There’s something sacred about booking a flight for one. No group chat planning chaos. No waiting for someone else to have the money, the time, or the boldness. No negotiating where to eat, shop, or stay. Just you — deciding to go, because you deserve to go. Traveling alone is not just a vacation as a Black woman. It’s resistance. It’s healing. It is taking space in a world that so often requires us to shrink, sacrifice, settle. It’s saying I deserve joy and ease and exploration and safety — right now, not when conditions are perfect. Travel becomes a Mirror. Few journeys are measured in miles but in moments: Breakfast alone without feeling lonely. Treat yourself to dessert because no one is there to judge your sweet tooth. Getting lost and realizing you’re actually capable of finding your way. Laughing with strangers in broken languages. Crying over a sunset because life just feels larger than your routine.

Travel holds up a mirror. It reveals who you are when you’re not performing. When no one knows your title, your sorority, your responsibilities, your “strong Black woman” armor … who are you? Sometimes, you learn: I’m softer than I pretend. I’m bolder than I thought. I am wiser than I ever give myself credit for.

Single Does Not Mean Still.  There’s a myth out there that joy is something we wait to share with a partner in the future — the “right person” to travel with, to explore with, to live with. But when we are constantly saving life until some distant time, we are missing ourselves. Traveling solo says:  I don’t have to postpone sunsets. I don’t have to wait to eat good food. I don’t have to shrink my life until someone else is ready to join me. Single is not a break from it; it is a passport.

Being a Black Woman Abroad. Let’s be honest: There are layers to traveling as a Black woman. There are stares, questions, curiosity, often ignorance — and yet there’s something charged about entering into a place where you are rare and radiant. Where your skin is admired, your presence remarkable, and people want to know your story. In many nations, Black women are not simply stereotypes first — they are considered travelers, thinkers, customers, explorers. Once again you get to be outside of the narrative America wrote for you. You become the narrator. You become the adventure.

The Healing Is in the Unplanned. The gift of traveling solo is the gradual liberation to follow your intuition:  Perhaps you linger a little longer at the café. Perhaps you follow a hidden beach a stranger suggested. Perhaps you go elsewhere and discover something life-changing. Solo travel shows you ways to trust the voice you’ve been stifling to the background the whole time: the voice that knows what you need, what you like, what you’re curious about. In regular life, we mute ourselves in order to fit into roles… but when we’re travelling, curiosity becomes your North Star.

The World’s One and Last True Lesson. The world is trying to speak a very simple truth: You are allowed to take up space. Not just in love. Not just at work. Not only when you are serving other people. But in joy. In rest. In wonder. Solo travel makes you fall in love with your own company. You know you aren’t waiting to live. You are living. Fully. Fearlessly. Finer.

A Passport Is Not an Exercise in Document — There Is Promise involved here. It’s a promise not to reduce your life to whatever anyone else’s timing is. It’s a vow: Curiosity itself is part of your calling. It’s a promise that joy is nonnegotiable. You deserve oceans. You are worthy of stamps. It’s your life worth celebrating in color. And whenever you find yourself thinking that traveling alone may have become a big problem, remember: the world isn’t waiting for you to be less single — it’s waiting for you to be more alive.

According to LaShonda

Loving Myself Through Holiday Grief

Singleness forces you to look at yourself — not in judgment, but in truth.
Grief forces you to feel things you’d rather outrun.

But together.
They also reveal strength you didn’t know you had.

What this season has taught me:

1. My heart is resilient.
2. My loneliness deserves compassion, not shame.
3. I can hold both longing and gratitude without losing myself.
4. Self-love is not a backup plan — it’s a foundation.
5. I deserve a holiday that honors me, not expectations.

“I am learning that the softer I am with myself, the stronger I become.”

According to LaShonda

There’s a special kind of loneliness that hits during December:

The drive home after a gathering.
The quiet house when the laughter fades.
The untouched side of the bed.
The empty chair at the table.
The moment you realize no one texted to say “did you get home safe?”

People don’t talk about that loneliness.
They talk about “holiday cheer,” parties, family, and festivities — but not the ache that sneaks in with the cold.

You can be surrounded by people
and still feel alone.
You can be grateful
and still feel emptiness.
You can be healing
and still have nights that break you open.

“The world sees the holiday smile. Only you feel the weight behind it.”

-According to LaShonda

When the Holiday Doesn’t Look Like You Imagined

We all had a picture in our minds at some point —
a partner, a family, a certain kind of holiday magic.

And when life doesn’t look like that picture, the holidays can sting.

But here’s the truth:

Your life is not late.
Your love story is not canceled.
Your joy is not behind schedule.
Your future is not slipping away.

Sometimes the holiday that looks “different” is the one that grows you the most.

Sometimes the unexpected space becomes room for healing.
Or transformation.
Or new traditions.
Or new connections.
Or quiet miracles you didn’t see coming.

“Sometimes the holiday we didn’t imagine becomes the one that heals us the most.”

According to LaShonda

 Singleness used to feel like something I had to “get through” during the holidays — like once January hit, I could breathe again.

But over the last couple of years, something shifted.
I stopped trying to survive the holidays and started designing them.

Not for a partner.
Not for tradition.
But for me — the woman I am now, the woman I’m becoming.

1. I Give Myself Gifts Now

Not out of loneliness —
out of love.

A book I want to read.
A piece of jewelry.
A trip.
A new robe.
Something that says, “You matter too.”

2. I Create a Ritual That Honors My Loved Ones

Sometimes I:

• Light a candle
• Play one of their favorite songs
• Cook something they loved
• Say their name aloud

I don’t hide my grief anymore.
I weave it into the season with intention.

3. I Simplify Everything

I used to overextend myself because I didn’t want anyone to notice how lonely or sad I felt.

Now?
If my spirit says no, the answer is no.

4. I Travel or Take a Personal Day

One year I stayed home and watched Christmas movies.
Another year I left the country.
Both were healing in different ways.

Tradition doesn’t always have to look the same to hold meaning.

5. I Make Room for Joy — Even Small Joy

A laugh.
A good meal.
A beautiful sunrise.
A cozy blanket.
A call from someone who loves me.

Joy doesn’t erase grief —
but grief doesn’t cancel joy either.

Closing Thought

I used to think the holidays required a certain kind of family, a certain kind of relationship, or a certain kind of happiness.

Now I know the holidays just require a heart that shows up — however it can.

According to LaShonda

 When the Holidays Feel Heavy

“For many of us, the holidays don’t feel magical — they feel complicated.”

The holidays have a way of magnifying everything — joy, grief, loneliness, longing. When you’re navigating loss and singleness, the season can feel like a double-weight, something you’re carrying quietly behind the smile people expect to see.

Some of us walk into rooms alone, go home alone, and take a deep breath before every gathering because we’re trying not to cry from the weight of all the memories and empty chairs.

This blog is for the ones who are doing the best they can with hearts that are still healing.

 When Everyone Assumes You’re “Okay”

People mean well, but the holidays come with pressure:

Smile. Be grateful. Participate. Be joyful.
Meanwhile your heart whispers:
“I’m tired.”
“I miss them.”
“This season is so heavy.”

Walking through the holidays while single means you become your own emotional anchor.
And no one sees that work — but it counts.

“Sometimes the hardest part of the holidays is pretending you’re fine.”

The Ache of What’s Missing

Grief shows up in unexpected ways — a song, a scent, a tradition you used to share.

Then there’s the loneliness layered on top:
“No one checks on me like that.”
“No one sees my struggle.”
“No one is here when the night finally quiets down.”

Singleness can be empowering — but during the holidays, it can feel like navigating the deep end without a life vest.

Trying to Celebrate With a Broken Heart

Sometimes you decorate.
Sometimes you don’t.
Sometimes you go to events.
Sometimes you stay home in pajamas with a blanket and a movie that makes you cry.

Both are valid.
Both are human.
Both are healing.

What I’m Learning (Slowly, Gently, Imperfectly) daily

 1. It’s okay to choose a softer holiday.

Fewer events, more rest, more honesty.

 2. It’s okay to create new traditions.

Buy yourself a gift.
Make yourself a special dinner.
Travel somewhere warm.

 3. It’s okay to admit you’re lonely sometimes.

Loneliness is not failure — it’s human connection calling.

4. You can want love AND love your life.

These desires don’t compete — they coexist.

5. It’s okay to miss someone who is no longer here.

You don’t have to “be over it” because the calendar says “holiday.”

“You can be healing and hurting.
You can be grateful and grieving.
You can be strong and still wish someone was holding your hand.”

 A Quiet Kind of Hope

Singleness doesn’t mean you’re unloved.
Grief doesn’t mean you’re stuck.
And the holidays don’t have to be all or nothing.

One day… the holidays won’t feel this heavy.
One day… the memories won’t cut as deep.
One day… joy will feel natural again.

Until then — give yourself the gentleness you deserve

 Holiday Affirmation

“Even in my loneliness, I am worthy of love.
Even in my grief, I am allowed joy.
I am not behind. I am not forgotten.
I am held — by memory, by healing, by hope.”

-According to LaShonda

When the World Teaches You to Hide

For so long, I thought intimacy started with someone else.

The look in their eyes. The warmth of their touch. The feeling of being wanted.

But what I’m learning — painfully, beautifully, and slowly — is that intimacy begins with being seen by yourself.

And that’s hard when you’ve spent years hiding parts of who you are just to survive in a world that studies your body before it ever listens to your story.

Black women are often seen through the wrong lens — too much, too loud, too sensual, too strong. Our bodies are praised and punished in the same breath. And when you grow up hearing all those contradictions, it’s easy to start shrinking, performing, or protecting instead of simply being.

“Intimacy isn’t about exposure — it’s about acceptance.”

The Difference Between Being Looked At and Being Seen

There’s a difference between someone looking at you and someone seeing you.

To be looked at is to be judged, measured, compared.

To be seen is to be witnessed — fully, freely, without expectation.

The Black body has always existed under the gaze of others. History has taught us to be careful with our skin, our curves, our hair, our very presence. That constant awareness can disconnect us from our own desire and pleasure, replacing softness with self-protection.

But learning to be seen starts when you take back that gaze — when you decide that your body isn’t a performance, it’s a home.

“My body isn’t up for debate. It’s where I live, and I deserve to live here in peace.”

The Work of Softness

Softness is rebellion when the world expects you to be unbreakable.

Learning to be seen means learning to let yourself feel — the joy, the grief, the awkwardness, the pleasure. It means letting your guard down long enough to say, “This is me today,” without apology.

It’s not easy work. It’s vulnerable, messy, and sacred. But it’s how we return to our bodies — by choosing them, every day, even when we don’t feel beautiful.

A Reflection Forward

My journey toward intimacy is still unfolding.

But I’m starting to understand that being seen — truly seen — begins with honesty. With mirrors that don’t lie. With relationships that honor your truth.

This is what Sex for Every Body is about: the freedom to be seen and loved as we are, not as we’re expected to be.

Because when we learn to be seen, we also learn to heal.

According to LaShonda

The Silent Struggle Beneath the Sparkle

“For many, the holidays are not the most wonderful time of the year—they’re the heaviest.”

The holiday season brings lights, laughter, and the expectation of joy. But for those who are grieving, including me, it can also bring emotional exhaustion, loneliness, and a longing for someone who isn’t here.

Grief doesn’t pause for celebrations. It sits quietly at dinner tables, in empty chairs, and between verses of familiar carols. It can make joy feel like betrayal and peace feel out of reach. I describe it as an emotional roller coaster.  I want to be happy and experience happiness, and then the next moment I’m overwhelmed with sadness and guilt.  Why am I celebrating when I should be sitting in a corner, sad? That’s not always reality.

Why the Holidays Hit Hard:

The holidays are powerful emotional markers. They stir memory and meaning—two things that grief amplifies. Whether it’s the smell of your loved one’s favorite dish or the sound of their favorite song, reminders can flood your heart with both love and loss.

Common Experiences Include:

• Emotional whiplash: Feeling joyful one moment and tearful the next

• Survivor’s guilt: Wondering how to celebrate when your loved one cannot

• Social fatigue: Pressure to attend gatherings when you’d rather rest

• Isolation: Withdrawing to avoid awkward questions or painful reminders

“You’re not broken for struggling through the holidays. You’re grieving in a season that demands joy.”

Finding Meaning Without Pretending

It’s possible to honor your grief while still engaging with the holidays—on your terms. Healing doesn’t mean forcing cheer; it means allowing authenticity.

1. Give Yourself Permission to Feel

Let your emotions come as they are—without guilt. Grief and gratitude can coexist. One doesn’t cancel the other.

2. Create a New Ritual

Honor your loved one in a meaningful way. Light a candle in their memory, cook their favorite meal, or set aside a moment of silence before family dinner.

3. Redefine “Celebration”

You don’t have to do it all. Maybe celebration looks like rest, reflection, or quiet connection. It’s okay to simplify traditions or skip events that feel too heavy.

4. Ask for What You Need

If gatherings feel overwhelming, communicate your limits. Let loved ones know you may need to step outside, take a break, or leave early.

5. Seek Support

If sadness lingers or deepens, reach out for help. A grief counselor or support group can provide safety and validation.

---

💬 Pull Quote

“Grief doesn’t demand we forget; it invites us to love differently, in memory and in meaning.”

A Therapist’s Reflection

I often tell my clients: healing through the holidays isn’t about replacing the past—it’s about learning to live beside it.

There’s no single way to “do” the holidays in grief. Some years you may decorate; others you may stay home with tea and tears. Both are valid.

Grief is love without its home, and it deserves room at the table, too.

Closing with Hope

The holidays can be heavy, but they can also be healing. In between the noise and the lights, there’s space for stillness—space to remember, breathe, and simply be.

Affirmation:

“I honor my grief as an expression of love. I allow myself to celebrate, rest, or simply exist in peace.”

If You’re Struggling

• U.S.: Dial or text 988 for the Suicide and Crisis Lifeline

• Japan (English line): TELL Japan – 03-5774-0992

• Online Therapy Resources: PsychologyToday.com | EMDRIA.org

Healing in Motion: How Traveling the World Helped Me Grieve and Grow

There’s a quiet kind of healing that happens when you’re in motion—when the plane lifts off, and the familiar fades into clouds. I didn’t set out to “heal” when I started traveling; I just needed space to breathe. Yet somewhere between airport gates and ocean sunsets, I found myself confronting the parts of me that had long gone silent—the ache of missing my mother, the weight of family I could no longer call, and the friendships that time and loss had tenderly closed.

“Sometimes the healing you need doesn’t happen at home—it happens on the road, where the world holds a mirror to your soul.”

The Healing Power of Distance

Grief is heavy when it stays still. I learned that leaving familiar places—especially around the holidays—gave me permission to feel differently. In Paris, I felt my mother’s grace in the way light danced on the Seine. In Kenya , I felt the ancestral strength of those who came before me. In each country, I met strangers who offered kindness that stitched me back together, one gentle word at a time.

Travel didn’t erase the pain; it redefined it. It showed me that loss and beauty can exist together—that you can laugh deeply even while your heart remembers.

Traveling Through the Holidays

The holidays have always been hard. The twinkling lights remind me of family dinners, laughter, and traditions that now live only in memory. So instead of sitting in the silence, I choose to travel—to honor them differently.

In a new country, I light a candle in their memory. I visit a local market and buy something they would have loved. I write postcards I’ll never send, whispering words of gratitude for the time we shared.

“Grief doesn’t vanish—it travels with you. But when you move, it transforms.”

Finding Connection in Every Corner

Travel taught me that love doesn’t end with death—it expands. Each destination gives me new ways to honor my mother’s nurturing, my friends’ laughter, my family’s joy. I feel them in the sunrise over the Pacific, in the rhythm of music in a bustling square, in my own laughter echoing back at me.

When I meet people from around the world, I’m reminded that loss is universal, but so is resilience. We may speak different languages, but the language of love and remembrance is the same.

Closing Reflection

Traveling the world has become a portion of my therapy, my prayer, and my way of staying connected to those I’ve lost while continuing to live fully. This journey isn’t about escaping grief—it’s about transforming it into gratitude.

“The world became my sanctuary, and in every horizon, I found a little more of myself.”

-According to LaShonda

Why I’m Writing This Now

Lately, I’ve been sitting with my reflection — not just the one in the mirror, but the one that lives inside of me. The older I get, the more I realize how much of my self-image was shaped long before I ever had a say in it. Between social media filters, cultural standards, and the subtle messages we absorb as Black women, it’s easy to lose sight of who we truly are.

Writing this is my way of coming home to myself — and inviting others to do the same.

“Sometimes the truth gets tangled in what the world tells you to believe about your body — especially when that body is Black and woman.”

The Mirror and Me

I’ve spent years learning to see myself. Not the “selfie” version or the filtered one, but the raw, unedited image that stares back at me when the world gets quiet. For a long time, I didn’t know that what I saw in the mirror wasn’t always real. I thought it was truth.

But sometimes, the truth gets distorted — reshaped by what the world tells you is beautiful, acceptable, or enough.

The Black Body in the World

Growing up, the Black body was both celebrated and critiqued — desired but misunderstood. Our curves were praised in one space and policed in another. Our hair was “too much,” our skin “too dark,” our lips “too full.”

It’s exhausting trying to exist in a body that the world wants to edit. That constant scrutiny can make you question what’s beautiful, what’s enough, and ultimately… what’s you.

“It’s not about changing how we look — it’s about healing how we see.”

The Quiet War

Body dysmorphia isn’t just about wanting to look different — it’s about struggling to see yourself clearly. It’s the quiet war between your reflection and your reality.

For Black women, that war can feel generational. It’s wrapped up in colorism, Eurocentric beauty ideals, trauma, and the never-ending expectation to be both “strong” and “flawless.”

Listening Instead of Fighting

Over time, I realized my healing began when I stopped fighting my body and started listening to it.

When I stopped asking it to shrink, to soften, to blend in — and instead asked, “What do you need to feel loved?”

That question changed everything.

“Our reflection doesn’t need to be fixed — it needs to be understood.”

A Love Letter in the Making

This exploration led me to my dissertation  project— Sex for Every Body.

It’s a love letter and self help manual to the parts of ourselves that have been silenced by shame and distortion. It’s about intimacy, identity, and the sacred relationship we build with the skin we live in.

As I move deeper into this work, I’m learning that our bodies have always known the truth: we are worthy, even when we don’t recognize ourselves.

🌿 A Glimpse Ahead

Sex for Every Body is the next chapter in this conversation — one that explores how Black women experience intimacy, desire, and self-acceptance when body image and cultural identity collide.

My hope is that this journey creates space for honesty, softness, and collective healing. Because we deserve to see ourselves — fully, freely, and without apology.

According to LaShonda