But before any of those titles existed, I was a young Black girl learning how to hold stories, learning how to hold trauma, and learning how to effectively “people please” with the hope that life would be a little easier for me that it was my parents. I grew to learn how to listen deeply, but what I didn’t learn was what healing was and how it could change the trajectory of my life.

From an early age, I knew I was called to help people from a spiritual place. I saw how pain could be carried silently through a family and the “strong” women I knew could just keep going every day without looking back. They were resilient but tired. I thought this was how I had to live my life. This belief is still felt in every aspect of my life, especially as a working mom, trying to juggle all the demands life throws my way.

I learned how many different experiences could shape the way someone walked through the world. My life experiences were also my teachers long before I ever stepped into a classroom.

My true direction became clear in young adulthood, during my first year of college. I experienced the death of a loved one, that was just the first of many that would have me grieving for years and unsure of where to turn. I didn’t have a roadmap. I didn’t have language, but what I did have was my spirituality, an amazing support system, and school. This was my turning point. It forced me to sit with myself in a way I never had before. It showed me not only what people carry, but how desperately we need places to bring those burdens. I learned that healing isn’t neat or nice or “people pleasing”.

I experienced another significant loss a few years ago and lots of these feelings came rushing back, but this time I had the tools I had wished I had back then. It did not hurt less but I knew what to do.