Ahem... my people-pleasing students, come to the front of the class.

Oh, y’all looking cute with your back-to-school fits on, okay! We need to talk, and I’m not holding your hand when I say this because I literally hate when creators say that line.

You ready?

Here’s today’s lesson: you can’t love people beyond their capacity.

I know, I know, I knowwww. That friend hasn’t texted you back in a minute and you’re tempted to send yet another “hey boo” message. Let’s check the board:

1. Don’t take it personally.

Don Miguel Ruiz’s The Four Agreements is the most transformative book I’ve ever received. It’s one I gift the most, right next to Alexis Pauline Gumbs’s Undrowned, because it taught me the greatest life lesson: don’t take anything personally.

And when I say anything, I mean anything.

Other people’s actions or inaction have nothing to do with me, no matter how much my squirrelly, overthinking mind wants to believe whatever web of reinvented conversations it’s spinning.

Fight the urge to make yourself the main character in your friend's hard season.

2. Go low-tech.

Sometimes answering a text is just too much when life is already kicking your ass and the digital demands keep piling on (spoken from someone with over 800 emails).

Here are some low-tech ways to remind the person you love that you see them:

• Send a care package. Include things they love (snacks, face masks, coloring books) plus stuff like wipes because showering gets hard, and sleep gummies.

• Drop a DoorDash or Uber Eats gift card in their inbox.

• Send money if you have it. “Get a massage, or don’t. Use it however you need.” We never know what’s happening BTS of someone’s life.

• Order flowers. This is favorite way to love up on folks, plus who doesn’t love flowers?! Send from a local florist if you can, always. An alternative is Ode à la Rose, my go-to for friends in NYC, Chicago, Los Angeles, Austin, Miami, and Washington.

3. Give them space, and take some too!

Having reciprocal relationships is good for the tender heart, so don’t neglect other folks in your life, or your damn self.

Something that helps me recirculate that energy and come back to center is reaching out to someone who’s been trying to catch up with me (tbh, my parents are usually at the top of that list).

And I cut down on the social media surveillance: no scrolling their page for evidence, no getting activated by seeing them out in the world. Folks are going through hell and back while showing all their pearly whites on social media, holding their public image together on toothpicks and duct tape.

If someone you love is quiet and you’ve tried all you could, say “I’m here when you’re ready,” then move on to the next lesson.

That’s it for this week, fam. Comment and tell me: What do you wish your friends knew when you go quiet?

• Buy me a coffee (@Heather-Faison on Venmo) for the next late night writing session ☕

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Your Hype Internet Cousin,
Heatherrrr

After a night of singing, sobbing, and prancing around like it was my own living room while Olivia Dean playfully serenaded a sold-out crowd, one of my besties texted the sweetest check-in: “What song spoke to your soul?”

Curiosity is my favorite love language, so I immediately sent a 8 minute voice note against the Q train's screeching rails, her question carrying me right back to the floor of Madison Square Garden belting out the soft anthem "A Couple Minutes.

The song achingly recalls the nostalgia of running into an ex, leading to “a couple minutes” of nervous small talk (“did you end up moving house?”), shocking new habits (“since when are you smoking now?”), then the bright light rupture of knowing, yeahhh, this is cute and all but I “guess we’re going back to real life.”

There are people in my life who feel like home and by “home,” I mean the South, where overindulgence is an art form. Grandmas coax you with one more plate that you just can’t turn down because the ratio of noodles to cheese is perfection and bubbling marshmallow yams sweeten the already intoxicating potion.

“Have another one, baby. There’s plenty left.”

So, you take another. And another.

As someone who loves beer and is prone to euphoric reunions with lovers, I feel this Toni Morrison quote deeply, like literally every Toni Morrison quote that ticks my imagination and inspires these crescendos of insomniac writings.

Truth is, you forget you’re on your third beer until that too-thin gulp hits the roof of your mouth and jolts you back to real life.

Then you realize, bitch, you’re their third beer.

What was once a pleasurable dissociation hugged in novelty and awe now feels numbing and pedestrian.

That’s when it’s time to sip your hoppy IPA with a name straight out of Cards Against Humanity, savor those last couple minutes, wave off that third beer as the past makes its way to your table, and walk away.

Whew! That one almost took me out, ya’ll. All the feels, all the time. Still here? 👀Comment and tell me: What’s a song that speaks to your soul?

• Buy me a coffee (@Heather-Faison on Venmo) for the next late night writing session ☕

• Become a Tender & Trying subscriber below

• If you’re new, welcome to my tender lil corner of the Internets.

Your Hype Internet Cousin,
Heatherrrr

There’s not a moment where a Toni Morrison quote hasn’t healed me, affirmed my wayward ways or, in some cases, dragged me like a Kandi Burruss read on Real Housewives of Atlanta.

This quote from my favorite novel, Sula, captures the long-awaited reunion between sister-friends (and soulmates) Nel and Sula.

Sula chose a “worldly” unattached life while Nel married and nestled in her too-polite role as a wife and mother.

When Nel saw Sula, alone, childless, in the final days of her life, she shamed her with society’s favorite weapon against free women: her loneliness.

Sula: “Girl, I got my mind. And what goes on in it. Which is to say, I got me.”

Nel: “Lonely, ain’t it?”

Sula: “Yes. But my lonely is mine. Now your lonely is somebody else’s. Made by somebody else and handed to you. Ain’t that something? A secondhand lonely.” (This is a BAR, “A secondhand lonely,” made me cackle! Toni Morrison cooked with that one.)

Nel really thought she ate. But Sula was like nah. My life, the lovely parts included, is mine. While yours is defined by a mannn.

“Lonely, ain’t it?”

In my attempts at more solitude as someone who loves outside and loves women like my gallivanting, blue-black, Harlem dandy daddy, I’m sitting with the “pink of myself,” the juiciest phrase from Black feminist troublemaker Alexis Pauline Gumbs, by witnessing the grief of lives I did not write into my own story.

Eulogizing those lives revealed the subtle ouch of how few traditional success markers I hold, like wife, mother, homeowner.

Without those milestones and countless others I stopped climbing, I’ve had to define for myself what success truly looks like, not the “secondhand lonely” version that was scripted for me as the mighty “1st warrior” in my family: first grandchild to go to college, first entrepreneur, breadwinner, blah, blah, blah.

I am creating an auramaxxing and expansive life like my patron saint Tracee Ellis Ross, living 2,000 miles from family with sound and color and unfolding possibility.

As someone who is childless by choice (shoutout to my godkids…Auntie Heather loves you!) and solo poly, I come and go without permission, make plans without committee and, my favorite part, create a life of my own design. And I really don’t appreciate that flex enough.

“Lonely, ain’t it?”

Yes. But my lonely is mine.

That’s it for this week, fam. Comment and tell me: What’s the best thing you’ve done alone this year? Silent wins deserve an audience. Let’s celebrate it together!

• Buy me a coffee (@Heather-Faison on Venmo) for the next late night writing session ☕

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• If you’re new, welcome to my tender lil corner of the Internets.

Your Hype Internet Cousin,
Heatherrrr

As I ease back into writing (THANK YOU to my friends for bullying me!) I’m gonna start with some real-time reflections of my own that are very first drafty, real, and as always, tender af.

Five tender things I’m trying right now:

Saying when something hurts my feelings.

When I say I’m tender…I’m talking Tenderism, okay?! Ribs falling clean off the bone! So much hurts my feelings that I only whisper to myself.

And although I love my parents DOWN, one thing that’s impacted me today that I never expected is how they move past hard conversations in favor of silver-lining platitudes.

I got real good at being “fine.”

All the time.

So, I’m working on telling the people I care about “that hurt” (or leaving before I hit depletion).

Baby steps.

Spending more time alone.

I love a good time, babeeeey.

Dancing, random side quests or a cute lil brunch, I’m the friend who’s always down. But after months of travel, World Cup mayhem, and partying like a Studbudz during Pride in Mexico City, I needed to make more time for writing (I heard y’all, damn) and deep rest.

This weekend was the first time in a while I said no to my friends and stayed inside.

I watched the WNBA All-Star Weekend (so much tea…), binged shows and just did the things that made me happy without a single RSVP involved. I didn’t leave the house unless I absolutely needed to and let the days unfold with ease.

Putting my needs first.

I was on a trip when my friend pointed out that I usually default to whatever she wants: I let her pick the restaurants. If we’re sharing plates (which is the only way to have dinner) I let her choose first. And most of the activities we did were the things she likes.

What’s wild is I didn’t even notice I was doing it. Like, someone had to point it out to me.

Even now, when I’m trying to be considerate, I put other people’s needs ahead of my own in the smallest ways.

Ouch.

Being honest about my desire to be seen.

For years, my romantic relationships were private. All of our friends and family knew, it wasn’t a secret, but there was no hard launching or overly public sharing.

And for a while, I was cool with it.

Then I saw a post from relationship expert Shan Boodram about social intimacy, how you represent and show up for your partner in the world, and I realized that was a missing piece.

Now, the privacy was for valid and consensual reasons, folks with public profiles, poly lovers with agreements around visibility.

“Fine.”

But now I’m over it like Summer Walker.

Chalant meeeee.

Asking for clarity.

sigh I really hate feeling confused.

Maybe it’s a neurospicy thing, but if someone’s not super clear, it’s so hard for me to engage and be present.

I ask for clarity every chance I get: when meeting someone new, deepening a friendship or expressing the need to end something altogether. I do my best to stay curious, ask hella questions and move with clarity over making assumptions.

Butttt just because I ask for clarity doesn’t mean I’ll always get it.

And yeah, that hurts my feelings, too.

That’s it for this week, fam. Comment and tell me: what tender things are you working on right now? I can’t be the only one out here still trying…

• Buy me a coffee (@Heather-Faison on Venmo) for the next late night writing session ☕

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• If you’ve been here the whole time, thank you for waiting. If you’re new, welcome to my tender lil corner of the Internets.

Your Hype Internet Cousin,
Heatherrrr

As I’m writing this article I hear the saxophones getting louder.

The tomatoes are lined up waiting for me. The boos from the Apollo audience are gearing up (RIP my first love Kiki Shepard). With the news of Klay “PBS logo” Thompson fumbling Megan THEE Stallion this is really the wrong week to share a controversial dating hot take.

And, yet, here we are.

My biggest red flag: I’m still cool with my exes

There. I said itttttt. Damn.

I didn’t even think this was a big deal until I started this substack and got more (unsolicited) dating content on my social media algorithm.

All of a sudden, I was pelted with daily threads, IG posts and TikToks of creators declaring their utter disdain for people who still talk to their exes as “walking red flags,” “toxic,” and “playing games.”

It’s truly the scarlet letter of dating.

But, fuck it, we ball.

Maybe it's my upbringing (scroll down for that story) or my Venus in Sagittarius that's naturally rebellious to made-up social norms, but there are exes who show up for me with care and support.

When the Netflix series “Forever” came out I was obsessed. A coming of age story that centers teenage lovers Justin, who was the openly neurodivergent protagonist I wished I had as a kid, and Keisha navigating big feelings, social pressures and the angst of teenagehood.

Creator Mara Brock Akil, whose episodic work shaped my childhood from Moesha to Girlfriends, had an interview on the Breakfast Club that was so good I talked to my therapist about it for weeks.

I was drawn by the way Mara spoke about past loves.

It felt reverential and important.

In fact, I told someone I’m dating now that my ultimate goal in life is to be eulogized like the late and tender Colorado Poet Laureate Andrea Gibson, who at the end of her life was surrounded by loves past, present and canine.

Ahem! Listen up. Before we get into this and y’all come for me I need to make one thing clear. You are not entitled to stay in any relationship you don’t wanna be in. Or that you don’t feel safe in. And even if you do feel safe you STILL don’t have to fuck with them anymore. This is not a virtue call, at all. Not every relationship is meant to or should evolve into friendship. It’s okay to end that shit. Especially if your ex is Klay Thompson. Aight…let the saxophones play!

My exes are part of my community now

Last weekend, I was celebrating a baby shower for one of my “stud budz” whose wife is carrying their first child.

After the speeches, games, and classic baby shower plate of meatballs, pasta salad and baked beans, I sent a picture to an ex sharing my excitement for my friends who prayed for this day after heart-breaking false hopes.

That relationship lives in the fabric of Friendsgivings, escape room adventures, and deeply vulnerable living room conversations. Friends still check in, support her career from afar.

Allat.

Our relationship is woven through the community I stitched together with the improvisational whimsy and attention of the quiltmakers in Gee’s Bend.

I blame my parents, for real

My parents divorced when I was in college, but y’all they still stand ten toes down for each other. My dad has a place at the dinner table every Thanksgiving. We all get together and watch movies til dark.

And my mom was right there by his side when my dad had a stroke; poring over lab reports, fussing about meds and making sure he had clean clothes to wear so he could go home with dignity.

Now, I know what you’re thinking, but this is not a Tyler Perry romcom.

My parents have no intention of rekindling their marriage.

When I asked my mom why they are still so close she simply said “oh, that’s my guy! I’ll always look out for him.”

I felt this myself when she was in the hospital. I got a text from my aunt that my mom fainted. I held the phone in tears 2,000 miles away in Mexico City, panicked and dizzy.

I immediately called my former partner who still lives in my hometown.

She drove to the hospital, sat with my mom, chatted with the nurses, sent selfies to reassure my anxious mind and made sure mom had her favorite foods.

She checked in every day until my mom was back home and my nerves were calmed.

Relationships are a time capsule

I’m still unpacking this one so, you know, follow along or skip it altogether. In the Breakfast Club interview when she talked about why she still believes in love, Mara said:

Some girlfriends met me in the young love years, others saw me in my most ambitious era, and a few witnessed me softened by grief, uncertainty and change. And there are moments when the path is shakier than a CDMX sidewalk and the memories become a way back to myself when I drift.

No one really tells you what to do with memories and I’m still trying to shape them, honestly.

My mom has adopted my exes (and I double dare you to tell her what to do)

Everyone loves my mom, or Mama Mary as she’s affectionately called.

She’s the neighborhood mom who looks out from the porch, calls you on your birthdays, remembers that you have a peanut allergy and celebrates your wins with a Facebook post to all her friends.

When I’m dating someone she immediately embraces them. And when the relationship ends she still Mama Mary. Now, tbh I used to hate this. Likeeee why does she still talk to my very first girlfriend!

But, as she said after my mini tantrum, “you broke up with her, not me.”

No one is disposable

Too many folks in my life have experienced rejection from family because of their queerness or have strained relationships with loved ones.

Coming from an overly affirming family who says they knew I was gay since I was cosplaying Da Brat in elementary school, and volunteered at our local LGBTQ Center to learn how to love their out child, I couldn’t always relate to these scars of abandonment, but I had deep empathy.

And still do.

And I made it clear that my family (chosen and biological) was theirs, too.

And still is.

That’s it for this week, fam. Tell your exes I said hi (or keep em blocked, your call).

• Buy me a coffee (@Heather-Faison on Venmo) for the next late night writing session ☕ (thank you Za, Leslie, and Mursi!!)

• Become a Tender & Trying subscriber below

• Comment and tell me: are you still cool with an ex? Or did that chapter close alllllll the way?

If this work means something to you, here’s how you can join in and support:

• Buy me a coffee (@Heather-Faison on Venmo) for the next late night writing session ☕. Thank you Za and Leslie!

• Comment and tell me your go-to date spot. I wanna hear it all!

• Share this with someone who needs some new date ideas 👀

Let’s goooooooo,
Heather

“You know where the real baddies are?” jillian said as they leaned forward to sip hibiscus tea brewing in the crystal oblong cup like a volcano.

“The museum!”

Our table of tender and masc travelers collectively affirmed with amens and finger claps over plates of chilaquiles verde and fresh papaya. The cackles and high-fives filled Ágora Café, a queer cafe tucked inside Mexico City’s lush Chapultepec neighborhood.

When the conversation moved to dating, we asked the question everyone wants to know, for real: where can you actually meet women?

We all ruled out dating apps as too hit or miss. Clubs are overwhelming and “queer parties” usually mean all guys with a whisper of women.

Museums and galleries were the clear favorite, and as a certified museum whore I’m all the way here for it.

Mexico City has over 150 museums. Some of my favorites are Frida Kahlo Museum, also known as Casa Azul, which left me sobbing with swollen eyes the next day. The mammoth Museum of Anthropology and experimental studios like FÁBRICA, a cultural hub for Diasporic artists and lovers of art.

But there’s one place that keeps me coming back: Mariane Ibrahim Gallery.

Here is where I met some of my first friends in CDMX, heard one of my favorite writers Akwaeke Emezi, stood in awe at Amoako Boafo’s solo exhibition, and had the sweetest birthday date planned with so much care and intention.

Mariane Ibrahim is a Black woman-owned gallery with locations in Chicago and Paris. Known for its world-class curation showcasing artists from Africa and the African diaspora, the gallery is a visually striking gathering spot with perfect date night vibes.

With Mariane Ibrahim, one of the most influential figures in contemporary art right now, as its namesake, the gallery is also great for people-watching with visits from folks like celebrity stylist Law Roach.

So if you’re ever in CDMX wondering where the women are, skip the apps, y’all. Walk into the gallery. Thank the homie jillian.

Here’s more about Mariane Ibrahim Gallery.

Chisme pleaseeee

I know you've got a go-to date spot. The brunch spot where you take every first date (yes, I’m talking about you lol). The bookstore you save for someone special. The coffee shop with that good, good lighting. Drop yours in the comments. Let's build a little map together.

Happy Tuesday, fammmm. Quick confession: I’ve been posting later and later and I hate that for me (and you, ugh). I’ve been quietly building a newsletter for my creative agency Good Stuff Digital where I share personal stories, advice from 10+ years in the business and a few guest appearances. I can’t wait to share it with you all! For now, I’ma keep showing up here and please know every comment, DM, text has warmed my heart soooo much. Thank you for being in this little corner of the internet with me.

If this work means something to you, here’s how you can keep it going:

• Buy me a coffee (@Heather-Faison on Venmo) for the next late night writing session ☕

• Comment and tell me if dating feels draining right now (be honest)

• Share this with someone who needs to hear dating doesn’t have to be miserable

Your Hype Internet Cousin,
Heatherrrr

My favorite thing on the internet right now is Joshua Neal’s “Dating is Draining, Dates Aren’t”. The actor and content creator known for his cheeky TikToks and role on “One of Them Days” stars as the pursuer dripping with enough charm and humor to create the perfect romcom just waiting to be picked up by A24.

Somewhere between scenes of young lovers eating ice cream on a park bench admitting to each other their greatest fears to walking through the atrium with Olivia Dean right on cue in the background, I’m reminded how much I LOVE going on dates.

I love the ritual of asking for a date (and getting asked). I love laying my clothes out the day before. Firing off the “on my way” text right before the Uber pulls up. So when people say there’s pee in the dating pool I just be quiet, chile. ‘Cause that’s not my experience!

One thing that helps me not get caught up in dating fatigue or scare campaigns is dating with intentions. And not in a super strict program, singles ministry at the church devoid of any and all pleasure until commitment kind of intentions (we’ve all been there).

But, like, just being thoughtful and purposeful before and after the date, starting with asking the right questions.

What I Ask Before We Meet

If I’m talking to someone for a bit before our first date I ask a few questions that help gauge if we’re looking for the same thing (which can always change and I’m down for).

Most importantly, these questions reveal what the other person’s boundaries are before we share space in-person, which for me is so important and another “trust before touch” lesson I owe to the kink community.

1. Are you looking for love, play or pleasure?

2. What are your hard nos or non-negotiables?

3. What are your hell yes’s?

What I Ask Myself After the Date

At the end of every date I ask myself the same 10 questions and honestly, I think this practice has been the real game-changer. Looking back at the notes, I’m able to quickly see patterns and habits that I was totally blind to before because I was letting the dopamine coursing through my body turn red flags rosé.

1. Did I feel safe?

2. What I liked

3. What didn’t I like

4. How did I feel before the date?

5. How did I feel during?

6. How did I feel after?

7. What stood out?

8. What am I proud of?

9. How do I feel now?

10. Would I go on another date?

You see that last question? Don’t scroll past it. That is the whole point of going on that first date: to decide if there’s gonna be a second one. If I liked someone, at the end of each date I say, “I really enjoyed our time. I would love to see you again. Would you be into that?”

No guessing. No games. Only honesty and clarity. And a scoop of vulnerability.

If you feel dread before a date or even the very thought of dating makes you want to delete all the apps and join a monastery, it might be because you’re putting wayyyyy too much pressure on yourself to turn date one into forever. Get curious when you’re dating. Yes, you can still keep a running notes list on their favorite foods, songs and colors.

But make sure you’re curious about yourself and how you feel with them in the process.

That's it for this week, fam. Ready for that next date?

• Buy me a coffee (@Heather-Faison on Venmo) for the next late night writing session ☕

• Become a Tender & Trying subscriber below

• Comment and tell me if dating feels draining right now (be honest)

  ---

This week I’m introducing a new series, A Soft Place to Land, about the places in Mexico City that bring me back to myself, cafes, parks, libraries, dance floors, the spots that hold me when I need holding. I hope it holds you a little too.

If this work means something to you, here’s how you can join in and support:

• Buy me a coffee (@Heather-Faison on Venmo) for the next late night writing session ☕

• Comment and tell me where your soft place to land is (person, place, thing…I wanna hear it all!)

• Share this with someone who needs a slower afternoon

Let’s goooooooo,
Heather

One year into living in Mexico City and I am still amazed at how a place with over 22 million people can be so quietly good for my nervous system.

Somewhere between the chaos and the color, I have found spots that feel like a deep exhale, places that hold you without asking you to explain yourself first.

That’s exactly why I started Tender & Trying, to hold space for the rituals that remind us that the whole point of this thing called life is to delight in the act of living it.

This series, Soft Place to Land, is about the cafes, the parks, the libraries, the corners of this city that have caught me when I needed catching, and yes, you know we’re hitting the dance floor, too.

First up: Jellyfish 🪼

Jellyfish is the sister cafe to Choza, the popular Thai-inspired hangout next to Hank’s Pizza, but you would never know it from the outside. The facade is so tucked away, so deliberately unbothered about being found, that we passed it twice.

When those massive wood doors finally slide open, it feels less like entering a cafe and more like being let in on something, a whole other reality revealing itself on the other side.

And the room is a whole scene, honey. Leather chairs that look like they’ve held a thousand quiet afternoons, kilim rugs on the floor and one on the ceiling, which sounds wrong and looks exactly right (my beautiful interior designer friend Ashley took me so you know it’s giving decor goals).

A handwritten cocktail menu, three options, 300 pesos. I’m an old fashioned girlie, siempre.

The leather-bound notebooks you get at the door with charcoal pencils inspire the kind of knowing that makes you want to write something, or say something true.

The vinylssss. Jazz. Blues. Cumbia. Global sounds bookend each corner of the room. Cookbooks shelved and stacked everywhere, Ducksoup, The Palestinian Table, Ethiopia: Recipes and Traditions from the Horn of Africa.

You can also just sit there, which Jellyfish seems to actively encourage with its phones and electronics on DND policy bucking against CDMX’s heavy digital nomad culture. The welcome note says it plainly, this is a place to pause, to read, to draw, to be alone in the good way or together in the quiet way.

I left feeling like myself, which after the kind of year the world has been having, is genuinely not a small thing.

If you’re in town or visiting, here’s more about Jellyfish.

Chisme pleaseeee

Listennnnn, I know I'm not the only one with a go-to spot. The cafe you go to when you need to think. The park bench that knows your name. The corner of the dance floor that's just yours.

Drop it in the comments. Let's build a little map together.

I’m just gonna be honest here: this isn’t the article I had planned. Like, at all. In fact, I had a cute lil piece ready on questions I ask myself after dates and y’all, it’s kind of fire. Then, as my fingers danced on the keyboard, John Coltrane’s “Naima” played through the speakers.

My hands paused. I thought of her. Of us. Of a version of us that I thought was tucked away.

You ever met someone who completely turned your life upside down?

In the best ways possible. And somewhere in between. That was her. She came into my life when I wasn’t looking or even trying.

Her love anchored me like when Santiago met Fatima in The Alchemist:

The memory rocked me so hard I debated deleting our pictures from my phone. Not because they bothered me.

I really only notice them when Apple decides to create a When Harry Met Sally cinematic reel of our most romantic moments (like, really, Apple?! Kill this feature already. Geez) or when I’m flicking through my screen, passing days, weeks, months of photos for the perfect meme to leave the group chat doubled over laughing.

But, because pictures hold memories. Like songs.

“Naima,” Coltrane’s sweet and low dedication to his wife, Juanita Naima Grubbs, stayed in his repertoire long after his marriage was over. The beloved jazz ballad has been handed down like a tattered love note, with covers by some 34 artists from Herbie Hancock to my favorite rendition from long-time Coltrane collaborator McCoy Tyner.

Even Venna, a rising star in the venerable genre, added his ghostly twist to the melody, bringing along a new generation who may or may not know its late creator.

South London-based saxophonist Venna’s “Naima” cover

Naima was surprisingly soft and controlled compared to Coltrane’s other solo works. Almost sheepish.

While recording the song, Coltrane battled addiction, band breakups and spiraling depression. Even in that chaos, Naima represented a calm and safe place, not only in his catalogue of jazz scriptures but likely, in his life.

Years later Juanita “Naima” would grant unmitigated access to her memories and close-knit family to biographer and Harvard-trained physician Cuthbert Simpkins (what I would give for BTS of this book’s becoming), suggesting that her care, and most certainly her love for Coltrane, played on long after the couple said their final goodbyes.

Naima was the crown of Coltrane’s seminal album Giant Steps. Coltrane even ran it back for his Live at the Village Vanguard Again!, recording with an ensemble featuring his second wife Alice Coltrane, a giant in her own light.

I wonder how he felt hearing the song through time, through memory, through love.

Did it make him sad? Remorseful? Vindictive? Revisiting memories from someone you loved is never easy and rarely tidy. But the feeling, whether it’s imbued with sorrow or celebration, is a gift, I think.

So, maybe one day I’ll delete the pictures from my phone. And maybe I’ll remove the box of cards, photo booth pictures, post-its and thinking-of-you gifts from my closet and return it empty.

I wonder what difference it will make when the physical evidence is gone. If, like Naima, traces of her memory will remain like a song that just keeps playing through time, through memory, through love, through love, through love.

Pleasure has truly been good to me.

Forehead kisses in the kitchen. Eye contact that lingers just enough before breaking. Rope harness after a long day. Oh yeah, that kind of pleasure.

Between my swoony Pisces placement and the romantic energy of life in Mexico City, every day I shape my own brand of soft dominance wrapped in tenderness, praise, and playfulness.

I’m very much a lowercase stud (shoutout Mal for that reference!).

My makings of identity came from Black feminist writers like Audre Lorde, whose collection of essays Sister Outsider was a constant companion as I wrestled with my sexuality in high school.

Audre’s lessons on the erotic as liberation gave me a framework for my own curriculum and deeper explorations into non-monogamy, self-advocacy, and my favorite pleasure principle: kink.

I daydream scenes that satisfy both my sweetness and heat in a city with endless possibilities. Sitting in my neighborhood cafe waiting on a chia latte with a dash of cinnamon, reading Audre’s “Uses of the Erotic,” my WhatsApp notifications buzz with queer brunches, tantric yoga, and my favorite, shibari workshops.

Shibari is a slow burn girlie (like meeee). A Japanese rope bondage practice rooted in ancient tradition, where the body is tied with intention and care. In kink spaces, shibari can ease the nervous system in a way that quiets everything else, or invite stimulation with each tie.

Some sessions, the steady pressure feels like a tight, loving hug, releasing endorphins and stress, whispering gently, you can let go now.

When I want to build more trust with my body and deepen my curiosity, my partner applies more pressure, testing the limits of even my own tolerance.

I let the rope stain my skin, tiny fibers dig into my arms and chest.

My shoulders drop.
Brows soften.
My mind slows down.
I melt into the moment of surrender.

Everything I was taught about masculinity is rooted in performance: hide your feelings, be mysterious, gain as much power as possible as a tool for control. But the erotic strips you bare, sometimes literally. All your vulnerabilities and insecurities on full display.

And that stripping down didn’t start on the rope. It started much earlier.

In my family, being born male inherently gave you more power, even though the women dominated the men in every way imaginable. They made more money, were more educated, and simply outnumbered men in our matriarchal Southern household.

Still, my male cousins had far more freedom than I did. They stayed out later. Started dating sooner. And the place where male privilege showed up the strongest was consent.

Uncles cornered us for kisses when all we really wanted was to play outside without being bothered. I rolled my eyes every time my mom said, “Go ahead and give them a hug.”

It was in those forced moments, pleading with the women in my family, that I learned little girls were born without boundaries.

That’s a hell of a lot of unlearning. I didn’t even hear the word consent until kink entered my life.

Play parties introduced the idea of boundary conversations, agreements, and trust established before touch.

As a woman who loves women with curious devotion, every intimate moment reminds me that we are all in different places on this erotic journey. Some are learning new skills.

Some unlearning old patterns. When I asked a date if I could kiss her, she leaned in, then sheepishly replied, No one’s ever asked my permission.

Our lips touched softly, then I looked up and smiled that smile.

This is the freedom we inherited from Audre.

The freedom to be vulnerable. The freedom to unmask. The freedom to taste pleasure step back and marvel.

I broke up with a partner because she didn’t compliment me. I know, I knowww. You probably think I’m a raging narcissist, but lisssen and stay a while.

The relationship was drifting after years together. We endured career changes, growing pains, and the quiet wish to be witnessed. After my father died, the grief changed me.

He was a tailored dandy with ungodly charm who walked the streets of Harlem like gold dangled from his double monk dress boots.

The grief felt enormous. I stared at mirrors trying to find him in my reflection and somewhere in all that looking, I decided it was time to be my own witness.

I started going to the gym more, getting regular haircuts and embodying a type of soft masculinity that finally felt good to me. I asked my partner for a favor.

Could she call me “handsome”?

She said no.

Our relationship was very loving, and she’d praised me both in private and publicly. But when I asked her to see me in this new form, she couldn’t meet me.

The relationship ended a week later.

Truth is, it’s the small asks that end relationships. Not the big betrayals we brace for. My mind traces to writer Shonda Rhimes who left ABC after creating the network’s most successful shows and having seemingly free rein.

But one small ask ended the longstanding relationship: a $154 Disneyland pass.

Shonda asked for the pass to give to her sister and the network said, nah. “Don’t you already have enough?” barked an executive to the showrunner who made ABC over $2 billion.

She left and took her talents to Netflix.

Actress Jenifer Lewis broke up with a partner because he wouldn’t acknowledge a beautiful tree.

The couple drove past a colorful landscape, and when Jenifer gasped, “Ah, that’s a pretty tree!” her partner blurted: “You say that about every tree.”

Plot twist. It’s never about the $154 Disneyland pass. Or the tree. Or even the compliments.

The weight of a small “no” doesn’t just create resentment. It invites an unsettling awareness. If this person can’t meet me here, in this small and simple place, how can I be gentle with this version of myself that’s asking to be seen?

Shonda Rhimes leaving ABC expanded what was possible for her as a showrunner. Why take over a single night of television when people around the world can stream her shows every single day, 24/7?

Jenifer Lewis realized her light was too bright to have negativity cast on the things that brought her joy. She wasn’t asking her partner to love the tree. She was asking him to love the part of her that stops for beauty.

Every version of me that came before this one was doing her best. The one who stayed too long. The one who asked for something small. My own voice, saying, you deserve to be seen in all your tenderness and awe.

When’s the last time you went after something you really wanted?

I’m talking Steph Curry shooting from the logo big. Me? Your girl stays in the gym.

Creative projects. New friends. And, yes, dating (some of you reading this know from experience).

It’s my own way of choosing courage and softness over the armor of fear.

And I’m not alone.

Gabriella Carr (@gracefullygabbie on TikTok) started the “1,000 No’s” challenge and spent a year collecting rejections on purpose. And the results? A commercial booking. A pageant title. Brand partnerships. And (super random) Dutch passport!

All from just asking.

Think of it as exposure therapy in TikTok form. By showing up anyway, the fear around rejection starts to lose its grip.

So, what happens when you shoot the perfect shot and it rattles out the rim? Well…I just found out.

I DM’d someone I really liked.

We weren’t exactly strangers. We’d crossed paths at a few parties but never had any real 1:1 time together. So, I called in my boy for backup to see if she was dating anyone. He gave me the green light.

After some cute DM banter, I asked her on a date. She said yes. I yelled. Jumped around the room and played my hype playlist with T.I.’s “Let Em Know,” further boosting my already bloated ego.

The day before our date, I got a notification.

It was her.

What I thought was a message to confirm our plans was an apology. Followed by a rejection. She’d overcommitted. Between work and a hectic travel schedule, she asked to put our date on hold.

In the span of 30 seconds, all my excitement and anticipation melted into a pool of disappointment.

I reached for the laundry piling up on my bed and “Take You Out” by Luther Vandross came on shuffle. Luther’s signature velvety smooth baritone spilled through my speakers.

This lyric stopped me in my tracks:

I smiled. Picked up my phone. And responded to her message. I thanked her for the clear communication (because let’s be honest, ghosting is an epidemic these days) and wished sweetness for her week ahead.

This doesn’t happen to me often. And if it does, I know it’s not personal. She might be straight, committed, or just not in the space for it. Either way, I keep it moving.

The trick? I take another shot.

I have my varsity basketball coach to thank for this little mental illusion. I used to obsess over every mistake I made on the court. Then one practice, after a missed shot led to me sulking down the floor, my coach pulled me aside and said, “Faison! Go to the next play.”

When something doesn't go my way, I turn my attention to what's next.

Turns out comedians operate the same way. Someone asked Janelle James, aka Ava from Abbott Elementary and stand-up comic in real life, how comedians keep bombing from messing with their heads. Her answer? “Do another show quickly.”

Same energy. Different stage.

Luther’s “Excuse Me Miss” isn’t just a smooth R&B record. It’s a dating playbook. My mans really said let me just go ahead and leave the cheat code right here:

Why is everyone hating on small talk these days? The lack of banter and the inability to extend a conversation beyond “good morning” is the real thing killing connections (you’re welcome).

A little small talk is essential to bridging the awkward gap in those initial interactions.

Don’t overcomplicate it.

A simple, genuine opener goes a long way. And if the person isn’t interested, the conversation usually dies down pretty quickly on its own.

Okay. So, the person is feeling you. Time to ask them out. I know it’s easier to “what you doing?” someone for weeks, but we’re better than that.

Start small. Low-pressure.

A walk in the park. Dinner somewhere casual. Save the grand gestures for when you actually know each other. This is coming from a Pisces moon and overly swoony romantic who once hired a personal chef for a first date (I was down BAD), so trust me when I say, it pains me to admit this is not the move.

If they say no, walk away. Physically or digitally (put. the. phone. down.).

And “another shot” doesn’t have to mean another person. It can be the creative project you started last month and haven’t touched since. The solo trip you keep meaning to plan.

Or the friend in your phone who’s been waiting for you to call back. That last one usually brings me back to center faster than anything. It’s hard to pine over unrequited affection when you remember all the people already in your life who are actively desiring your presence.

The love is already circulating, fam.

“A win is a win!” My friend Ashley gassed me up after spending all week asking for updates. And she was right. I shot my shot. She heard me.

The date didn’t happen, and that’s okay.

Not every crush is a destination. Some are just showing you the way.

They show us what we’re ready for, what we’re craving, what we’re finally brave enough to say out loud. So whether it lands or not, honor that.

Keep circulating that energy toward the people and places who are already reaching back.

I don’t know if it’s astrology or just plain-ole adulting, but I’ve been having some hard conversations lately. Some with friends, a few lovers, and then there’s my dad.

I’ve been in the thick of it (is it just me or nah?).

The kind of conversations I used to avoid entirely. I kept all my hard things to myself, convinced that if I couldn’t say them perfectly, I shouldn’t say them at all.

I have a speech impediment, and the thought of stumbling over something important, something that mattered, was enough to make me swallow it whole.

Until one day, not saying the Hard Thing sent me to the hospital. All the unmet needs, deferred conversations, and unprocessed anger I held in my body created a mass that needed to be surgically removed.

After that, everything changed.

I deepened my meditation practice to increase my tolerance for discomfort. I asked friends for accountability (and grace). I even got a tattoo of the throat chakra on my inner arm as a reminder that even if my voice shakes, I will still say the Hard Thing.

(my throat chakra tattoo by Chris Colbert at City of Ink)

Author and facilitator adrienne maree brown’s work has been my rider this season. From Loving Corrections to Emergent Strategy to We Will Not Cancel Us, adrienne writes about the practices that make relationships actually work.

I’m reminded that saying the Hard Thing isn’t a threat to love. It’s a test of whether we can hold the truth.

Here’s how this works in my own life:

1. Sit with it first.

“I have learned the difference between intolerable feelings and intolerable conditions.” — adrienne maree brown, We Will Not Cancel Us

I give myself at least 24 hours before I bring a Hard Thing to someone else. I journal. I talk to friends. I have a dance party (who has a good hard feelings playlist?!). I record a voice note to myself and just move through what I’m feeling out loud.

That last one is honestly clutch because it helps me figure out what’s real and what’s just noise.

In Loving Corrections, adrienne frames this inner work as a loving relational practice, one that asks us to take responsibility for our impact and stay curious instead of making assumptions.

The truth is: not everything that hurts my feelings requires an intervention.

Sometimes the thing that hurt my feelings had nothing to do with the other person. After sitting with my emotions, I may realize what happened was a response to some past hurt.

In those moments, I repeat the mantra: “This is not that.”

It helps me distinguish between what is real and what is reactive.

What is mine. What is theirs.

2. Timing is everything.

“Instant judgment and punishment are practices of power over others.” — adrienne maree brown, We Will Not Cancel Us

After I take the time to sit with my feelings and I’m ready to talk, I always ask the other person for permission to share.

Please don’t skip this step, fam.

We can get so caught up in sharing our truth that we forget to create the best possible conditions for someone to actually receive what we’re sharing.

Because if they can’t receive it, what’s the point?

Not everyone is able to hold Hard Things in the moment. They could be having a shitty day, or fighting a quiet battle, or just not have the energy to talk. So, check in first.

Some prompts I’ve used:

Asking if the person consents to hear your Hard Thing is not only loving, it increases the chances that you’ll feel seen, respected, and cared for in the conversation.

3. You’re not responsible for how they receive it.

“Invest your precious life force into relationships where you feel seen, respected, cared for, challenged, grown, accepted as you are, and loved.” - adrienne maree brown, “Murmurations: Love Looks Like Accountability” YES! Magazine, Jul 25, 2022.

This one took me a longgggg time to learn. I used to soften my delivery so much, or backtrack mid-sentence, because I was trying to manage the other person’s feelings.

Until I stopped.

I texted my girl Za after a call that left me unsettled. I didn’t know how she would receive it. But I checked in first, and asked if she had time. What came back surprised me.

She didn’t get defensive.

She just showed up.

Fully.

That’s what’s possible when you say the Hard Thing to the right person.

Saying the Hard Thing is one way you find out who can hold it with you. Use their response as feedback to create a care guide for yourself: where do you need to adjust your boundaries? Is there a pattern here? Should you work through the conflict, or let them go?

You can’t control how someone responds. But you can control what happens after.

4. Say it messy (with care).

“We call it ‘transformative justice’ when we’re throwing knives and insults, exposing each other’s worst mistakes, reducing each other to moments of failure. We call it ‘holding each other accountable.’” — adrienne maree brown, Literary Hub, (2021)

Because I struggled so much with sharing my Hard Things, a friend created a mantra just for us: “Say It Messy.”

She knows the signs.

I start fidgeting. My eye contact is all over the place. I slur my words.

That’s when she reaches for my hand, looks me in the eyes, and repeats: “Hey you. Say it messy.” Instantly, my shoulders dropped, my jaw relaxed, my breathing slowed, and I was grounded enough to share.

Even if it comes out first-drafty. Even if I stutter and stammer. I still say Hard Things with care.

Now listen, I’m not Team “tell it like it is.” And I try to keep the “this is just how I am” folks at a distance.

We don’t do that around here.

It takes courage to speak with intention, to offer feedback without cruelty, and to consider someone else’s feelings.

Like adrienne says: “our words cast spells over each other.”

So does your silence. Say it anyway.

5. Take care of yourself after.

“Audre Lorde taught us that caring for ourselves is ‘not self-indulgence, it is self-preservation, and that is an act of political warfare. We need to learn how to practice love such that care, for ourselves and others, is understood as political resistance and cultivating resilience.” — adrienne maree brown, Pleasure Activism

A hard conversation takes a lot out of me.

So I’ve learned to be intentional about what comes after. My self-care list looks something like this. Yours might look different. Just make sure it brings you pleasure:

1. A long walk through Parque México to the sounds of dogs’ tags jingling like tiny wind chimes, and a street vendor’s sing-song call drifting through the trees.

2. Putting my phone on DND (my screentime is willllllld, seriously considering getting a BRICK, have ya’ll used it?).

3. A comfort meal at my favorite neighborhood taqueria or a beef patty from Te Amo Jamaica (hell yeah, Mexico City has Jamaican food)

4. Dancing at the Please Babe party or wherever my favorite DJ Samia is spinning (lucky for me I live in a city that parties 24/7).

5. And my favorite…cuddles!

What’s on your list?

After saying the Hard Thing, I make a point to tell the other person what I need next. Sometimes I ask for space. Other times I say I need a few days to process before we talk again.

I never want to just disappear after a hard conversation because I know how vulnerable it is to be on the receiving end of one. Naming what comes next is its own kind of care.

It keeps the door open even when you need a little distance.

If the conversation feels unresolved, schedule a check-in for later. Don’t feel pressured to figure it out in one talk.

Pace yourself.

Allow time and space to fill in the gaps while you’re still quieting the noise.

The hardest conversation I’ve had wasn’t with a lover or a friend.

It was with my dad.

He’s been going through a health crisis and for the first time, I had to step into the parent role, advocating for his care, saying the things neither of us wanted to say out loud.

After we hung up, I sobbed. I looked down at my arm. The throat chakra staring back at me. A reminder I put there permanently because I knew I would need it. And I did.

I said the Hard Thing.

Telling the truth is one of the most loving things you can do. For them, yes. But mostly for yourself.

Reflection Questions:

1. What Hard Thing have you been carrying that's ready to be said?

2. Is there someone you’ve been avoiding because the conversation feels too big? What would it look like to start small?

3. Who in your life makes it safe to say the messy, imperfect version of your truth?

4. When did telling the truth surprise you with what came back?

5. How do you come back to yourself after a hard conversation?

Editor’s note: Hurt versus harm. These words are easy to use interchangeably and I do it sometimes, too. But the distinction matters, especially when we’re trying to figure out what a situation actually requires from us. According to Christabel Mintah-Galloway, hurt happens when someone’s wrong action stings. It’s often accidental or unconscious. Harm leaves a mark, emotionally or physically, and it’s often repeated or ignored even after someone asks for change. Knowing the difference helps you know what to do next: practice repair when you’ve hurt someone, set boundaries when you’ve been harmed, and speak up or exit when you’re being abused.

Every year, I read Sula. It’s a ritual I started when I was trying to find my voice as a writer. Similar to Jamal Wallace in Finding Forrester, I read the words of my muses (Toni Morrison, James Baldwin, Maya Angelou..) and documented what felt good as I reached toward the heavens for my own language.

Nothing has challenged me like Sula. And each year I read it, I am undone.

Sula is a deeply polarizing character. She’s a woman born before her time, craving freedom in the Jim Crow South where men clutched the pavement with fear. She had no blueprint for what it meant to be a free woman. She made unconscionable decisions, including sleeping with her best friend’s husband.

Sula was selfish. Unrelenting. But was she unlovable?

And who gets to decide who is unlovable (hint: mainstream media dominated by white savior archetypes)?

Toni Morrison has always challenged who we deem unlovable. In her novel Beloved, Sethe committed an unthinkable act in an attempt to save her children from the horrors of chattel slavery. Even in her unmitigated rage, she was loved by Paul D.

Contemporary authors like Akwaeke Emezi have taken up Morrison’s mantle in their writing, centering trans, queer, and paranormal characters — including a steamy sex scene with the devil himself — blurring lines of “good and bad” in love.

I have Sulas in my own family. Difficult. Complex. Controversial women. But people still show up for them.

Like Sula.

At the end of her life, people brought her medicine. Checked in on her. And even her best friend (yes, the one whose husband went downtown with Sula in their OWN BED) sat down with care for their last conversation and lamented her death with wailing that “had no bottom and it had no top, just circles and circles of sorrow.”

The internet is full of discourse about accountability, being “villagers,” and setting boundaries so hard no relationship can endure them.

I’m grateful to Toni Morrison for reminding us that love is not the prize for living right.

It’s the reward for choosing to live at all.

My favorite part of dinner with friends is the tea from their dating lives. And whew, is it hot. Stories that range from hilarious DMs to cringy messages (why do guys send so many d*ck pics?!) usually end with one complaint: conversations die after one too many “wyd?” texts.

The biggest dating mistake isn’t AI-generated profile pics (although that’s high on the list). It’s asking really bad questions.

So here are 10 of my favorite questions to help you spark more conversations when getting to know someone:

Early/Light (Getting to know you vibes): 🤳🏾

1. What’s your day like?

2. How are you feeling in emojis?

3. What are you looking forward to most this week?

4. What was the highlight of your day?

Mid-stage (Building intimacy): ☺️

5. How are you feeling 1-10?

6. What are you calling in more of this week?

7. What’s one bright spot from your [insert something they mentioned]?

Deeper connection (Showing you care): 🫶🏾

8. How can I make your day brighter?

9. Anything I can do to support?

10. How are you really?

Try one. Maybe two. See who leans in. Because the goal isn’t just to keep the conversation going. It’s about finding your people. 

Yes, I’m that person. I came to Mexico City to visit and moved here immediately. Your girl fell in love before I even unpacked. This week marks my one-year anniversary since I packed up my Atlanta apartment and booked a one-way ticket to a city I’d never been to.

Why, you ask? Between the political puppetry back home and the dysregulating news cycle of violence and distraction, it was a pretty easy decision. And I’m not alone. USA Today recently ran a front-page piece on the influx of Black women moving to Mexico City, following the lineage of Elizabeth Catlett, Maya Angelou, and Katherine Dunham, all Black creatives who left America during times of compounding conflict and dehumanization.

Here’s what a year of unlearning and softening has taught me.

Slowing down to savor

Slowing down has helped me write this new chapter and step into the unknown with clarity. My favorite days are those with no plans, no agenda, only presence. Where drinks with friends turn into sobremesa — literally translating to “over the table” — a tradition where people linger long after the plates are cleared to smoke, talk, and plot after-hours moves.

Mexico City has the pulse of New York nightlife while savoring the ease of mañana culture. Not rushing from one place to another has been a complete nervous system reset. Now I understand that in order to elevate, I have to make space for stillness.

Letting go and grief

Being a polyamorous lover girl, I’ve grown used to new beginnings and a few goodbyes. It’s never easy. But you have to know what’s for you and what’s not. I meet each loss with tenderness and show grace for what remains.

Being in a country that not only reveres loss but dedicates an entire season to honoring those we’ve loved with altars, ceremonies, and parades that fill the streets has healed my relationship to grief.

It reminds me that there’s celebration in letting go, like the funeral stud said: 1, 2, 1...2…3… RELEASE ‘em! 🎈🎈🎈

Friendships bring me back to myself

Who reached out when you got quiet? Who listened to your big dreams and supported your becoming? Which group hangs felt like a deep exhale? I love romantic relationships, but my friends bring me back to myself time and time again.

I’ve been blessed with beautiful friends here in Mexico City. But being away has been a reminder to show up with more intention for my friends back home.

When my dear friend Erin mentioned my text responses were getting further and further in between, my response: say less. We created a virtual coffee date every Tuesday. Just 30 minutes out of our day to check in and catch up.

These rituals have made me braver in my relationships, and the gentle call-ins create an honest inventory of how I’m showing up.

Success on my own terms

Success looks different at every stage of the journey. This year, I scaled down my business to make room for other creative outlets—ceramics, painting, and my first love, writing. Shifting my definitions of success has prepared me for future expansion.

I had to rethink what I thought I wanted. It wasn’t that I didn’t want the same success I had before. I simply outgrew it. And the grief of evolution is real. To be honest, I’m still in the thick of it.

But grief doesn’t mean I’m stuck. My Capricorn energy is big on structure and patience. To help lay the foundation behind the “why” of what I’m building, I’ve started listing three things every day that make me feel successful outside of work.

Here’s today’s list:

• A solid-ass friend group

• My mid-day color walks

• Moving with more emotional clarity

We were designed for pleasure

Mexico City is queer AF. I've had kisses that lingered in cocktail bars and cafes, make-out sessions in speakeasies, and stolen moments waiting for tortas. And the kink scene offers your pick of shibari workshops, swinger parties, and naked tantric yoga all in one day.

We were designed for pleasure. Last year, my intention was to center pleasure in all things. And what a blissful time. The pleasure of the perfect cocktail in Oaxaca. The pleasure of a full-bodied “yes.” The pleasure of dancing until sunrise. This year, I’m deeply curious about desire, the feelings that drive us to want something new or something more.

I don’t have all the answers yet. I’m still figuring out what desire looks like when it’s not tied to performance or productivity. But I know this: every goodbye I’ve honored, every friendship I’ve deepened, every quiet moment I’ve claimed, it’s all been preparation. For what, I’m not sure. But I’m here to find out.

I wore Olivia Dean’s The Art of Loving out. You hear me?! The equal parts sweetness for grief and bold declarations for independence went down like the perfect Negroni for the soul. The lyrics from “Baby Steps,” a gentle reminder that healing is never linear, came back to me during dinner with my friend Amber.

She recently ended a long marriage and realized her loneliness wasn’t loud and boastful—but silent and subtle.

At the end of a work trip, she habitually reached for her phone to text someone she no longer had the same access to.

So she made an ask. To her friends.

She created a group chat with a few of her friends who rack up sky miles, and all they do is text each other when their plane lands. That’s it. No long paragraphs about the trip. No journal entries. Just “Landed.” Some messages are as simple as a plane emoji.

Going through loss, you learn every relationship creates a set of somatic memories.

When I went through a hard breakup, I always felt saddest in the morning, and I couldn’t figure out why. Then it hit me: morning texts. She would send the sweetest voice notes before my days got hazy with run club, entrepreneur pressures, and the demands of being an only daughter. It wasn’t until the relationship ended that I not only missed those texts, but realized my attachment to that feeling.

So I made an ask. To my best friend Morgan.

My bestie started sending me messages in the morning. And shortly, my mornings were less and less sad. Truthfully, it wasn’t totally about the person sending the texts. I missed the sentiment of knowing someone cared enough to cover my day with a little sweetness.

If you’re going through loss, try to find one way to recreate an activity you shared. And getting a little help from the homies doesn’t hurt.

Right, left, baby steps.

"Amor, don't ever say that again."

Vivianne's steely brown eyes cut through my awkward laughter. The conversation: women. Our favorite topic over mezcal espadín and tacos. I'd just told her about a recent date with someone who drew me in with her intellect, but whose sharp comments made me flinch. When I joked that it was fine, that I liked my women a little mean, V reached for my hand and leaned in close.

"Amor, don't ever say that again."

I dropped my drink on the table, making a loud clank, and slumped back in silence.

Truth is: I’m tender. My heart is tender. My feelings are tender. Think Hugh Grant in Notting Hill. My inner world is my comfort zone, and I was so busy managing others’ edges that I forgot my own softness needed protecting.

And being in a cycle of relationships with more damage control than ease became a sneaky form of self-betrayal.

Like the argument with an ex that ended with her saying I was policing her tone when I asked her not to yell.

Looking back, this made sense.

I had very few examples of Black women who were soft in love. I watched Keisha in one of my favorite movies, Belly, mask her softness with dominance for her lover’s attention. And Iesha, whose turbulent relationship took center stage in Poetic Justice.

Even in music, I would blast songs like Ne-Yo’s “When You’re Mad” and harmonize to Common’s sonic marriage proposal “Come Close” like a deeply folded love note: “I kind of laugh when you cuss at me/the aftermath is you touching me.”

Yes. I’m tender. But so are the Keishas and Ieshas. And the women in my own family. They deserve to show up in softness, too.

I vowed to my friend that I would 1) stop saying I liked mean women because words are incredibly powerful and 2) recognize the patterns in the people I was dating and take accountability for what I was allowing.

The day after I set that intention, the sweetest person entered my life. Life has a funny way of showing you what softness can look like when you finally ask for it.