Too Loud, Too Reckless, Too Ghetto...

 “It takes 20 years to build a reputation and five minutes to ruin it.” — Warren Buffett.

When I first read that quote, I paused. Not because I disagreed with the sentiment—but because I realized it doesn’t apply the same way when your very presence already challenges someone else's comfort. For Black women, especially in professional settings, we’re not just building reputations—we’re constantly battling projections. We’re not just trying to be excellent—we’re trying to be seen beyond the boxes we never asked to be placed in.

Throughout my career, I was mentored and coached with love and good intentions. I was told how to speak—assertive, but not too loud. What to wear—professional, but never too bold. What to express—certainly not anger. Always polishing, always editing. Always avoiding the stereotype of the "angry Black woman."

And then one day it clicked: I actually have some shit to be angry about.

And that anger isn’t something to suppress; it’s something to acknowledge. It’s the fire behind my resilience, the root of my boundaries, and the fuel for my purpose.

There’s freedom in no longer trying to appease respectability politics. I didn’t arrive here simply because I became an entrepreneur—though entrepreneurship gave me the room to fully embody it. I arrived here because I grew tired of shrinking to be palatable. Now, I allow myself to show up: locs flowing, Js on, red lip and gold jewelry shining. I take up space and I bring all of me with me.

Representation matters not just for those watching—but for ourselves. For the little girls we once were, looking for examples of bold, soft, powerful Black women navigating the world on their own terms. For the clients who see themselves in us and feel a little less invisible. For the systems we are slowly, steadily, disrupting.

So when I show up in rooms where I’m the only—or one of few—I know it’s not just about me. It’s about making it a little easier for the next woman to show up without shrinking.

Because we deserve to be seen. Fully.

here you are,
black and woman and in love with yourself.
you are terrifying.
they are terrified.
(as they should be)

--Upile Chisala

Let's Go Half...

One day you're here, and the next-- gone. That's exactly how the first six months of 2025 have felt. 

Between the chaos, confusion, and a sprinkle of mediocrity as the cherry on top, it's easy to feel like this year is running you over instead of alongside you. There are some moments of beauty and progress, yes, but also waves of frustration and exhaustion-- sometimes in the same breath. 

But as your professional hypewoman, I'm here to remind you of this truth: You're still here. And that matters. 

You still have time. You still have power. You still have the choice to invest in yourself and your wellbeing-- even now, especially now. Time is the most precious commodity we have in our possession. Use it wisely. Use it with intention. 

Love yourself as much, if not more, than you critique yourself. Give yourself permission to slow down, dream again, or pivot completely. Treat yourself with the same care and energy you give to others. Reclaim your space, your voice, your pace. 

And if you need a little wisdom to hold onto, let us remember what the great philosopher Patrick Houston said: 

Gotta take the good with the bad, smile with the sad, 

Love what you got and remember what you had. 

The year isn't over. Let's go half-- and finish whole. 

Your Truth v. The Truth

Have you asked yourself: Am I enough?  

One of my favorite reminders is simple: consider the credentials of the critic.

Not from a degree-holding perspective. But ask yourself—Is this someone I’d trust with good news? Is this someone I’d feel safe being vulnerable around? If the answer is no, then why are we giving so much weight to their opinions?

So many of us are still carrying the echoes of old voices—parents or family members who used “tough love” as a mask for reverse psychology or projected their own insecurities onto us. The teacher who dismissed us based on zip codes or stereotypes. The friend or partner who tried to clip our wings because they hadn’t grown their own.

And for what? Are those the people you’re trying to prove a point to?

We were taught to be “twice as good to get half as much.” And we did it. Over and over. Only to realize that the goalpost keeps shifting. We weren’t prepared for how often mediocrity gets rewarded when it's masked by confidence or power. Nor were we prepared for how often preparation meets projection instead of praise.

Sometimes I think about Langston Hughes: “Life for me ain’t been no crystal stair.” Just because someone can’t see the effort doesn’t mean it’s not there. Just because they can’t distinguish your sweat from your tears doesn’t mean you’re not fighting for your future every single day.

And when all else fails, I channel MC Lyte: “You can say I’m egotistical or just worry-free... what you say, I take none of it seriously.”

You are enough. Even if they never say it. Even if they never see it.