January 4, 2026
I grabbed a deck to pull some cards before writing this.
The Empress was at the bottom as the underlying energy.
Behind her, the High Priestess (I couldn’t help but peek).
I smiled. Of course. Of course they show up on my 43rd birthday.
The Empress is the only one in the tarot deck. The evolution of all the queens combined.
There’s only one High Priestess as well, and she comes before the Empress.
This is what 43 feels like as I stand here at my desk.
I’m 43 years old today. Still have a 9-5. Well… sort of. I do quite a bit of freelance work along with taking on private clients to keep the lights on while I build this Temple. And some days that feels like failure. Like I should be further along by now. Like sovereignty should mean I should be done with contract work I don’t really care about. People like to talk shit about business owners who still maintain a 9-5 job in some capacity.
But then I remember: The Empress doesn’t perform sovereignty. She embodies it.
And embodiment means I’m building this Temple while working a job (remotely). Both are true. Both are valid. Doesn’t make me any less of a business owner.
So far, four people bought Write From the Wound during pre-sale.
Four.
Not forty. Not four hundred. Four writers who said yes to shadow work and $17 as sacred exchange.
And you know what? That’s enough. I know more will come. But I’m not chasing numbers. I’m building an institution. And institutions don’t get built overnight.
The Empress doesn’t rush.
She gestates. She nourishes. She creates in divine timing.
And then… she births empires.
My word for 2026 is sovereignty.
Sovereignty means I stop asking if I’m “allowed” to charge what transformation costs.
Sovereignty means I trust my knowing over what people say I “should” do to grow faster.
Sovereignty means I build The Story Temple on my timeline. My rhythm. My image.
And I center Black and Brown writers without apologizing or explaining why that’s necessary.
The Empress doesn’t perform sovereignty. She embodies it.
Here’s what I’m calling in:
Joy. As practice. As fuel. As medicine.
Abundance. Money, yes. But also ideas. Energy. Connections with people who get what I’m building.
Aligned relationships. Collaborators, not competitors. Community, not entitled people looking to extract from me.
Peace. The kind that comes from knowing I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be.
Stability. Sustainable pace. Foundation that holds when things shift.
And 200 writers served through The Story Temple this year.
That’s the number Spirit gave me when I asked. I didn’t question it.
200 writers whose craft deepens because this Temple exists.
At 43, I’m done playing nice. Nice gets you run over and run through — especially as a Black woman. Kindness is different from being nice. Kindness comes with boundaries. Being nice often doesn’t.
I’m a professional editor who’s read manuscripts, worked with real clients and can diagnose problems a lot of generic writing advice can’t name. I created a framework that works across all genres. I integrate spiritual practice and craft excellence without apologizing for either.
Some will call this arrogance.
But it is what it is.
And Spirit confirmed by showing me my own receipts — my journal entries, screenshots saved in my phone, my client testimonials — so I could believe it. So I could feel it in my body instead of just knowing it in my head.
The Empress doesn’t diminish her power to avoid threatening people.
She uses it to create. To nourish. To build.
I’m learning.
My ancestors have been loud lately.
What they keep saying is: It’s time to come out of the shadows and lead.
I’ve been building quietly. Learning. Refining. Getting the framework right before teaching it widely.
That was necessary. The 1 line in my Human Design needs that investigative foundation before I can teach with authority.
But this part of the investigation is complete.
Now it’s time to be seen. To be heard. To claim the teacher-leader role instead of saying “I’m just figuring this out alongside you.”
I’m not just figuring it out anymore.
I know what I know.
I’ve earned the right to teach it.
Even though I’m afraid.
Being afraid means I’m supposed to teach it.
Spirit and my Ancestors keep emphasizing: Focusing on the Black and Brown writing community is deeply important spiritual work.
This ain’t about niche positioning. It ain’t about marketing strategy.
It’s about spiritual practice.
Because we need to go back to our indigenous practices. We need to stop conforming for white comfort. We need to remember we come from traditions of oral storytelling, griots, praise singers and revolutionary writers who risked everything to tell truth.
We need writing education that belongs to us.
Building that — teaching craft that honors our voices, creating community that centers us, offering spiritual-meets-technical education that white institutions won’t — that’s sacred work.
Revolutionary work.
Liberation work.
And I’m honored I was chosen to do it.
In my spirit, I feel this year brings massive change for the collective. Systems breaking down. People waking up to what’s been broken all along.
My friend Empress Theadora said we’re at a crossroads. Some will choose the path of The Wheel of Fortune. Others, the Magician. One path isn’t better than the other.
But I see chaos coming. Necessary destruction. Release.
And in that chaos, institutions that truly serve us become vital.
The Story Temple isn’t some cute writing group.
It’s an anchor, calling Black and Brown writers home to themselves.
Sovereignty is my word.
Liberation is my energy.
Every piece of writing I create: Does it free us or perform for them?
Every pricing decision: Does it reflect sacred exchange or shrink to avoid judgment?
Every teaching choice: Does it serve Black and Brown writers first or try to be “universal”?
Every collaboration: Does it expand what’s possible or require me to code-switch?
Liberation as filter. Liberation as compass. Liberation as practice.
True liberation isn’t just claiming my own freedom. It’s building structures that make freedom possible for others — those who came before us and those who will come after.
True liberation isn’t just claiming my own freedom.
It’s building structures that make freedom possible for others. Those who came before us. Those who will come after.
The Story Temple is that structure.
Craft mastery without assimilation. Spiritual wisdom without apologizing. Community without code-switching.
That’s what I’m building with in 2026.
Today is January 4th.
My birthday.
In 15 days, I launch Write From the Wound on MLK Day.
Four people already said yes to exploring the underworld with me.
That feels like the perfect birthday gift.
Because it means my work is resonating. It means people trust me to guide them through shadow work they need to begin to write from a more liberated place. It means The Story Temple is becoming what I envisioned.
2025 was brutal. Personally. Professionally. Collectively.
Just ridiculous and stupid and brutal.
But I’m still here.
Still building.
Still believing.
And I celebrate myself for surviving it all.
So today I’m lighting candles on my altars in gratitude. Pulling cards for the year ahead. Making myself a steak dinner along with a red velvet cake with cream cheese icing. Resting before the WFTW launch begins. Thinking about how I’ve been a mother for 21 years (my firstborn’s bday was yesterday).
Trusting that 43 is the year everything I’ve been building comes into full form.
The Empress doesn’t rush.
She gestates.
She nourishes.
She creates in divine timing.
And then… she births empires.
Happy birthday to me.
Happy new year to us.
Let’s write free.
Next Reflection drops January 18 - the eve of the Write From the Wound launch.
This was a good read for recentering ourselves. Happy Birthday!! 🎂
I'm so excited about what you're teaching, I'm shaking. I have to go ground myself. Thank you for comig into my writing life. 2026 feels like a creativity explosion for me, and you're an enormous part of it. Happy Birthday.