The Inheritance of Care: Love, Labor, Grief

“Your story isn't over," I heard a friend gently say while comforting someone, but somehow, it comforted me too.

Sis, I didn't know I was grieving. I thought I was just tired. Unfocused. Stretched thin like a rubber band—holding everything and everyone, afraid that if I let go, something might snap.

But as I began to lay down the roles I thought were holding me together—overgiving, busyness, being the one everyone leaned on—I started to hear what lived underneath the noise.

A quiet ache.
A hum I'd spent years trying to outrun.

And the more I slowed down, the more I shared, the more I sat with myself—and in community—I recognized it for what it was:

Grief.

So many of us are carrying losses we haven't had the space—or the safety—to name.

And if you're feeling that too, please hear this:

You're not alone.
You're not broken.
And your story is still being written, one breath, one moment at a time.

All year, we've been living into our theme: The Shift — From I'm Fine to I'm Free.

And this month, we're naming what so often goes unspoken: Love. Labor. Grief.
This is the inheritance we carry.

Grief isn't a weakness—it's a sacred breaking open that reshapes us. It doesn't push us toward what's next, but invites us to honor what was and tend to what is. This kind of care asks for more than endurance; it asks for presence, truth-telling, softness, and rest. 

And grief is not a moment to move through quickly—it's a journey to be met with tenderness, and we don't have to walk it alone.

Your Monthly Reflection Question:

What part of me needs care—not correction, not more doing, not more giving—but honest, gentle attention?

This month, we honor Mother's Day—but we're extending it beyond just one day and one role.

And we're naming the labor, love, and loss that often go unseen. The grief that may linger after the cards are put away.

We're making space for the grief we carry:

• Lost mothers and loved ones

• Breakups and heartbreak

• Dreams that didn't unfold

• Caregiving without a roadmap

• Motherhood that looks different

• The version of ourselves we've had to let go

This month isn't about moving on. It's about making room for what's true right now.

Even if you're not ready for what's next, you're allowed to be exactly where you are.

And even here, you're held.

Sis, especially now, when so much in the world feels heavy, uncertain, or out of our control— I hope this serves as a gentle reminder: your story isn't over.

If reading this brought up emotion, tenderness, or a quiet ache, that's okay. That's welcome.

Take a breath.
Drink some water.
Step outside, if you can.

Let your body catch up to what your heart is holding. Give yourself permission to feel what's coming up. Not to fix it. Just to feel it.

And if you need more support, here are couple of places to begin:

– Therapy for Black Girls offers a directory of therapists and a library of tools to support your mental health.

– GriefShare provides free, local grief support groups and online resources for those navigating loss.

You are allowed to grieve. You are allowed to rest. You are allowed to not know what comes next.

Sometimes, the most honest thing we can do is sit with the page we're on. And still—gently, eventually—the story keeps unfolding.

Not because you forced it, but because you gave yourself permission to feel.

You don't have to write that next chapter alone. We're in this with you.