I am a hot mess on a good day. #youthinkimplayin

I flex on a regular—especially with God. I talk to God like he is a Black Man who JUST got out of prison. So be warned. If you are easily offended or quick to judge, STOP READING NOW. I say that in love. I don’t want this to shock, insult, or hurt your feelings. #justsayin

I am going through some thangs. So don’t expect me to feed you, consider you, give a fuck about your feelings in this series. I have ZERO space for takers, haters, or petty motherfuckers …

If you are reading this for a tip, inspiration, or motivation—good luck. I am not writing for you in this series. This is for me. So feel free to bear witness, glean, or go away.

I don’t have the wherewithal right now to take care of you AND me. It’s way too exhausting. So since I only have the energy I have, I have to choose.

I choose me.


It was one of “those” moments … the kind you look back on as a defining instant in your life.

My phone rang. It was my doctor.

The two benign fibroid tumors in my uterus were messing with my kidneys.

I heard the words … “hysterectomy next week.” “In bed for at least four weeks.” “Total recovery up to a year or two.”

Suddenly, the choice is made for me. 

To say I’m emotional is an understatement.

Be prepared for me to go from hope to rage in about zero to sixty. #cantevenhelpit

I feel trapped.

EVERYTHING is on hold.

I feel powerless.

I miss Happy. I put him in boarding school while I have the surgery and recover enough to take him on his walks. 

Nanna is coming.

I feel despondent. Disheartened. Dejected.

I don’t want to do shit. I just want to … I don’t even know anymore.

I feel hateful right now. I had JUST gotten back to feeling good about me. I was creating the future. MY future. I could feel my confidence and my power restored. Clarity was present.

Now, I have to cancel trips. Take myself out of programs.

I have to just STOP.

This is a whole different season for me. And in this season, I contend with a question …

… am I a woman without my womb?

It haunts me.  

Please don’t tell me to be strong. Or that “God’s got it.” I’m not strong, and I know God’s got it. I just can’t hear it right now.

All I can hear is the harsh silence of waiting.

Everything is fuzzy. I can’t hear God. I can’t hear the whispers …

Still, despite all of this, I can look forward to the gifts from Spirit through this. God is faithful.

I thank you in advance for your prayers, intentions, good juju, and loving thoughts. I need them all … #health #healing #fibroids #blessings #peace

When I was younger, if I felt this … lost, I would hurt myself. Take to the streets and do some bullshit that I knew would hurt me. I didn’t care. No one gave a fuck about me, so why should I?

If I were still drinking, I would have gotten fucked up by now.

Please know that I HAVE to focus on soul-stirring self-love, now. Radical self-care. I have to write for me … to do something with everything that moves inside of me, begging for release. I need to articulate the energetic space I am moving through now, so I don’t hurt myself.

I will write for me, and for all women who have ever gone through this (or a similar) journey, in the Raw and Real series.

And I will try to give content to pour into you, the entrepreneur, when I can.

I appreciate your understanding, and your patience.

I worry that I won’t be able to inspire you the same way, when I write for me.

But I trust you understand.

I love you.

Thank you for loving me back, even when I go dark.

With all the love my heart can hold…

Dr. Venus


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