The Photo That Still Speaks
I was 12 years old in this photo — standing in front of my Uncle Andre’s red car at my Big Mama’s house.
Uncle Andre loved me. He was one of the few people who believed in me before I had even learned how to believe in myself. You can see him in the corner — half in the frame, half in motion — the way love often shows up when you’re a child: not posed, not perfect, but present. Big Mama believed in me too. Her faith was quiet but steady — the kind that anchored me before I even knew what the word meant.
What I Didn’t Know Then
Back then, I didn’t know I was learning to read people to survive. I didn’t have language for intuition or discernment. I just knew how to notice — how someone’s tone changed before their words did, how silence could speak entire paragraphs, and how small you had to make yourself to stay safe. That awareness — the one that kept me safe — became the foundation of everything I do now. It shaped how I lead, how I design, how I publish, and how I see.
What I See Now
When I look at this photo today, I don’t just see a little girl. I see the blueprint. The observer. The learner.
The quiet witness who was already collecting data for the woman she would become. Every version of me — the soft one, the curious one, the one who believed before she was believed in — they all live inside this frame.
The Foundation of Becoming
This is where I began. Not as a brand. Not as a title. But as a girl surrounded by people who saw something in me and held space for it to grow. When I trace my path backward, I find that love — quiet, consistent, and unspoken — is what shaped me more than anything else.
Reflection Prompt: Who Believed in You First?
Who were your Uncle Andre and Big Mama — the ones who believed in you before the world caught up?
Take a moment to think of them. Maybe call them if you can. Or whisper thank you if you can’t.
“Becoming” isn’t just about who we are now — it’s about the ones who loved us enough to let us grow.
