How Would I Describe Myself? Let’s Start With What I’m Not.

I’m not easily summed up in a sentence—or even a paragraph. But let’s try anyway.

If I had to introduce myself to someone, I wouldn’t start with a job title or where I’m from. I’d start with the feeling people get when I walk into a room: that quiet pause, like something just shifted. Like the air got a little thicker, a little sweeter, a little more.

I’m a woman who’s both honey and heat. I speak in full-bodied sentences, the kind that linger. I’ve lived enough to have scars and danced enough to carry rhythm in my bones. I ask questions that most people avoid. Not to interrogate—but to reveal. I want to know what moves you, what breaks you, what you bury under politeness and productivity. Because I don’t do surface. I’m deep waters, baby. Beautiful, yes. But also capable of pulling you under.

I’m spiritual—but not soft. There’s iron in my alignment. I walk with the ancestors. I hear them in my dreams and feel them in my gut when the world tries to shrink me. I was not born to shrink. I was born to show up, to speak with velvet authority, and to remind people of what’s possible when you really choose yourself.

Aesthetically? Imagine if a philosopher fell in love with a fashion house and they raised a child made of fire and silk. I love paradox. I live for contrast. You’ll catch me sipping rose tea at midnight while playing a survival game online or studying planetary retrogrades before organizing a legal strategy. Both/and. Never either/or.

And despite everything I’ve endured…yes, the betrayal, the violence, the spiritual theft—I remain soft where it matters. Not naive. But soft. Because I believe tenderness is strength in its highest form. My life is a series of rebirths, and each time I rise, I do it with more clarity, more style, and more discernment.

So how would I describe myself?

A storm with a name. A mirror you can’t lie to. A prayer you didn’t know you needed.
And always…always…a woman becoming.