September 2024 broke me a little.
It was supposed to be the month we geared up for one of the biggest celebrations of the year — the Black Owned Birmingham Awards 2024. Plans were in motion, conversations were happening, sponsorship was secured and the excitement was building. But behind the scenes? I wasn’t okay.
Theres a saying that goes ”If you don’t take time to rest, your body will take it for you.”
My body was screaming for rest, for MONTHS, and i ignored. My mind was overwhelmed. Emotionally, I was drained. And eventually… my body gave up. I’m typing this from my hospital bed, my surgery has been scheduled, so yesterday I had to make the incredibly hard decision to cancel the awards.
It wasn’t taken lightly. I knew the weight of it. I knew people had been looking forward to it. I knew how much it meant to the businesses and individuals we planned to honour. But I’m unwell — and not just in a “take a day off and bounce back” kind of way. My health is suffering, and I have to choose between pushing through and potentially making things worse, or pausing and preserving myself, for me, for my kids.
The backlash has start to come.
Not from strangers. Not from trolls.
But my own community.
The very people I’ve poured into — reposted, supported, platformed, championed — some of them turned on me. The DMs. The shade. The public comments questioning my intentions, my professionalism, my integrity. As if one cancelled event erased years of consistent service.
It hurts. Deeply.
Not just because of the words, but because of the source.
Leadership is lonely sometimes. Especially as a Black woman. Especially when you’re doing it all without a huge team or funding safety net. Especially when people forget that behind the platform is a person. A mom. A daughter. A woman trying her best — not just for herself, but for everyone she represents.
I sit with this pain. and I’m trying to remind myself:
My worth isn’t dependent on being perfect.
My impact isn’t cancelled because I needed to rest.
And my vision isn’t defined by one event.
I still believe in Black Owned Birmingham with everything in me. I still believe our people deserve to be celebrated, funded, supported, and elevated. But I also believe in boundaries. In health. In not sacrificing myself at the altar of performance.
To the ones who showed me grace — thank you. You reminded me I’m not alone.
To the ones who threw stones — I see you. And I forgive you.
I know once this blog post goes live i will receive more backlash, but please know i will just delete the email before i respond to it… okay? ok.
The awards may not have happened this year, but best believe:
The mission continues.
And when I return — I’ll be stronger, clearer, and more intentional than ever.
