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There was a show in the late ’80s called thirtysomething. It followed a group of white adults in Philadelphia trying to make sense of love, work, marriage, and identity, the kind of adulthood that still felt like something you had time to grow into. Back when the people you leaned on… were still here. I remember watching that show as a young child with an old soul. And to be honest… even then, their struggle didn’t quite reach me. It was soft to the touch. Their version of

April 6, 2025 — Revisited, One Year Later I wrote this a year ago, in the immediacy of that moment. Today , I’m revisiting it—not to rewrite it, but to reflect on what time has revealed. The day before my father’s Celebration of Life & Legacy Ceremony, I was on the phone with Baltimore civic leader—and all-around dope individual— Erricka Bridgeford . Erricka is not just a healer—she is a vessel. A divine translator of what is felt but not always spoken. And what she said pier

My father had a cough.Something simple. Something we thought could be handled with over-the-counter medicine. But it wasn’t a cold. It was the flu that turned into myocarditis, which attacked his heart, his kidneys, and his lungs. And just like that, my father was in the Shock Trauma unit at the University of Maryland, fighting for his life. The hospital that transferred us told us not to expect him to wake up. But those doctors didn’t know my God. And over the next two and a

It’s late Thursday evening. The boys have just finished dinner. I’m cleaning dishes, talking to my oldest while he’s finishing his last bites. And I get a text. “Dionne, are you okay? We’re here. For the recording. Just wanted to make sure you’re on your way.” I nearly dropped the plate. What? What podcast? Where was I supposed to be? And that became the spiral. I jumped on the phone with Deverick, and we’re both realizing—clearly—there were communication gaps. But what I do

I went to the doctor expecting a routine checkup--but grief had other plans.

I recorded this just weeks before my father fell ill. I almost didn't shared it—but healing sometimes starts with honoring what you feared.

Let me say this loud for the people in the back: Parenting is not for the faint of heart—or the fond of sleeping.

I don’t know when we forgot that we are all spiritual beings having a temporary earthly experience. But this life? This moment in time? It’s fleeting.

I want to uplift a paradigm shift that I am not sure is as apparent to those around me as it should be.  Did you know that to realize...

My husband and three sons dropped me off at the Governor’s reception for the Maryland Public-Private Partnership Marketing Corporation ,...

This year was the first season our son played organized basketball, especially on a team with children he didn't know. Look, for a family...