What If Pretending You're Fine Is Making Things Worse?

This week's Freedom Fridays got real. Not because I planned it that way — but because life happened two days before the livestream and I had to decide: do I show up performing "fine" like I always have? Or do I let y'all see what's actually going on? I chose the second one. And it's the whole reason this conversation matters.

I know we made "fake it till you make it" our default (0:00). But if we truly don't want to push through anymore — if we really want to take hold of the soft life we know we deserve — then we have to stop pretending we're fine. Most people think the best way to shift your life is by willing yourself to believe it. And belief is part of it, but it's not the whole equation. Shifting from strong Black woman to soft Black woman takes bold clarity. Bold behavior change. And the first step — the boldest part — is to stop pretending you're fine, so you can actually figure out what's specifically missing.

Here's the thing I had to own (21:00): most of us aren't waking up and choosing to be dishonest about how we're doing. We're not putting up a wall on purpose. It's more like... we just don't expect anyone to truly want to know. And because we don't expect it, we don't offer it. From the outside, people see us succeeding. They see us doing the thing. They say "wow, how are you doing all that?" And on the inside we're thinking... when do I get to enjoy any of this?

The more we keep up that facade — even unintentionally — the more we deny the people around us the chance to actually show up for us. And we keep wanting so deeply to be seen while simultaneously not allowing ourselves to be seen.

I started small (24:00). I chose to put myself out there with a couple of people and just... see how they responded. If they made space for me, I kept going. I kept leaning on them. I kept showing up honestly. And I made space for them to lean on me too. Did I always pick the right person? No. Sometimes I thought someone was safe and they weren't. And that's hard. But it helped me refine what I was looking for and get better at recognizing the people who actually had capacity to hold space.

You need more than one person. Because if it's a lot for you, imagine carrying all of your stuff plus their stuff. Different people are good for different things — one person for in-the-moment processing, another for reflecting later, another for just sitting with you and saying "that absolutely sucks and I'm sorry." And you won't know who fits where until you start trying. It's like dating. You don't figure out the details until you get out there.

There's a difference, and it matters (27:00). Emotional releasing is letting someone know you're not okay, letting them listen, letting them ask questions, letting them just be present. Sometimes all you need is for someone to say "man, that sucks." Emotional dumping is pushing someone to solve your problems for you. That's nobody's job but yours. Not your therapist's, not your coach's, not your mom's. People can give you different perspectives and help you talk through things, but the decision is always yours. Keep that in mind when you're worried about "piling on" someone — you're not piling on by being honest. You're piling on when you hand them responsibility that belongs to you.

I wasn't planning to share this (32:00). My dad has been visiting from Nigeria, and on Tuesday he sat me down to try to convince me to have children. We'd already had this conversation. I told him I'm not having kids. He thought I was joking. He got manipulative, stormed out of the room, asked if I was a lesbian, asked if I had a medical issue. None of those things. I just chose not to have children.

But the real pain hit me the next day when I was getting a card for his birthday and I picked up my baby picture. And it clicked — how dare this man who wasn't even around for me demand that I give him grandkids? You missed your chance. I was the chance, and you dropped the ball.

By Thursday I was at work trying to pretend I was fine. And it was not working. Everything was making me more upset. So I finally pulled a coworker aside — someone who knows some of my story — and through sobbing tears, I told her what was going on. They had never seen me upset. Never seen me cry. But those two women kept an eye on me all day. They made space for me to step to the back. They'd come check on me. And sometimes that's just all we need.

If I would've kept pretending, nobody would've known. Or worse — they would've just thought I was being moody and mean. But I chose to let them see that I'm human. That I need support too. And that choice, as hard as it was, is part of what softness actually looks like.

If we say we want to be soft — to be served, to have needs, to be human — then allowing others to see that part of us is not weakness (39:00). It IS softness. Letting your tears fall. Letting someone know you're not okay. Letting people be shocked that you're not always "on." That shock is actually a good thing — it reminds them you're human and you need support too.

I used to be the woman who would never let anyone see me cry. I'd go in the bathroom, pull myself together, and come back like nothing happened. But I don't want the hard knock life anymore. I want the soft life. And if that means I have to cry in front of somebody, then boo-hoo. Okay?

It's my flagship course and community where I walk you through the tools that have helped me open up and make the transition from hard knock life to soft life. From performing "fine" to actually being free. Not just saying we want softness — living it.

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