You can feel it coming up and boiling inside you. Sometimes, my eyes twitch like something within me is about to blow. That feeling scares me. I’ve been trained to suppress it, we all have, as Black women, especially in America.

The Black woman's rage was cultivated by everyone but us. White men started the initial objective, while white women personally pushed it. Unfortunately, what Black women were not expecting was for Black men to also attempt to put their foot on our necks, too, but in private, at home with our children. Then collectively, the three groups pushed the narrative further by labeling us as the “Angry Black Woman”, as if we didn’t have a reason to be from the start.

The history of the Black woman’s rage in America dates back to slavery, because the objective has been to dismantle the Black household unit. Dividing our unity as a community is one thing, but as a family, taking my spouse and my children, I will become outraged. But should I be “respectable” and contain my anger, I can organize a plan to either free myself or get my family back.

The child support crackdown, or “child support compliance” as the system named it, really lights a fire to my rage flame. See, white women experienced something different in court than Black mothers. They got their money, and the fathers walked out of the courtroom, but Black mothers left with no money, and the father didn’t walk out of the courtroom free, but in handcuffs. It had nothing to do with protecting children and everything to do with preserving white comfort. What pisses me off is that these white mothers claimed to be our allies, but only their race received the benefit of our support.

It’s this allyship that lights my fire, burning down everything in my path. My rage is information; my rage gives me insight into what my mind tries to suppress when my heart aches. I will not say that I do not like white women and men, but I will say that the hatred that spews from them towards Black women triggers my rage. As Audre Lorde stated, the hatred that is spread in this country towards Black people is the exact projection placed on Black women’s rage.

When you see Black women enraged because the government that made her choose their support over the father is left with nothing because SNAPS and WIC are cut, don’t say a word. Don’t ask her to suppress her rage; hold space for her fury because this is the only way to bring about change.

“Anger is a grief of distortions between peers, and its object is change.” Audre Lorde followed that sentence by saying our time is getting shorter, and today the time is here. I believe it’s time to be outraged, furious, angry, MAD AS HELL if you will.

This essay is not to go down the rabbit hole of the many systems that have been created to oppress my race, but this essay is my safe space to express how these systems in place are utter bullshit and trigger my rage.

I do not fear a Black woman expressing her fury, but I do fantasize pistol-whipping anyone who dares say or do anything racist to me and mine. White America does not fear the Black woman’s rage; they fear our “vengeance”. Kali Nicole Gross writes, “Vengeance feminism is defined by Black women defending themselves against dishonor, violence, and lawlessness, and taking control of [our] bodies with respect to reproduction by whatever means necessary.”

Rage is self-respect activating within the Black woman’s body, and we know the body remembers. The body knows what Black women have endured year after year in this country. Our bodies have been used like lab rats through forced sterilizations and the eugenics movement. Doctors called it “science,” but it was actually the fear of our extended lineage. Y’all do understand this “war” against us is because white supremacy fears being the minority, as if they aren’t already. Fannie Lou Hamer called it the “Mississippi Appendectomy,” Black women going to hospitals for care and coming out without wombs. Therefore, our rage is not destructive; it is prophecy and liberation, whether America is ready to accept that or not.

Hatred in this country will lead to destruction, but the Black woman’s rage is the creative power that births transformation. When we allow our rage to spew in the same way hatred does, we will begin to see the change in America that we deserve. I create change in my anger, my fury fuels my creativity, my rage is alchemized.

They call our rage dangerous, but what do you call a government that attacks a community’s womb, wallet, and warriors at the same time? I would name them what they name our community when we decide to organize, a terrorist.

Ready to alchemize your 'Black woman rage' for change?

As Black women, we are shamed for our righteous outrage because it makes people uncomfortable. However, usually, the only people uncomfortable are the ones who provoked the rage to begin with.

So I am imploring all Black women to stop suppressing your rage to be “respectable”, stop ignoring the emotions boiling to the surface, the silence is submission, and that silence is literally killing us through disease. Get mad, express your anger, let these motherfuckers know Black women are fed up and we’ve had enough!

It’s time to let America feel our wrath.

And once we get our foot on their necks, DON’T LET UP!

xoxo,

Chronicles of Change is a reader-supported publication. This space is built on community, creativity, and truth-telling. If you want to support the work, you can join as a paid subscriber; it’s $30/year. Your support helps me write, build, and grow in real time.

Community Center

* and now Miguel just dropped one of the best EPs of the year, listen here: https://www.andnowmiguel.com/agohfs

* Zine Studio Membership as a creative outlet for Black women rage, next workshop Saturday, November 15th, 12-2 pm PT, register here: https://www.jacquieverbal.com/product/zine-studio/AUPZSE762YKVUUF7WJKEAKWC?cs=true&cst=custom

* Lakeisha | Temple Priestess is the Novel November Ambassador for ProWritingAid’s challenge to write 50,000 words in 30 days, aka finish that manuscript challenge, more details here:

I’m an ever rollin’ wheel, without a destination real

Running in circles while terrorized to walk a straight line. Battling with the deconstructive sprint that was implanted in each of us by enculturation. They used culture as an instrument of power.

This ignited the spark that led me into a deep dive of research, asking the questions, who conditioned my mama and ‘em, and how did they not see they were being conditioned? I found myself seeking the answers to help me understand the psychology of supremacy. How did this conditioning result in us accepting ourselves as inferior beings? The European frame of reference has become a part of our own personal worldview.

Toni Morrison taught us to write for ourselves and not the white gaze, while Mambai Ari taught us how to decolonize our minds from their frame of reference. Everything in life has a cause and effect, and the cause of white supremacy has affected everything about Black culture as we know it today. And if you try to say this can’t be true, humans cannot condition the mindset of another group of humans so much that it changes their way of living. To that, I would tell you to do some research on pigeons. They don’t even know how to be birds after being domesticated while being used as messenger birds.

However, it’s something so special about Black people and our connection to the Universe when we are in our practice of writing. In the book, Yuguru, Mambai Ari breaks down how the African worldview is based on spirituality and our connectedness to the Universe.

Yuguru explains how the European frame of reference is not spiritual, so therefore the past, present, and future are separate in their ideology. While we believe our ancestors are a part of us and we are the vessel for them to express freely, the Europeans look at their forefathers as competition with them presently, not as a guiding light. They do not have a connection to them, and because their world is a one-dimensional linear line, the past and the present coexist as one time in their eyes. The future is unknown, so they fear it, and that ideology has conditioned many of us indoctrinated in this worldview.

What made me have a real ah-ha moment was in the opening with Mambai Ari’s Author’s Note, where she explains the story of the Dogon people of Mali, in West Africa. Their spiritual practice is rooted in the belief that the Creator is Amma, a woman. Now that shit expanded my mind so much because I immediately thought about how I have always had this inner knowing that the Universe was female. I couldn’t prove how I knew, but I knew it was true, and I believed this with every bit of my being. The only thing that made me second-guess myself was my embedded knowledge from conditioned, organized religion. God is a man, outside of us, judging us, and we have to seek validation outside of ourselves.

On this spiritual journey, we believe our soul is whole when we find balance between the masculine and feminine parts of ourselves, and the Dogon people believed that Amma equipped each soul with both male and female parts. However, there was one particular male soul who thought he could create a better world than the one Amma had, a very competitive little fella. Yurugu was his name, and he procreated with his own placenta to create Earth. And because he did not have his female counterpart, he lacked “equilibrium, cooperation, balance, and harmony.”

Ironically enough, this is the reality of Earth today.

“Most times, we don’t realize how our emotions and thoughts are subconsciously driving the ship of our reality. Our ego locks away emotions in our prison of misery, and our thoughts fuel the ego to believe this process is protecting us from what we used to fear. The “work” comes in when you start getting curious about the thoughts that come up, the ones that have become your beliefs. Do those beliefs provide fulfillment or temporary peace?”

…

“I spiral into thoughts that support my beliefs that I am not good enough to deserve true happiness and fulfillment. We give our ego dominance over our life, resulting in our inability to recognize our identity is attached to a conditioned belief. The belief is either getting us closer to our dreams or it has taken us away from it. To shine more light, does this belief bring you unconditional love, peace, joy, fulfillment, and happiness; or is the love, peace, joy, and happiness temporary based on conditions?”

Excerpt from “Untrap da Hood: Chapter Seven - I Denounce Dominance”

As I continued to dive into this work, I heard the voice in my heart say to me, “This is your life’s work, baby, you got it now.” And then I remembered the book I published last year and the chapter I wrote about denouncing dominance and recognizing the cultural conditionings. The subtitle of the book is “Break Free from Cultural Traps”. It couldn’t be clearer to me that this question, I have been searching for the answer to for quite some time.

The news broke on Friday, September 26th, that Assata Shakur had transitioned into our ancestor on Thursday, September 25th. When searching for a photo of her, I came across this quote. Now, call me crazy, but our connection to each other can only be explained through spiritual multidimensional understanding.

My research question for this study hall/study group residency is simple. How do we define freedom for ourselves, as Black people, from a decolonized mind?

Assata showed us that it is possible, and it does not happen without action.

Assata died free, not in a prison cell, not at the hands of supremacy.

She is our hero story in 2025. As an ancestor, she gives us hope.

Assata Shakur lived a powerful, radical, groundbreaking, revolutionary life as a Black woman, and died a free Black woman.

xoxo,

Jacquie

October Book Club & Workshops

I am so grateful for the turnout for both the book club and zine workshop this month. The groups really inspired me to continue this work with more intention. I’ve been craving an intimate space to expand the mind beyond the surface. Rather than waiting for the opportunity, I decided to open my study circle to the collective to see if we can’t together achieve a mutual goal.

Book Club will be free; the download is below. And yes, you guessed it, the book is Yurugu, and we will be covering this book for the rest of the year.

The Zine workshop will be hosted on Wednesday, October 15th, at 3:30 pm PT in honor of the publication date of the Ten-Point Party Program. We will be making a newsletter-style zine with our own Ten-Point Program using a template provided.

Now, this next one is my baby, okay. Today’s newsletter and podcast episode find you from deep in my research bag. It started with a question and has led to some answers that I need to share and have discussions with other like-minded Black women, or men, if you come in with an open heart and mind. I’m so grateful to the people who signed up while I was still working through my idea, so I will keep the price at $85 for the full residency through the end of the year.

My goal is to close the sign-up by the end of next week, and I pray the seats sell out before then so we can get started this week. After this episode and essay, I am ready for the discussion.

Here’s the link for the zine workshop and study group residency: https://www.jacquieverbal.com/workshop

“Many of our students go into schools consuming, and their minds are not being developed to produce the true means by which they will accomplish equality.”

-Dr. Amos Wilson

Chronicles of Change is a reader-supported publication. For the rest of the year, all annual subscriptions are $30. Thank you for all the love and support with this work.

Let me start by saying this was not a self-proclaimed challenge; actually, it happened most divinely. Per my life story. My phone fell in dirt, but I thought nothing of it; the fall seemed harmless. To my surprise, when I picked up my phone, it was broken, still able to use, but not the perfect iPhone screen a lot of us stay glued to. I lit my blunt, and on the exhale, I said fuck it, no phone for the next 30 days. This was a pivot point for me because I was struggling to move forward with the last phase of the magazine production process, the cover.

I had to troubleshoot the print quality issues, the size restrictions, and the binding technique had to change, so I had to learn a new skill with equipment that was already available. The thermal binding machine was one of the first investments, but I was so intimidated by it that I wouldn’t learn to use it until I had to.

Now, I’m sending out six magazines this weekend rather than the one per week pace I was on at the beginning of this pilot. I got back intentional about showing up on the platform that I already grew, rather than trying to go to other platforms to tell them how “popular” I am now on this “elite” platform. Real performative, real…what’s the word…fake.

Consuming will have you thinking you are not exactly who you think you are. But, I got myself together and ended the 30 days realizing even the wig look was fake and had to be let go. The moment those clippers touched my hands, I went back to the first day of barber school when the desire to cut my hair sparked. Now, yes, the story goes that a Black woman burnt my hair at the shampoo bowl, but before I was there, when I cut it exactly the way I wanted it, and it laid perfectly. I got that moment back. What a way to confirm this was the path for me, indeed.

Creating over-consuming helped me debunk capitalism.

There is no hustle when it comes to creating. Resting is one of the most important parts of creating, I’ve found. On a podcast, She’s So Lucky, Les explained the importance of rest when working out to build muscle. And she went on to explain how it connects to the creation process. When I heard that, something clicked, and I started to intentionally seek rest during my day, as often as I could.

Lo and behold, the creativity started flowing like it never had before. I have been experiencing the most random burst of energy that led to me having a full creative idea come to life in the matter of an hour or two. In this timeframe, I’ve written two powerful essays, turned that Substack post into a zine, put it on my website, and sold several copies. September 13th, I’m hosting a zine workshop on Zoom for anyone interested in joining the literary protest movement.

Who am I?

Well, I’m beginning to understand I’m exactly who I fantasized about becoming.

Using rest to replace convenience.

I learned most of my frustration comes from a lack of preparation, leaving me to replace my rest with convenience. The more I continue pouring from an empty cup the more I deplete myself of nothing, so I lean into the convenience of things in life. However, the life I built does not align with the “ease” society has to offer. Doordashing dinner because I exhausted my energy creating and didn’t have dinner plans in place.

Spending an hour curling a wig, just to go outside on a walk and the curls fall before my online event. Or going to the coffee shop and the espresso is bitter or worst the milk is scolded. Minor inconveniences that were meant to be convenient but fell short. Wearing my natural hair in a short cut that allows me to not only look my best but also achieve this look in a matter of minutes gives me more time to carve moments of rest in my day.

With my new look and cafe setup at home, my mornings are slow again with intention and ease. This is a feeling I missed, but I was caught up in the convenience of life. The more I focus on regulating my nervous system, the more my body reminds me of how it operates best, and that’s not always what is convenient.

Wait, there are some community updates below that you have been waiting on.

Protest Zine Workshop Announcement

You can protest in many ways, zines were originally created as a form of protest with radical publishing that preserved the story without being censored. While our history is being erased, it is up to us to preserve the story. Substack might not be your platform for protest, but think about how good you will feel writing without censorship, printing and handbinding your words into art knowing the people in your local community will be impacted. Think for just a moment how it would feel to not feel hopeless and frustrated by the reality of news, because you know you are the journalist telling the story with facts.

I want to host a space for us to discuss how important it is for us right now to use our voice, but most importantly our pen to document the story. In this zine making workshop we will turn your favorite Substack post into a zine to give you the skill set needed to take literary protest to the next level.

Saturday, September 13th 10am - 11:30am PT

To RSVP or purchase any of my current zines available visit my website www.jacquieverbal.com.

Chronicles of Change Book Club Corner

Over the past couple of weeks, during our weekly “Productivity Hour” LIVE, we have been flowing with ideas. Zine workshop, book club, and even the birth of the Black Recipes newsletter series. I try to update everyone in the chat thread, but if you are like me, going into the chat section of Substack at times can be a daunting task. And I personally do not want to start flooding your inboxes with updates, that’s not what our agreement was when you subscribed.

In this new era of finding balance, let this area serve as our corner to stay in touch with book club things. Below is the download to our first book recommendation thank you Reyna Linares Jones, The Art Of Living by Epictetus.

Originally, I was going to do a poll to what day and time worked best for everyone, and if we wanted to do a Zoom call or keep it here on Substack. The more that I’ve thought about it, here’s what I can offer for us to vote on. Once we get the days/time set then I will send out the link to RSVP for the first date. First half of the book needs to be read by the first meeting, and the second half by the second meeting. This is an easy read so we can honestly read it a few times by the end of the week.

Intentional consuming is what I call it.

I love y’all, because of you I am blessed to live the life of my dreams. Not because you finacially support my lifestyle but my work is dedicated to community building and look at this! Two community focused events in one month, completely separate from Blackstack. Wow, this is a dream!

xoxo,

Jacquie

Keys, blunt, and lighter all in hand as I jump into my shoes to run out the door. I just have to get out of here and clear my mind. Normally, I would go straight to the trail and walk alongside the water while smoking, but today I wanted to avoid familiar faces that would force me to smile and wave. This particular morning, I just needed to smoke my weed and be in my head. But just when I thought no one would stop me, I heard the unhoused man sitting on the bench at the corner where I needed to cross, trying to get my attention. Of course, he would catch me before I hit the play button on Spotify, so I pulled back my headphones to see what he needed. Ah, just a simple light to smoke the cigarette butt he found. Cool, I got you bro that requires little to no communication plus I get it, so I walked over and lit the cigarette butt for him. In that moment, we both felt a little sense of hope for the world to come back. He asked for a cigarette, which I don’t smoke, however, I made a promise to myself that I would start keeping a pack of cigarettes just for a moment like this.

I can see my life now, reaching into my magic crossbody to feed the birds that I see on my walk, and cigarettes for the many times I’m asked every week. Maybe that moment he and I felt hope again was because we took time to practice basic humanity without judgment. I can’t help but wonder, are people judging me as hard as I’m judging myself? Do others hold me to the same level of standard that I hold myself, and who taught me to believe my own personal standards had to be so high?

The obvious answer to that question would be simple: I’m a Black woman in America. Therefore, my value has always been placed at the bottom of the patriarchy, so why would I see value in myself? I must outperform everyone in the room if I want to set foot in it.

A conditioning handed to Black women through trauma dates back to the “discovery” of what we call America. Our children for generations have been forced to “maintain” this country while the door has continued to be shut in our faces after being invited into the room. I see it happen so often, I wonder how everyone hasn’t picked up on this pattern recognition yet. Maybe it’s not that people don’t see it, but are deciding to focus on what they can control.

A hard lesson I might forever be a student in.

This semester is hyper-focused on trying to regulate my nervous system. I would call it an obsession, actually, because I can’t think of anything better to do than something that will bring me calmness in the moment. Peace is almost like a drug once you get a little taste of it.

No cloudy thoughts, no more bending over backward for people who expect you to bend without breaking.

I still find myself cooking dinner early in the morning, but now it’s a few hours later than normal. Sleeping in has been a result of a more regulated nervous system. Since my father’s death, I’ve realized how much I truly love to cook and how much it heals me. The stillness in the moment, the focus on the cuts and gentle stirs. Those intentional steps taken to transform a family pack of chicken legs, a couple of potatoes, with a few handfuls of green beans into what we call comfort food, or food for the soul.

That’s how my words feel now when I write, like love letters to my soul.

My soul has been crying for so long to be seen, heard, loved, accepted, desired, or maybe just valued a little. All my life, I have chased outside of myself to be shown my worth, and I’ve been met with a mirror reflecting to me the lack of self-worth I carry. Was the idea that our worth is based on how the world views us in the fine print in the textbooks? Who was teaching this class in school, or what departments received this information in college? I personally just finally realized the world only values me once I learn to value myself. I’m in a season of not only teaching others how to love me properly, but also learning how to receive love unconditionally.

I had to learn what that looks like in real time for me, not for the girls on the internet sharing what they are doing. During a long talk in the mirror with myself, I told myself that we need to make our joy the priority over everything now. Because I understand that joy is not a moment in that life shifts completely, no, joy comes in pockets of experiences we create for ourselves. Without the fluffy crap of making a list of activities that bring me joy or make me happy, I just started doing things that genuinely made my shoulders drop just a little bit. I found myself doing things that allowed me to connect with a version of myself I almost left behind.

It was like my body was waiting for my mind to finally decide we were worth the joy. Over the past five years, I’ve been on my self-discovery journey, learning all of the things that bring me joy, peace, and happiness. Once I started to seek balance in my life, I put it all together. We create joy, peace, and happiness in our lives by doing things that we enjoy, resulting in us experiencing more balance in our lives.

There’s no perfect moment in our lives when things just become better. I thought the happy ever after ending to my story was going to start once I moved into that beautiful apartment with the loft and big windows. Instead, boom, a few weeks later, my mom moved in with me, and my dad died the next day. I ain’t been the same since. Life has had me by my edges so bad, either I’m putting the wig back on or I’m going back bald, but this time by choice. The happy ever after is the narrative you cultivate for your life.

Every morning, I take a walk before I write or sit at my desk to work; this is now a non-negotiable in my life. No one can stop me from taking my morning walks, and nothing can prevent me from this necessity for my life. The coffee shop experience is a treat for me for showing up. I stopped bringing drinks home to my family because it was taking away from the experience being for me. I had to learn to be selfish with the parts of my routine that I curated for myself.

I’ve been reclaiming my joy again. No longer shrinking myself to the limitations of what once was and living in the now of what is. Shower meditations paired with EFT tapping and lymphatic drainage massages are like a reset button that centers me instantly. Rest looks different now; if I’m not feeling it, then I’m not forcing it.

Regulating my nervous system put me back in connection with my body, and I’ve been paying attention to what foods my body responds to in both positive and negative ways. Balance looks like me taking those small actions to make eating for my body easier, which allows me to rest without guilt. Work days are shortened now that I understand it’s never the expectation for me to complete the business mission in one work day. Instead, I paid attention to when my body works best, and I plan my tasks around my natural rhythm.

And one of my biggest accomplishments with these new changes is that I finally gave myself the permission to succeed. I have silently suffered from the fear of success because usually that comes with someone in the background waiting for your downfall. If I dream out loud and it works, will they still support me? And I learned some will stop supporting, but more will stay and continue as new support comes in double the size that left. The key to success is defining it for yourself first and showing up in a way that’s authentic to you. These things will make it easy for you to stay consistent, because that’s what builds trust.

I’m not talking about gaining others’ trust either, part of regulating your nervous system is regaining your trust again. The goal is to trust yourself enough to receive love from within, no matter what is said outside of you. Only you experience your joy, so we are in full control of creating more joy in our everyday reality, no matter what is going on outside of ourselves. At least, that’s what this pivot is teaching me.

xoxo!

Thank you for a community of 2k readers!

Did you know this publication is a little over a year old, and already we have grown into a community of over 2,000 readers and writers? In this past year, you have been with me while I have documented my journey of finding home. You witnessed me not only settle at home in California, but also within myself. As a gift to you from me, I am emptying the clip this year on all my ideas and allowing my creativity to take the lead again. When I do this, my life has proven to get at least a million times better, and this sad girl could use some better days.

With that said, let’s call this the soft launch to an extension of my documentation. Sometimes writing comes from being out in nature, and the beauty of life draws in the inspiration. Those same moments spark deep conversations that I usually have with myself, just me and my audio recorder. For a few months, I’ve been feeling the divine push to share, but I had enough on my plate; however, I fear I may have been holding myself back. So here’s to a new era of Chronicles of Change, the publication that embraces the pivot.

I look forward to reintroducing myself again and again. And I hope you embrace your chronicles of change, too!

The hustle of the fast-paced city lights up my home, preventing any darkness from existing, and this is becoming one of my favorite parts of the day. I can see the WeWork building from my home office, and as I take a puff of my blunt, I wonder when will I ever return. A sucker for views, the floor-to-ceiling windows won me over on Broadway; now I’m looking at the Broadway and San Francisco exit from my floor-to-ceiling windows at home.

Each day, I step boldly into my role as Brenda the Builder, a name that will be engraved on my tool belt once I’m done curating this dream two-bedroom apartment loft into my forever home. When I say forever home, I am not suggesting that I plan to live in this apartment past the end lease date. However, I manifest this apartment will serve as an opportunity to curate this space into a home. I understand how manifestations work, and your intention must be met with calculated action. Reflecting on this year, every dream became my reality when I set an intention and followed through with the necessary actions: the unknown.

Most of us have been conditioned to believe the unknown is scary. However, my experience debunks this myth. I found home in the unknown; home was curated in the discomfort. Just like this dream apartment is being curated into my forever home rooted in the discomfort of suppressing my creative self-expression through my aesthetic.

I was inspired to restructure this piece from a post I read by Nubia Lateefa about preserving our lineage, specifically speaking to the Black culture. I’ve been led to document my journey home, never connecting that I was recording the most pivotal year of my life.

Any memories you may have of yourself or your family members should be recorded. Write down any recollection of a memory associated with you and family members. It could be a physical characteristic, a nickname, a date, a place, or a particular event; no memory is insignificant.

On Wednesday, October 23rd, the house I grew up in went up for sale, and I didn’t think I would feel the way I felt. That house never felt like a home, especially after the man my mom loved attempted to murder her. Turning on the street to go up that hill, unable to see ahead, feels like when the path was as bright as fireworks from the emergency response vehicle lights in the crisp chill hours between night and morning. I hated living in that house after, and while there were some moments that I cherish, the time to detach from that house was past due.

This house carried the idea that this was a safe nest where I could let my hair down and simply be, but like many unhealthy relationships, it was formed on the concept rather than what it is. The truth is, I never felt safe in that house, and it never felt like home, nowhere or no one felt like home in the way I was longing for home.

Friday, October 25th, I was on a work call when I got a Zillow email that my childhood home was pending sale. My mom called me the day prior, but I didn’t answer. She called to let me know she accepted an offer for her house, the asking price at that. Proud and excited, I congratulate her, and she says something that changed everything.

She thanked me for setting her free and showing her the true meaning of life. She thanked me for opening her eyes and her mind to a world outside of the one she was conditioned to operate in. She thanked me for being me and choosing her.

My mother doesn’t speak this language. Hearing it come from her mouth left me searching for words to say back, and the only ones I could find were you’re welcome and thank you for trusting me. And the roles reversed, now I am showing my mother the way.

For many years, I carried a lot of resentment and anger towards my mother because of the expectations I placed on her role in our relationship. Witnessing her be strong in moments she should have been able to break free. Not for Black women in the world we live in; she suppressed it all to raise me. She did it alone, working two jobs my entire life to make sure we were stable with extra to give me the life experiences in high-class spaces, but the poorest in those rooms.

As a child, I knew the hustle, fast-paced life was not for me. And I would always be a bystander confused by the nature of the culture. I saw no real logic in the concept; it would never bring me the life I envisioned for myself, the one I am currently living.

The mourning doves fly in unity outside the windows, exciting my inner child and my daughter as we pretend the Universe orchestrated a private show just for us at that exact moment, a “you had to be there” moment. I’m reminded of that moment as a seagull flies by, catching my eye as I overlook and observe the fast-paced hustle of the city's daily activities. Looking into the views of the hills brings feelings of peace, calm, safety, and comfort.

I am home.

I am home within myself.

I am home within a space that matches my frequency.

I am home in the unknown.

I am home when I am rooted in love, peace, calm, safety, and comfort.

I am home in spaces that I curate as home.

I am home where I thrive.

The timeline that I jumped into is the one that brought me back home. A place I have been longing for with only pieces of the map I saved along the way. This home isn’t already built, nor is it move-in ready, this home is curated to my taste, touch, smell, feel, and aesthetic. Every corner in this apartment will be filled with something to symbolize I am home.

I’ve never seen my family so happy experiencing their wildest dreams, and that’s all I need to continue waking up to my biggest ones. They each have their own spaces filled with everything they imagined having once we arrived home, where we could finally unpack to settle. And I have a writing space to explore this gift with greater intention. I have thrived in my creativity and productivity since arriving home. My potential and I have made close friends on this new timeline.

Home-cooked meals fill these walls with a seasoned aroma and nurture our bodies and soul. Furniture and decorations are hand-selected for the family we are, the journey we’ve embarked on, and the memories we hold on to. While one chapter of our life feels complete, now it feels like this is the preface to a whole new book.

I curated this life by manifesting the experiences I envisioned for myself. Monday night in my loft, writing the thoughts that visited while making homemade chicken noodle soup on a gloomy rainy fall day. Then quality time with my wife by painting her nails before movie night in my daughter’s room to enjoy her projector. I envisioned turning an apartment with the perfect views into the home that I would thrive in because I have learned I am a product of my environment.

With the way my life has played out this year and leading up to right now, there is no way I would not be more intentional and take bigger calculated risks knowing I am supported. My belief system renewed with this new timeline jump because I can see my dreams, touch them, feel them, and experience them in the tangible form. There are no more bad days when you have a renewed belief system in yourself.

And I am grateful that I preserved my story, how else would we believe in magic?

xoxo,

Jacquie

Chronicles of Change is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber. Some new creative pieces are in the works for all paid subscribers, including a curating behind-the-scenes of my home, new manuscript previews, and monthly virtual group co-work Zoom meetups.