Some days feel louder than others.
Not because they demand attention—but because they hum with meaning.
Today is one of those days.
Black History Month.
Imbolc.
A full moon.
All arriving together, like a quiet chorus reminding us of ancestry, light, and becoming.
Black History Month & Living in the In-Between
As someone who is biracial, Black History Month has always felt… layered.
It’s pride.
It’s grief.
It’s gratitude.
It’s also the strange experience of belonging and questioning that belonging at the same time.
I grew up learning that history isn’t just something we read—it’s something we carry. In our bodies. In our families. In the stories that were told, and the ones that weren’t.
So when Black History Month comes around, I don’t experience it as a distant observance. It’s personal. It’s present tense. It’s ancestral memory tapping me on the shoulder saying, “Hey. You’re still here.”
Which brings me to my very serious, extremely important question:
👉🏽 Where is my present?
Because if this month is about honoring resilience, survival, and brilliance… I would like to formally request a gift basket. Or at least a candle. I’ll even accept emotional clarity.
Imbolc: The Quiet Promise of Light
Imbolc is a threshold.
It’s not spring yet.
Nothing is in full bloom.
But the promise is there.
Historically tied to Brigid—goddess of fire, poetry, healing, and smithcraft—Imbolc is about tending the flame. The small, steady light that keeps going even when winter hasn’t loosened its grip.
That feels deeply aligned with both ancestral survival and personal healing.
You don’t have to be loud to be powerful.
You don’t have to be finished to be worthy.
Sometimes, continuing is the magic.
The Full Moon: Illumination, Not Perfection
And then there’s the full moon—casting light on everything.
Not just the polished parts.
Not just the things we’re proud of.
But the complicated, beautiful, unfinished truth of who we are.
For me, this moon feels like permission to hold all of it:
- My Blackness
- My mixedness
- My softness
- My anger
- My humor
- My healing
No choosing. No splitting. No shrinking.
Becoming Is an Ancestral Act
This day isn’t about performing spirituality or identity perfectly.
It’s about remembering that becoming—slowly, imperfectly, honestly—is sacred.
It’s about honoring those who came before us by continuing to exist, to rest, to create, to heal.
And maybe lighting a candle.
And maybe cracking a joke.
And maybe still waiting on that present.
(Seriously though. The universe knows where to find me.)