Why I Am No Longer Working as a Psychotherapist
I am many things, but above all, I hold an unshakeable faith in humanity's capacity to heal and thrive. I long to see us dig deep, confront the shadows at the root of our suffering, and emerge whole. My work is driven by the transformative power of love and human connection—a reminder, especially to those overlooked and neglected by society, of how divine, loved, worthy, and powerful we truly are.
Born and raised in the U.S. South, I carry the resilience, wisdom, and unwavering faith of parents who survived the apartheid of Jim Crow. My father, a Vietnam War infantry soldier turned preacher, organizer, and champion for economic justice and my mother, an educator, librarian, and nurturer, taught me the power of faith that does not waver in the face of injustice or struggle. Their steadfast belief in something greater even in the midst of immense hardship is a legacy that continues to ground my life and my work.
My journey into healing began with the weight of collective trauma: the neglect, abandonment, and suffering endured by Black, Brown, and under-resourced communities in the wake of Hurricane Katrina. As a queer Black womxn, mother, and neurodivergent person navigating multiple complex intersections, this work is deeply personal. I have come to understand that the personal is political and the political, personal. The wounds inflicted by the world often become the wounds we carry within, passing them on in cycles of pain.
As Audre Lorde said, “The master’s tools will never dismantle the master’s house.” The fields of psychology and medicine, shaped by histories of scientific racism, have often done more harm than healing—particularly to Black, Indigenous, women, children, queer folks, poor people, and the vulnerable. Too often, people are reduced to labels and diagnoses, placed in fragmented systems that ignore the root causes of their suffering.
“They got money for wars, but can’t feed the poor…
…and they wonder why we’re crazy.” ~Tupac
Over the years, I worked in diverse settings: with displaced and migrant communities, men navigating reentry after incarceration, families, youth of color, survivors in domestic violence shelters, and in medical and community-based mental health settings. Again and again, I’ve witnessed how what the world calls “mental illness” is often the soul’s way of expressing pain—a response to violent conditions, disconnection, denied dignity, and a deep longing for belonging. I remember taking a graduate class called Abnormal Psychology and realizing the irony: we exist in deeply abnormal conditions, yet we blame and label people for the ways they respond to them.
It reminded me of the first time I came across the term “drapetomania” in 2022—a so-called "mental illness" coined by Samuel Cartwright to pathologize enslaved Africans who attempted to escape. The absurdity of it struck me: how often had I seen modern systems do the same thing, diagnosing and policing people's natural responses to oppression rather than addressing the conditions that harm them?
This is why my work moves beyond the medical model of psychotherapy, which often views pain through a narrow lens of labels and temporary fixes. Instead, I see suffering as ecological, environmental, and spiritual interwoven with the land, our histories, and our relationships. My approach is about creating spaces where wholeness can emerge, and spiritual liberation can take root.
Through my own healing journey rooted in somatic and land-based practices, ancestral and indigenous traditions, and intentional community—I began to reclaim my spirit. I have been nourished by the wisdom of the Black Southern church, the spiritual practices of my ancestors, and liberatory political education homes like the Poor People’s Campaign and Feminist Front. These experiences, coupled with motherhood, have shaped and continue to shape my soul’s evolution, guiding me in my work as a transformational healer and somatic ecotherapist.
In my years as a therapist, I noticed a recurring theme in the suffering of those I worked with: a deep disconnection from themselves, others, the earth, and Spirit. Beneath their struggles lay spiritual wounds. I came to understand that true healing begins with reconnecting to spirituality, rediscovering our sense of self, and remembering who we are, where we come from, and why we are here. It is a process of reclaiming our wholeness and restoring our connection to the larger web of life—to the earth, our ancestors, and the communities that hold us.
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