W I L D
(it’s wild to me, too)
Happy Fallentines Day to the lovers, the healers, the tired, the detached,
and everyone somewhere in between.
It’s wild right? It’s wild to me too…
Only my WILD isn’t chaos.
It’s holy.
It’s wild to me how long it took me to understand why I am the way I am.
Back then, I didn’t have the language.
Now, I do.
I’ve always loved deeply. Felt deeply. Moved differently. I’ve always known that love wasn’t meant to be shallow, performative, or seasonal — even when the world tried to convince me otherwise.
People notice the contradictions first.
A woman with “lover” tattooed on her hand who laughs at Valentine’s Day.
A woman who refuses to make just any man a plate.
A woman who knows marriage can be sacred — but also knows that when it’s built on need, pressure, obligation, or the need for confirmation, it isn’t always love.
That doesn’t confuse me.
It clarifies me.
My WILD isn’t rebellion.
It’s discernment.
We are watching people rush toward milestones while bypassing meaning. Posting happiness instead of cultivating it. Calling possession love. Calling fear “standards.” Calling armor “strength.”
And pardon my French here — but I think we’re fucking this up.
How do I know?
Look at the state of the world.
If Valentine’s Day, marriage, and church — as we’ve been practicing them — were actually working, do you think we’d be standing here watching everything feel like it’s about to go up in flames?
So maybe instead of pretending, we light a bonfire.
Dance this out.
Tell the truth.
Hug one another — real quick — before we are All forgotten again.
Because if Revelation is telling us that this is the end, then this is my revelation:
What I knew the world to be ended in 2020 for me.
And ever since then, I decided that if I’m going to be here — it has to be joyful. No matter what. That’s the only way this works.
At least for me.
Ashes to ashes.
Dust to dust.
I say this with my religion — but I’m questioning, and I’m ready to discuss.
If these are the ending times, and politics seem to be showing it to be true, then it doesn’t really matter what either of us think —
When there is no me without you.
Whether London or American bridges are burning,
what does it really matter if in the end we’re all just returning?
Ashes to ashes.
Dust to dust.
None of it really matters — we’re all just stardust.
So if the world is going up in flames,
and if politics are showing it to be true,
Revelation — my revelation — is this:
This isn’t a political statement.
It’s a human one.
A woman’s heart is sacred ground.
And sacred ground deserves care — not constant defense.
And a Black woman’s heart?
I’m not even going to go there here.
If you want to understand that — truly understand it — I talk about it more personally and most deeply inside HER Universe-city on my Patreon. That conversation deserves space, context, and care.
I digress. Let me go on.
I spent quite some time last summer with my brother and sister, and my two nieces — and what I experienced changed me.
I noticed many beautiful things, but one of my favorites was their bedtime routine. I watched my brother and sister put my nieces to bed — not rushed, not dismissed.
Well… maybe a little dismissed, if I know my brother.
But most importantly, it was done through ritual. Through mutual understanding. Through intention. Through shared devotion.
And this is what the Bible speaks of when two people come together in praise.
Now let me be clear: when I say church didn’t save me in a certain moment of my life, I’m not throwing stones at church. I love my church. I love what church gave me. I don’t believe I’d be the woman I am without it — without a woman who believed in her minister, believed in her church home, and believed in religion enough to give me structure.
I don’t know where I would be without a great-grandmother like her — one who taught me faith, discipline, prayer, reverence, and discernment. And that’s exactly why I feel obligated to say this next part out loud.
I love my religion — and I’m honest enough to say that sometimes I’ve found it restricting, and sometimes I’ve seen it taken out of context.
I was kicked off the church choir when I became pregnant out of wedlock. And my great-grandmother was deeply upset — not only because I was pregnant and unmarried (because she believed in that standard), but because of what the church’s response actually produced.
She said, “How are you ever going to learn why marriage matters — how it produces something fruitful — if they send you away now? This is exactly when they should have kept you close.”
That’s where I can agree.
Because as a child, I painfully watched my mother go in and out of “church” — back and forth between home and the streets. She brought one thing to every place she went, and that was her pure heart. It couldn’t be contained in one building.
I later learned it couldn’t even be contained to this earthly plane.
She didn’t leave church empty-handed.
She didn’t leave the streets empty-handed either.
While I was so focused on her failures as a mother, I hadn’t yet felt the depth of her hurt as a Black woman — nor the depth of her pain as a human being.
Only now, knowing her as pure positive energy — holy spirit — do I understand that she carried the most valuable thing back and forth the whole time: her heart.
Full of love. Holding the ladder. Alchemizing duality.
She brought what she had with her. And sometimes that’s all people can do — bring what they have back to wherever they land.
What my great-grandmother didn’t like was that instead of being held and guided, I was removed — now back on the streets, belly and all.
That’s what she didn’t like about the church.
Because when the person who brought me into this world left this world… church wasn’t around to save me.
My heart was.
My understanding was.
And with all of that being said — this is what Love Unconditional is really about.
It’s about stopping the habit of choosing love based on appearances.
Chemistry.
Aesthetic.
How someone looks next to you.
It’s about knowing, without shame:
I’m not making a plate for just anybody.
I used to think something was wrong with me because I wouldn’t settle.
Now I feel grateful.
Grateful that while I have a beautiful family — a blended family — I didn’t rush what required reverence.
Because the Cinderella story doesn’t work if you don’t have a fairytale heart to start with.
And a fairytale heart isn’t naïve.
It’s discerning.
It knows when to dance — and when to stand still.
My wild is holy.
And if you don’t understand that —
maybe we’re just not the same.
And that’s okay too.
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