Longing for Connection in a World That Feels Disconnected

Some days, I feel like I’m carrying the weight of the world on my shoulders — my dreams, my nonprofit, my family, my community, and my own personal longing for love and belonging. My head has been spinning since the last big event I attended, and I can’t shake this heavy feeling. It’s not just about one event; it’s about what it revealed to me about where we are as a people, where I am as a leader, and where I fit into a community that sometimes feels like it’s not really a community at all.

I’ve lived in nineteen different states. I’ve seen what unity can look like. I’ve seen communities where people rally together to build something bigger than themselves — where they push past personal differences because they understand the power of collective strength. But here, in Clark County, it often feels different.

Systemic Racism and the Weight We Carry

Nationwide, African Americans face the crushing reality of systemic racism — policies, institutions, and historical traumas designed to suppress us, divide us, and make us believe we have less power than we actually do. That’s nothing new. But in some places, I’ve seen us fight harder to reclaim our space. I’ve seen us rebuild from ashes, the way our ancestors did with Black Wall Street and Tent City Ferry Street. I’ve seen us come together despite being knocked down again and again.

Here, though, I see something different. I see a community that often feels fragmented — where too many choose solitude, disconnect, or silence instead of connection and solidarity. I see opportunities to collaborate and lift each other up, and yet, too often, we don’t.

We could be organizing panels. We could be creating quarterly community calendars for all our Black-led nonprofits and ensuring we support one another’s events instead of competing. We could be building something so much bigger — but instead, there are excuses, missed opportunities, and empty seats where voices and bodies should be.

And it hurts, because the potential is here. We just aren’t tapping into it.

The Loneliness of Leadership

I’ve poured everything I have into my nonprofit and my community, and sometimes it feels like I’m pouring into a cup with no bottom. I’m an extrovert by nature — I thrive on connection, laughter, and togetherness — but I’ve learned that when you constantly give without receiving, your socialization “bottle” runs dry. And when I do get rare opportunities to socialize, I can feel myself almost overcompensating — pulling energy from the people around me, unintentionally draining them while trying to fill my own cup.

That scares me, because that’s not who I want to be. I want to be someone who gives energy, not just absorbs it. But living in a place where genuine, consistent connection feels scarce… it’s hard. It makes me crave deep, lasting companionship even more.

And yes, I’ll admit it: I long for marriage. I long for the kind of love where someone truly sees me — my heart, my flaws, my resilience — and chooses to stay. Not because I need saving, but because I want partnership. I want someone to build with, to dream with, to walk into rooms and feel like we’re in this together.

Being Judged for Existing

But as much as I want connection, I also live with the constant fear of judgment. Being the leader of a nonprofit means everything I do — even when I’m “off the clock” — can be scrutinized. If I laugh too hard, dance too freely, or express myself too openly, there’s always the risk of someone twisting it, recording it, or using it against me.

I’ve been there before. I’ve lost opportunities because of things I said or did on my personal time. That constant sense of being watched can be paralyzing. It makes me hesitate to fully show up as myself — the same self I encourage the kids in my programs to embrace unapologetically. It’s a painful contradiction I wrestle with daily.

The Strain of Being Undervalued

And then there’s the issue of worth. I know what I bring to the table. I know the value of my skills, my creativity, my leadership, and my vision. I’ve built programs, magazines, fashion shows, film screenings, and opportunities that didn’t exist before I created them.

But too often, the compensation doesn’t reflect the work. I’ve led projects valued at tens of thousands of dollars, but I’ve been paid only a fraction of that. I’ve seen students pour their hearts into work that transforms lives, only to walk away exhausted and underpaid. And I know I’m not alone — so many Black professionals, especially women, face the same reality. We’re constantly expected to do more with less, to show up, deliver excellence, and make miracles happen without the resources or recognition we deserve.

It’s draining. It’s disheartening. And yet, I keep showing up, because I believe in the mission and the kids I serve.

Carrying It All

Between running my programs, advocating for the community, supporting my daughter, managing my own health, and trying to build a sustainable future, I sometimes feel like I’m living in fight-or-flight mode every single day.

And as much as I want to believe things will get easier, I’ve learned that hope without community is exhausting. Without a close-knit network of people who truly show up, everything feels heavier. I try to hold it all together for the youth I serve, because they deserve opportunities that many of us never had. But behind the strength and the leadership, I’m human. I get tired. I get lonely. And sometimes, I get discouraged.

Why I’m Sharing This

I’m sharing all of this because I know I’m not the only one feeling this way. Systemic racism, fractured communities, being undervalued, and the constant push to do more, be more, and hold it all together — it wears on us.

And yet, I believe there’s still hope. I believe in the power of us coming together, of choosing unity over ego, of building spaces where we support one another without conditions. I believe we can create something better — for ourselves, for our children, and for the generations that come after us.

I believe it’s possible. I just need to believe we want it badly enough.