Still Standing, Still Free

Front Porch Accounting

The porch boards creaked when I stepped outside, calculator in one hand, notebook in the other. Evening heat still clung to the air, cicadas loud enough to make silence impossible. Big Mama was already out there, rocking slow, glass of water sweating onto the wood.

“You ready?” she asked.

“Yeah,” I said, sitting down. “Let’s do it.”

Money conversations used to feel like arguments waiting to happen. Raised voices. Half-listening. Somebody getting defensive. This time was different. We agreed to make it practical. Respectful. Together. Unity does not mean nobody disagrees. It means everybody stays at the table.

We spread the papers out. Bills. Receipts. Notes from last month where we guessed instead of knowing. Big Mama tapped one page with her finger.

Threads of the Market

The market smelled like spice, sweat, and sun-warmed metal. I stepped carefully past the stalls, purse clutched, looking for Mama’s favorite vendor.

“Hey, Lil’ Jay!” called out Uncle D. from behind a crate of oranges. His grin was wide, and his energy contagious. Motivation doesn’t always come from yourself. Sometimes it comes in the form of family, showing up, showing you what’s possible.

Cousins and Cash

The summer sun was already hot when I rolled up to my cousin Keisha’s house, backpack heavy with bills and receipts. She waved me over from the porch, lemonade in hand.

“Yo, you look stressed,” she said.

“Yeah,” I admitted, sitting down. “These numbers ain’t addin’ up.”

Money problems hit different when family is involved. Not because they judge, but because love makes the stakes feel higher. You don’t just worry about yourself—you worry about how everyone else is impacted, too.

Counting Change at the Kitchen Table

The envelope sat in the middle of the kitchen table, thick with bills and thin on mercy. Rent notice on top. Light bill underneath. Groceries scribbled on a sticky note in Mama’s handwriting. I stared at it for a long second before sitting down.

“Aight,” I said out loud, mostly to myself. “Let’s see what we working with.”

The Hearth of Second Chances

I had avoided my older sister, Mariah, for over a year. After the fight at last year’s family reunion, words had cut sharper than any knife, doors had slammed, and pride built walls between us. But Mama’s voice echoed in my head: “Family is never gone. You just have to show up, even when it hurts.”

Threads of Family

I had avoided my brother Malik for months. After the argument that tore through the last family gathering, words left scars deeper than any punch. But today, Mama’s words echoed in my head: “Family is never gone, baby. You just gotta show up, even when it’s hard.”

I walked up the porch slowly, boots scraping against the weathered wood. Malik was there, sleeves rolled, hands wiping flour from a pan. He didn’t look up at first. The air between us was thick, years of pride and hurt settling in like dust.

The River’s Gift

I had not visited my grandmother’s garden in months. Life had been heavy—school, bills, and anxiety pressing down on my chest like a weight I could not shake. But today, something pulled me back. I needed the dirt, the sunlight, the smell of basil and rosemary mingling in the air. I needed her hands beside mine, steady and sure.

“Lexi! You finally here!” my grandmother called, her hands dusted with soil, a wide smile on her face. “Nobody is rushing you, baby. Come help me.” I nodded, feeling my shoulders release some tension as I stepped toward her raised beds. Love like that does not come in speeches. It comes in presence, in patience, and in quiet care.

Healing Hands in the Garden

I ain’t stepped into Grandma’s garden in months. Life been heavy—school, bills, anxiety sittin’ on my chest like a weight I couldn’t shake. But today, somethin’ pulled me back. Needed the dirt, the sunlight, the smell of basil and rosemary mixin’ with the air. Needed her hands next to mine, steady and sure.

“Lexi! You finally here!” Grandma said, dirt under her nails, smile wide. “Ain’t nobody rushin’ you, baby. Come help me.” I nodded, shoulders droppin’ some tension as I stepped toward her raised beds. Love like that don’t come in speeches. It come in presence, in patience, in quiet care.

The Hearth and the Horizon

I ain’t walked through Mama’s front door in months. Ain’t ‘cause I didn’t want to. Ain’t ‘cause I didn’t need to. Just…life had a way of pushin’ me away, bills, school, pride, all of it. And Taye? Last time we spoke, doors slammed, words cut deeper than knives. But Mama always said, “Love don’t vanish just ‘cause people drift. You gotta show up, even when it hurt.”

The Midnight Hunt

I ain’t never been one to sit still, but tonight…tonight was somethin’ else. Moon hung low, silver and heavy, castin’ light over the forest like it owned every tree. I tightened my boots, pulled my cloak closer, and checked my satchel—dagger sharp, flint dry, rope coiled. Freedom don’t hand itself out. You earn it. Step by step, choice by choice.

The Garden That Healed Us

I ain’t stepped foot in my grandma’s yard in months. Life been heavy—bills, school, nerves hittin’ hard—but somethin’ told me today I needed that green. Needed her garden. Needed roots, dirt, sunlight, and the smell of life stretchin’ toward the sky.

“Lexi!” Grandma hollered before I even got to the gate, voice warm, hands dusted with soil. “You take your time, baby. Ain’t nobody rushin’ you here.” I smiled, shoulders droppin’ just a little. Love like that don’t come in loud speeches. It come in patience, presence, steady hands.

The Sky Rider

Sun barely peekin’ over the cliffs, I strapped my boots tight and adjusted the leather harness. Wings attached to my back like they born with me, though I knew better. Ain’t nobody just born flyin’. You gotta work. You gotta trust yourself.

I climbed to the edge of the cliff, heart thumpin’. Wind whipped around me, teeth cold, and I laughed low. “Ain’t no other way,” I muttered. Freedom always come with risk. Ain’t no hero ever got glory sittin’ down.

I jumped.

Hearth and Hugs

I ain’t stepped in Mama’s kitchen in over two years. Last time, words flew, doors slammed, and pride stacked itself between us like bricks. But today, somethin’ pulled me back. Maybe it was the smell of cornbread on the street, maybe it was just the pull of family—that invisible line even distance don’t break.

I opened the door slow. Warmth hit me first, then the smell of spices and fried okra. Taye was there, apron dusted with flour, hummin’ to himself, like he never stopped. I froze a second, nerves knotting, but then he looked up. “Lexi,” he said, voice soft, steady. Ain’t anger, ain’t blame. Just recognition.

The River’s Lesson

I been walkin’ these woods since sunrise, boots crunchin’ over leaves wet with dew. Air crisp, smell of pine thick in my nose. I ain’t come here for no fun—I came to think, to breathe, to remember I got choices in a world that often try to tell me I don’t.

That’s when I seen the fox. Lil’ red thing, tail bushy, eyes sharp. It stopped like it knew I was watchin’. Didn’t run. Didn’t bark. Just…looked. Freedom look like that. Ain’t chained by worry or expectation. Just present, alert, alive. I whispered, “Teach me.” Not that it could answer, but I listened anyway.

Mama’s Kitchen Table

I ain’t seen my cousin Taye in years. Last time we spoke, the words got heavy, doors slammed, pride got in the way. Family sometimes hurt worse than strangers. But Mama? Mama always said, “Blood don’t make love automatic, baby. You gotta show it.”

The Gold in Her Hands

I been standin’ in front the mirror for close to an hour, twistin’ my hair slow, takin’ my time. Don’t let nobody tell you natural hair ain’t work—every coil, every curl, demand attention. And that attention cost money, even if it ain’t cash. Products, oils, combs, the time I put in. I learned early: time and money both count, and both gotta be respected.

Feathers in the Wind

I stepped out the door ‘fore the sun even hit the tops of the trees. Air crisp, smell of wet grass hittin’ my nose. I ain’t never been the type to just walk, but today my legs needed it. Needed the stretch, needed the quiet. Birds hollered somewhere far up, wings slicing the morning like they owned it.

The Last Cup of Hibiscus

I woke up early, the sky still stretchin’ blue through the blinds, and remembered I only got one tea bag left. Hibiscus. My favorite, but it ain’t just about taste. Hibiscus tea can help lower blood pressure and support heart health, which matter when your body already fightin’ stress (NCCIH).

Plants Don’t Rush Healing

I keep plants in my room for a reason. Not decoration. Regulation.

Morning light hit the windowsill just right, and my pothos leaned toward it like it knew what to do. Plants follow patterns. Light. Water. Time. They don’t argue with themselves about it.

I mist the leaves first. Not too much. Overwatering kill faster than neglect sometimes—that’s just life logic. Same way rest matter as much as effort.