As Black women, we have inherited a one-foot-in-front-of-the-other endowment. It is generations old and was adapted to keep us safe, focused, and moving. Psychologically, any deviation from that plan–path–pattern could prove fatal.
“Mind your own business. Eyes forward. Keep moving.”
Those were our directives.
We were not taught to stand still—to breathe.
And dreaming? That was out of the question.
“Dreams don’t make no money. Get a regular 9–5 and get your head out the clouds.”
In my case, I was told, “You’d be a good little nurse. Your heart is good and people like you. And let’s face it—people never stop getting sick, so there will always be plenty of work.”
So I made someone else’s practical choice my vision.
For a few years, it worked. I cared for everyone through a pasted-on smile and was rewarded with employee-of-the-month photos.
Ta-da.
I’d done it. Lived my great-aunt’s dream.
But truthfully, I felt like I was wearing someone else’s too-tight clothes. I felt restricted—buttonholes gaping, ankles exposed because those pants were just too short.
Still, I was afraid to stop moving.
Eventually, I picked up my pen. Something I hadn’t done since I was nine years old. Something I’d been told was a waste of time—or that you needed years and years of school to master.
I thought I was Shonda Rhimes.
I wasn’t.
But I kept going.
I didn’t give up, because this became the space where I could breathe.
The one-foot-in-front-of-the-other mechanism slowed, and I began to see myself in the mirror instead of who I was expected to be.
At times, I had to fight for my breath—but it was worth it.
Last night, I was among several other women inside Life Coach LaTanya Orr’s Strategic Activation Lab. One of her suggestions was to breathe.
“Not just breathe,” she said softly, lovingly, “but take in the Ruach of God.”
Her words tapped on the window of my mind—the part that remembers something deep and hidden. In that moment, I realized I hadn’t been breathing at all. Life had gradually grown heavy, and my oxygen intake was low.
The truth is, I want my breath back. Because inhaling and exhaling is a gift—but it isn’t really living.
The Ruach of God is spiritual resuscitation. Something I must slow down and step off the path to receive.
I’m sitting on the couch now, and my prayer is simple:
Help us breathe again, Lord.
Help us breathe.
Prayer Declarations available at the following link: The Breaker Prayer Collection
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