Keep Living: Lessons from the Summer Solstice
Keep Living: Lessons from the Summer Solstice
A little over a month ago I was sitting at my daughter’s graduation, a smile on my face and anticipation in my heart, feeling the weight of years of choices, sacrifices, and small moments that led us here. Joy and pride swirled with the quiet grief of change, reminding me that life is always asking us to let go and begin again.
The summer solstice arrived in that same spirit, inviting celebration while reminding us that even the brightest seasons shift. The longest day of the year marks the return toward darkness, yet we are still called to enjoy the light. Just as laughter can live beside fear and hope can walk alongside uncertainty, summer calls us to live fully in the now.
Keep living.
It’s a phrase that keeps finding me lately. I think back to times when I didn’t want to keep living, when the weight of what I was carrying felt too heavy, and the unknowns of change made me want to disappear. But now, “keep living” is a quiet mantra, reminding me that nothing lasts forever—not the heaviness, not the joy, not the confusion, not the clarity. It is all here to be felt, honored, and moved through.
As I navigate this season of transitions—graduation, moving, shifts in my business, and the changes that come with being a Black woman in this world—I see so many I serve facing transitions too. In these uncertain times, it can feel easier to hide, to rush, or to numb ourselves instead of living.
To keep living means to stay aware of who you are, to listen to what you need, to remain in relationship with those you love, to allow yourself to receive love, to try new experiences, to take risks that nurture your growth, to set goals that stretch you, to breathe, laugh, eat well, and allow yourself to truly live.
Keep living so you can witness your own becoming. So you can build the tools to hold your joy and your grief without rushing past either. So you can grow your capacity to experience change and live fully, not just survive.
Once, I would barrel through transitions, dreading and resisting discomfort. Now, I see these seasons as invitations to slow down, to learn, to gather the lessons, and to be present even when it’s uncomfortable, so I can truly live.
For You:
Wherever you are today, whether celebrating, grieving, or somewhere in between, I invite you to pause. Let yourself feel what is here.
What are you being invited to celebrate, without fear of its ending?
What are you being asked to release, trusting it will transform?
What is this season teaching you about how you want to live?
I believe in letting joy in, even when it will change. In honoring grief, even when you wish it would pass quickly. In choosing presence, even when it’s uncomfortable.
This is the work I do with the women I serve. It is the sacred, everyday practice of learning how to keep living—in your spirit, in your body, and in your joy.
The solstice, with all its light and the quiet promise of darkness to come, reminds us:
Honor it all. Keep living.
