This morning, as I sit and reflect—as I normally do—I find myself a little overstimulated. My son had an appointment where they had to do an X-ray of his leg, and long story short, it took three of us to hold him down. That moment definitely triggered something in me. On top of that, drop-off at school wasn’t great either, so we had that added to the mix.
I’m also running on fumes after staying up late watching the Super Bowl and still having to wake up early this morning. And let’s not forget my lovely period, which certainly isn’t helping my energy levels.
Anyway, after I got home, I ended up talking to my cousin about the Super Bowl, the halftime performance, and all the conversations happening around it. We’re definitely proud to have a Black man headlining, but the Not Like Us performance left me with mixed feelings. Not because I’m a Drake fan, but because I felt like, when you have a platform that big, you should use it wisely. Dissing another Black man on national television while simultaneously trying to stand for social justice? The message felt a little contradictory. But that’s a conversation for another day.
After that call, I went outside, meditated, and read Proverbs 21. I sat with that for a while, then came back inside and pulled out my notebooks. If there’s one thing about me, I love notebooks. I jot down everything—ideas, reflections, random thoughts, or sometimes full-on journal entries.
The first one I flipped through was from my old corporate job, and that was an interesting blast from the past. The second one held notes about a business I’d been working on for years. That was a whole rollercoaster of emotions. Then I got to a journal entry from my birthday last summer, and that one hit me the hardest.
Last summer, before my birthday, is when everything felt like it truly came crashing down for me. The business I’d poured my heart into for over five years wasn’t going the way I had envisioned. It was a tough pill to swallow because I had so much passion for what I was building. But life happens. You live, you learn, and sometimes, you have no choice but to move forward.
As I kept reading through my journal, I saw the exact moment where my energy shifted—where the strategies and plans I’d been so excited about suddenly stopped. And in their place? Overwhelming emotions, exhaustion, and a deep sense of numbness.
Looking back, I realize a lot of it had to do with surrendering control. When you take a leap of faith, you’re no longer in the driver’s seat. You have to trust that God has your back and that He’s leading you in the right direction. But that process? It’s terrifying.
I started reflecting back to January 2020, and honestly, I think things started unraveling for me as early as late 2019. From that point forward, it was like my brain shut down any ability to process emotions. Trauma hit, grief hit, and my mind was like, Nope. We’re not dealing with this right now. And so, for years, I didn’t.
Then, this past summer, everything I had been avoiding hit me all at once.
To give a little context—February 2020, right before COVID changed everything, my dad’s cancer had progressed. In March, we had planned a huge surprise 80th birthday party for him, but it got canceled due to the pandemic. That was devastating because, at that point, we knew there probably wouldn’t be another birthday to celebrate with him.
By May, it became clear that my dad needed more care, so we made the difficult decision to sell our home, and my parents sold theirs, so we could all move in together. That transition, in June 2020, was one of the most stressful things I’ve ever been through. My husband and I weren’t exactly in the best place at the time, which only made things harder.
Then came July—I turned 30 and decided to start fresh by cutting off all my hair. But even my birthday was tough. My dad, my mom, and my daughter all got COVID, and shortly after, so did I. That was terrifying because, with my dad battling cancer, every little thing felt critical.
By August 2020, I found out I was pregnant—and at the same time, we learned my dad had 3 to 6 months left to live. That moment was surreal because, years prior—probably 5 or 6 years before—I had a dream that I was pregnant at my father’s funeral. In the dream, I gave birth to a chunky baby boy. When I took my pregnancy test and saw the positive result, it was an instant That’s So Raven moment—I flashed back to that dream and immediately knew my dad’s time was short.
That pregnancy was unexpected. I wasn’t planning for another child, and I especially wasn’t ready to have a baby knowing my dad wouldn’t get to meet them.
September 2020, my dad’s health took a steep decline. Watching it happen was heartbreaking. I was working from home at the time, balancing a high-risk pregnancy (due to my history with a micro-preemie and a complicated C-section) while helping care for my father. To top it all off, I was diagnosed with gestational diabetes. It was just… a lot.
But nothing compared to the pain of watching my dad cry. He was the strongest man I knew. Up until his final days, he was active—he walked fast, stayed in shape, and carried himself with strength. Seeing him in pain, seeing him cry… that broke me.
By October, I knew he would pass on Halloween. I don’t know how to explain it, but I just knew. And when that moment came, when he took his last breath, I felt an overwhelming peace. Because at least he wasn’t in pain anymore.
Loss changes you. And when I thought I had time to process, less than a year later, I lost my grandmother—who was like a second mother to me. Watching her decline, after everything I had just been through, was almost too much to bear.
And this is why I think people don’t always understand me. They don’t understand why I’m not working a corporate job, why I’m not moving the way I used to, why I can’t just “snap back” into who I was before all of this. But the truth is, sometimes you can’t be the person you were before everything fell apart.
Healing isn’t linear. It doesn’t happen on a schedule. And it certainly doesn’t make sense to everyone watching from the outside.
But what I do know is this: I’m going to be okay.
I don’t have every step figured out yet, but I trust that things are unfolding exactly as they’re supposed to.
Going through my journal today reminded me of one thing—no matter how long it takes, I’m committed to healing. No matter how messy or misunderstood the process is, I’m honoring where I am. And when the time comes for me to fully step into my greatness, I’ll be ready.
For now, I’m going to keep doing what I love—writing, reflecting, and hopefully helping others in the process.
Because at the end of the day, we’re all human. And it’s okay to not be strong all the time.
👉 Have you ever experienced grief hitting you unexpectedly? Share your story in the comments—I’d love to hear from you!
Unapologetically, Dorothy! ❤️
