Tag Archives: Black American

Chapter 2

44

On Sunday, November 23, 2025, I turned 44 years old. And if I’m being straight with you—this past year has been… heavy.

Coming home as an adult is complicated. You return to familiar streets and familiar people, but life doesn’t rewind just because you did. Rebuilding isn’t automatic. It takes intention, self-awareness, and the courage to face the parts of your life that feel empty.

I walked back into Louisiana with a loose plan:

  • find a stable income 
  • find a church home 
  • find a Toastmasters meeting.

 A decent start, but not nearly enough for the life I need.

Even though I know I’m a person who thrives on community, laughter, conversation, and shared space, I didn’t create a plan to nurture connection. I didn’t set expectations for maintaining old relationships or building new ones. In the back of my mind, I kept imagining friendships just falling into place—like they used to. People popping in, inviting me out, recreating the same spontaneous warmth I once felt in Texas.

But life doesn’t recreate the past. Not without effort. Not without intention.

I declared 2025 my “Year of Connection,” but looking back, it wasn’t a year of connection. It was the year that revealed how deeply I craved connection—how much I missed feeling woven into a community. A year that showed me the difference between wanting connection and actually building it. That realization forced me to get honest about my lack of action.

Craving connection without specific action leads nowhere. And the truth is, my cravings don’t matter if my actions don’t match them. I’ve been in a self-induced isolation for so long that I almost forgot how to be a friend and how to connect. Realizing that made me see just how much I’ve been missing real closeness.

I want connection. Real connection. The kind that looks like weekly calls, occasional brunches, random Tuesday hangouts, sitting in someone’s living room talking about life. I’m not craving quick, empty check-ins. I’m craving meaningful relationships that naturally include those small moments — the shared posts, the random texts, the tiny touchpoints that make life feel lighter and more human.

As I step into 44, I know exactly what I want this year to mean:
The year I walk out of isolation.
The year I choose connection with intention.
The year I return to spiritual grounding and reconnect with the church in a real, committed way.
I’m naturally a dramatic person. I don’t need 44 to be dramatic. I just need it to be deliberate.
A quiet turning toward community. A gentle re-entry into belonging. A reflective acknowledgment that I’m ready to live again—not just exist.

And this year, I’m choosing connection on purpose.

DDC

Lesson: Oh yes it’s time. Connection time! I’m coming out of isolation and into my connected era. Ready or not. Here I come! 

Question: So . . .  where do I start? 

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About Me, Humor, Love Life

The Speech I Should Have Given

My BFF got married this weekend at a beautiful, love-filled wedding — the kind of day that feels like a movie, where everything and everyone is glowing, and you can feel love in the air like confetti.

I told her that I wanted to be on program at her wedding. Her response? “There’s no program, but you can speak at the reception.” Somehow, I heard that as a maybe. Not exactly the guaranteed microphone moment I envisioned.

Still, I prepared — because that’s what best friends do. I spent the weeks leading up to the wedding studying YouTube speeches, jotting down notes, and even consulting ChatGPT (yes, I had AI assist with my emotions — don’t judge). I wrote a few sentences that I thought might capture our friendship — just in case the opportunity came up.

Then came the reception. The music was perfect, the love was loud, and the energy was everything. At one point, Sharecker walked over to me and said, “It’s almost time for speeches.”

And I froze. Like a deer in headlights.

She must’ve noticed because she immediately offered, “You don’t have to if you don’t want to.”

But of course I wanted to.

I reached for my phone to review the notes I’d so carefully prepared — and right then, my phone screen went black. Dead. No charger in sight.

So I did what best friends do when life doesn’t go according to plan — I spoke from the heart.

I stood up, nerves shaking, voice cracking, and said what I could remember: that I loved her deeply, that I was proud of her, and that seeing her so happy filled me with joy. There were laughs, there were tears, and it felt like the right kind of imperfect — the kind that’s real.

But now, with my 27” monitor, full battery, and all the words that escaped me that night — here’s the speech I should have given:

The Speech 

Good evening, everyone. I’m Danielle Denise Clark, and I have the honor of being best friends with the beautiful bride, Sharecker.

We met riding bikes in middle school, and from the very first moment, I knew I needed her in my life for the rest of my life.

Over the past 30 years, Sharecker has always been love in motion. With acts of service as her love language, she has shown up for me in every way imaginable — physically, emotionally, spiritually, and wholeheartedly.

We’re quite the opposites, too. I can be loud, over the top, and a little extra — while she’s calm, reserved, and effortlessly cool. But that balance has always been the heartbeat of our friendship.

Sharecker is generous with her spirit, steady in her presence, and intentional with her words. She doesn’t just talk about love — she lives it.

And today, watching her marry Charles — the man who makes her feel safe, seen, and protected — felt like witnessing love find its home.

So here’s to Sharecker and Charles:
May your marriage be filled with joy, understanding, forgiveness, and friendship.
May you continue to choose each other everyday, again and again, in both the ordinary and extraordinary moments that make up your life together.

And in the words of a great poet, Nicki Minaj:
 “It’s a celebration every time we link up. Greatness is what we are on the brink of. I wish I could have this moment for life”

Cheers to the Sellers — to love, laughter, and a lifetime of togetherness. 

DDC

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About Me, Chapter 2, Mental Health, Multiple Sclerosis

Heavy Legs, Heavy Thoughts

Lately, I’ve been noticing my legs in a way I never really have before. Noticing them not in appreciation, but in awareness—because sometimes they feel heavy, stiff, or reluctant to move.

Most mornings, it takes extra effort just to get going. I wake up and my legs feel like they’ve forgotten how to function, how to step. Those first few minutes out of bed I shuffle around like a baby calf fresh out of the womb—awkward, shaky, unsteady. Eventually, the stiffness eases after some walking around, but it never disappears completely. It lingers, reminding me of something I’d rather forget.

I think back to August 2021, the month I was first diagnosed with Multiple Sclerosis. That flare-up announced itself loudly: it was nearly impossible to walk. I spent about a week struggling before I finally went to the emergency room, where I heard the words that changed everything.

But even before that, there were signs. Earlier in 2021, while in Chicago, I had another flare-up. I could barely walk. I just wanted to sit down wherever I was. My legs dragged under me like they didn’t belong to me anymore. To anyone watching, I probably looked like a drunk person weaving down the street, but really I was fighting my own body with every step.

Sometimes, moving my legs feels like an act of sheer willpower. Each step is a reminder that I can still move, even if it takes more energy than it should. And I can’t help but wonder—am I simply getting older, or am I slowly losing my mobility?

Every case of MS is different. I know this. I’ve been told this. But knowing doesn’t stop me from comparing myself to my sister, who also lives with MS. Her journey has been unimaginably hard, and when I see her struggle, I can’t help but feel fear tighten its grip on me. I am terrified that one day, I too won’t be able to walk and that terrifies me. 

I don’t have answers. I don’t have solutions. What I do have is this moment, these words, and these legs that still, somehow, carry me forward. And for now—that has to be enough.

DDC

Question: What’s something in your life right now that requires more effort than it used to?

Lesson: These legs were made for walking. And that’s what they will do. Keep moving forward.

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About Me, Chapter 2, Mental Health, Where to?

Beige

Lately, I’ve been wrestling with a strange feeling. I feel like I left my sparkle in DFW. Back then, I shined bright—bold, vibrant, effervescent. I was the type of person who lit up rooms, who carried a certain energy, a certain extra that made me feel alive.

Now? I feel beige. Neutral. Faded. Completely… blah.

It makes me wonder: is this what growing up is supposed to feel like? Trading in sparkle for steadiness, vibrancy for responsibility, joy for a “just get through the day” kind of existence? If it is—then I don’t want to grow up.

Moving, transitioning, and starting over later in life are not small things. Sometimes the sparkle isn’t lost—it’s buried under the weight of change. We juggle work, family, bills, routines, expectations. And slowly, the parts of us that once danced so freely get quiet. They’re still there, just muted.

But here’s the thing I’m starting to realize: sparkle doesn’t expire. It doesn’t vanish when you turn 30, 40, or even 70. It doesn’t disappear when you relocate or reinvent yourself. Sparkle is a state of being, a choice, a return to what lights you up.

Maybe the question isn’t, “Did I lose my sparkle?” Maybe it’s, “Where can I find it again?”

Finding My Sparkle Again

For me, sparkle looks like:

  • Being around people who energize me, not drain me.
  • Doing things that bring me joy simply because they make me smile.
  • Saying yes to experiences that scare me a little but also make me feel alive.
  • Dressing up just because, blasting music in the car, laughing loudly at all times.

In other words—sparkle is about choosing vibrancy in a world that often feels dull.

A Note to Myself (and Maybe to You Too)

Growing up doesn’t have to mean giving up my sparkle. Adulthood doesn’t have to equal beige. Yes, life changes. Yes, I carry more responsibilities. But that doesn’t mean I can’t sparkle again. Maybe the grown-up version of sparkle just looks different: less about wild nights out, more about being fully alive in the little things.

And if I’m really honest, maybe the fact that I even miss my sparkle is proof that it’s still in me somewhere—waiting for me to bring it back to life.

Here’s to sequins in the everyday, laughter in the ordinary, and sparkle— always sparkle— no matter the season.

DDC

Question: Have you ever felt beige? Is “beige” a phase we all go through, or a warning sign that I need to recalibrate? And maybe most importantly—what’s your go-to move when you feel beige? What do you do as your personal “anti-beige” to bring the sparkle back?

Lesson: Growing up doesn’t have to mean dimming down. Adulthood doesn’t have to equal beige. It’s possible to carry responsibility and still keep joy, spontaneity, and vibrancy alive.

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About Me, Chapter 2, Where to?

My Kitchen

I was ingredient prepping this weekend—chopping sweet bell peppers, steaming spinach, blending eggs with cottage cheese—when an uninvited guest made an appearance. A fly started buzzing around my ingredients. Instinctively, I yelled, “Get out of my kitchen!”

That’s when it hit me.

I yelled at a fly to get out of my kitchen.

This wasn’t just any moment. This was Friday, May 16th—the one-year mark of my move back to Louisiana after nearly two decades in Dallas.

One year ago, when I returned home, I was riding a rollercoaster of emotions—hopeful, yet often deeply sad. Starting over in your 40s isn’t as simple as packing a U-Haul and driving across state lines. It’s raw. It’s humbling. It’s layered.

And the kitchen? The kitchen was my mom’s. Her space. Her rhythm. Her routines.

Sure, I scrambled eggs most mornings, but for the longest time, I had no desire to truly cook. I had spent 19 years cooking dinner almost daily for my son and me. But when I got here, something changed. I was in survival mode. I didn’t want to try new recipes or meal prep or bake for the joy of it. I tiptoed in and out of the kitchen like a respectful guest. It wasn’t mine.

But on this ordinary Friday, 365 days later, while speaking to a fly, I unknowingly claimed ownership of a space that once felt foreign.

“My kitchen.”

And when I realized what I had said, I shed a tear.

A single, grateful tear.

Because in that small moment, I realized something big:


I am home.

—DDC 🩷

Question: What’s one unexpected moment that made you realize you were exactly where you were meant to be?

Lesson: Home doesn’t always feel like home at first. Sometimes it takes time, healing, and even yelling at a fly. It feels good to be home. 

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About Me, Career, Chapter 2, Mental Health, Where to?

One Year Later: A U-Haul, a New Chapter, and the Fragile Gift of Starting Over

A year ago today, I loaded up a 15-foot U-Haul with my memories, my belongings, and a heart full of hope (and fear) and drove away from the life I had built in Dallas over nearly two decades.

I didn’t know what would meet me on the other side of that drive to Gonzales, Louisiana. I just knew it was time. Time to be closer to family. Time to listen to that quiet inner nudge that kept whispering, “It’s okay to begin again.”

Today, I find myself in my feelings. Raw. Reflective. Fragile.
I’m struggling to concentrate on my HR duties, so I decided to pause and write. It’s been a while since I’ve posted—my last entry was on my birthday, November 23, 2024. I had just turned 43. A lot can happen in a year.

Since that post, life has unfolded in unexpected and beautiful ways.

I landed the job I once dreamed about—an HR Coordinator role that truly fits me. For years, I worked in recruiting and longed for something broader. I wanted to expand beyond interviews and resumes into a more holistic HR space, and I did it. My current role allows me to support employees more fully, contribute to engagement, and still flex my recruiting muscles—without it consuming my entire day. It feels like purpose and alignment found their way back to me.

Slowly but surely, I’m settling into life in Gonzales.
I have a church home that pours into my spirit.
I’ve joined a local Toastmasters club that’s helping me grow in courage and connection.
I’m meeting new people.
I’m rekindling old friendships.
I’m rebuilding a life from the ground up—and letting it look different this time.

But even with all the progress, there are days like today—quiet, emotional, and a bit heavy.
Days where I miss the familiar. Days where the cost of the move feels loud.
Where the memories from Dallas tug on my heartstrings, reminding me of what was.
Starting over is brave… and it’s also tender.

I’m learning that success and sadness can coexist. That growth often walks hand-in-hand with grief. That joy doesn’t erase the ache—it simply reminds us why we keep going.

So today, I’m giving myself grace.
To feel it all.
To celebrate the milestones.
To mourn the losses.
To rest in the middle of the journey.

If you’re reading this and you’ve started over recently—know that you’re not alone.
It’s okay to feel everything.
It’s okay to still be finding your footing.
It’s okay to be proud and sad all at once.

This isn’t the end. It’s just the one-year mark.
And I have a feeling year two will be even more powerful.

All Good Things,
DDC

Lesson: Starting over is both brave and tender—and it’s okay to feel everything that comes with it.

Question: Have you ever made a big life change — like moving, changing careers, or starting over? What helped you get through the transition?

You can leave your response on IG.

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Chapter 2, Love Life

Am I the Problem?

Lately, I’ve been on a rollercoaster with Facebook Dating. It’s been a cycle of joining, swiping, chatting, and leaving—only to come back and try again. A few meet-and-greets have come from it, and while some were genuinely pleasant, none have led to the connection I’m looking for. Either the spark wasn’t there for me, or it wasn’t reciprocated.  

I’ve met some nice people, but I’ve also found myself matching with individuals I wasn’t initially attracted to. I told myself it was about being open-minded, giving people a chance to grow on me, and stepping out of my comfort zone. But time and again, those efforts have proven unsuccessful. Attraction, as it turns out, can’t be forced—and neither can chemistry.  

Here’s the thing: I know I’m the prize. I know my worth, my value, and all the amazing things I bring to the table. So why is it so hard for me to truly live in that truth? Why do I keep finding myself settling for less than I deserve, hoping that somehow the situation will rise to meet me?  

The hard truth is, I’m the common denominator in all these experiences. It’s not easy to admit, but if I keep falling into the same patterns, I have to ask myself: Am I the problem? Am I the one blocking my own blessings by settling, doubting, or compromising on what I truly want and need?  

Recognizing this isn’t about self-blame; it’s about self-awareness. It’s about understanding that I can’t expect to find a deep, meaningful connection if I’m not fully aligned with what I deserve and willing to hold out for it.  

The truth is, being the prize means more than just knowing it—it means living it. It means refusing to settle, trusting the process, and having faith that the right connection will come when it’s meant to. It means being patient with myself, being okay with being single for a little longer, and focusing on my own growth and happiness.  

So no, I don’t think I’m “the problem” in the traditional sense. But I do think I have work to do. Work to ensure that my actions align with my self-worth. Work to break free from patterns of settling. Work to remember that I am worthy of a love that’s reciprocal, passionate, and authentic.  

DDC

Lesson: Yes. I may be the problem, but I’m also the prize—and it’s time I start living like it.  

Question: Are you the problem? 

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Chapter 2, Mental Health, Where to?

Adjusting

I’ve been in Louisiana for 70 days now, and I’m just about settled into my space. I have one moving box left to unpack—shoes. It’s amazing how many shoes I have, considering I wear the same pink flip-flops on a regular basis.

I know to clean the guest bathroom every Friday and take the trash out on Tuesday evenings.

I’ve got a couple of churches on my radar and have selected a local Toastmasters club to join.

I know of two taco spots with great deals. Mi Padres has a Taco Tuesday special: three tacos and a margarita for $15.

I started working as a bartender at a daiquiri shop three miles away and had an interview with PJ’s Coffee today, which went well.

Mom and I have developed a good rhythm. I enjoy quality time with my mom and Mason. We saw Inside Out 2 together. Great movie. I’ve made a few connections with old friends.

I was introduced to a very nice cigar bar in town. Good vibes. Great music. Perhaps I enjoyed the venue more because of who I was with than because of the venue itself. Perhaps.

How long does it take to start over? I am starting over in my forties. I have the opportunity to choose my identity. I am trying to figure it out as I go.

Lesson: It is starting to feel like home.

Question: Daiquiris or coffee?

DDC

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About Me, Chapter 2, Mental Health

Reset

I absolutely love a reset. Yearly reset. Monthly reset. Weekly reset. Daily reset. A reset is a chance to start over. A reset is the opportunity of a new beginning. 

“In the canvas of life, a new beginning is the brushstroke that paints the beauty of possibility. It’s not just a chance to start over; it’s an opportunity to craft a masterpiece, a chance to get it right, and an embrace of the endless potential that unfolds with every fresh start.”

I love to watch YouTube videos of people conducting their own resets. My favorite YouTuber MuchelleB is famous (to me) for the reset. She walks us through her resets with her Australian accent and I am always engrossed. So intrigued that I have rewatched her videos from 3-4 years ago with patience. It’s amusing to watch her older resets as she is using platforms that I am unfamiliar with. Have you ever heard of Things 3? 

Every new year I make a list of lofty goals in several areas of my life that I dream to achieve during the year. I would spend weeks creating elaborate vision boards of my dreams for a successful year. Then I would not refer to that vision board until the next year to create the new vision. 

This year is different. Totally different. In my Tamar Braxton voice. This year I am reviewing my annual goals on a weekly basis. Making plans for that week to progress towards the vision. 

“A goal without a plan is just a wish, a dream waiting for the blueprint of action to bring it to life.”

How did I plan to achieve the beautiful elaborate vision board without a plan? Hence, the weekly reset. On a weekly basis I review the goals for the year and plan what needs to happen that week in order to achieve the bigger picture. This year I am using the tools I have learned from watching countless YouTube videos on how to achieve the desires of my heart. 

DDC

Lesson: A reset is a weekly must. 

Question: How do you prepare for a new week? A new month? A new year? 

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About Me, Daddy, Mental Health, Therapy

Choose Happiness

I love my Daddy.

My Daddy played the role of mediator between my mother and me. He always knew the perfect words at the perfect moment.

One Thanksgiving, my mom and Daddy came to Texas. Loaded up the car with all the ingredients needed to make gumbo. My Mom and I decided that was the year I would finally learn how to cook her gumbo.

Well. My Mom’s teaching style didn’t quite match with my learning style. I typically cooked from recipes with precise measurements. Hello Fresh comes with pictures, you know. On the other hand, my Mom is skilled at eyeball method of measurement. Simply put. This led to a lot of frustration between my Mom and I. The tension was real real thick. my Daddy sensed it being his time to step in. He pleaded, “Come on now, y’all!” Lol. Since then I have developed my own way of cooking gumbo. It’s passable. Of course it doesn’t compare to my mom’s.

To my Mama, I love you! I love you just the way you are. You embody the qualities of a Proverbs 31 woman. Just like her, you diligently take care of your responsibilities and prioritize them .. often placing them ahead of your own desires.

Mama, you have every right to prioritize your own well-being. I implore you to prioritize your own happiness. Each day, I hope you wake up and choose happiness despite the challenges. I recognize how tough it can be—it’s a going to be a difficult journey. But remember, YOU can do hard things. The key lies in your choices.

So, choose happiness.

XOXO

Lesson: Happiness is a choice.

Question: How are you prioritizing your happiness today?

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