Georgia native Jaaza Clarke's defining moment of adulthood was admitting she had chosen a field that wasn't really the best fit for her. On this episode, she shares how she learned to regroup and reassess when she realized that her multiple interests resulted in her putting her most important passion on the back burner. She talks about listening to others' voices and allowing them too much influence over her decisions. As a well-traveled woman who has lived and formed support networks outside of American borders, Jaaza also shares how many Black women she's encountered who are foregoing motherhood because it's a responsibility that would curtail their ability to live by the dictates of their own whims. She's come to question the expectation that raising children should be something she plans to do simply because she is a woman. While most of her friends are mothers, Jaaza maintains the role has never really interested her. With the troubling condition of the current world and the sacrifices associated with motherhood, being childless strikes her as a much better option. Jaaza is honest about her struggle to nail down what is essential in her journey to freedom. She knows that peace and stability are paramount. However, she has a dormant desire to retire in Africa. While she knows the continent is not a cure-all for every trauma Black Americans experience in our own country, she does want to experience "what it feels like to see myself reflected everywhere I go. I want to be able to walk outside and see myself as the majority."

A recent college graduate, Ashea Acevedo has spent a year in the work force and is preparing to attend graduate school soon. Born and raised in New York City, losing her mother as a young teenager gifted her with a wisdom about life and its challenges from a young age. On this episode, Ashea discusses one of the surprising realities of being an adult: no one considers you one if you're still in your early 20s. She laments everyone from supervisors at work and family members at home dismissing her ideas and beliefs as if it is only age that is a determinant for smart decision-making. Ashea explains that being raised by a well-meaning father who did his best to prepare her for adult life came with the burden of unlearning some of those lessons he instilled. She talks about realizing the expectation that she give freely of her time and energy to people just because they needed you was what depleted her mother and exhausted other female relatives who had a hand in raising her. She cites the decision to create boundaries as key to her growth as a Black woman. This awareness of how we teach people there is nobility in giving until they're depleted became sharper when Ashea was tasked to read "The Giving Tree" to her early elementary students. She refused to include the famous children's story in her curriculum and continue the toxic narrative of happily allowing yourself to be chopped down into a stump in order to fulfill the whims of another. Ashea is so self-aware that she immediately admits her greatest struggle is to ask for help and accept it. Freedom has always meant financial independence – even from parents – so as a young woman just starting out in life, she is becoming more comfortable with not seeing financial help from her father as a weakness. "I've become better at asking for help and seeing it as making me a better person, a better adult," Ashea says. "Asking my dad for money doesn't make me any less free than if I didn't need his help."

Born and bred in the Bronx, Jackie Andalcio has taught high school in her hometown for three years. Her insular life as a Black girl raised in the New York City borough most known for its working class communities of color was in stark contrast to the life she discovered in college. On this episode, she talks about how the overwhelming whiteness of her college was one of many things that unsettled her once she became an adult. Jackie shares that in many ways, the role she played as peacekeeper in her family made her anxious and ill-equipped for dealing with the common travails of young adulthood. She had to learn how to advocate for herself in school, at the doctor's office and eventually at work. An attractive woman of 25, Jackie is also balancing the fine act of making room for love, but not allowing an insincere lover to step over boundaries. She shares how she's become more conscious of the relationship prototype that Black women are encouraged to seek: suffering and sacrifice until a man realizes you're worth a relationship. She provides examples in pop culture and in everyday life of this "sassy" Black woman who complains about being treated poorly, but who does nothing about the poor treatment. She is getting better at ending relationships that take that shape as soon as they start. A Christian woman, Jackie also acknowledges the church's historical allegiance to patriarchal archetypes have often led women of her mother's generation to believe that this model of wife-as-sufferer is noble. Young Christian women her age, thankfully, reject such conditioning. Because she is committed to family and community, Jackie is beginning to see the need to create a path that is hers alone. "To consider myself free," she says, "I need to be able to pursue the vision and desires I have for my life over anyone else's vision or desire for me."

Ethiopian by birth, but raised in Rwanda, Marianne Mesfin Asfaw has committed her professional life and her personal projects to gender equality on the continent she calls home. On this episode, she talks about how her job with an international women's rights organization and her involvement with a collective of largely African feminists have informed how she navigates the world as a young feminist with global experiences. Marianne shares that her background as a global citizen began as early as her teens – where she studied in the West and lived with her sisters. She explains that such an early taste of independence makes it difficult now to deal with older people who don't take her seriously just because she's in her twenties. Having returned to Rwanda in the past year, she also is finding it difficult to deal with the suggestion that she devote more time to preparing for marriage or otherwise tailoring her behavior to fit the cultural standards of a young woman who is on the marriage market. Marianne shares stories of professional conversations with mentor figures turning into guidance on how to seek a life partner, older women dismissing her indifference to starting a family with edicts that "you'll get over that," and the occasional free spirited auntie showing her how to push back against such restrictive cultural norms. Marianne also shares how her studies in gender politics and her maturity as a young adult have caused her to critique pop culture and the media she consumed as a high school student. She even reflects more seriously on what her work in women's rights has shown her about how much danger and fear large segments of women around the world must navigate on a daily basis. "As a young woman who does feminist work," Marianne explains. "I am aware of how much we have to think about our own safety." Marianne then goes on to cite what it would take for her to be able to claim the title of free. "I always wonder what it would be like to feel safe and not have to calculate my every move to avoid potential harm. I think once we have that for more women, I would feel free."

When 27-year-old Danielle Taylor was in her teens, she imagined her late 20s would find her securely settled into a dream career and married with one child under her care and another on the way. In this episode, she shares how she came to reconcile her fantasy life with the reality of womanhood. Taking a while to find the right job in the field that was most congruent with her personality and passions wasn't as simple as she thought it would be. She dated like most young people, but while still in her mid-20s learned that choosing the right partner was even trickier than choosing the right career. As she approaches her 30s, she talks about how grateful she is that she doesn't have two kids calling her Mommy. Danielle opens up about coming to the decision not to have children at all – even if she does eventually find her ideal partner and they decide to marry. Her time struggling to find herself and her place in the world helped her to see that she really didn't want to raise children. Danielle cites many reasons why, though she enjoys spending time with kids, she prefers the ones who can be returned. She talks about friends and family sometimes judging her choice simply because it is different than their own. As she reflects on her growth, Danielle ends by saying she seeks to find balance and happiness in her life. "My burning question is always 'what do I really enjoy doing.' I need to find out what really brings me joy instead of just what I do because an adult is supposed to do it."

On this short episode, Keturah Kendrick drops by to check in on the listening audience. Expressing her concern about "the virus" and its rapid ravaging of the world, Keturah reflects on how this season's focus on millennial women has actually given her hope. She talks about the young women's self-awareness and commitment to their own paths and offers their insight into the world of young womanhood as signs that we will be alright. Keturah also informs the audience that she's started a patreon page to offer bonus episodes and monthly columns to loyal fans. Exploring in greater depth the topics explored here on the show and in her book, this exclusive community of free women provides thought and dialogue to like-minded women.

Hailing from West Philadelphia, Shannon Griffin was exploring opportunities outside of her neighborhood from the time she was a teenager. On this episode, the 25-year-old traveler and thrill seeker talks about living in a predominantly Black neighborhood but going to school across town in an affluent, nonblack community. She explains how, in many ways, navigating these two worlds prepared her well for her college and post-college lives. After graduating from a university where she was one of few Black students, she moved to China. Shannon is honest about the hilarity and awkwardness that have been the themes of her experiences in the three years she's called China home. She shares stories of curious questions about her hair as well as sincere attempts to connect with her and empathize with the oppressive treatment of Black Americans by their own country. Shannon is also honest about how cavalier she's been in making lifestyle choices. While she's grateful to exist in a time period where Black women can be flighty and just jump right into non-traditional lives without hesitation, she is cognizant that she'll be thirty in only a few years. She is beginning to realize while the paths she's taken so far have helped her grow and gifted her with many lessons, she has yet to take one that has purpose. She's acutely aware that she needs to find her life's mission. When asked if her life challenges what it means to be a good Black woman, Shannon thinks about the fact that she is an 18-hour flight away from all the people who share her last name in West Philadelphia. "I think I'm challenging this notion that you have to sacrifice everything for your family. I love them, but I don't see it as necessary to return to Philadelphia or even American once I'm ready to leave China."

A native New Yorker, Ama Gyamerah currently lives in California where she works in the film industry. With parents from Ghana and a network of women from the African diaspora, Ama formed a strong identity as a young girl of color before she was even in high school. On this episode, she talks about the shock to her system that was adulthood. Having attended an all-girls' high school in East Harlem where everyone looked like her and believed in her, she didn't quite know how to navigate the assumptions made about her once she went to a predominantly white university in a town that didn't mirror the diversity of New York City. She shares microaggressions endured at the hands of white roommates and overt racist vitriol spewed on social media platforms during the height of the Black Lives Matter movement. Post-college, she was confronted with the reality of bills and entry level jobs that didn't always cover all those bills. It was through these brand new traumatic experiences that Ama learned the true meaning of self-care. She began to practice the skill of pulling back from "the struggle" when said struggle was draining. Instead of always being in warrior mode, she learned to pour into herself. Because Ama's older sister is a strong proponent of utilizing mental health services, Ama was also able to access consistent therapy. Because her mother and the other women who raised her had deeply entrenched West African values, the idea of having any other comfort for mental anguish outside of God was unfamiliar to her. She credits her sister's wisdom and worldliness for exposing her to such a life-transformative resource. When Ama reflects on a narrative about Black womanhood she has come to challenge, it is the belief that Black women always have to be strong. She has always been a very emotional and sensitive person and grew up hearing that she needed to toughen up. "I don't think it's true that being sensitive and emotional are weaknesses," she says. "I feel deeply and am not strong in the way people think Black women are supposed to be. I think vulnerability is important and doesn't need to be corrected."

At 23 years old, Armani Eady has committed her life to social justice – even if it doesn't always mean she'll create from scratch the platform from which to do it. On this episode, she shares how the first thing she did as a brand new college freshman was charter her predominately white university's first ever organization for Black women's equal and fair access to the school's resources. Having gone to an all-girls high school where the student body and some of the faculty looked like her and reflected her worldview, Armani underestimated how life outside of her comfortable girl power bubble would require her to explain herself and resist constant edicts to shrink herself. She admits that those first few years post-high school surprised her because she'd never considered there were multiple ways to do womanhood and college exposed her to the diversity in choices young women like her were making. She has used these years in her young adulthood to learn how to enter romantic relationships from a place of wholeness, to adjust how she practices her faith and to take advantage of mental health services that are invaluable for her growth. As she works towards being a free Black woman in every sense of the word, Armani says what she needs to claim that title is to commit herself to her own wellness. "I've learned a lot of people aren't interested in being well," Armani states. "I decided I would be committed to being a well woman so I can help others become well, too."