Why I Stopped Treating My Lineage Like a History Book (and Started Living It)

Hey Friend!

In this manifesto...

We’re not just unpacking trauma. We’re planting seeds of truth, resistance, and radical self-remembrance. This is a love letter to the moment I stopped treating my lineage like an elective class in high school and started living it like the sacred, soul-saving manual it always was.

You’ll learn how one political moment flipped a spiritual switch in me, why going back before the boats is essential for healing, and how growing a single tomato on my apartment balcony became an act of revolution. This is for every Black woman who’s ever felt like there has to be more than this. Sis—there is. And it’s been whispering to you through the roots.

The Shift: From News Headlines to Ancestral Headlines

I didn’t come into this world as a political girlie. Like many, I was just trying to live—pay bills, raise babies, dream softly. But something changed in 2025 when Trump stepped back into office. I felt a deep shift in my chest. The kind that doesn’t let you sleep through it.

I started asking questions—not about him, but about me. About us. About why the systems were moving the way they were. I realized quickly: to understand what’s being done to us, you’ve got to understand what’s already been done before us. And who we were before that.

Because this wasn’t new. It was recycled.

Download the free July issue of Sundana, a ritual magazine for Black women embracing soft living, ancestral wisdom, and sacred self-return. Begin your journey with rhythm, rest, and remembrance→ GET ACCESS

It Was Never Just About Survival

Somewhere in my search, I found myself face-to-face with women like Ida B. Wells—women I had never learned about in school. And I thought, how dare they not teach me? How dare they rob us of our memory and call it education?

But here’s what shook me to my core: once I started learning, I couldn't stop. I didn’t just want names and dates—I wanted practices. I wanted to live like they lived. To think how they thought. To remember who we were before the trauma became tradition.

Before the Boat

There’s this idea floating around that our history starts with trauma. That we became Black the moment we stepped off that boat. But nah. Our story didn’t begin with bondage—it began with brilliance.

Before the boat, we were herbalists, diviners, artisans, griots, warriors, healers, and midwives of the spirit.

Before the boat, we were land-honoring, rhythm-keeping, deeply communal people who believed that your soul is not separate from your soil. We weren’t living under capitalism, we were living in connection—to each other, to the land, and to something bigger than ourselves.

That’s what I came to reclaim.

Spirit Over System

One thing I learned while reading, listening, watching, and remembering: there isn’t even a word for “religion” in many African traditions. Why? Because it’s not about doctrine—it’s about spirit. About relationship. About rhythm. That hit me deep.

I realized that so much of what we call spirituality now is just our birthright, renamed and repackaged. Our ancestors didn’t do spirituality, they lived it.

So I stopped compartmentalizing. I let my spiritual practices creep into the kitchen, into my garden, into the way I brewed my tea or lit a candle or whispered a prayer before bed. It became a lifestyle. A liberation style.

One Tomato, One Revolution

Let me tell you about this tomato.

I started a balcony garden—not because I thought I could grow all our food. (Let’s be honest, it’s giving micro-mini harvest vibes right now.) But because I needed to feel in control of something.

In a world where Black folks—especially Black women—are being hit first and hardest by political and economic shifts, I needed a space to reclaim agency. My garden gave me that.

And even that act is ancestral. Growing something, anything, even on a little 5x5 slab of concrete in an apartment complex, is sacred. It says: I can nourish. I can heal. I can reclaim. That’s revolutionary.

Herbs: The Ancestors' Medicine Cabinet

Herbs have always been in my hands. I used to run my own tea company, and even before I ever cracked open a book about African traditions, I knew: these leaves, these roots, they hold memory. They hold medicine. Not just for the body, but for the soul.

When I started studying African spirituality, I realized I was already doing so much of it. I just didn’t have the language. I didn’t know I was practicing ancestral reverence when I made a tea blend with cinnamon, clove, and basil and prayed over it.

Now, every herb has a story. Every boil is a blessing. Every sip is a ceremony.

Choosing to Live Differently

All of this—this remembering, this reclaiming, this rooting—was born from one question: What if the way forward is backward?

What if our lineage isn’t a lecture, but a lighthouse?

What if it’s not just about learning our history, but living our wisdom?

That’s the moment everything shifted. I stopped asking, What should I do? and started asking, What would my ancestors do? Not in a performative way—but in a practical way. A daily, grounded, deeply loving way.

So, Why Now?

Because the world is trying to make us forget again. It’s gaslighting us into thinking the system can be fixed if we just hustle harder. Vote harder. Prove ourselves harder.

But sis, I don’t want to hustle for scraps at a table my ancestors never built. I want to build my own table with wood from the trees they once planted. I want to eat food that remembers where it came from. I want to raise my child to know she doesn’t have to shrink to survive.

That’s why I started living my lineage.

Not as an act of rebellion. As an act of remembrance.

Let’s Close This Manifesto with a Question for You:

What would change if you stopped treating your lineage like a museum and started treating it like a map?

What would shift if you stopped looking at history as a wound and started seeing it as a well?

You don’t need permission. You need remembrance.

Start with one sip of tea. One journal entry. One tomato.

💌 Was this for you?

Then pass it on. Send this to your sister-friend, your group chat, your mama. Let’s keep this conversation going. Comment below and let me know—when did you first feel the call to remember?

And if you feel led to support this work, share the post, drop a donation, or join me in Sundana Magazine for deeper rituals, monthly materials, and sacred conversations.

Live Pleasurably,

Manifestos You’ll Love!

---

---