We are officially three posts deep, and it’s not lost on me that we’re only three posts deep. (If you saw my IG Stories, where I suggested I was SO committed in 2026, just you wait! ha).
But to be honest, this is just me, being Kamari-coded. I get excited, start talking to people before I even properly introduce myself, and then slowly peel back the Scorpio layers over the course of years. By 2030, you’ll really know me, I promise.
Here’s how we’re going to slowly launch this relationship. I’m going to reveal a bit now, and we’ll just keep building from there.
What you should know about me (because you’ve been attentive on this date, right?!):
If you’ve been here since January, you already know a few things: I’m almost 40 (but as the legendary Kyle Cooke says, we don’t acknowledge age), I’m pushin’ every possible P, I think about my mom – and the general concept of being a mom – more than I ever thought I would at this stage, and I really love being Black (while having hardcore justice warrior tendencies, because Black people in America really shouldn’t be paying taxes but…)
What you probably don’t know, yet:
I’ve been quietly building something over here, in between school drop-offs, needles to the face (if you’re my husband, you didn’t just read that), and tiny crises everywhere (we will NOT label them “mid-life”).
It’s called When the Water Broke. Yes, it’s a podcast. Not unlike the one I had in 2018 (IYKYK), but also wildly different because I’m a new woman in Christ.
Podcasting has always been a love of mine – and so I’ve decided to jump full-in. We’re talking lights, cameras, bundles and bundles of hair, a little makeup, and lots of editing because I am not self-possessed enough to deliver 2 raw hours of my own face to the Internet.
Now, before you roll your eyes and say more people need to put down mics and pick up books… let me tell you what this is not:
It is not a labor-and-delivery advice show, nor is it about parenting 101. (I am barely surviving bedtime. My daughter has a bigger backbone than I ever had. I am her employee. I have no advice.)
It is not a momfluencer situation. (I will not be recommending a $48 baby spoon; my son tells me I need to shop less.) Editor’s Note: I will accept offers to do paid promotions because daycare is illegally priced in my hood. So, judge me if you want, but maybe I *will* push a $48 baby spoon if I get paid $48.50.
It is not me performing wellness in a linen set. My wig is literally sliding off (heeelp!), and I’m wearing my favorite dirty GAP hoodie, and I have more thoughts about the geopolitical implications of daycare tuition than I do about nasty ass green juice.
What it is, and what this Substack is, is a culture and comedy show about those moments that “break your brain” and change you forever… for better. Water break moments. The ones that split everything into before and after, and you can’t ever go back.
Some of you already caught that vibe in the Fruitvale Station piece. Or in that first brain dump, where I went from Korea face-lifts to gun violence to Beyoncé’s Act III in nine bullet points flat. Or in the Pushin’ P post, where I sat down to write something cute about perimenopause and ended up confessing that I’ve been Googling prolapse in the bathroom while my kids try to break the door down.
That’s the show. That’s the Substack. That’s what we’re doing here.
What you’re going to find out:
I try really hard to stick to my commitments. Like any self-respecting mom. But the truth is, I cancel and reschedule everything at least 3x depending on who is throwing up, what my hair is giving, and how much social battery I have left to communicate with people outside of my own head.
So that means I will try my best to deliver high-quality writing to you weekly, leading up to when this precious podcast actually drops.
Sometimes I’ll write about culture, motherhood, identity, pop culture, grief, comedy, and the occasional unhinged numbered list. Other times, you just have to listen to me talk about how hard it is to launch a pricey podcast when you’re terrified that AI will take your job tomorrow (I ask Claude very often if it will replace me… awkward convo).
Then in May, the podcast will drop, and you’ll get to hear these conversations with people who’ve survived their own water break moments. And I promise you this: you will be moved.
What you should do when you leave here:
If you hate all of this, thanks anyway. Like… I never handled rejection well, so I don’t know what to tell you. Maybe leave a comment so I can grow thick skin?
And if you love this, leave a comment too – or a water break moment of your own.
We’re going to have some funnnnn!