Candid Conversations Newsletter: Wholeness, Fracture, and the Work of Self-Integration

Black Like You

A soft hue, with earthy textures, tones, and shades. Contrasted by a shadow’s tint. Tainted with a reality undefined, yet graceful in acceptance.

We do not begin our lives in one piece. We inherit fragments and codes, some tender, some heavy, some warped by a history we did not choose, yet always with an expectation that we be soft, compliant, and relative to the comfort of others.

The work is not to make ourselves new, not to be docile, but to love the road that made us and claim each fragment as our own. This is not resignation. It is the decision to carry every step, every wound, every joy, and every cry as necessary.

The only way forward is through, and the only way through is to embrace the whole of what brought us here.

The Gaze That Shapes 💀

To live in certain bodies is to be seen twice at the same time. Once through your own eyes.

Once through the eyes of a world that has already decided what you are, and whose acceptance is conditional.

We have spoken about this split from many angles, but like anything else, there are always more layers to pull back.

For the immigrant, this means stepping into a story already in motion. The language, the rules, the way your presence is read, all shaped by a history you did not write. Each day becomes a choice. Resist the gaze, bend to it, or accept its presence without letting it erase you.

For the first-generation child, the negotiation is quieter but it never ends.

You speak the dominant culture with ease, yet carry the scent, rhythm, and memory of another world in your bones.

Your home self and outside self never lose sight of each other.

It’s like walking with a mirror in front of you and another at your back, aware of both reflections.

Acceptance here is not surrender. It is seeing both mirrors and refusing to throw either away.

Black Like You

A mirrored reflection, projected into the ether. An image beyond comprehension. Nebulous, undefined, yet finding solace in motion, in the quiet certainty of becoming.

Sweet, aromatic. Bitter with a faint spiciness. A touch of cinnamon, charcoal, and log wood burning through the night.

“What man has done, man can do”.

Paradoxical, revealing the complexity of the times.

The world is rapidly shifting, and so we adjust. Not in denial of what shaped us, but as a call to action, never with our eyes wide shut.

The Mask and the Wound ❤️‍🩹

There are times when we learn to wear a second face. Not because we want to, but because it feels like the only way to pass safely through certain doors. It can start as a strategy, but if worn too long it becomes a wound.

The risk is not only that others mistake the mask for our face. The greater danger is that we start to believe it too.

To love our fate here is to acknowledge why the mask was needed, to thank it for what it protected, and to set it down when it no longer serves.

Code-Switching or Disappearance 🫠

There’s a difference between adjusting your words so they are heard and reshaping your being so it will be accepted.

One is skill.

The other is surrender.

For immigrants, this shift can feel like crossing a border without moving your feet.

For first-generation citizens, it can become so natural that you forget you’ve been holding your breath.

Amor fati invites us to see even this,  the practiced shift, the long breath held  as part of our becoming.

Not to romanticize the cost, but to honor the resilience it built.

Silence will not keep you safe.

Neither will erasing yourself.

Black Like You

Things are clear, not withholding, yet held with care and precision. Timestamped. A captured moment.

The duality of space and time. A desire forged in the crucible of fate and the weight of passing days.

If you wish to walk on water, first step from the boat. Then fix your gaze, unyielding.

Wholeness as Refusal 🚮

Wholeness is not the absence of conflict.

It is the choice to carry all of yourself into every mirror, even the ones that distort.

It is the refusal to cut away the parts that hold history, language, rhythm, and scent.

Amor fati is loving your path enough to keep it intact, not wishing to erase the years, the shifts, or the fractures.

They are the shape of you.

All of you. Take it back. Make space for every piece you carry.

You are not an imposter.

You are someone remembering.

Someone returning.

Someone evolving.

Even here.

Even now.

“Dive down Black men and dig. Reach up Black men and women, and pull all nature’s knowledge to you.” — Marcus Garvey

This too is your inheritance.