chapter one: homecoming
i never imagined being thirty.
i have distinct memories of daydreaming about my adult life as a little girl, and truly, the oldest age i could imagine was twenty three. so, reaching thirty feels like quite an accomplishment.
i must say Black women everywhere are giving thirty great press.
for a while, i hated to hear how close i was getting to thirty, but somewhere in year twenty nine i started to feel genuine excitement about transitioning into a new decade.
i looked into the world around me and began to see how much i had to look forward to. suddenly, i no longer felt rushed to achieve under a timeline i didn't design.
thirty doesn't feel like a rebrand
looking back, i noticed that much of my twenties was spent pursuing a version of success that never truly belonged to me.for as long as i could remember, i wanted to be not only good, but the best. much of my early adulthood was shaped by inherited definitions of success—degrees, promotions, titles, milestones. i hadn't designed a world where "the best" looked like anything outside the traditional career ladder.however, the more i sank into my body, the more i realized i was at war with myself. slowly, i discovered that softness meant more to me than performance ever could.thirty doesn't feel like a rebrand. it feels like a highly anticipated return to myself.i had been home all along
my twenties involved constant movement.physically, i lived at fourteen different addresses across seven cities and five states. some moves were planned. others happened so quickly i barely had time to unpack before i was packing again.mentally, i cycled through depressive and manic episodes before eventually receiving a bipolar diagnosis.emotionally, i experienced grief in such immense waves navigating the loss of nearly all my grandparents. i found myself reaching for phone numbers that no longer belonged to anyone i could call.romantically, i ended my last relationship at twenty two and vowed to find "self-love" which ultimately looked like years of enduring casual hook-ups and entangled situationships.career-wise, i transitioned from the classroom to the tech industry, faced my first of many layoffs, and navigated several bouts of unemployment.i transitioned out of the classroom because i started having panic attacks on my way to work. some mornings, i would sit in the parking lot trying to convince myself to walk through the front door.i left the corporate world because i was paralyzed by my need to be the perfect employee.the more i deconstructed in my personal life, the harder it became for me to show up in my professional life.there were certain compromises i was no longer able to make and for the first time, i realized i was shifting into a space of truly governing my own life, my own body, and my own decisions.over time, that process touched everything—from how i worked and who i spent time with to my relationship with alcohol and substances, the habits i carried, and the ways i chose to care for myself.more than anything, my twenties were a return home to myself in a way only i could define. eventually, i started noticing a pattern. every time i arrived somewhere new, i believed i was one decision away from finally feeling settled.the next job. the next apartment. the next relationship. i spent so much of my life searching for a home in the physical world only to discover, through lived experience, that i had been home all along.i simply needed to be at home in my body.realizing that didn't solve everything overnight. if anything, it left me with a new responsibility.i am now the author of my next chapter
once i stopped searching for home outside of myself, a different challenge emerged: learning how to trust my own voice.i think what i found most challenging was that i didn't always have the language or audience to witness my journey. sometimes i was becoming in complete isolation; sometimes i was changing faster than people around me could understand.in many ways, i am the first to walk this journey in my lineage.no human in my bloodline has lived through this exact time in history with the exact identities that i hold.for years, i relied heavily on the footprints of my mom and older sister to help outline my next steps. as my twenties came to a close, i recognized that i am now the author of my next chapter.as a child, i allowed christianity to define who i “should” show up as.
as a young adult, i allowed patriarchal and capitalist systems to define who i “should” show up as.now, i no longer wish to show up as anything.i simply desire to be—intentionally, honestly, fully embodied.entering thirty i can feel myself moving with much more intention.
i feel less like i'm happening through life and more like i'm happening to life.for what feels like the first time in a while, i am making choices that feel fully my own.no longer "doing it for the plot," but instead doing it for my purpose.“Now faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen.”
Hebrews 11:1
part of that process has meant reconsidering my relationship to faith—not abandoning it, but returning to it on my own terms.
growth for me in this phase of life looks like grounding myself in faith. these days, faith means returning to practices that help me hear myself clearly.quiet mornings. journaling. prayer. choosing to trust what hasn't fully unfolded yet.i think it is core to who i am and who i come from, but more importantly, i believe it is okay to redefine it and adapt it for myself.what worked for those who came before me may not work for me and that's okay.at the end of the day, we believe and we move with intention.through the rituals we create, love blossoms and wonder unfolds. perhaps that's part of why i've always been drawn to documenting things as they happen.ce.blooms
as someone who moved frequently throughout my childhood, i found so much pleasure in having pen pals and writing letters to friends and family as ways of intentionally keeping them looped in. every letter felt like proof that distance didn't have to mean disconnection.i think archiving and documenting our lived experiences, especially as Black people, is important for so many reasons.ultimately, it's what led me to creating this space.i no longer wish to subscribe to the highlight reel way of keeping up on social media.
i hope to connect with both intention and depth.ce.blooms is me learning myself through sexual health, storytelling, and becoming more honest with my body and identity.both a personal and educational unfolding.i'm learning what it means to understand sexuality beyond silence, shame, and survival.having roots in the american south, specifically the bible belt, i understand the impact of not having open dialogue around sexuality and desire and identity.
beyond content creation, i truly hope to allow others to witness my journey of unlearning and be a mirror through which someone else can see themselves.in this space, i'll be revisiting the stories, silences, and questions that shaped how i came to understand identity, desire, embodiment, and belonging.this fall, i'll be beginning a master's in sexual health education—a path that feels less like a career pivot and more like a continuation of questions i've been carrying for years.
ce.blooms is where i'll be documenting what comes next: my studies, the stories from my twenties, and the ongoing work of learning, unlearning, and being more honest with myself.over the next few months, i'll be revisiting the stories, silences, and questions that shaped how i came to understand identity, desire, and selfhood in the first place.this is a slower beginning.
more rooted this time.
after all these years of searching, i'm finally learning how to stay.
more soon.
