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I tried to follow the script. I tried to be the version of myself that made sense within the mold that had already been cast. But the more I tried to fit into it the more my spirit felt like it was suffocating. Something in me kept pushing against the walls of what was expected — not out of rebellion for its own sake but out of a deep and persistent knowing that there was something more available to our bloodline than what we had been settling for.

Our ancestors knew this. Medicine was not always readily available. Communities relied on the woman in the neighborhood — Mama So-and-So — who knew the herbs. Who knew what to reach for when the fever would not break, when the spirit was heavy, when the body needed something that a doctor's visit could not provide.