It’s a little colder in Providence than usual today. Like… the weather dropped out of nowhere. And honestly? That’s the kind of shift I’ve been feeling internally too. A little chillier. A little clearer. Like the fog lifted—and I saw everything for what it really is.

This isn’t just a story. It’s a coronation. And it starts with grief.

Last month, I was in the hospital. My body forced me to stop. To rest. To listen. To heal.

And you know what happened? I saw who really shows up when the room isn’t lit, when the music’s not playing, and when you can’t give a damn thing. It was my parents. My grandma. My man. That’s it.

No girls’ group chat. No ‘I got you, sis’ crew. People I had helped host events, cooked for, put onto my favorite farmer’s market, shared recommendations with, made homemade birthday gifts for… silence. They KNEW where I was. One of them had my cast iron pan full of a homemade dessert I gifted…

They literally feasted on my sweetness and vanished when I needed support. They used a weak excuse to justify their absence, disregarding the fact that I would show up for them.

(One of them eventually came to visit when she learned where I was, but the rest were radio silent.)

It’s wild. The kind of grief that hits when you realize… You were surrounding yourself with people who loved the light you shine, but not the wounds you carry. People who drink from your well and offer nothing when you’re dry.

Have you ever been there? The one who shows up for everyone—but has to suffer in silence?

(Just to be clear—this isn’t about everyone in my life. Some people didn’t even know what I was going through at the time and have since stepped up. This grief isn’t about them.)

I was angry. I felt stupid. Embarrassed. I asked myself—How did I not see this? How did I let this go on for so long?

I used to think this was just a ‘friendship issue.’
 But no. It was a pattern.
 One rooted in something deeper:

When you’re raised to perform, to please, to prove…
You don’t learn boundaries.
You learn hustle.
 You learn how to audition for your life.

(Funny thing— as I was writing this, I remember one of them telling me a story about a woman who “disappeared” and left the friend group without saying anything. At the time, I felt bad for them. But now? I wonder if that woman just did what I’m doing now—choosing herself and leaving the takers behind. She just refused to explain and dipped.)

Even as a grown woman doing deep spiritual work—I had this hidden sisterhood wound. One that whispered: ‘If you give enough, they’ll stay. If you’re sweet enough, they’ll see you.’

But something died in me during that season.
The little girl who thought love was earned through sacrifice.
The woman who thought softness required shrinking.

And something sacred happened in that grief… I realized—I don’t want to be liked. I want to be respected. I want to be received. And I want to be paid for what I know and who I am.

So I started shedding everything. People. Performances. Parasocial attachments. And in the silence, something beautiful began to rise.

And what rose in her place…
Was a Queen.

This is the Art of Slowing Down.
 Because when a woman stops rushing, stops chasing, stops hustling for her worth—she doesn’t crumble.
 She remembers.

She remembers that she is the table.
 She is the invitation.
 She is the crown.

She doesn’t audition anymore.
 She walks in with presence—and the world adjusts.

Remembering this is when my own Coronation happened.

My offering to you is more than a course. It’s a return to self. It’s a paradigm shift. It’s for the woman who’s been holding it all together.
The one who’s tired of performing. It’s for the woman who’s ready to stop shape-shifting and step into her seat of power. Not with force. Not with burnout. But by devotion to self — self love, self reclamation, self honoring. The one who wants to rest, rise, and receive in her full feminine authority.

Not the fake social media feminine that says “be soft and stay silent.” 
Not the grind culture boss babe that says “prove yourself to be worthy.”

The real, rooted, royal feminine.
 The kind that knows:

The woman with this kind of authority that doesn’t beg, chase, or explain. She simply is. And the world reorganizes.

Coronation is for the woman who knows she’s powerful but tired. The woman who’s been the strong one for everyone. The fixer. The overgiver. The self-healer.

She’s not broken—but she’s breaking cycles. She’s not chasing clout—she’s claiming her crown. She wants wealth, softness, safety, legacy… And she’s done waiting for permission.

If that’s you, I have a few spots open. Comment on this post or email me (dejachaniah@gmail.com) ‘CROWNED.’ Let’s talk. Not pitch. Not pressure. Just truth.

I used to think healing would feel good. That once I got it all right, the universe would reward me with the perfect people and peace and love.

But healing? It cracked me open. And inside the crack… was the crown.

So to those who left when I couldn’t give? Thank you. You taught me that I was unconsciously auditioning for friendship. You taught me who I’ll never be again.

And to the women who feel like they’re collapsing right now? I see you. You’re not dying—you’re being crowned. It’s time to embrace being supported. You deserve it.