I hadn’t been home to Mississippi in six months. I need to be here, my birthplace, physically to sit still, hear the rhythms of my people, enjoy the laughter, listen to the familiar voices that know me truly to be reminded of what I’m actually fighting for. To rejuvenate me. To give me even a small reset. I know the pace I keep is unsustainable, and the times we’re entering demand clarity, strategy, and soul. And there’s no place that can revitalize my soul like home.

Today is the Fourth of July. Independence Day, they call it. But let’s be real—none of us are truly free. Not now. Not ever. Not with the way things are heading.

Not with the Big Uglazz Bullshit Bill ready to wreak havoc on our communities far and wide. Not with rights unraveling in broad daylight while some folks act like nothing’s happening. Not with a political climate that keeps chipping away at our autonomy, our safety, and our ability to care for ourselves and one another.

While Black communities have always carried the heaviest weight in this country’s unfulfilled promises, this moment feels even more expansive in its harm. The target is broader. The aim is deeper. It’s not just about race. It’s not just about gender. It’s about erasing the very things that make us whole—our bodies, our stories, our families, our agency.

Make no mistake—it’s not just about legislation.
It’s about how policy becomes culture.
How oppression gets normalized in real time.
How the system depends on us being too tired, too overstimulated, too divided, or too disconnected to resist with any real force.

That’s why I had to come home and stay even just a lil while. I needed it physically, spiritually, emotionally, and strategically.

Family is a grounding force. It’s not always easy. It’s not always tidy. But it’s real. In times like these, being rooted in something real is the only way to survive—let alone build something better.

Family reminds us of who we are.
Family reminds us of what’s worth protecting.
Family reminds us that no matter what they legislate, they can’t erase our lineage, our joy, or our collective will.

So I’m preparing. Yes, I’m stocking the pantry. Yes, I’m thinking ahead. But more than that—I’m tending to my relationships. Reconnecting with the people who keep me sane. Laughing with my son. Listening to my elders. Connecting with the folks I know are aligned with my values and vision for the future. Taking inventory of what matters. Restoring the kind of love, trust, and presence that policy can’t touch, but that will absolutely shape how we respond to it.

Because when the storm comes—and let’s be clear, it’s already here in some places—we won’t just need talking points or political analysis. We’ll need each other: whole and ready.

If you’ve been running nonstop, like I have, let this be your permission to pause. Go home. Call your people. Make the meal. Hug the babies. Check on your strong friends. Speak truth. Refill your spirit.

Because freedom isn’t something they’ll hand us. It’s something we build—daily, deliberately, and together. And we are not alone.

If this resonated with you, I’d love to hear what “freedom at home” looks like for you. What are you preparing for—and who are you preparing with?

Soundtrack of My Life: “Optimistic” by Sounds of Blackness