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A Weekly Ancestral Series by Barika Not every calling shows up loud. Some don’t arrive with applause or announcements.Some don’t look impressive on paper. Some callings whisper. And if you’ve spent most of your life surviving, it can take a minute to hear them. Reflection For a long time, I thought purpose had to be big.Something visible. Something measurable. Something other people could point at and say, there it is. But purpose don’t always show up like that. Sometimes it

A Weekly Ancestral Series by Authoress Barika They taught us how to survive. They didn’t always teach us how to feel good without apology. Joy got framed as extra. As loud. As something to save for later. But joy has always been part of our lineage. Reflection Joy ain’t always loud laughter and wide smiles. Sometimes it’s peace. Sometimes it’s choosing yourself quietly. Sometimes it’s laughing when the world expected you to be bitter. I’m realizing how often I minimized my jo

A Weekly Ancestral Series by Authoress Barika Somewhere along the way, we were taught that rest had to be earned. Like exhaustion was proof of worth. Like, stillness was something you had to ask permission for. But my ancestors didn’t dream of freedom just so I could stay tired. Reflection I used to rest with guilt. Rest like I was sneaking. Rest like I needed to explain myself afterward. I thought if I stopped moving, everything would fall apart. Truth is—I was holding tog

Six educators slide into the elevator faces saying “Good morning”bodies saying“Lord… just let me make it to Friday.” Smiles on autopilot.Coffee doing the bare minimum.All of us dragging—but still cute about it. Doors close.Then— JERK.BOUNCE. Elevator act like it forgot its job description. Nervous laughter pop off first—because Black women laugh before we scream. Then the silence say,“Oh.We stuck-stuck.” Doors crack open—one of us escapes like“Y’all be blessed.” Now it’s fiv

My name is Barika, and I am not new to myself— I am remembering. This blog is not a performance. It’s a return. A walking-back-home with my ancestors whispering directions in my ear, correcting my posture when I forget who I am. I was raised in language before I was raised in books. In tone, in rhythm, in side-eyes that said more than paragraphs ever could. It is how my people carried truth when the world tried to steal our tongues. So if my words bend, stretch, sing, or snap

Welcome to Two Minds, Many Books Welcome to the beginning of something special. Two Minds, Many Books  is more than a podcast—it’s a conversation, a crossroads, a shared love for stories that stretch across genres, experiences, and perspectives. Launching January 25th , this podcast was created for readers who don’t like to stay in one lane and thinkers who know that books are portals to more than just entertainment. At its core, Two Minds, Many Books  brings together two voi

I Write Because My Voice Been Here Let me say this off rip:I write ‘cause my voice matters.Not “needs permission.”Not “fits a mold.”Matters. I’m a Black author.I write books. I write children’s books.And I write in the language that raised me, shaped me, held me down when the world tried to quiet me.This ain’t broken English.This ain’t slang for fun.This is lineage. This is rhythm. This is knowing how to bend words so they hit . I write kids’ books ‘cause our babies deserve t