The Higher You Rise, the Quieter It Gets

There’s a grief that comes with elevation no one talks about.

Not the kind born from tragedy, but the kind that comes from becoming.

From realizing that the people you once called family, friends, lovers, coworkers — they can’t come with you.

Not because you’re better.

But because you’re no longer available to the version of yourself that kept shrinking to fit in.

Lately, I’ve been feeling the quiet.

The separation. The space.

And it’s not depression — it’s divine realignment.

As a Black woman, my adversities don’t come with gentle warnings.

They come disguised as loyalty, expectations, projections.

They show up in rooms where people smile but secretly envy the leadership, the strength, the knowing that I carry.

I didn’t choose this light — it chose me.

And sometimes, it’s heavy.

But I no longer apologize for being wise with my time and protective of my energy.

I no longer explain why I move the way I do.

Because when you’ve walked through fire with no blueprint and still came out whole, you realize:

Your strength isn’t just yours — it’s ancestral. It’s cosmic. It’s divine.

I’m not lonely. I’m being cleared.

Cleared of false support, cleared of roles I never wanted, cleared of relationships that were built on who I used to be — not who I’ve become.

And on the days when it feels like I have no one to lean on,

I remember where I came from.

I remember that I have God.

I remember that my resilience doesn’t come from this world — it comes from Source. From the Mother. From the Universe that created me for this very moment.

So if you’re reading this and feel like things are falling apart — let them.

Let it all fall.

Because you’re not breaking.

You’re shedding.

This is the rise.

And it will get quiet.

But don’t mistake silence for emptiness.

It’s the sound of alignment doing its sacred work.

Stay grounded. Stay sacred. Stay you.