SEEK 2026 Ah-Ha Moments: I am NOT Breathing!

It’s Day 8 of fasting for me. I’ve joined Alfred Street Baptist Church on their 2026 30-Day Seek Fast.

A part of the fast includes daily devotionals and journaling as we stay in communication with GOD, and I wanted to periodically drop some ah-ha moments here on Blogspot and Substack. Staying consistent with my prayer life and my writing life, in tandem with one another, is very important to me.

Something I’ve realized during my daily prayer and journaling is that I am not breathing. I am constantly holding my breath, and then I get to a place where holding it becomes too much and I find myself gasping for air. We gotta breathe to live, so what in the world is going on here?

I know a doctor would point to my weight as an obstruction of breath. Doctors equate weight with everything. Health issues caused by obesity are real and should be taken seriously; however, society’s hatred of a bigger body is unwarranted, and the bias is very real. Trust me, I’ve been a plush doll since I was a child, and I can’t tell you the number of times I’ve gone to the doctor for a routine visit and walked out mentally drained, feeling like a fat failure. My body and lungs, in their current state, are generally healthy. So I should be able to breathe freely while doing common tasks. No strenuous activity is happening. Yet during my prayer and journaling time over these past eight days, I’ve realized I’ve been holding my breath while praying. Why? Even writing this blog entry, I’ve periodically held my breath, realized it, and told myself to breathe—to start the engine again.

I first realized I do this a few years ago when I visited First Corinthian Baptist Church in NYC. I was living in Washington Heights, took the bus to Harlem, and walked into a church full of warmth and community. When I sat down, the service began with one of the preachers saying, “Let’s breathe together,” and they led us in guided communal breathing. I burst out crying because I don’t think I had been breathing correctly my entire trek from Washington Heights to Harlem to my pew seat. My lungs were craving full expansion and air intake.

I realized my mind is sometimes so crowded that it doesn’t make room for my lungs to have permission, for their moment of stillness, to expand in the vastness of the earth and feed on the sustenance they get from the air. Just like my mind needs peace and stillness, so do all the other organs of my body. And when the mind is in overdrive with anxiety, grief, deadlines, thoughts of lack, ridicule, grudges, worry, overconsumption, fear, opinions, judgment, preconceived notions, trauma, triggers, negative self-talk, agitation, and anger it can’t tell the rest of their organ and muscle homies (that we have the luxury of housing and caring for) to do their thing either.

Realizing I’m not breathing even during prayer or writing, two practices that bring me the peace I crave has proven how hyper-fixated I am on completing the task or perfecting the task, instead of finding joy and peace in the process. It’s okay to take time to breathe. It’s okay to relax. Perfection is not necessary when doing some of your favorite things. I am always gently reminding myself that perfection is the perpetuation of white supremacy that is innately ingrained in us. And baby, I’m not trying to perpetuate white supremacy on myself or anyone else for that matter, ever.

When I visit my Nana, who is 96 and living with Alzheimer’s disease, she talks about making things right. “I ask God to correct me. Did I do something wrong? Because I want to make it right,” she said recently. I don’t know what a 96-year bird’s-eye view of a life looks like…yet. I pray for that blessing over my life one day. What I do know, in my shorter years, is that I too have made mistakes. And even though I can’t go back and correct them, I can move forward in alignment with the lessons that came from those mistakes and commit to not allowing their history to repeat itself.

One of the biggest mistakes I’ve made thus far is overcrowding my purse. Which is why I started this blog, Confessions of a Purse Carrier, on Tuesday, April 6, 2010 on Blogspot. At the time I habitually found myself carrying my burdens and everyone else’s, and I needed to figure out a way not to do that anymore. Unleashing it through writing was the best first step for me. Sixteen years later, I am older, wiser, and stronger. I'm aware of my assignment and the stagnancy of bearing burdens is not one of them. One of my favorite preachers and friends, Rev. Hazel M. Cherry, said in her sermon, “You’ve got to know your assignment, beloved. Now some of you might be mad at me when I say this, but you don’t know your assignment. Trump is not your assignment.” I know my assignment in these recent years yet still hyper-focused on being and doing my best at everything, to the point that I shut off necessities like breathing just to complete tasks or reach goals.

Confession: I need this fast not just because, in this season, I am asking God for so much not just for me, but for my family, my friends, and this nation. I also needed this fast to turn down all the internal noise that comes with living. Not just to strengthen my communication with GOD, but to listen to Him speak to me and through me. To treat this moment not as a task I check off on my long daily schedule, but to make it a ritualistic part of my day-to-day. To not be so consumed by finishing that I forget to breathe and allow myself to take my time.

This race against the clock, a timeframe no one created but me, has become self-accountability on steroids. And I need to chill. And be okay with chilling. Because no one really cares but me. And I want to truly place my relationship with God and myself as the priority not my goals and dreams.

That’s it. That’s all.

I’m here ya’ll. Praying, journaling, fasting, and reminding myself to breathe. I’ll be back to share the next ah-ha moment at the halfway mark.

Hoping that your 2026 is off to a great start. Sending all my love.

Asé.

2025: A Year in Review, Edited

Bearer of Abundance by Alex Mensah

I had every intention of writing about my 2025 from a venting lens. I, per usual, planned to confess some of the purses I carried this year and how difficult the trek to the end had been for me. Using my writing as reflection and release, I planned to lay it all in the lap of the digital space and step into the new year praying for more ease and momentum to reach my goals.

I started writing this year’s reflection in mid-December because I knew the end of the month would be busy for me. I wrote about completing a three year fellowship that shifted my life, traveling, friendship heartbreak, and praying for my best friend as she navigates grief. I shared moments when I felt uncared for and disregarded, often tracing it back to the skin I’m in and its role in the never ending cycle of societal abuse. And on and on and on.

On Monday, December 29, 2025 I caught a flight to New Orleans. I’ve been doing freelance creative producing work for a nonprofit for a couple of years now and was assigned as a producer to a playwright writing a new musical. If you’ve been around for a while, you know how much I love New Orleans. And though this trip required a different part of me than when I usually set foot in the Crescent City, I was grateful that the end of 2025 gifted me a few days in my favorite city, all expenses paid.

On Tuesday, December 30, 2025, I stepped into Selah. I talked about my first experience there in 2021 and the owner, Urania, whom I adore, sending me to sit under the Tree of Life in Audubon Park to talk to my dad, who passed away when I was a senior in high school. I had been grieving his death from a place of anger and didn’t want to talk to him or even believe I could, because he was dead and I was living.

Without going into the details of that experience, which you can check out more here, I will say that moment began my intentional lean into healing what I had been toiling with internally for years so that I could be a better human externally. I have remained committed to that work ever since. So when I walked into Selah, having only spoken to Urania in DMs since my last visit, and saw her light, heard “Cyn!!!,” and hugged her at length, I wanted to cry. I held it together because I wanted the moment to belong to the playwright who was seeking expert insight not only to inform her writing. I knew Urania was the perfect person to help, and she was. By asking the playwright the right questions and offering gentle redirection toward deeper thought and inquiry, Urania created space for her to leave Selah more aligned with who she is and what she is called to do, especially in the writing of this body of work. This moment was a new play development dream come true for a producer.

Urania & Cyn at Selah NOLA

As I walked around and sat in Selah, I thought about this year in review I was writing and its purpose. I questioned whether it would be helpful in any way to me or the reader. What was I hoping for by sharing the details of such a challenging year? God reminded me that our challenges aren’t our destiny. They are our training ground for what we are praying for. One thing that never stopped in 2025 was my conversation with God. I have a lot to say, always. My prayers and dreams are plentiful, and I want to be fully prepared to receive them as they come, and boy are they coming. 

Urania come over to speak with me one on one and shared with me the very prayer I have been praying. She encouraged me to think abundance instead of lacking or limitation. I can get so wrapped up in the challenges that I forget to leave room for celebrating the lessons preparing me to walk boldly in my purpose. So, this is the edited version of my 2025 recap. And those of you who know what it’s like to get your notes back from an editor understand how that can shake things up to high levels of irritation. I planned on rereading 2025, its occurrences, and some of the key players to filth, but for what? It does not serve me, you, or the bigger picture in any way. 

2025 was both challenging and rewarding. Heartbreaking yet comforting. Uncomfortable but reaffirming. In 2026, I am looking forward through the lens of abundance and the realization of my big dreams, traveling, creating, reading, loving, learning, and leading with a grateful heart. May your 2026, too, bring you the desires of your heart.