Some days the weather inside my body is a storm. If you are here, maybe you know that weather too. I live with fibromyalgia and under the shadow of early signs of RA. I don’t have every answer. What I do have is a conviction that this season has to matter.

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Fight + Light is my north star. Fight means care is a reflex, not an afterthought. Fight looks like hard calls, doctor visits, bills paid late but paid anyway, and the quiet bravery it takes just to show up. Light is the cup of soup, the hand to hold, the square of sun you carry in your pocket. Fight is survival. Light is joy. Together they are how we stay human.

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Fight + Light is survival with purpose. Too often I see how outrage gathers for white men who lose a microphone while the silence is deafening when Black women lose entire platforms. American media tells on itself in who it rushes to protect and who it quietly discards. I know this story because I live it. In my career, in my writing, and even in my medical care, I have been dismissed, disbelieved, and treated as disposable. My pain is often weighed against others’ and deemed less urgent, less real, less worthy of care. That is the cost of being first on the chopping block and last in line for recovery. And it is why I write, why I create, why I keep speaking. Because I refuse to be erased.

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It is how I remind myself that care is not optional, and how I try to make that reminder visible to others. Part of surviving is figuring out how to make a living in a world that measures everything by the bottom line. I know the skepticism is real. We see corporations shift their causes like they shift their campaigns. Fight + Light is my refusal to let care be reduced to a marketing line.

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The collection is one way I live this work. Story, apparel, keepsakes. Each piece is made to order, built to last, and connected to real action. Fifteen percent of profits support food security, housing stability, and health-centered nonprofits and research. That is what circulation looks like. Not charity. Not pity. Survival shared, not hidden.

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If you can buy, thank you. If you cannot, share a page, check on a neighbor, sit with someone who is waiting. That counts too.

We square up. We keep the light.

I’m not a billionaire with a foundation, I’m just one person running a small shop and trying to do some good. Every order — whether it’s a tee, a tote, or whatever else I dream up — helps put money back where it matters: into women’s health research, HBCU scholarships, into the hands of women chasing their studies in any field, and into the pockets of folks brave enough to return to school later in life. I can’t fix the system, but I can sell a shirt and pay it forward, one order at a time.