A woman sitting on a stone wall with her back to the camera, making peace signs with both hands, against a cloudy sky and foggy background.
A woman standing outdoors with mountains and cloudy sky in the background. She is wearing a black sweatshirt with white text, black leggings, hoop earrings, a red headscarf, and an Apple Watch. The sweatshirt reads: 'Unbothered. Healing. Hydrated. In my lane. Prospering.'

Freedom Found Her…and she’s still unfolding

This is the story beneath the glow up…

June 2025, I moved to Portugal.
But the journey started long before the plane ticket.

Over the past 10 years, I’ve lost more than 100 pounds naturally. I’ve ended a marriage, changed careers, redefined success, and started telling myself the truth not just the polished version I used to show the world.

This blog is where I hold space for all of it:
The healing. The softness. The weight loss. The border crossing. The Black girl magic. The hard-earned joy.

I created Freedom FoundHer as a cultural and personal love letter to Black women who are ready to live and love on their own terms. This isn’t just a blog, it’s a soul archive. A place to tell the truth about becoming, shedding, and returning to the you that always existed underneath the expectations.

A smiling woman at an airport with two luggage carts filled with suitcases and bags, standing in front of a blue sign indicating restrooms and an elevator, with a Samsung advertisement billboard in the background.

What I’ll Be Sharing Here

The real story behind losing 100+ pounds

Reflections on healing, womanhood, identity, and joy

What it’s really like to relocate and build a new life abroad

Glimpses of Portugal. The soft. The sacred. And the small.

Whether you're here for inspiration, resonance, or your own roadmap, welcome.

This is a space where you don’t have to perform, shrink, or apologize for wanting more.

I didn’t chase freedom. I chose me and freedom came running.

What comes next?

I’m still finding out

But I promise to tell you as I do

Follow the unfolding