Hard Truths I had to Learn The Hard Way

Let me say this from the top: I’m not new to this.

I’ve sat in boardrooms, hospital waiting rooms, prayer circles, courtrooms, and break rooms with enough lived experience to know that most folks are just doing the best they can with what they’ve been handed. And sometimes? That still ain’t enough.

I’ve led with grace, broken down in silence, whispered prayers I didn’t want anybody to hear, and stood back up—mindset reset, posture unbothered, with just enough Holy Ghost to keep the hood in check.

Whether my hair is laid with a bend, tied up in a scarf for Bible study, braided in full color, or stretched out in a mighty afro—I’m still me. And if you’ve ever had to shift between your polished self and your praying self, between code-switching and calling, between surviving and leading… you already know the power I’m talking about.

These aren’t just pretty quotes. These are grown-folk truths—earned, lived, and carried with a little grit and a lot of grace.

 1. Just because you’re quiet doesn’t mean you’re weak.

Silence gets misunderstood real fast. People assume if you didn’t clap back, you didn’t have one. Please.

Half the time, my silence is me protecting your dignity and my peace at the same time. I’m not ignoring what you said—I’m just choosing not to throw pearls at pettiness.

Quiet doesn’t mean passive. It means strategic. It means I’m listening. Watching. Choosing. The strongest people I know don’t always talk first. They weigh the room, then move with intention. That’s not weakness. That’s wisdom.

Now, full transparency—I’ve messed this up more times than I’d like to admit. Sometimes I did speak too soon. Sometimes I should have kept quiet but let the petty preacher in me grab the mic. And every single time I regretted it. I learned that you can’t un-say something that wasn’t prayed through first. So now? I let my silence serve as both security and sermon. And if you’re not careful, that silence might just teach you something too.

2. The only time I wanted to quit was when I forgot my “why.”

Tired doesn’t always come from doing too much. Sometimes it comes from doing things that don’t feed your purpose.

Your “why” will carry you when the applause stops. It will remind you who you are when your confidence takes a hit. But let me be real: having a “why” doesn’t mean everything stays in alignment. You’ve got a why. They’ve got a why. That doesn’t mean your whys are meant to line up.

When you lose sight of your purpose, everything starts feeling heavier than it should. But when you hold onto it—even if just by a thread—you find strength in places you didn’t know you had.

There’ve been seasons where I was moving purely on autopilot—meeting after meeting, pouring into people, showing up because I “should.” But my why? My why was in the backseat holding a to-go plate and waiting for me to sit down and ask, “What are we doing this for again?” That’s when I realized: fatigue isn’t always about effort. Sometimes it’s about direction. And when I reset that compass? Everything flowed again.

Also… pro tip: if your “why” doesn’t make you feel something deep in your chest, it might not be the right one.

 3. Stop expecting people to apologize when they can’t even recognize their own mess.

Some people will never say “I’m sorry.” Not because they’re heartless. But because they’ve never practiced accountability. And if you can't even name what’s broken in you, how could you ever admit what you broke in someone else?

Here’s your permission slip: you don’t need their awareness to validate your healing. You don’t need their apology to move on. You don’t need that conversation to close the chapter.

Closure doesn’t always come with a bow. Sometimes it’s you saying, “I know what happened. And I’m good now.”

And whew—this lesson was hard-won. I’ve stayed in some situations way past their expiration date hoping someone would “come around.” Let me tell you: emotional maturity is not available at every table. I’ve sent paragraphs, prayed for resolve, even drafted apology scripts :for" them in my head (don’t judge me). And guess what? They still didn’t get it. That’s when I learned—closure is self-issued.

And humor me here: if you have to explain their apology -and- accept it? You’re doing both roles. Let it go.

 4. Don’t make for-ever moves with for-gettable people.

Everybody who feels good ain’t good for the long run. Some folks were meant to teach you a lesson, not join your legacy.

That chemistry? That spark? That instant connection that made you think, “This must be it?" Might just be a trauma bond in disguise.

Be patient. Time will reveal who’s consistent and who just came dressed like potential. Every vibe doesn’t deserve access. Every text back doesn’t mean they’re your person. Choose wisely.

Look—I’ve thrown a couple of “forever” parties for folks who were barely on month-to-month status. I’ve tried to build whole visions with people who couldn’t even stick to brunch plans. And every time, I was the one left cleaning up. So now? I pace myself. I watch the fruit, not just the flourish. Because consistency over charisma will save you a whole lot of disappointment.

And if you’re wondering whether someone’s temporary? Just let a little inconvenience hit and watch how fast they evaporate.

5. Solitude isn’t punishment. It’s preparation.

That desert season you’re in? Where everything feels quiet, stretched, and uncomfortable? That’s not rejection—it’s realignment.

Healing often looks like isolation. But that quiet space? That’s where clarity lives. That’s where strength settles. That’s where God starts whispering the next set of instructions.

So if you’re feeling like everything’s standing still, don’t panic. You’re not stuck. You’re being set apart. Not everything meant for your next chapter can come with you.

There were times when I confused solitude with being forgotten. I took the quiet seasons personally. I thought I had missed something—or worse, that I was the thing being missed. But now I know better. That silence was God rearranging the furniture in my soul. And baby, the way things look when it’s done? Worth every awkward stretch.

Sometimes growth comes dressed in loneliness—but that doesn’t mean it’s not holy.

Let me wrap this up like a good Sunday benediction:

You don’t owe anybody access to the version of you that barely made it.

Protect your peace. Guard your why. Laugh when it gets heavy. Cry when you need to. Then get up and keep going.

I’m someone who knows how to sit in a staff meeting with my hair laid like “don’t try me,” and turn right around and lead a prayer circle with a scarf tied tight and a soul wide open. I’ve shown up with braids, silk presses, and a natural —and in every single version,

 I’ve been powerful.

Why? Because my strength has never been about how I show up.

It’s always been about  why I do.

This world will try to make you choose.

Between hood and holy. Between polished and passionate. Between boardroom and block. Between theology and therapy.

But you don’t have to shrink to fit in. You don’t have to soften to be seen.

You can be all of it.

You just need to know which part of you needs to speak in the room you’re in—

and which part needs to ride shotgun until it’s time.

You are not behind. You are becoming.

And you’ve come too far to forget what you know.

#Leadership #Healing #EmotionalIntelligence #LifeLessons #GrowthMindset #SelfAwareness #PurposeDriven #BlackVoices #RealTalk