Each edition of the sala is inspired by a griefsense podcast episode about someone I’ve lost and the lessons they left behind. This is my way of making sure their names and stories are never forgotten. Sharing these stories brings us together and it reminds us that grief isn’t just personal, it’s rooted in community. It also reminds us that professionalism is subjective because in my humble opinion, what’s more “professional” than talking about mental health?

I truly believe grief is at the core of mental health, yet it’s so often spoken about in myopic, surface-level ways, if talked about at all. But grief is layered. For me, it has been both a blessing and a curse, bringing deep pain but also fueling creativity, connection, and community.

Growing up, I didn’t have a word for what I felt after losing so many people — how, despite the grief, I had the audacity and ambition to live more unapologetically, more fully, more lovingly, more presently. So much loss sparked this and I didn’t understand it. I later gave a word to this feeling: griefsense. It’s that inner voice, that sixth sense to live life as a privilege.

If you’ve ever lost a loved one or something that mattered and felt a creative spark or momentum in the aftermath, then maybe griefsense is your experience too.

p.s. ➜ I launched The Sala today to honor my grandmother, Bernice Wallace. Her birthday is February 19th. She’s still here but navigating some health challenges. She came into my life when I was 7, when my mom and dad started dating. After my biological father died, I didn’t have relationships with my biological grandparents, so gaining her felt like a gift… an extra grandma. Actually, I got two bonus grandmas because my dad is adopted. I always told Grandma Bernice how much I love her, how grateful I am to have her. She once told me that because of me, she now says “I love you” regularly — something she never grew up hearing as much or saying to my dad and his siblings as much either. The fact that, in her older age, she’s learning the beauty of nurturing relationships? That’s everything to me. I can’t wait to tell her I launched this on her birthday.

my sala story is inspired by my aunt - Red T. 

If there’s one thing she has taught me, it’s that relationship currency is the only currency that truly matters.

Not what you do for work. Not how much money you make.
Not your follower count. Not your social media metrics.

When we strip everything down…when life drags us against the concrete with loss, burnout, or unexpected life transitions…the only thing that remains is the quality of the relationships we’ve nurtured. I mean, who is really there for us at the end of the day?

And yet, so many of us spend more time collecting connections than building and co-creating relationships.

My aunt’s name is Gethzayda Cruz, but I grew up calling her Titi Tundra. She preferred to go by Red T — her alter ego, or maybe just the truest version of herself. She passed away four months ago, on October 16, 2024, in a tragic car accident…just a week after my 29th birthday. She had been planning a birthday surprise for me when I got back from my trip to Aruba, but we never got the chance. She wasn’t just my aunt. She was my second mom. My best friend. One of my anchors in this life. To say there’s a hole in my heart is an understatement. And while I know she knew I loved her, I still wish I had told her more or shown her more, intentionally.

So here’s my question for you: Are you nurturing the relationships that actually matter to you? Or are you giving all your energy to the ones that drain you?

What is Relationship Currency?

It’s the kind of wealth and abundance that never loses value. It’s about who you invest in, and who invests in you. And that can look different for everyone:

🔸 A mentor from a previous workplace/ school/ program who shaped your career: when was the last time you reached out to say thank you?
🔸 A LinkedIn connection whose posts always hit home: have you ever messaged them to tell them how much their words mean to you?
🔸 A friend or someone who shows up for you, even when you disappear: how are you showing up for them in return?
🔸 A creator, author, or speaker whose work has impacted you: what’s stopping you from sending that message and letting them know?
🔸 A family member or someone you appreciate: how can you show it beyond words? A small, thoughtful gesture can go a long way.

Personally, I’m a big fan of snail mail, handwritten notes, and voicemails. With so many people in my life now gone, I hold onto those small pieces of them like there’s no tomorrow… literally. In a world that is constantly demanding more from us, acknowledging someone’s impact could be the one thing that lightens their load.

I feel like I need to say this. As a recovering people pleaser, I used to hold onto relationships out of fear…fear that if I let go, I’d regret it if they died. It kept me stuck in relationships that needed space, boundaries, or honestly, bridges that needed to burn completely..and this includes relationships with jobs or institutions too.

After the trauma of losing 36 friends and family members, this made me think I had to hold onto every relationship, even the ones that drained me. I compromised my boundaries just to keep the peace. But the truth is: some relationships benefitted from me not having boundaries (and as much as this makes me wince a bit)…death doesn’t change that.

When I resigned from my corporate Chief of Staff job in 2022, I fully embraced #BBE —Big Boundary Energy. It taught me that multiple truths can exist: we can take care of our needs and pursue self - preservation. We can let go and honor what once was.

Anything in overflow can become toxic, right? Our culture rewards martyrdom. Where giving until we have nothing left is seen as honorable. We’re celebrated for self-sacrifice. My aunt was that too. She gave and gave until there was nothing left.

#BBE also taught me that self-preservation without community can become isolation and Community care without self-preservation can lead to burnout.

So the real question is:
💭 How do we honor our own boundaries while still showing up for others?
💭 How do we care for our people, our careers, our goals without self-sacrificing to the point of depletion?
💭 How do we build spaces where collective well-being isn’t just about giving but about reciprocity?

We’re told that if we play by the rules: work hard, stay available, keep producing that we’ll be safe. But that’s a lie. Work will replace you. Social media will drain you. Institutions will demand more and give less. This is what leads to burnout. Many of us think burnout is just about doing too much. Nope. It’s about being conditioned to be too available to systems that don’t value us. Even in our personal lives, we’re taught that being constantly on (always giving, always accessible) is the price of being seen, loved, or successful.

But we create real safety when we center each other. When we refuse to be overextended. When we set boundaries and recognize that care must be mutual, not transactional. What does it mean to unplug? To resist urgency? To build both personal and professional relationships that pour into us just as much as we pour into them?

The answer lies in intention. Protect yourself and pour into others, but do both in ways that are sustainable, nourishing, and rooted in love with reciprocity, not extraction.

Mayed said it best: “Renew your energy and pour it back into yourself and spaces where you feel loved and cared for.” That’s the goal.

and when someone truly matters to you, SHOW THEM. We assume people just know how much they mean to us. But what if they don’t?

I wish I had shown my aunt more. And I don’t want you to sit with that feeling.

Now the part we've all been waiting for…🥁🥁🥁🥁

Sala Stories 🛋️🧡 

a sala story by sahibzada mayed | صاحبزادہ مائد 

This reflection feels particularly timely as next week marks the 3rd anniversary of my grandmother’s passing and becoming an ancestor. One of the things I’ve been meditating on lately is my relationship with grief—a very beautiful, complex, and messy emotion that is also incredibly misunderstood. I believe grief is birthed from the remnants of love and it requires us to pay attention to where a wound has been created. One of the things I have learned from the process of grieving (an emergent and intentional practice of embodiment) is that it fundamentally changes who you are and how you are.

The past several months have also been profound and revelatory in a myriad of ways and I’ve given myself the space to deeply reflect on fractured relationships. I wrote the following affirmations a while ago and still return to them as needed. 

• It is okay to let go of relationships that no longer align with who you are and how you are.

• It is okay to acknowledge that change is the only constant and sometimes change leads to fracture.

• It is okay to grieve someone and who you knew them to be. Let that grief move you to a place of love.

• It is okay to tend to the wound caused by their absence. Allow yourself to pay attention to what requires nourishing. 

• It is okay to choose yourself and protect your peace of mind. You do not always have to give. Sometimes, you can take—space for yourself. 

• Renew your energy and pour it back into yourself and spaces where you feel loved and cared for.

with gratitude and care,

mayed

a sala story by Deja White

Losing my job felt like the rug was ripped out from under me. I had finally found my stride in a high-pressure environment, only to wake up one day with my access denied and an email from HR ending it all. At first, I was overwhelmed with sadness, grappling with the stages of grief that come with any kind of loss. But looking back, I see that this moment was my Canon Event. These are pivotal, life-changing experiences that shake you to your core but ultimately propels you forward. It’s like every superhero origin story: the loss, the struggle, and then the transformation. Without that low point, I wouldn’t have been forced to confront what I truly wanted, step outside of my comfort zone, and grow into the person I needed to become.

That layoff not only reshaped how I approach my own work and life, but it also made me passionate about helping others rethink their relationship with work. It’s taught me to build deeper, more intentional connections and to focus on work that aligns with my values and goals. Now, I see this experience as a way to make an impact, whether by reshaping how others think about their careers or inspiring them to embrace their own Canon Events as the foundation for growth. It’s those tough moments that turn us into the people we’re meant to be and help us make the difference we’re meant to make.

a sala story by Justin Malone

In 2024, I battled anxiety and depression. As a newlywed, I felt pressure to provide for my wife and be a leader. This led me to overwork, burn out, and lose myself. I chased society's definition of manhood rather than my own. I lost touch with my inner self - the one who loved creating.

When I was grieving my younger self, everything I loved felt foreign. I lost the art of having fun. Creating content was a chore when it had always been an outlet. At that point, I knew I needed to reclaim my identity. I took the necessary time away from my job and content creation to pause, rejuvenate, and explore the intricacies of me. Now, I prioritize self-care and my faith walk in my daily life. This has impacted how I build community as I'm more intentional when I connect with people. I value every interaction and am willing to limit the number of interactions I have to remain intentional. I can't give from an empty cup, and I want others to feel empowered to take the time to do the same.
follow Justin:

linkedin.com/in/malonejustin
justinmalone.me/
instagram.com/mrjustinmalone

a sala story by Tee Kay

Grief can be a powerful teacher. But most of the lessons you'll learn won't come until much later. You'll really have to have some distance between the ugliest parts of the journey before you can really see the takeaways as information. And I don't mean it as data for social media purposes, but more so for how to grow nearer to yourself. Getting to know yourself better is valuable “data” to have and self-awareness is so incredibly important. The way we implement this “data” is very fascinating to me.

Some may use it for next time, to simply know how to handle a similar situation in the future. Some may use it to change their behavior and lifestyle to avoid ever being in a similar situation again. Another might use it to be a better caretaker, friend or family member —providing a special level of care that can only come from experience. A life lived.

Another might write about it, sing about it, paint about it, make a film about it. Another might teach about it. Or maybe…maybe your life just goes back to normal and it’s as if it never happened with glimmers of ‘what was’ popping in and out of your memory from time to time. Grief is special like that; linear and nonlinear. Stages and memories, stored up like fatty tissue trying to clog your arteries. Don’t let it. Don’t let it poison your gut.

a sala story by Nyam Adodoadji

In 2021, at age 36, I was working at yet another job where I gave my best, but felt depleted and inadequately supported. I looked back on the past fifteen years and in astonishment wondered, where has my life gone? Over those all those years, I wrestled to keep a full time job while also feeding my creative soul. Most of the time, it didn’t work; at least not in the way I wanted it to. I was too drained after working all day to figure out what to do creatively.

By the time I reached this job, I was at my peak level of self-advocacy and self-preservation, communicating clearly and consistently to my employers what I needed to do my best work; however, I still hit burnout. I felt like a failure for continuously hitting this breaking point and needing to leave the world of tech. I felt the metaphorical finger was pointed at me for not having better boundaries, even though I heard peers echoing the same experiences of exhaustion and frustration that management disregarded their needs.

As a creative, I felt uncommitted because I couldn’t stay up for long hours after my day job to work on music or writing because I needed to sleep in order to work in the morning. I felt the delicate and inevitable sense of my mortality. Was my life just going to be one debilitating, draining job after another until I died? This question ignited my 2022 sabbatical, and now in 2025 being on the other side of that sabbatical, I’ve crossed a threshold, and I can’t go back. It’s not often expressed in the context of work and career, but I find myself full of grief. I’m grieving the ways my good will and work ethic were exploited. I’m grieving all the time and energy I gave to institutions that didn’t care whether I flourished or not. I’m grieving all the ways I didn’t get to cultivate my creative work, the work that comes from my soul.

I'm working on an online and in person event called The Mosaic Reflection Session (https://nyamadodoadji.myflodesk.com/mosaic-waitlist). My vision is to use poetry, music and art to create an avenue for tech professionals to acknowledge career grief. I'm looking for event producers (particularly in Atlanta, NY or SF Bay area), energy healers, visual artists and musicians who resonate with the vision to collaborate to bring this experience to life.

If this any of these sala stories moved you, reply to this email or leave a comment to share your thoughts with us! Or take it further: Make a LinkedIn post and tag the creators: @sahibzada mayed | صاحبزادہ مائد, Deja White,@Justin Malone @Tee Kay, @Nyam Adodoadji, @Mimi Gonzalez and @griefsense to help amplify their stories and expand the sala’s impact.

the sala remix: grief & culture

Feb 19th is Pop Smoke’s death anniversary May he rest in peace. 🖤🕊 When Enjoy Yourself dropped, it was a moment for Black and Latine unity in music — whether you loved his music or not, he brought people together in a way that felt fresh and real. He was only 20. I can’t help but wonder what magic he would have kept creating.

Bad Bunny’s Debí Tirar Más Fotos This album hits different. The title translates to "I Should Have Taken More Photos," and if that’s not grief wrapped up in a sentence, I don’t know what is. But beyond personal loss, this album carries the weight of a different kind of grief. The kind of grief we are punished for talking about - the grief caused by colonization, gentrification, and the *attempted erasure of Puerto Rican identity. Bad Bunny doesn’t just give us music; he gives us history, reminders to stay present, and warnings about what we lose when we stop paying attention. Please watch this short film and listen to this song right after. The next time you wonder why someone Latine doesn’t speak Spanish, or why a diaspora community seems disconnected from their native language or traditions, remember: that is colonization and oppression in real time. Families were uprooted. Borders were drawn. People were stripped of their histories. Sound familiar?

Mo: a story that hits home If you haven’t watched Mo on Netflix, you’re missing out on one of the most raw, brilliant, and real depictions of what it means to navigate displacement, grief, and survival. Created by Palestinian comedian Mo Amer, the series tells the story of a Palestinian refugee in Houston trying to find stability while being undocumented. But Mo is more than just a show. It’s a mirror to all experiences of forced migration, generational grief, and the struggle to hold onto culture while constantly adapting. And as we witness the ongoing genocide and oppression of Palestinian people, this story feels even more urgent. Watching Mo is one small way to listen, to learn, and to push back against that erasure. Grief isn’t just about losing people. It’s about losing home, identity, and the right to exist. Don’t look away.

Kendrick Lamar’s Super Bowl Tribute Watch Kristina Williams’s breakdown of this and learn more about her work. Kristina shared how Kendrick took a stage designed for entertainment and turned it into a memorial for the 16 friends he’s lost. I can’t get it out of my head. That’s grief in action. That’s legacy work. Kendrick and legacy will always belong in the same sentence. Kendrick didn’t just perform at the Super Bowl. He made a statement. On so many levels, this was a moment of Black joy, resilience, and resistance and a reminder that there is no America without us. But this wasn’t only personal grief. This was collective grief. The grief of being Black in a country that profits off of Black creativity and Black labor, without ever pouring back into Black communities. The performance was layered: the dancers forming a fragmented American flag, the subtle nods to cultural exploitation, and the choice to perform Not Like Us by turning it into an act of reclamation. Here’s what I took from it: We are the culture. We are the foundation. And we will always find ways to remind you.

Billie Eilish’s Birds of a Feather This song lives rent-free in my head because it’s so grief coded. The ache of wanting to stay connected, of carrying love beyond death, of wanting someone to exist forever. And sometimes, grief sounds like a soft, quiet song on repeat.

Doechii & the grief of losing what you thought was for you A few years ago, Doechii got fired from her job. She recorded a video right after, sitting in her car, processing what just happened and feeling the weight of uncertainty but also saying, I don’t know what’s next, but I’m not giving up. And now she’s a Grammy-winning artist. This moment went viral recently because it’s a reminder that grief isn’t just about death. It’s about losing what you thought was for you. Losing a version of yourself, a sense of stability, the plan you had in your head. Getting laid off or fired isn’t just about a paycheck. It boils down to identity at the end of the day. The sudden shift from “this is who I am” to what now? Doechii’s story shows how grief and transformation go hand in hand. You don’t always get to choose the ending, but sometimes the loss is just the remix before the win.

Pose and the ballroom community as a living memorial Ballroom culture was born out of grief. Out of people being rejected by their families, by workplaces, by systems not made for them ON TOP of losing so many people in their community to the HIV/AIDS crisis. Pose captured that beautifully. It showed how grief and joy can exist in the same space, how storytelling keeps people alive, and how chosen family is sometimes the only family we have. I got to spend a few hours with Billy Porter in 2019, a year after Pose released once at a dinner and later when we were both speakers at the Obama Foundation Summit. His voice, his story, his audacity, his essence…is everything.

This Is Us and the healing power of storytelling This show is a grief legacy piece, a creative blueprint, a peak form of storytelling. IYKYK. But if you didn’t, here’s why it was so profound:

• It showed how grief transcends generations and cultures and how trauma doesn’t just disappear, it transforms.

• It validated the long-haul grief, the kind that doesn’t have an expiration date.

• It held space for the messy, nonlinear, and complicated emotions that come with every kind of loss - through death, career shifts, evolving identities, aging, adoption, distance, lost time, unspoken words, and relationships that slip away or never become what we hoped and probably much more that I am missing.

• This show made me feel seen. It reminded me that grief doesn’t just go away. we just learn how to carry it differently.

Grief isn’t just about loss. It’s about how we move with it. It shifts us, shapes us, and reminds us that all we have is now. That’s the heart of the sala. - a space to gather, to remember, to share the stories that keep us alive. We know that life isn’t promised. But especially if you come from a minoritized community, you know that a LONG life isn’t promised. We carry grief in our bones and in our bloodlines. Having the chance to live a long life is a reality many of us don’t get to experience…and that’s not by accident.

This is how we heal our lineages and how we heal each other. We share stories. We build community. We write, we create, we laugh deep belly laughs, we lead with curiosity and love. We care for each other with reciprocity, not extraction.

If this edition resonated with you, follow the incredible creators and co-authors, support their work, and share this with someone who might need it.

And if you want to go deeper, you can watch my podcast episode about my aunt, Red T and subscribe to the griefsense podcast on your preferred podcast platform.

p.s. if you or someone you know is experiencing the loss of a loved one, I have ready made templates for funeral programs, obituaries, and bookmarks like the one below. It’s a talent and skill I never asked for.

cheers to nurturing our relationships today and everyday ♥

con amor,

mimi, the zillennial griever 🧡