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YO! AJ


YO!

I'm a slightly soft-spoken, Black woman healing from things I never signed up for. I'm not a therapist or "main character." Just a writer with a quiet pen, loud imagination, and a heart that still believes in God, healing, & a good punchline.

Why do I write?

I write to escape reality or to create a reality that is much more interesting. My life, while pretty simple, is full of past struggle and pain, as well as growth and love. Writing is extremely therapeutic, not only for me, but also for those who have gone through similar situations and need to connect for support or just inspiration. A combination of fiction and nonfiction, my stories and poems are created to either pierce hearts and open the eyes of some for self-reflection or to entertain. Nothing more, nothing less.



One word to describe you is?

DOPE.



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Down by the River

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Therapy: Because Your Group Chat Isn’t Enough

  Therapy isn’t about being broken. It’s about paying a stranger to listen to your childhood trauma without telling you to “just drink tea and pray on it.” The benefits? You stop rehearsing arguments with people in the shower. You learn “boundaries” isn’t a bad word. And sometimes, you cry in a way that feel like cardio. Honestly, therapy is just emotional Wi-Fi. You don’t know how disconnected you were from reality until someone restarted the router. Have you ever worked with a therapist? I was forced to work with a therapist after a suicide attempt many moons ago. It wasn’t helpful. It was forced, and I was broken. So, I shoved my thoughts to the furthest place of my mind. I answered the questions, with intent, the way they wanted me to. 10 required sessions turned into just 2, and I never went back. I got a therapist this year. I told God I’d do the work and trusted my faith to do the rest. It has been an uneasy eye-opener. I believe that many folks don’t go to therapy because, ...
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A Christmas Affair

I was almost sleeping when he began blowing up my phone. He called twelve times. Eleven times I hit the red button on my phone. The twelfth time I picked up and screamed at the remorseful voice on the other end.  “Can we please talk?” “Stop fucking calling me! I hate you! Leave me the fuck alone!” ***
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