Season of Self: The Quiet Power of Reflection
How looking back reveals lessons, growth, and the path forward
Introduction: The Mirror of Our Journeys
It’s easy to dismiss reflection as self-indulgent or unnecessary in a world that rewards constant forward motion. Supremacy culture tells us that looking back slows us down, that it’s better to “move on” and “keep going.” But reflection is not stagnation—it’s recalibration. It’s how we honor where we’ve been so that we can step forward with clarity and intention.
This morning, before my feet even touched the floor, I lay in bed wrapped in the lingering emotions of a dream that had stirred something deep within me. I often have dreams that help me make sense of my waking life, and this one was no different. As the pale light of dawn crept through the window, I reflected on my separation from my husband—two years on the 26th.
This wasn’t like the times before, when we would break up and make up, riding the chaotic waves of what I affectionately call “hood love.” (Cue The Isley Brothers’ “Break Up to Make Up.”) This time, the separation feels permanent. I’m reckoning with the finality of it, a weight that sits differently than it did in the past. Before, the grief was always cushioned by the thought that we’d find our way back to each other. Now, the space between us feels like a death, and I find myself grieving all the things we’ll never do together again.
But this reflection, heavy as it is, also offers a different kind of clarity and healing. It allows me to look back on the patterns I was too deep inside to fully see before—the codependency, the self-sacrifice, the ways I centered his needs over my own. I see now how much I’ve grown in this time apart. I see the ways I’ve reclaimed pieces of myself that I didn’t even realize I’d given away.
Reflection is a mirror, but it’s also a map. When we pause to reflect, we trace the path that led us here. We see the lessons we may have missed in the moment. We acknowledge the growth that wasn’t obvious while it was unfolding. And, most importantly, we decide what to carry forward and what to release.
Today, we’re staying home for a Day Without Immigrants. As I sit with my tea, laundry still in the basket, and the silence of my home, I give myself permission to honor the past without being bound by it. I give space to grieve, to celebrate, and to breathe. This is the work of today: making room for the wisdom that reflection holds and trusting it will guide me forward.
Reflection as a Practice of Accountability and Grace
Reflection isn’t about dissecting our past or punishing ourselves for what we didn’t know then. It’s about holding space for accountability with grace. It’s understanding that we did the best we could with the knowledge, tools, and capacity we had at the time. It’s also about recognizing that our ancestors, too, navigated a world where survival often meant assimilation, adaptation, and, in many cases, severing ties to their roots.
Just as nature moves in seasons, so does our growth. What may have felt like a failure last season may now reveal itself as the soil where something new is taking root.
On this Day Without Immigrants, I think about the sacrifices my ancestors made—what they had to leave behind, what they were forced to forget, and what they passed down, both knowingly and unknowingly. For those of us who are descendants of immigrants, enslaved people, or colonized peoples, reflection isn’t just personal—it’s ancestral. When we reflect, we honor the complexities of their journeys.
Some of our ancestors assimilated to whiteness or proximity to whiteness for survival. They may have changed their names, altered their customs, or distanced themselves from their languages and traditions in order to fit into a system that promised safety through conformity. Reflection asks us to examine these histories without shame, but with accountability. What do we carry forward from their resilience, and what do we choose to do differently?
This morning, as I reflected on my separation and my growth, I also thought of how reflection ties to legacy. Supremacy culture doesn’t want us to reflect on these legacies because it thrives on us repeating cycles without question. But reflection breaks that cycle. When we reflect, we can choose to carry forward not the survival mechanisms of assimilation but the strength, resistance, and joy that sustained our ancestors.
Reflection isn’t just about our past—it’s about reclaiming what was lost and planting something new for the generations that come after us.