Millennial girlies, pull up a chair — and no, for once, not at your therapist's.
This Friday is the fifth anniversary of my father's death. This Sunday, I'll be at carnival road march in Jamaica — sequins, soca, full colour, all of it. And I'm not pretending those two things don't exist in the same week, in the same chest. Because they do. And nobody told me they would.
So today, we tell each other.
In this episode, I'm talking about the oak tree you didn't know was protecting you until it was gone — and what it means to learn to stand in the open sun.
In this episode:
- Why my body knows April is coming before my mind does
- The oak tree metaphor that found me when I needed it most
- What the first year of grief actually feels like
- Why grief doesn't heal — it becomes part of your system
- Holding carnival joy and a father's anniversary in the same chest, in the same week
- The question to sit with: Who is your oak tree?
Grab your drink or your iced coffee, my friend. It's go time.
Come say hi on Instagram 🫶🏽@iamangelbr | @iamwewerenttoldpodcast