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Liberation Strategy #3 is here. This one’s for those who’ve ever had their brilliance muted—and kept blooming anyway.<h3>There’s a particular kind of silence that systems practice.</h3>&nbsp;It’s not absence, it’s erasure. &nbsp;And it sounds like this:“We never sent that resource.” &nbsp;“Let’s just keep this internal.” &nbsp;“That’s not really aligned with our tone.”But the truth is: They didn’t forget. They silenced it on purpose.When I trained the entire foundation staff on equity for marginalized youth, &nbsp;I didn’t just speak, I built.A whole compendium. A library of wisdom. Articles, videos, podcasts. A living resource for those working with Black, Brown, and LGBTQ+ youth.It was meant to be distributed after the session. It never was.Not because it wasn’t powerful but because it was too powerful. Because it said what the org couldn’t say, and did what the institution wasn’t brave enough to do.But here’s what they didn’t realize: &nbsp;<h3>You can suppress a deliverable. But you can’t suppress a download.</h3>The work had already been spoken into the field. &nbsp;It was already received by those who needed it. &nbsp;It was carried through conference rooms and coffee chats and community.They tried to contain it. But I had already become the carrier.<h3>Liberation Strategy #3: Don’t Chase the Platform. Be the Portal.</h3>When systems shrink your work, trust that the work still travels. The impact is not always in the inbox.Sometimes it’s in the way someone applies your words two months later. Or how your framework becomes their foundation—even without your name on it.Let the legacy move in silence if it has to. The soil always remembers what was planted.<h3>🌱 A Bloom Move to Try: </h3>Think of a moment where your work was unacknowledged or muted.Ask yourself: &nbsp;- Where did it still go? &nbsp;- Who did it still reach? &nbsp;- Who did I become through it?Write that. Claim that. Let that be your proof.👉🏾 Want more liberation strategies? Visit <a href="https://bloomdontshrink.com/blog">https://bloomdontshrink.com/blog</a> for the full Olamina Speaks series.

They Tried to Contain It. I Became the Carrier

<h3>They expect disruption to be loud.</h3> To be angry. Sharp-edged. Sharpened for battle. But I’ve learned—sometimes the sharpest blade is soft. Sometimes, the revolution enters the room wrapped in velvet.They didn’t know what to do with me. I didn’t shout—I documented. I didn’t rage—I redesigned. I didn’t beg—I built.Because what they weren’t prepared for was what happens when a woman walks into a system soft-spoken and undeniable.<h3>Softness as Strategy. Softness as Signal.</h3> Softness is the system hack. It is camouflage. It is code. It’s how we enter the room without alerting the alarm. It’s how we plant truth inside the agenda—and watch it bloom long after we’re gone.And that’s exactly what I did.🌀 When they expected a final teaching, I offered a boundary. In my exit interview, they asked for insight. I gave them truth. “The answer to that question?” I said. “Costs.” No performance. No unpaid clarity. Just sovereignty—spoken soft and firm.🌀 When they ignored the resource, I carried the resonance. I built a national equity compendium on Black, Brown, and LGBTQ+ youth in child welfare. When HR chose not to release it internally, I brought it to national conferences. You can suppress a deliverable. You cannot suppress a download.🌀 When the curriculum was stagnant, I redesigned the frame. I launched the first self-paced training for recruiters using AI. Facilitated their first international webinar. Embedded engagement technology into sessions and made feedback feel like invitation. These weren’t side projects. They were soft disruptions.🌀 When asked to conform, I chose rhythm. My mantra: “I root before I rise. I align before I move.” I brought heat—but it wasn’t rage. It was radiance. My clarity didn’t scream—but it could not be ignored.And even after dismissal, I didn’t collapse. I reframed the moment as a ceremony of release. A sacred disruption. Because that’s what softness can do—it holds the exit door open like a prayer.<h3>🔓 Liberation Strategy #2: Let Softness Be the System Hack </h3>Softness isn’t weakness. It’s the delivery method of truth. The portal for change. The cloak that carries curriculum past the gatekeepers.Softness is survival. Softness is science. Softness is sacred. And when we wield it with strategy—it becomes undeniable.<h3>🌱 A Bloom Move to Try</h3> Think of a moment when you were told: “Be more direct.” “Be less emotional.” “Be more professional.”Now pause. Ask yourself:What truth was my softness carrying that they didn’t know how to hold? Write it down. That’s not a flaw. That’s your frequency. That’s your strategy.<h3>🌺 You don’t have to scream to make an impact. You just have to stop shrinking.</h3>What came up for you? Share it with us in The Garden. <a data-mce-href="https://bloomdontshrink.com/" href="https://bloomdontshrink.com/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Request an invitation</a>Read: <a data-mce-href="https://bloomdontshrink.com/blog/black-women-in-corporate-america-bloom-dont-shrink" href="https://bloomdontshrink.com/blog/black-women-in-corporate-america-bloom-dont-shrink" target="_blank" rel="noopener">They Stripped Me of My Title—On the Way In and On the Way Out</a>Purchase the&nbsp;<a data-mce-href="https://buy.stripe.com/7sY7sM0kH8xF1u2aUL9Ve00" href="https://buy.stripe.com/7sY7sM0kH8xF1u2aUL9Ve00" target="_blank" rel="noopener">The Book of Blooms: A Gospel of Growth, Truth, and Sacred Reclamation</a> #BloomDontShrink #SoftDisruption #LiberationStrategy #OlaminaSpeaks #HealingInPublic

Soft Disruption as Strategic Power

Installment One: A Bloom on Scorched Earth Liberation Strategy Series<h3>They asked me in the exit interview: “What could we have done differently?”</h3>And even then—after all I had endured—they still expected the lesson. For free.Requested with 20 minutes’ notice. In a sterile room. With an HR manager who read from prepared lines.They mentioned the LinkedIn post. The one that didn’t name names, but held truth wrapped in thunder. It was a mirror. And they chose to shut the mirror down.Even in exit, they wanted clarity without cost. My roadmap without reckoning. My insight without investment.But I said: “The answer to that question? Costs.”<h3>I was done translating pain into palatable soundbites. </h3>Done offering clarity to institutions that chose confusion as comfort. Done feeding systems that only knew how to extract.I refused to be translated. I refused to offer a final unpaid deliverable dressed as grace. I refused to disassemble myself into teachable moments.They sent me home that day. Released me from duties.But I didn’t see it as dismissal. I saw it as divine redirection. A sacred release. The perfect holy closure.Because this wasn’t just an end. It was an initiation. Into something sovereign. Into the blueprint I’d already started drafting in secret.<h3>I wasn’t removed for being a problem.</h3>I was removed for being a reflection.And when systems can’t hold the mirror, they shatter it. Because they can’t confront the conditions of your brilliance—only the shadow of your obedience.They wanted the benefit of my insight without reckoning with its source. They wanted the balm, but not the backstory. The remedy, but not the rage.And I would not hand over the cure to the ones who authored the wound.<h3>🔓 Liberation Strategy #1: Stop Giving the Cure to the Ones Who Created the Wound</h3>You don’t owe systems your clarity. You don’t have to teach those who refuse to listen. You get to say no. You get to say pay me. You get to build outside of their shadow.Because your wisdom deserves compensation, not containment. Your frameworks are liberatory architecture, not feedback forms.Preserve your clarity for the ones who will treasure it. Not the ones who tolerate it.<h3>🌱 A Bloom Move to Try:</h3>Think of one time you gave a system more grace than it earned. Then ask: What would it look like to reserve that grace for yourself or your community instead? What boundary would honor your energy as sacred?Draw that boundary. Call it sacred. Let it bloom.<h3>So Tell Me...</h3>What truth have you been translating for systems that refuse to hear you? And what would it feel like to stop?Write it down. Not for them. For you. Let your clarity be a covenant, not a concession.<h3>🌿 Tap In</h3>✨ The Book of Blooms is now available. A field guide. A firestarter. A sanctuary for your sovereignty. Find your copy at<a data-mce-href="bloomdontshrink.com" href="bloomdontshrink.com" target="_blank" rel="noopener"> bloomdontshrink.com.</a>✨ What came up for you? Share your reflections with us inside The Garden. <a data-mce-href="https://bloomdontshrink.com/" href="https://bloomdontshrink.com/">Request an invitation</a>. Come be witnessed.✨ Ready for more? Read next: <a data-mce-href="https://bloomdontshrink.com/blog/the-failed-litmus-test" href="https://bloomdontshrink.com/blog/the-failed-litmus-test">The Litmus Test Wasn’t for Me. It Was for Them.</a>The portal stays open. The bloom is not done.

Liberation Has a Cost—And I Am Not Free

They tried to connect through caricature. I left with clarity—and fire.<h3>The Setup: A Misguided Attempt at Connection</h3>She opened the conversation with a claim of proximity. Told me she grew up in a poor, predominantly Black neighborhood. Said it like it was a password to my trust. Like proximity to struggle meant she understood me.But I didn’t grow up poor. And I don’t need someone else’s idea of trauma to make me legible.This wasn’t connection—it was performance. A misguided attempt to earn access through a flattened idea of what it means to be Black. It was classist, reductive, and steeped in the tired belief that all Blackness must be “gritty,” “hard,” or “urban” to be real. It was her version of “I see you”—but what she saw was a stereotype she was comfortable with, not me.This is the aesthetic of inclusion without the actual relational work. It’s the desire to be seen as culturally competent without doing the labor of real understanding. And it’s violence in soft clothing: cultural gaslighting. Symbolic violence. A way of saying: “I already know your story. I’ve decided who you are.”<h3>The Real Rupture: When Quiet Became Complicity</h3>It came during an introduction meeting. Her title: Assistant to the CEO. Her comment:“I basically run the Underground Railroad... for cats.” She said it casually. With a laugh. With comfort. With pride. And the room—didn’t flinch.Not a single pause. No furrowed brows. No side-eyes. No breath held in reverence for what she had just desecrated.<h3>The Body Never Lies</h3>A tightness behind my eyes. Heat rising in my chest. The kind of heat that isn’t just irritation— It’s ancestral indignance. The body remembering. The fire swelling.My nervous system surged. Signaling that safety had been compromised.A boundary crossed.&nbsp; The gut-punch of hearing sacred history casually turned into a quirky icebreaker. And still—no one said anything.Instead, I was met with corporate quiet—the kind that hums like a hymn of complicity.<h3>The Silence Was a Second Violence </h3>Not even the other Black person in the room said anything. Not then, and not afterwards. And that silence? That was a lesson too.A modeling. A quiet, weary swallowing of yet another thing. A reminder that survival in these rooms often means suppression. Even of sacred rage.<h3>The Aftermath: What It Cost Me </h3>The whisper from my ancestors told me:“Make her say it again. Out loud. Slowly.” But I didn’t. I held it. Because we’re taught to hold it. To tuck in our fire. To assess, in every moment, whether telling the truth is worth the consequence of their perception.And I paid for that silence. With righteous anger. That stayed. That boiled. That still simmers, a year later.Because what she did wasn’t just awkward. It was desecration.<h3>Desecration Disguised as Small Talk</h3>She compared herself—her pet project—to people who risked everything. People who moved through shadow and night, chased by dogs and bullets, carrying the weight of a people’s survival on their backs. She co-opted Black resistance as a casual metaphor for her love of cats. And the room let her.<h3>The Litmus Test They Failed</h3>These moments were litmus tests. Not for me. For them.To see who flinches. Who breathes different. Who will speak up. Who will stay comfortable.And they failed.Because this isn’t about cats. Or neighborhoods. It’s about how whiteness trains itself to appropriate Black pain for cleverness, and then demands we swallow it so the meeting can stay on schedule.<h3>The Sacred Cost of Swallowing</h3>That silence? That tightness in the chest? That heat behind the eyes?That’s not overreaction. That’s the body saying:“You are not safe here.” It’s your nervous system remembering the hundreds of times you had to perform professionalism instead of just being a person. It’s the sacred exhaustion of trying to be soft but not weak, strong but not threatening, and visible but not too much. It’s the battle to protect your sacred energy in systems that confuse your power with aggression, your softness with servitude, your silence with consent.This is the cost of being expected to be palatable instead of whole.<h3>So Tell Me...</h3>Where have you been asked to flatten yourself for someone else’s comfort? What sacred truth have you had to swallow to stay “professional”?<h3>Affirmation:</h3> &nbsp;I do not exist to be a mirror for your ego. &nbsp;I do not shrink to fit your assumptions.I carry the weight of legacy and it is not yours mock. I bloom, even in rooms built to erase me. <h3>Tap In. </h3>🌸The Book of Blooms is now available. A sacred mirror, a devotional tool, a rhythm you can hold in your hands. Order your copy now 🌸Follow @bloomdontshrink across platforms for truth, tenderness, and strategy 🌸Share this post with someone who’s been silenced and is ready to speak

The Litmus Test Wasn’t for Me. It Was for Them.

Olamina Speaks is a living blog series rooted in sacred witnessing. It’s not just storytelling — it’s seed planting. These entries are not performance. They’re portals.I am telling the truth — not for revenge, but for resonance.This is a sacred reflection on gaslighting, clarity, and emotional exit.<h3>Gaslighting doesn’t always scream.</h3>Sometimes it whispers with a smile.It shows up in carefully worded emails. In a new policy masked as “best practice.” In someone pretending to be confused by a plan.That’s what I lived through. A workplace that praised my brilliance publicly and then quietly tried to clip it. Where clarity was met with control and containment. Where excellence was handled like a threat.<h3>They asked me to reschedule a sacred opportunity.</h3>To come in and move tables.The co-worker said it with an attitude. Clearly disturbed by my boundary. The manger then followed up the next day and said it kindly. But kindness isn't the same as care.I had already communicated clearly. I had offered support, confirmed coverage for the task, made the moves.Still — someone needed to feel in charge. Still — I was asked to contort. Still — &nbsp;they bristled at my boundary, as if my “no” was an act of rebellion instead of self-respect.This wasn’t about chairs. It was about control. About their discomfort with a Black woman who knew her worth. About the quiet offense they took when I refused to shrink on cue.<h3>Gaslighting by another name.</h3>What I’ve come to understand is that gaslighting, in polished spaces, rarely calls itself by name. It wears professionalism. It speaks in indirect tones. It buries its intent beneath “teamwork,” “tone,” and “perception.”But I felt it in my body. In my nervous system. In the tightening of my chest when the boss’s boss positioned herself directly behind me.That moment wasn’t about support. It was surveillance wrapped in strategy. It was control cloaked in collegial presence.And it wasn’t isolated. It echoed in the subtle corrections of my voice, humor, and presence through policy. Even overtly inturrupting me when I was standing at the front of the room—leading a training on increasing permanency outcomes for undervalued youth— there was still an unspoken expectation that I would shrink. Not because I lacked brilliance. But because mine disrupted theirs.They weren’t confused. They were uncomfortable. Because I carried too much clarity in a space that had already decided I was too much.This job was always too small. And they knew it.That’s why they needed me to downplay my knowing— to dim my leadership so their authority could remain intact.Every time I was questioned, micromanaged, translated, or dismissed, a voice inside me whispered, with increasing certainty:You don’t belong here. You never did.<h3>The Emotional Toll They Never Calculate</h3>I was celebrated publicly as an expert on advocating for undervalued youth in systems—asked to present nationally, to lead international webinars, to represent the mission—while internally, they policed my presence, contained my contributions, and made it clear my brilliance was only welcome when it served their image, not their integrity.That’s the trick of it. They don’t break you loudly. They invite you to betray yourself softly.To bend, contort, be grateful, and perform.&nbsp;And when you finally say “no more,” they pretend they never asked.<h3>The Bloom (The Declaration)</h3>I will no longer perform clarity for people committed to confusion. I will no longer explain my excellence to those invested in my erosion. I will no longer shrink for a seat at a table I was born to rebuild.I’m not moving chairs. I’m moving systems. I’m reclaiming my sacred time.<h3>So tell me… </h3>Where in your life are you being asked to dim, delay, or defend your brilliance? And what would it feel like to work in a space that trusts your leadership without question? 🕊 Have you experienced polished gaslighting wrapped in professionalism? 🌱 Have you ever been praised in public and undermined in private?Tell your truth in The Garden → <a data-mce-href="https://bloomdontshrink.com/" href="https://bloomdontshrink.com/" title="request an invitation" target="_blank" rel="noopener">request an invitation</a> Let this be your soft no. Your bold remembering. Your sacred exit.#OlaminaSpeaks #BloomDontShrink #WorkplaceGaslighting #BlackWomenLead #EmotionalLiberation #SacredLeadership #TransmissionInRealTime

When Gaslighting Wears a Smile: The Emotional Cost of Performing in a Place That Pretends to Honor You

A liberation letter from Dr. Adrienne Kennedy, aka SistaRhythm, The Bloom Priestess<h3>The First and Last Word: Erasure</h3>“Good afternoon, I wanted to let you know that Adrienne has submitted her resignation…”&nbsp;That’s how the farewell began. No title. No honor. No recognition of what it took for me to endure that space. Just my first name, as if I didn’t carry a doctorate. As if I hadn’t led with integrity. As if I hadn’t stood at the front of that room teaching the very frameworks their mission depends on.&nbsp;No “Dr. Kennedy.” No reverence. Just Adrienne—as if we were friends. As if I had not earned and defended my name in every room I entered.But here’s the thing: it started this way too.On day one, I introduced myself as Dr. Adrienne Kennedy. But the HR rep walking me around introduced me as Adrienne—without asking, without care. And then another Black woman, older, rooted in survival culture, looked me in the eye and said:“I’m not calling you Dr. Kennedy.” She said it with the kind of audacity that only comfort within oppressive systems can grant. So I knew—I knew exactly what kind of space I had walked into.<h3>Contained, But Never Quiet &nbsp;</h3>From that moment on, I made a decision: You will not have all of me.I stayed behind a closed door—not out of coldness, but to protect my peace. Because showing up every day in a space that refused to see me while I trained staff on permanency for system-impacted Black and Brown youth? It was emotionally expensive.The job was easy. But preserving my spirit? That was the hard part.They thought I was silent. But what they didn’t know was that I was building something sacred:<ul><li>Traveling to New York to network with DJs and discover my sound </li><li>Quietly raising seed funding for Friends of the Children – Columbus, rewriting the future for youth </li><li>Designing the blueprint for Bloom, Don’t Shrink, a liberation movement rooted in rhythm, truth, and revolutionary softness.&nbsp;</li></ul>Because the truth is: I was never meant to fit. And my bloom was never theirs to contain.<h3>This Wasn’t a Resignation. It Was a Release.</h3>What they wrote in that email?"Adrienne has submitted her resignation.”But here’s what they left out:Adrienne resigned. Dr. Kennedy rose. SistaRhythm evolved. The Bloom Priestess broke the seal. And Bloom, Don’t Shrink is in full bloom.I carried what they couldn’t. And now, I lay it down.This was a reclamation. A full-circle severing from a space that never earned the magic I brought.<h3> This Is What Happens When You Stop Asking for Permission&nbsp;</h3>Now, I step into this next chapter fully embodied, fully expressed.All of me gets to show up, shine, and serve.I don’t just bloom—I build the garden. I don’t just teach—I transform. I don’t just leave—I liberate.This is what happens when you stop asking for permission to exist fully. You don’t just bloom. You become the weather. And baby— the forecast is freedom.<h3>&nbsp; 🌺 So tell me…</h3> What have you outgrown, and who do you become when you stop asking for permission to bloom? What came up for you? Share it with us in The Garden. <a data-mce-href="https://bloomdontshrink.com/" href="https://bloomdontshrink.com/" target="_blank">Request an invitation</a>Read: Refuse to be Erased #BloomDontShrink #BlackWomenRest #VisibilityIsPower #SacredWitnessing #CreativeReclamation #EmotionalHealing

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They Tried to Contain It. I Became the Carrier

Soft Disruption as Strategic Power

Liberation Has a Cost—And I Am Not Free

The Litmus Test Wasn’t for Me. It Was for Them.

When Gaslighting Wears a Smile: The Emotional Cost of Per...

They Stripped Me of My Title—On the Way In and On the Way...