Therapywithkeisha

Therapywithkeisha I now bring healing to my community one therapy session at a time.

Over the past 20 years, I've had the honor of serving vulnerable people whose voices are often unheard as a case manager, sex-trafficking advocate and nonprofit leader.

08/26/2026

August always feels like my New Year.

My boys go back to school. I start gearing up for my September birthday. And tomorrow marks 13 years since my cancer diagnosis.

So every August, I find myself looking back at what this last year held.

And it held a lot.

Another surgery.
Two years of building my own practice.
Teaching. Traveling. Completing my first race and being surprised, again, by the resilience of my body.

I stood in a church on a Sunday morning and preached for the first time since 2019.

I read more books. Made new friends. Made more time for old ones. Stayed consistent with the small things.

And somewhere in there, watching The Office (for the first time) became a thing with my boys.

There was grief too.

Loss. Disappointment. Things I had to accept that I couldn’t change. Boundaries I had to change because I had changed.

And a growing awareness that some of what I’ve spent years carrying was never just mine.

The weight of being a Black woman.
An immigrant.
A mother.
A caregiver.
Trying to build and live well inside systems that weren’t built with us in mind.

I’m also learning to stop punishing old versions of myself for not knowing what I know now.

That one has taken some time.

So I’m not walking into another year with a long list of ways I need to reinvent myself.

I actually like the woman I’m becoming.

Softer in some places.
Firmer in others.
More willing to rest.
More willing to grieve.
More present for the people I love.
And much more grateful for the ordinary days.

Thirteen years ago, cancer changed the way I understood being alive.

All these years later, I think I’m still learning what it means to really live.

And I’m still standing tall.

A poem for the Black boys who will not walk into another school year.
08/10/2026

A poem for the Black boys who will not walk into another school year.

Sometimes the hardest thing we grieve isn’t what we lost.It’s what we were hoping for.
08/01/2026

Sometimes the hardest thing we grieve isn’t what we lost.

It’s what we were hoping for.

If you’re a Grievy Girly, you know resilience isn’t about having less grief.It’s about carrying love and loss in the sam...
07/30/2026

If you’re a Grievy Girly, you know resilience isn’t about having less grief.

It’s about carrying love and loss in the same heart and choosing, over and over again, to keep living.

This is for every woman who has lost people, dreams, versions of herself, and still keeps showing up.

I see you.
I’m proud of you.
Keep going. 🤍

This kind of grief often goes unnamed. We talk about the person experiencing the loss, but not always about the people q...
07/28/2026

This kind of grief often goes unnamed.

We talk about the person experiencing the loss, but not always about the people quietly holding them through it.

If this is you, I hope you know your heart deserves care too.

07/19/2026

Sometimes functioning is not the same as feeling okay.

And sometimes the person who looks like they’re “doing so well” is using everything they have to get through an ordinary Tuesday.

Check on your grieving people.

Even the high-functioning ones.
Especially the high-functioning ones.

I’ll be walking in a 24-hour relay in less than a week. Whew.The funny thing about getting close to something you’ve wor...
07/18/2026

I’ll be walking in a 24-hour relay in less than a week. Whew.

The funny thing about getting close to something you’ve worked hard for… your confidence doesn’t always grow. Sometimes your questions do.

Did I train enough? Miss too many workouts? Could I have done more?

It’s amazing how fast our minds skip past months of showing up and fixate on what we didn’t do. Sigh.

Then I was reminded: what you have to offer is enough. Not because I did everything perfectly. Because I showed up, over and over again.

So today, I’m choosing to trust what I did instead of measuring myself by what I didn’t.

If you’re questioning whether you’ve done enough for the thing in front of you… maybe this is for you too.

What you have to offer is enough.

There’s something about sitting still, even for a little while, that invites you to feel.Feel the joy.Feel the fatigue.F...
06/14/2026

There’s something about sitting still, even for a little while, that invites you to feel.

Feel the joy.
Feel the fatigue.
Feel the grief.

Today, I’m feeling all of it.

The changes I didn’t ask for.
The hopes I’ve been praying for.

The ways life has stretched and surprised me.

I feel the shifts in my body as I’ve released 42 pounds.

I feel the shifts in my friendships.

I feel the ways I’m learning to be more honest with myself… more honest about what hurts, what matters, and what I need.

And maybe that’s what healing feels like sometimes.

Not becoming someone new.

Not fixing every broken thing.

Just feeling your life long enough to recognize yourself again.

Maybe healing and growth are really about coming home to yourself.
Again and again.

Training for the Women for Women 24 Hour Relay with World Vision is teaching me that grace is not something I give mysel...
06/09/2026

Training for the Women for Women 24 Hour Relay with World Vision is teaching me that grace is not something I give myself after I’ve done everything right.

It’s something I need while I’m still building.
While I’m still learning.
While I’m still showing up imperfectly.

These are a few things I’m forgiving myself for as I train.

Because I do not want to reach a meaningful goal by being cruel to myself on the way there.

Grace belongs to the whole journey.

04/30/2026

Sometimes the sun is shining, the cookouts are happening, the trips are planned, the music is playing… and your heart is still somewhere tender.

Grief does not always wait for quiet seasons.
Sometimes it shows up in the middle of summer.
At the beach.
At the barbecue.
In the empty chair.
In the memory.
In the body you are still learning to live in.
In the joy that feels beautiful and painful at the same time.

You are allowed to feel the warmth and still miss what’s gone.

Y’all want to talk about summer grief?

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The Counseling And Wellness Boutique, 1503 S US Highway 301, Suite E16
Tampa, FL
33619

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