There comes a moment when the noise fades, the dust settles, and you look around and realize: this is a losing season. The signs are everywhere—opportunities dried up, allies silent or absent, and the very ground that once felt firm beneath your feet feels like it’s shifting. You blink and think, how did I get here?
Vanessa – Out of Coffee
I move through the world on a mission. It’s loud and clear in my heart: I’m here to tell stories that center encouragement and empowerment—especially for Black women. It’s personal. I am a Black woman. And being one raised at the crossroads of cultures—Caribbean roots, the Southern Baptist South, Irish threads in my lineage—I bring a perspective that’s richly textured. I’m a history and STEM girly, someone who gets giddy over tech and deeply moved by stories of women surviving and thriving from the 1300s to WWII. I love the research, the smells, the taste of a scene, the sound of a woman’s laughter echoing through centuries. And yet, in the middle of building, writing, pitching, and praying, I look up and realize I’m in a losing season.
The world right now is showing its cards. Political chaos runs rampant. Corporate agendas have eaten integrity for breakfast. The pressure to tell “acceptable history” rather than true history is real—and exhausting. The DEI moment has slipped into quotas and checkboxes, and alleged allies are revealing their true motivations. Let me be real: some folks were only in the room for the optics.
When someone shows you who they are, believe them.When a door closes, let it remain closed.If the house is on fire, get out and let it burn.
That’s not bitterness. That’s wisdom earned through fiery flames.
As a woman of faith, I know that even the losing seasons have purpose. There are times I ignored the signs and lost, getting smacked with fallout. And there are times I listened—and for a moment blessings flowed like a river. Then the river ran dry.
It’s not always going to be a winning season. Sometimes, you lose. Sometimes, life kicks you in the teeth. And when it does, you have to ask yourself: now what?
What Do You Do When You’re in a Losing Season?
You grieve. You breathe. You pray.
You let the rain come.
Ecclesiastes 3:4 reminds us: There’s a time to weep and a time to laugh, a time to mourn and a time to dance.Nobody wants the weeping season. No one welcomes the mourning. But the rain is necessary—it releases what’s buried, nourishes what’s growing, and reminds us, we are alive.
Find Ways to Retain Joy – Vanessa with her 26th book taking Car Selfies.
Losing hurts. It hurts to see people you trusted only stand beside you when it’s trendy. It hurts to watch monuments scrub away Black contributions from the record, as if the Underground Railroad, War heroes erased from Arlington National Cemetery because of their sex or color or skin, and the countless other dark hands that built this country are inconveniences to a prettier story.
Let me be clear: this is all American history—Italian migrations, Haitians battling English troops for our freedom. All the Black, Brown, and White stories woven together belongs to all of us. Yet the only narratives being preserved are the ones that make people comfortable. The rest? We’re told to erase, edit, or hide them. And if you’re someone like me, someone who insists on telling the truth with love and power, you can find yourself cast out, put into a rough season where nothing sticks.
But even here—especially here—there’s still something to do. You regroup.
Hope and Regrouping
Losing doesn’t mean you stop. Losing is a pause. A reroute. A holy moment to reset.
Stop chasing folks who never believed in you.Stop shrinking your truth to make others feel taller.You remember your mission.
Yes, it’s a lonely road when only 6% of the room looks like you. Yes, like-minded folks are rare, and genuine support can feel even rarer. But they are out there. I know that because I have readers and listeners who hear me—who see me. That means the world.
And so, we regroup with intention.
We protect our joy.We sharpen our gifts.We build anyway.
We prepare for the next season by shedding the expectations that no longer serve us. We speak truth—the whole truth—because the stories we tell now will shape the world we’re leaving behind.
I don’t pretend to have it all figured out. I just know the losing season doesn’t get the final word. The bumps and the lows on my path are birthing clarity. Resilience is being shaped, and I fall back on my faith and it brings me out of darkness to the sunshine.
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And when the rain stops, and the mourning shifts, we will dance again.
Books to help you through your season are:
Rest Is Resistance by Tricia Hersey
A radical, spiritual, and deeply empowering book about reclaiming rest as a tool of liberation.
Black Liturgies: Prayers, Poems, and Meditations for Staying Human by Cole Arthur Riley
A spiritual balm. Riley weaves faith and justice into meditations that feel like breathing in a storm.
Healing the Soul of a Woman by Joyce Meyer
Meyer speaks candidly about trauma, emotional wounds, and how God works healing in the places we hide.
Island Queen by Vanessa Riley
A Caribbean woman’s rise to power in a world that tried to crush her. It’s history, empowerment, and a well researched novel.
The Love Songs of W.E.B. Du Bois by Honorée Fanonne Jeffers
A multigenerational epic that explores identity, belonging, and the burden and beauty of legacy.
Show notes include a list of the books mentioned in this broadcast. This week, I’m highlighting Baldwin and Company through Bookshop.org. You can find my notes on Substack or on my website, VanessaRiley.com under the podcast link in the About tab.
Thank you for listening. Hopefully, you’ll come again. This is Vanessa Riley.
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