This is a particularly challenging post to write.  I’ve been debating if I should even write it at all.  I’ve stopped and started writing this countless times.  In the journal where I write for this space, there’s starter sentences, and entire passages completely scratched out – yet here I am.  Pencil to page, while literally I lay in bed at the blue hour of day. I’ve been absent from Just Kay Renee for quite some time since my last post, which focused primarily on the importance of processing my feelings.  So much has happened since that post and I’ve been working towards processing it all. Let’s see… In the last…

I thought about my blog today. Feels weird to say because it’s mine.  I own the domain. I pay for the hosting, but rarely do I think about it. To be transparent, I only thought about it this past week because someone very close to me wished me a “happy 1st blog post day”. I didn’t even remember. I wondered why. Why did you start this thing if you didn’t have the intention to at the very least, think about it from time to time? Why continue to pay for it, to just have it sitting on the proverbial shelf? I had no answers to my questions. I stumped myself…

Why is it that as soon as you get to the good part of your growth period, (and I do mean, as soon as), does something occur that will literally have you ready to slip back into old habits and patterns?  When you’re finally getting to a point where you begin to realize that it’s some of your own sh*t getting in the way.  The moment where you’ve become so self-aware that you’re able to catch yourself from slipping, at least 85% of the time (I write this sentence and suddenly DMX’s “Slippin’” plays in my head – but I digress). Those closest to you are beginning to see growth…

I received a random notification on my phone that mentioned that the month of November happens to be “National Adoption Month” (it’s likely not as random as I think because of something I previously GOOGLEDã) and immediately I began to think of my sisters.  I was the only child until the 6th grade.  My mom always wanted more children, but because she didn’t particularly enjoy being pregnant, she decided to become a foster mom.  Some only children, desire a sibling.  I was not one of those children and didn’t desire one at all!  I couldn’t fathom sharing, so when my mom decided to put in the work to become a…

At night, I have these moments with my son before he goes to sleep, where we reconnect after a long day. It’s the time where he has my undivided attention and where the floor is open for him to ask questions or share his feelings about something on his mind. Sometimes, these questions are random and are often things that I don’t have the answer to like “How many eyes does a caterpillar have?“ and we have to ask Google©, (apparently they have 12 eyes, yet poor eyesight, go figure!) but sometimes, these questions are really pretty heavy and render me speechless. I always answer honestly. It’s important to me…

There have been moments when trying to live up to the notion of a “Strong Black Woman” have been so exhausting; a tired feeling felt deep down in my bones. The weight of trying to be strong left my back hunched and my shoulders rounded.  I knew I had to release this notion; this push and pull of appearing strong when I showed up in the world and then having to convince myself – all the while, breaking down in silence.  For many black women, we realize that deep down, we may not be as strong as the masks we wear.  The words we speak, are often not the ones…

I thought that as you age, you automatically grew more confident within yourself.  You’d get older and the confidence meter shifted its dial upward.  Up went the self-assured mindset.  The day you turned 40, your gait would become different.  Clearer and more direct became your steps towards that next phase of your life. I’ve always assumed that goals would finally become fulfilled and check boxes were ticked.  The things you posted on our vision board in your 30’s have come to pass. I’ve heard that when you reach a certain age, you simply cared less what other people thought of you because, well  you’re 40 now — you’re “grown-grown!” Well…

It’s Sunday and 9pm and while I would typically be laying down for bed, scrolling through the TV guide to find an episode of Law & Order: SVU, I am sitting on the floor typing, what could very well be my first blog post.  I love to write.  I always have.  There was a time where I thought I wanted to be a writer.  Win a Pulitzer Prize. Live on a commune full of other writers, as we retreated to small cabins tucked away in the woods, where guided meditation began each morning and Namaste’s were exchanged before settling down to write.  The dream died as reality set in.  Deadlines,…