These last few months of being 33 feel like the soft launch of a whole new version of me. This is not because I woke up one morning and decided to become somebody else. It is because I finally stopped playing small with the woman, I have worked my ass off to become. This rebrand is personal. It is intentional. It is me looking at every part of myself and saying, “Yeah, keep that, elevate this, and throw the rest of that tired ass shit away.”

The 13^th gates have nothing on this. If you really want to see fear in a grown person’s eyes who lives alone, let them open the banking app after paying rent or mortgage. Hold up. What if it they did that after buying groceries, filling up the car, and handling one little “unexpected” bill that somehow costs exactly what was left in the account. Nothing jumps out from behind a door. However, that available balance will still make you scream.

Listen, Halloween can keep ghosts, goblins, and creepy crawlers in night. At this big grown age, I know the real scares come with a due date. Maybe a warning light, a school message sent at 9:47 p.m., or a grocery receipt long enough to qualify as a novella. 

September was one of those months that felt like it had sixty days instead of thirty. I don’t know if it was the season changing, responsibilities piling up sky-high, or just life out here doing what life does. It was something about this month that tested that last damn nerve I have. There were days when I felt productive. Days I felt pulled together, and completely on top of my game. However, then there were days when just surviving what absolutely had to get done was a full victory.

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