Hello beautiful soul.

Welcome back to SteadyinLoveLetters.

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I don't know about you, but these past few weeks have been pretty turbulent.

I'm talking floods in the office at work. Water leaking into my car.

Waves upon waves of emotion hitting me every single day with very little time to catch my breath.

Last Wednesday was the first wave.

I planned to spend time drafting the final few paragraphs of my next letter.

Instead, I came across a video that unraveled me before I had even gotten out of bed.

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I’d already seen the headlines about the tragic Nolan Wells case the day before.

An 18 year old boy, freshly graduated, went on a fourth of July trip with his white "friends."

He was the only person of color on the trip. He was also the only one who didn't make it home alive. 

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But this wasn’t just the story of one young man.

The video named case after case of young black lives taken away out of hatred. Dismissed, ruled suicides, left uninvestigated, forgotten.

And these were just the recent ones. The documented ones.

I tried to hold it in. My partner entered the room to check on me. Within minutes of explaining what was wrong, I was in shambles, staring at the ceiling through wet eyes.

Many of these cases were only a few hundred miles away.

In every victim was my little brother.

My dad.

Myself.

With every mention of another innocent soul lost, a little bit of my hope seemed to leave along with them.

This wasn’t new grief.

This pain was ancient.

The kind of heaviness you can't just pray away.

The kind of pain that, when surrendered to, knocks you on your ass and stains the whites of your eyes red.

Leaving you with a throbbing head and very little will to do anything.

Like finishing your newsletter draft, for example.

Not because I had nothing to say. I had an entire 5 minute draft that I was really proud of and was super eager to share.

But because I couldn’t bring myself to speak about anything else.

Because, if I can't be vulnerable and honest in a space I created, what the hell am I even doing it for?

I didn't create SteadyinLoveLetters as a place to be soft and fluffy. Love means revealing the truth, too.

And the truth is, this past week, grief interrupted my plans.

I could have kept going. I could have shamed myself into completion. Assigned myself a deadline no one asked for. I could have just pretended that all was well.

And wouldn't that be the system’s dream?

For me to abandon my first community – my body – in the name of productivity?!

To ignore my grief so I could keep feeding a machine that depends on my disconnection.

To be rushed, numb, and easily controlled.

To be more concerned with protecting peace than revealing truth.

As disrespectfully as possible –

Fuck that.

I refuse to numb my heart. I refuse to soften my truth. I refuse to protect empire by failing to acknowledge it in my work and my art.

I will take as much time as I need to alchemize the grief that I have lived with all my life.

I will sit with the sacred rage of my ancestors until my soul is settled. Because quite frankly, it is all I can do.

I will let that rage take up as much space in my work as possible.

Because that is love.

Love for myself, my ancestors, and every soul that suffers at the hand of oppression.

These are the promises I make to myself. These are choices that begin a revolution.

The one you won't see on the news, but you will feel in your body.

Only if you promise to yourself to remain there.

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As much as I wish for it, I don't see a world where injustice miraculously ceases.

And I definitely don't see a world where I suddenly stop feeling the weight of the collective grief for those injustices.

I don’t imagine I’ll ever lose the desire to share what Love is asking me to.

So with love, I ask you:

If your highest vision for yourself doesn't include liberation, protection, and access for all, then what the fuck is the point?

If your work, platform, community, relationship, doesn’t hold space for real conversations and radical change, why are you still there?

We cannot wait on the government to care about us. We can't wait for people to have a come to Jesus moment and turn from their hate. Their hate is the very bones and blood that this country stands on today.

We have to instead ask ourselves, where is the space of belonging for me and other artists/empaths/sensitives/POC's when grief strikes?

Where is the room in which I can speak honestly without the need to soften the truth for anyone?

Am I building that room? Is my home that room? My relationship? My art?

And if not, maybe its time to GTFO.

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For those like me — empaths, those of hearts bigger than their whole body — know that you aren't alone. I see you. I'm feeling it too. I pray that this space provides you with a sense of comfort and belonging. I pray that you infuse your life and art with the emotions you really feel. The things you really want to say.

And for those who don't feel it, or are pretending not to...I urge you to make space for the realities of those outside of yourself, just long enough to feel something real. Because I can promise you that all the love, acceptance, and belonging that you’ve ever wanted lies on the other side of the conversation you’ve been too afraid to have.

Let this love letter be your permission slip to put that project or plan aside, long enough for your heart song to emerge in truth. No matter how heavy, raw, or inconvenient it may seem.

The growth can wait. The money can wait. Legacy can wait.

Unless, of course, your legacy isn’t measured by what you produce—but by how honestly you allow Love to move through you.

In which case, please...

Don't ever stop.

With love,

Brooklyn ♡♡♡