Best Gift Ever

This is a note for our wonderful subscribers: we will pause subscription billing as we plan for Sassy's future.

I know you think you may have only been hearing my stories, but you've been hearing multiple. Did you know you're supporting three women? Did you know there's another woman behind Sassy? And here she is...

Hi, I'm Brooke. I'm sure you have a few questions. I can answer a few.

Is the name changing? Yes, a poem, an anecdote, and a box of chocolates walk into a bar.

Is the platform changing? Yes, soon we'll drive a moving truck to Substack. You will receive the first newsletter in the first week of January.  

Is it free? Aww. Yeah. Baby. But of course, we accept and appreciate any support.  

Envision me in a peach-colored, ruffled-high-collared patterned sheer blouse; chef's kiss, muah.

It is gorgeous and just my style—a style my sister calls Diane Keaton-ish. However, I find it to be the most flattering wisecracks ever.

Now, picture me staring at said blouse cascading off the hanger as I stand in my closet doorway.   

It is my absolute favorite shirt.  

And I've never worn it.

My cousin bought it for me nearly 15 years ago. At the time, I had just gotten down to my lowest (and would promptly depart soon after arriving there) weight.

My arms did not fit into the sleeves. Now, friends, this was not a new development. My arms have always looked like I could fry a mean chicken thigh in a cast-iron skillet.

My cousin offered to exchange it for a larger size, but because it was a size that I "should have" been able to fit, ignoring all nuances of brands, fabric, or give, I decided to keep it.  

I regularly admire its sensational style and beauty. I imagine myself within its arms—we're still talking about a shirt, folks.

I was so stuck on the idea of "should" I decided to die on a hill, shirtless and chilly, with my areolas quivering in the wind.  

I missed the opportunity to relish in something I loved because of my inability to relinquish an idea. I refused to pivot and chose to operate within an idealistic narrative.  

Since I refused to recalibrate, I ultimately created a shrine in my closet, a memorial to the ashes of "If Only." And sometimes, we never move past that.  

So what now? I can leave it there. I can give it away. I can throw it away.

Or I can reimagine it. I am no stranger to a needle and thread; stage left enters Markita Stewart. I get to cut the sleeves. I can mourn the death of expectations without taking up residency there. I get to imagine something new. I can give myself permission to find a new favorite.

And that is the best gift I can give to myself.  

So, as we round out the holidays and enter a new year, I invite you to pivot with me, to relinquish and reimagine the ill-fitting stories, people, places, and narratives.

We hope you have a wonderful Holiday Season and a Happy New Year.  

Goodies

Flo(w): Hallmark+ Adds Dozens of 2024 ‘Countdown to Christmas’ Movies (Free Trial)

Eye Candy:  That's Dr. Brown

Pregnant Pause: 30-Day Gratitude Challenge

She's Gotta Have It: Black Girl Gift Guide, Holiday & Beyond