave?

We talk candidly about parasocial grief—how attachment to public couples becomes a mirror for our own hopes—and the dangerous idea that fidelity can be earned through perfection. From there, we examine high-control faith cultures where divorce is framed as failure, endurance is praised over safety, and agency gets outsourced to pastors and communities. Grace shares her personal story of trying to exit under pressure, the costs of “confession” without accountability, and the quiet ways institutions protect themselves while individuals lose themselves.

Then we go further. What if monogamy isn’t a moral default but one valid option among many? We explore how ethical non-monogamy, temporary separation with boundaries, and consent-forward renegotiations could reduce harm by normalizing honest conversations about desire and change. The goal isn’t to prescribe a model—it’s to champion clarity, boundaries, and the courage to tell the truth before the internet tells it for you.

If the Christy–Desmond news or the Philip Yancey revelation stirred something in you, consider this your invitation to reflect without shame and reclaim your agency. Listen, share with a friend who needs nuance today, and if the conversation resonates, subscribe and leave a review so more people can find their way here. Your stories and questions help shape what we explore next.

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Your sexuality is not a community project—and it never needed a committee’s approval. We’re pulling back the curtain on how purity culture, patriarchy, and respectability politics train women, especially Black Gen X women, to carry shame like an heirloom. I share where I’ve judged and been judged, why celibacy and casual sex are both valid when they’re chosen freely, and how agency turns the volume down on everyone else’s projections.

We get practical and personal. I walk through the questions I ask before intimacy—am I safe, aligned, honest, and free to change my mind—and tell a story about a surprising, respectful one-night connection that felt calm, clean, and shame-free the morning after. From there, we dive into deprogramming: replacing endurance with consent, building aftercare to release guilt immediately, and dropping the imaginary audience of pastors, aunties, and internet pundits living rent-free in our heads. A woman with sexual agency is hard to control, and that’s exactly the point.

Midlife brings its own truths. Perimenopause shifts sensitivity and libido, but pleasure remains powerful: better sleep, lower stress, improved mood, pelvic health, and deeper embodiment. We talk HRT, lube, longer foreplay, sex therapy, and the basics of safety—barriers, testing, clear exits, location sharing, and listening when your spirit says no. Sexual freedom today might be a season of celibacy, a safe friends-with-benefits, or simply self-pleasure without apology. Your body is yours. Your yes is yours. Your no is yours. If this conversation gives you language or relief, share it with a sister who needs to hear she’s not too old, not too much, and not required to be chosen to deserve pleasure.

If this resonated, subscribe, leave a review on Apple or Spotify, share with a friend, and grab my book, Grace Axley: Memoirs of Life, Faith, Loss, and Black Womanhood. Then tell me: what belief about sex are you ready to retire?

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Let’s tell the truth about a “good, not greatest” year and why it still mattered. We walk through six lessons that rewired how we think about success, love, and healing: movement as medicine for the nervous system, the power of changing your scenery, and why the best highlights might be free. From a poolside summer with my daughter to a hike that started tense and ended in laughter, these small moments outshined the glossy wins and reminded me that you don’t need a new life—you need new inputs.

We also get real about relationships. Dating didn’t end in a ring; it ended in peace. Safe experiences built secure attachment, and gentle, mutual goodbyes felt like progress. I share why I chose myself over a future that didn’t fit, what aging and marriage data look like for women, and how attachment spirals turned into therapy, boundaries, and a calmer nervous system. If you’ve ever wondered whether a short romance can still be meaningful, here’s the case for yes.

Healing refused to be linear. Money stress stayed loud, but the brain changed. Weekly therapy, long walks, sunlight, and podcasts on mindset stacked into tangible calm. Hormone therapy and finally treating ADHD restored precious focus windows, and with them came a new measure of worth: not output, but aliveness. I talk about launch attempts, burnout, and the choice to unlink capacity from self-esteem. The result is a hopeful, rosterless ending to the year, defined by quiet wins, clearer limits, and a plan to start 2026 with simple, free shifts that actually move the needle.

If this resonates, hit follow, share it with a friend who had a meaningful but unremarkable year, and leave a quick review—your words help more people find the show and rethink what a “good year” can be.

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A woman is eight minutes from delivery, screaming through a wheelchair ride, and a nurse is still asking about “live births.” That moment—followed by another mother turned away to give birth on the roadside—sparked a raw, necessary conversation about disbelief, danger, and the cost of bias on Black women’s bodies.

We trace the throughline from the labor ward to the comment section: how joy gets labeled arrogance, how visibility is framed as provocation, and how a simple hello on a dating app can trigger a stranger’s need to diminish. I share my own birth story and the memories that still burn twenty years later, then connect those memories to a nervous system shaped by chronic dismissal. Hypervigilance isn’t drama; it’s adaptation. When medical staff ignore pain or minimize symptoms, the body flips to survival mode, and over time that stress hardens into complex PTSD—one reason Black maternal mortality and Black infant mortality remain disturbingly high in the United States.

We also explore the political stage, where double standards make mistreatment for some a scandal and for others a baseline. Through it all, we honor the resilience of Black women—most educated demographic in America—who keep creating, parenting, leading, and loving in a culture that too often refuses to protect us. This conversation offers language, validation, and practical grounding for anyone who’s felt unseen, along with guidance for raising kids who know their worth and can claim their voice early.

If this resonates, subscribe, share with someone who needs it, and leave a review to help more listeners find the show. Tell me: where were you last dismissed, and what would believing you the first time have changed?

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A headline asked whether having a boyfriend is embarrassing—and it landed because so many women are done letting public romance define their worth. I take you from “boyfriend land” and early mommy blogging to a new center of gravity where sovereignty, safety, and self-respect lead. As a Gen X Black woman who grew up in church culture, married young, and lived the trad-wife script, I’ve seen how the internet once rewarded hard launches and identity-by-relationship. Now, younger women are choosing privacy, soft launches, and lives not anchored to men. That isn’t cynicism; it’s clarity.

We dig into why Gen Z calls relationships a brand risk, the rise of “aura,” and how heterofatalism names the real fatigue of cishet dating. I share why I posted the back of my boyfriend’s head, what protecting our adult kids online looks like, and how choosing to share less can reflect more power. We also talk data: why single women often age happier and wealthier, why men’s outcomes improve with marriage, and how that asymmetry shapes whether marriage, partnership, or a private bond makes sense. The theme running through it all is agency—love as a choice, not a rescue plan.

You’ll hear what a sovereign relationship feels like in practice: two full lives, mutual respect, effort and consistency without codependence. We celebrate friendship, community, and mothering as real sites of intimacy, and we reject manipulative “get-his-money” strategies that mirror the worst of patriarchy. Share your joy loudly or guard it quietly—either way, let the center be you. If this conversation resonates, follow the show, share it with a friend, and leave a review with your take: do you hard launch, soft launch, or keep love off the grid?

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The headline said SNAP might pause, and my stomach dropped. Not because of theory, but because of dinner. What follows is a raw, grounded look at who gets hit first when social safety nets fray—women-led households, elders, disabled neighbors, and children—and how Black women absorb the shock long before it makes the news. I share what it felt like to pencil out November with nothing extra, why “just get a job” ignores reality, and how pulling millions from local stores drives grocery prices up for everyone.

We go deeper than policy. I talk candidly about mental health, perimenopause, PTSD, and ADHD—and how these shape work, parenting, and capacity. We unpack the Strong Black Woman myth and name the invisible load so many of us carry in silence. Then we get practical: a simple breathing practice to steady your nervous system, small manifestation routines that help your brain find a path, and the boundaries that keep your energy from leaking away. Softness is not surrender; it’s a calibrated form of strength that lets us remain human while the system shakes.

You’ll hear the story of growing up hungry, the first years of overeating when food was finally accessible, and why food insecurity leaves fingerprints on our present. You’ll also hear how community care shows up in real life, why asking for help is strategy not shame, and how the Soft Girl Survival System gathers tools—grounding, self-advocacy, and daily energy audits—for women who are tired of being everyone’s backbone. If this conversation lands, share it with someone who needs proof they aren’t alone, subscribe so you don’t miss what’s next, and leave a review with one practice you’ll try this week. Your softness is a strategy. Your joy is resistance. Let’s protect both.

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