A dark brown woman walks barefoot across a golden desert at dusk, her flowy earth-toned dress lifted gently by the wind. The camera captures her from behind, mid-step, with each footprint behind her glowing faintly with unseen light. The horizon stretches wide and open, mountains casting long shadows, as the warm amber sky envelops the entire scene in a sense of reverence and quiet revelation. She moves forward without hesitation, her presence commanding and soft all at once. There is no rush—only rhythm. Her path doesn’t erase the past—it transforms it.

Releasing Insecurity

Releasing Insecurity Last week, I caught myself shrinking. Again. I was about to speak up—heart open, words ready—and suddenly, this familiar fog rolled in, as if to block the flow of thought within me, to prevent me from expressing something at work and with someone I care about. It didn’t come loud or chaotic. It came quietly, like a shadow sliding across my chest. The kind of doubt that doesn’t just question my idea—it questions my right to say it out loud. My body tensed. My voice softened. I adjusted my posture, my tone, my presence. And I didn’t say what I really wanted to say. In that moment, I recognized what was happening—insecurity moving through my space again. I asked myself if I invited…