And It's Ok | Evolving Takes Werk Podcast

  Has anyone been stagnant? I'm amazed at how I've not completed the podcast. For the season, how I have not been writing or blogging. I have still been creative a little bit Canva and still creating content for clients. However, writing has been hard. Is it a writer’s block? I’ve also had to deal with onset of depression and some disappointing things happening in my life. I can only go so long with saying, “I’m ok.” When clearly I have not been, and you know what? That’s ok. 

    That's ok to be where you are and to feel how you feel. It's ok to reflect on that it's been rough lately but today is good. When you think about practicing gratitude and being present it’s important to be true to how you feel in that moment. Being thankful for what you have, being thankful for what is and is not. And practicing mindfulness, being present in that moment and saying you know what today was good a good day. For instance, right now, I am typing out my blog for this podcast. I’m grateful for creative energy right now. Learn to be fully present daily and in return be thankful that today isn't like it was yesterday or heck, like it was last night. 

    Sidenote, the last two nights have been rough. I’ve not felt like the best version of myself physically and it showed up looking like another stroke. I’m super thankful that it was not and I the opportunity to spend the night in the hospital where so many wonderful people cared for me. For the last 48 hours I had to sit in the space that said, ‘You know what Arlinda? It's OK that you don't feel well and it's OK that you've come to the emergency room. It doesn't make you less than anything to say you I'm not feeling well. 

    The experience that I had was amazing. I met so many nice people. I'm in the hospital taking tests, I'm giving out oils, I'm exchanging phone numbers and we are affirming young black women. Oh my God! They had such beautiful hair and nails. I'm both ill and encouraging, I don't know how that happened, but it did. Because I've suffered a stroke, I think it's important that whenever I feel signs that things are off with me, my thought is, “Oh no! I need to get some help.” That's what I did, and it all worked together for good for me and for the people that I encountered. 

Listen to the rest on "And It's Ok" on Spotify

      

Originally posted on 12.12.2022

Self-Publishing & Branding 💞💙💞💙

 

Publishing independently allows writers to build their own author brand. Over time, authors can grow a platform that reflects their voice and message. Follow and connect with me for more self-publishing tips, author insights, and encouragement to help you bring your book to life. #selfpublishing #authorlife #bookpublishing #writers #lindarinsights

Perfectly Packaged - Nothing Was Wasted

 

    What I thought was a company to help others share their stories became a deeper realization—that I am the bet, perfectly packaged, with nothing to prove.

    When I look at my life now, I no longer see fragmentation. I see formation. What once felt like too many roles, too many pauses, and too many pivots now reads as preparation. Mother, educator, writer, believer, survivor, each role shaped the next. None of them existed in isolation, and none of them were accidental.

    Being a mother taught me patience long before I ever named it as leadership. It taught me how to listen beneath words, how to respond instead of react, how to keep showing up even when I was tired. Being an educator sharpened my ability to translate complex ideas into language people can actually receive. Writing became the place where I processed what I couldn’t yet say out loud. Faith taught me how to trust seasons that didn’t make sense while I was living them and that all things work together for my good.

    Then came the roles I never asked for but still had to inhabit, patient, survivor, griever. Illness slowed me down in ways productivity never could. Recovery forced me to confront my limits. Grief stripped away any illusion of control. And still, even those roles informed the others. They deepened my compassion. They clarified my voice. They reshaped how I understand leadership, not as authority over others, but as stewardship of truth.

    At the time, it didn’t feel purposeful. It felt disruptive. Inconvenient. Like I was falling behind while everyone else was moving forward. But distance has a way of revealing design. What once felt like interruption now feels like instruction. The pauses weren’t gaps, they were classrooms. The lessons learned are invaluable. 

    This is why I no longer believe in wasted seasons. The work I do now is stronger because of everything that came before it. I can sit with people in uncertainty because I’ve lived there. I know fully the pain of rejection and what it's like to become ill and have to solely depend on others. I can guide others through storytelling because I’ve had to find language for my own becoming. I can lead without rushing because my life has taught me the cost of forcing outcomes.

    So when I say I am perfectly packaged, I don’t mean finished. I mean integrated. I mean whole. I mean I no longer need to separate who I’ve been from who I am becoming. The throughline was always there. I just couldn’t see it until I stopped trying to edit my life and started honoring it.

Perfectly Packaged - When “Niche Down” Costs You Parts of Yourself

    I told myself my niche was self-publishing and writing. I created the website and the social media pages. I did all of the things. That wasn’t wrong but it wasn’t complete. What I didn’t understand then was how much pressure that advice carried, or how quietly it asked me to leave parts of myself behind.

    “Niche down” started to feel less like guidance and more like an eraser. It suggested that my story needed trimming. That my experiences needed editing. That the parts of me shaped by illness, grief, faith, recovery, leadership, motherhood, and survival were somehow extra. I felt like I had to choose one lane when my life had clearly taken many—and none of them were accidental.

    Every role I’ve held informed the other parts of me at the same time. Niching down didn’t make my work clearer, rather it made it feel disconnected from me. And over time, that disconnect created quiet resistance. Not because I lacked discipline, but because something in me knew I was being asked to shrink.

    There’s a particular grief that comes from trying to make yourself more “marketable.” It doesn’t show up all at once. It shows up in hesitation. In daily self-reflections. In the feeling that you're leaving too much unsaid. I didn’t realize it then, but I was grieving parts of myself while trying to brand the rest. In those moments, the branding didn't feel fulfilling because so much of me was being left out. 

    I was leaving out so much that makes me relatable to single moms, divorce moms, women of faith and women who can't see it yet but they are thriving in adverse situations without having the language to it. I named the whole of who I am. Mom. Believer. Educator. Writer. Survivor. I'm every woman. A multi-talented woman who has a publishing company designed to help others tell their stories.

    Now, the writing comes easier. The ideas connected. The resistance softened. Not because I had finally figured out the “right” strategy—but because I stopped abandoning myself in the process. 

    This is what perfectly packaged actually means to me now. Not polished. Not minimized. Integrated. Whole. Honest. Every role informing the other. Nothing wasted.

Perfectly Packaged - Releasing the Pressure to Niche Down

 

    For a long time, I heard the same advice over and over again: niche down. Make it smaller. Make it clearer. Make it easier to explain. I thought my niche was simply self-publishing and writing. And while that’s true, it was never the whole truth.

    What I didn’t realize then was how much pressure that advice carried. It made me feel like I had to flatten my experience to fit inside a category. Like I had to choose one lane when my life had clearly taken many. Writing wasn’t separate from healing. Publishing wasn’t separate from grief. Coaching wasn’t separate from lived experience. They were all informing each other at the same time.

    Now I see it differently. My niche isn’t a single service or skill, it’s the intersection of my story, my voice, and the season I’m willing to write from. Its creativity shaped by recovery. It’s guidance rooted in lived experience. It’s helping others give language to what they’ve survived and what they’re still becoming.

    So no, I didn’t niche down.
    I named the whole of who I am.

    And that’s when everything began to make sense.

    I realized that I'm perfectly packaged. I am a

• Writer 

• Coach 

• Survivor 

• Mother 

• Faith-rooted woman

• Creative who understands grief, recovery, and rebuilding

Every role informed the others. Nothing was wasted.

And It's Ok | Evolving Takes Werk Podcast

    Has anyone been stagnant? I'm amazed at how I've not completed the podcast. For the season, how I have not been writing or blogging. I have still been creative a little bit Canva and still creating content for clients. However, writing has been hard. Is it a writer’s block? I’ve also had to deal with onset of depression and some disappointing things happening in my life. I can only go so long with saying, “I’m ok.” When clearly I have not been, and you know what? That’s ok. 

    That's ok to be where you are and to feel how you feel. It's ok to reflect on that it's been rough lately but today is good. When you think about practicing gratitude and being present it’s important to be true to how you feel in that moment. Being thankful for what you have, being thankful for what is and is not. And practicing mindfulness, being present in that moment and saying you know what today was good a good day. For instance, right now, I am typing out my blog for this podcast. I’m grateful for creative energy right now. Learn to be fully present daily and in return be thankful that today isn't like it was yesterday or heck, like it was last night. 

    Sidenote, the last two nights have been rough. I’ve not felt like the best version of myself physically and it showed up looking like another stroke. I’m super thankful that it was not and I the opportunity to spend the night in the hospital where so many wonderful people cared for me. For the last 48 hours I had to sit in the space that said, ‘You know what Arlinda? It's OK that you don't feel well and it's OK that you've come to the emergency room. It doesn't make you less than anything to say you I'm not feeling well. 

    The experience that I had was amazing. I met so many nice people. I'm in the hospital taking tests, I'm giving out oils, I'm exchanging phone numbers and we are affirming young black women. Oh my God! They had such beautiful hair and nails. I'm both ill and encouraging, I don't know how that happened, but it did. Because I've suffered a stroke, I think it's important that whenever I feel signs that things are off with me, my thought is, “Oh no! I need to get some help.” That's what I did, and it all worked together for good for me and for the people that I encountered. 

Listen to the rest on "And It's Ok" on Spotify

      

Ghetto Chick Is On Sale On Amazon!!

This week has been super exciting!!! On June 30 Ghetto Chick was released in eBook format on Amazon. It tells the story of the point in my life where after a failed marriage I entered into a relationship that resulted in even more heartache. Through that brokenness, in 2008, I began to write and journal. During that time http://www.lindarinsights.blogspot.com and Ghetto Chick were birthed.

I’m so humbled by the response to it. When I finished writing Ghetto Chick, I had no idea what to do with it. I put it on a site to sale with a stock book cover and I just left it there. As I learned more about graphics I created the current cover and I knew that I was getting closer to what I wanted to achieve for my first book. A chance scroll on Instagram in May landed me in a two day course about making eBooks. After the first class I was already formatting the book. The interior reflects the beauty of the writings and the beauty of the cover.

I hope that when you receive your copy that you experience words of heartache, love and the desire of a woman, who after a failed marriage, while raising two incredible sons desired more and kept pressing despite the obstacles.

If I’ve learned nothing else in this process, I’ve learned that I was created for more. Check it out!!!!

Ghetto Chick eBook Release June 2020

Ghetto Chick is a book of poetry and writings that I wrote in 2009, after my failed marriage and entering into a relationship way too soon after my separation. 

In that relationship, I was encouraged to learn about the business of self-publishing. Eventually the relationship took different turns which prompted me to grab a notebook to begin writing about my experiences. 

The title, Ghetto Chick, actually came out of a heated discussion where I responded, "You don't want a nice girl. You want a ghetto chick." Hence the title was birthed. 

Ghetto Chick is some of my most honest thoughts of a woman, who was left by her husband, while raising two beautiful brown boys, taken for granted by her lover and yet she still sought after God through the hurt, the pain and the discouragement. 

So, why now? Why release Ghetto Chickin 2020, eleven years after it was written? The most honest answer is, because it's time. Ghetto Chickrepresents so much. It's my first self-published book. It's the soundtrack to my book Infused. It will be my first book that I create in digital format. In essence, Ghetto Chick is my baby, it's my heart. It was the beginning of me having the courage to speak my truth. I didn't know that then. I truly realize it now. 

I'm looking forward to sharing a part of me that was so broken over a decade ago that it led me to writing and to following my dreams. I can't wait to share the beautiful digital Ghetto Chick eBook with you. 

Damn It Spencer ~ Excerpt From Infused

Damn It, Spencer

“Auntie, I believe that your self-esteem is low and that your self-confidence is shot. I’ve never seen you like this over a man. Do you hear what he says to you? Do you read the texts? He told you to die in your sleep, and that you were dumb and stupid. Come on, now. What do you see in him? He needs to leave you alone. Tell him to go.”

Lindar couldn’t take anymore of Spencer’s bantering.

“Okay! Okay! Spencer, I hear you!”

“No, I don’t think you do. I believe Cajun has a hold on you. Ain’t he from Louisiana? Have you seen Eve’s Bayou? Maybe we should watch that …. and that other movie.”

Lindar prayed silently, Lord, give me the strength to not cuss my niece out! She is working on my negative nerves. I know she means well, but goodness gracious! Does she ever stop?

“Do your hear me, Lindar? The movie about the serpent and…and…and…”

“The rainbow, Spencer! The Serpent and the Rainbow!”

“Okay! We need to watch those movies. Maybe we can figure out why he treats you so bad. But then, we need a movie to see why you allow him to treat you the way he does. We need a Terry McMillan movie for that.”

As if she had come up with the perfect thought, she chimed in, “I know, Lindar! We can watch Disappearing Acts. The one with Sanaa Lathan and somebody.”

Purchase Infused today!!!!

Pen Of The Writer (POWER) Book Fest

Help me celebrate Arlinda Christine for registering as an author at the Pen of the Writer (POWER) Book Fest. See you in May, Arlinda!

Pen of the Writer Book Fest is a 2-day literary experience with workshops for writers, interactive learning for children and of course, authors! We support our authors with mentoring, media exposure and marketing strategies.

Are you ready to position your book in front of hundreds of new readers? Join Arlinda, other like-minded experts and me for two days at #PowerBookFest https://powerbookfest.com. 

#penofthewriter #LindarInsights

November 5, 2018 ~ Excerpt From Diligently

(I'm sharing excerpts of my book Diligently leading up to 

The Diligently Infused Gathering at The Harriet Beecher Stowe House on November 5, 2019)

November 5, 2018

Sun shining brightly, that Monday was absolutely beautiful. I didn’t even need a coat. I was thinking about how school was closed the next day due to Election Day. The Oakley Kroger was up the street and I had prepared to go grocery shopping before picking Tyler up from school. Reaching my car, I pressed the button to unlock the car and opened the trunk to get my purse. 

“Today was okay. It might just work out here,” I thought as I opened the door to my car. Once inside of the car, I inserted the key into the ignition and turned the key to start the car. Nothing happened. I tried again. Nothing. For some reason, my mind instructed me to press on the gas pedal. So, I pressed my foot down on the gas pedal. I could feel my foot pivoting to press down; however the pedal was not going down. 

            “I just need some air and I’ll be fine,” I said to myself. I climbed out of the car and I stood beside it with the door open. I decided to walk to the school’s office, but when I arrived, it appeared dark inside. Walking back to my car, I said out loud, “What’s going on with me?” But the weirdest thing happened. I was talking out loud, but it didn’t sound like what I thought I was saying. Honestly, I can’t tell you what I heard. I just knew it didn’t make sense to me. 

            There was a female student sitting at the end of the walkway under a tree. Now, I was growing more concerned. I walked up to the student and asked her if she could understand what I was saying. She looked at me, like that blank stare emoticon. I realized then I needed help and quickly. “Alex! Alex! That’s who I need.”

            Prior to going to the office, I had put my purse back in the trunk. I opened the trunk and grabbed my purse to get my phone cord out so I could charge my phone. I inserted the cord into the jack and the other end into the phone. I’m scared and, in my mind, the only person who could help me is my oldest son, Alex. He would know where to come to help me and I needed to call him. 

I had watched a segment on a nightly news show who shared that the longer the passcode, the less likely it’ll be hacked. My iPhone passcode was four words in length with the first being the longest word. I typed in the first word of the passcode. Success! Then I began to type the second word. I tried again and again, but I could not remember the rest of the passcode. No! Wait! I need my son!I screamed in my head.

 Immediately, I unplugged the cord and put my purse back in the trunk. With my keys, my phone and my charger, I walked as quickly as I could back to the office. This time, the lights were on. Ms. Lisa, who I attend church with, was there. I tried to explain that something was physically wrong with me. She simply looked at me and immediately took me to the school nurse, who took my blood pressure. She asked me who the current president was. I won’t forget what she said next. 

“I’m calling an ambulance. I think she’s having a stroke.”

Diligently & Infused On Sale Now!!!!!!!

Purchase Diligently & Infused Today!!!!!

That Weekend ~ Excerpt From Diligently

((Today, I'm sharing an excerpt from my book Diligently 

leading up to The Diligently Infused Gathering at The Harriet Beecher Stowe House on November 5, 2019)

Looking back, that weekend was such a blur to me. I don't even think I went to church.

That Weekend

            I don’t remember much about that weekend except that I slept a lot. Just going through the motions is what I can best describe that weekend. There was so much I wanted to know. What grades would I be working with? Would it be inclusion or small groups? I knew nothing about the school I had been reassigned to, nor had anyone contacted me from the school to tell me what my assignment was.

            In my mind, I came up with a list of positive aspects concerning this move. It was a school with a late start and my youngest son had started basketball season. With me working at a school that dismissed later, I had time to shop at the Oakley Kroger. I also could stop periodically at Yagoot, Tyler’s favorite yogurt, and surprise him with a 20-ounce smoothie with sliced bananas and strawberries. 

            Tyler’s school was in the Eastern Conference and most of their games were closer to my newly assigned school. On game days, I could hop in my car and drive up 71 North or take Red Bank Road to games that were closer. 

“Hmmmmm,” I thought. “Just maybe this assignment is a blessing in disguise.”

            Then, Monday came.

November 2, 2018 ~ Excerpt From Diligently

(Today, I'm sharing an excerpt from my book Diligently 

leading up to The Diligently Infused Gathering at The Harriet Beecher Stowe House on November 5, 2019)

November 2, 2018

            The day before, I went home mentally drained. Fortunately, Enjoli came over to install a new hairstyle. Besides, sitting and talking with her would settle me down from such a rough week. I had rocked my natural look for about a month out of a challenge to myself. I actually loved it, but I figured I needed to switch things up as I prepared for my new adventure. 

            On my last day at the STEP Program, I allowed my students to come and go throughout the morning as normal. When they asked me who would teach them about mindfulness and play mindful music, I jokingly told them that they had to leave. Truthfully, I really needed them to leave my room, primarily because I didn’t want them to see me sad. It was so hard to pack, console them and keep searching for tissues for all of us. 

            By the end of fourth bell, I was finished shutting my room down. I planned to have lunch with my students, just to sit and talk to them one last time. The more I planned, the harder it was to face them. After lunch, they all went to another classroom. But the moment had arrived. I walked into the classroom and tried to talk to them, and again I broke down and returned to my classroom. I went back to my room so incredibly hurt. 

            I kept looking at the clock; the hands seemed to be moving faster that day. With 15 minutes left in the day, I asked the students to come to my classroom. I needed a moment alone with just them. I really wanted them to hear my heart and encourage them to stay the course. We gathered in a small circle and I told them how proud I was of each of them. There were several new faces to the program, yet you would have thought I’d been their teacher for years.

            I allowed them to speak from their hearts and told them it was okay to cry when you’re hurting. I assured them that everything would be alright. That moment will stay in my heart forever. As my last task as their teacher, I walked them to the door one final time. Once all of the goodbyes and silly jokes were finished, I went to say goodbye to my fellow coworkers. 

            Earlier in the day, Mr. Bailey, along with some students, had packed my car. Now my car was filled with ten years of my teaching career and a huge part of my heart. I didn’t know what was to come next. I just knew that my time at STEP was over. 

November 1, 2018 ~ Excerpt From Diligently

(What a difference a year makes. There are several days in my life that I'll never forget. November 1, 2018 is one of them. I'm sharing excerpts of my book Diligently leading up to The Diligently Infused Gathering at The Harriet Beecher Stowe House on November 5, 2019)

November 1, 2018

            In my mind, I had come up with a foolproof plan to take down all of my Pinterest-inspired decorations. After being moved from our former location to make room for a new school for gifted students, to a location that was dull and uninviting to students, I committed to creating a bright space where students would learn in a colorful and welcoming environment. Not only did I teach English, American Government and Economics to my students, I also introduced them to mindfulness and meditation. Mr. Bailey, my para, and I worked hard to create an inviting place for our students. 

            After I had taken all of the decorations down, a student walked into my room and asked me what I was doing. I felt a breath of both frustration and regret. Now, I should have contacted his family. This student had been through so much already. Our bond was unique in that he would just pop into my classroom for no reason at all. It didn’t take long to sense that he found a connection to me as a mom, since he had lost his several years ago. If he were my son, he would’ve been my middle child because he fit perfectly between my two sons. 

            I stopped as I balled up the colorful tissue paper and gently told him that I was leaving.
He laughed and asked me to stop playing. He stood in my classroom and stared at me and said, “You’re lying.” In the calmest voice that I could muster up, I told him about the program’s numbers being low and that I was being reassigned to another school. Before I could get my thoughts completely out, he abruptly left my room in tears. 

            “Dag!” I thought. “This is going to be so hard.”

            At 8:20 a.m., the first bell rang and students entered my room. I taught English for the first three bells, but my first bell contained students that I had had the longest. It was really important that they learned of my leaving from me. The plan was to tell them that I was leaving and let them know that their new schedule would begin that very same day. I made another announcement that morning to stoic faces. I informed them that I wouldn’t be having class that morning, since I needed to pack up my room. Next, I told them to follow their new schedule. 

            It felt like my students took on a Colin Kaepernick moment as they all got up, went and grabbed their unfinished work from the previous day. I looked over at Mr. Bailey and he put up “Webster’s Word of the Day” on the screen and began playing mindful music through the classroom speakers.

            I totally understood how they were feeling. They were hurt and had no intention of leaving my classroom. I went to my desk and cried, just like I am right now as I relive that moment. Later as I recovered, I would learn why leaving hurt so bad. The success of my students meant as much to me as the success of my own children.