October has always carried a special weight for me. It’s Teakisi’s anniversary month and, of course Black History Month - a time I often look forward to, not just for the celebration, but for the vibrancy it brings. It’s also a reminder to look around and within, to see how far we’ve come, and what it truly costs to keep building spaces that honour who we are.
This year though, the feeling is different. I’ve faced many setbacks, rejections and on top of it all, had to cancel Teakisi’s Elevate Symposium - that was a heavy blow. And I mean heavy. Not because of the event itself, but because of what it stood for, a gathering of minds, of community, of hope. Each year we pour so much into it; time, energy, and most importantly, trust. To see it fall through affected more than a schedule; it touched everyone who believed in its purpose and legacy. Most importantly, it brought home to me, painfully, that leadership is not only about doing the work, it’s also about navigating people. Because not everyone who steps into your circle comes with good intentions.
That’s been one of my hardest lessons this year. Some join with open hearts, ready to build, to learn, to uplift. Others, though, come with motives that aren’t so pure - personal agendas, hidden ambitions, silent rivalries cloaked as support. It’s uncomfortable to admit, but the truth is that not everyone who claps for you wants to see you win. In this work - community work, creative work, soul work, it’s easy to assume that shared spaces mean shared purpose. I’ve now learned to observe more quietly, to listen beyond words, and to trust what doesn’t sit right. Protecting what you’re building isn’t paranoia; it’s wisdom. Because when you lead with authenticity, your light attracts all kinds of energies, some drawn to the glow, others wanting to dim it.
Still, above it all, every experience I face - whether good or bad, reminds me why I do this work. Why community matters. Why amplifying voices, storytelling, and representation are at the heart of everything. It’s never been about events or ticking boxes on a calendar; it’s about truth. It’s about the lived experiences, the shared struggles, and the quiet victories that shape who we are collectively. Community work isn’t always neat or predictable, sometimes it's messy, imperfect, and uncomfortable, but it’s real. It’s rooted in people, in connection, and in courage. Those who came before us built from nothing but faith, resilience, and authenticity. They worked not just for themselves, but for those coming after them. That’s the energy I want to carry forward, not just in October, but every single day, in every space where community and culture meet.
Yes, work is busy and unstable. Life feels constantly stressful. But I am choosing to pause; to honour the culture that shaped me and the people who remind me of what’s real. The ones who show up without an audience, without an angle, just love, honesty, and belief in the mission. Those are the people I will hold close. So this Black History Month, I’m reflecting on more than history; I’m reflecting on protection. On guarding my peace, my boundaries, and my truth in a world that can sometimes blur them. Because my culture deserves truth. My work deserves sincerity. And I, as a Black person, deserve to keep showing up in spaces that reflect both.
So even though Elevate Symposium didn’t happen this year and community building now feels like a constant battle, the spirit behind it, that hunger for connection, truth, and change hasn’t dimmed. It lives on in the quiet rebuilding, and in the knowing that not everyone is meant to stay in your circle. Some come to teach. Some come to test. But those who are truly for you? They remind you that the work is still worth it.
Always.
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