How Am I Not Myself

She was never not herself.

Refusing to Abandon Ourselves A few evenings ago, while watching a movie with Lady Birdsong, a single line caught Lady Uppity’s attention: How am I not myself? The question lingered. The longer she sat with it, the stranger it became, so much so that she set her wine glass down and jotted a note in… Continue reading How Am I Not Myself

The Quiet Search for Approval

Rest is not always laziness. Sometimes it is recovery from years of invisible effort.

Lady Uppity was exhausted and didn’t fully realize just how tired she was until her head hit the pillow that first night. She slept for hours, woke only long enough to eat some yummy fruit and toast — thanks to Lady Birdsong’s generosity and kindness — then promptly took another nap before going to bed… Continue reading The Quiet Search for Approval

This Uppity Woman

Fierce at every age. Unapologetic by nature. Uppity by birthright.

Some words arrive like a spark—small, bright, insistent. This stanza came to me that way: fierce, clear, and unafraid. It’s a tribute to every woman who refuses to dim, disappear, or become invisible again. A reminder of the truth we carry in our bones. This uppity woman isn’t arrogant—she’s awake.She carries her light openly and… Continue reading This Uppity Woman

The Uppity Woman’s Last Walk to the Cave

Standing tall, wrapped in laughter, ready to join the stars.

Even Death Knows Better Than to Argue With an Uppity Woman They said the old woman was dying.She said she was finishing. The tribe gathered with long faces, carrying bowls of water and bundles of sage, whispering prayers as though she couldn’t hear. She rolled her eyes. “Stop fussing,” she told them. “You’d think no… Continue reading The Uppity Woman’s Last Walk to the Cave

Yes, I’m a Bitch—And It’s Ms. Bitch to You

They didn’t wait for permission. They titled themselves. And the world had to adjust. — From The Uppity Woman Chronicles Sometimes the revolution starts with a name.

An Open Letter from One Uppity Woman Who Knows Her Name My first job out of high school was in a little mom-and-pop fabric store in Paoli, Pennsylvania. Mr. Goldberg owned the place, and the real boss was a silver-haired woman named Dorothy Gage—kind, efficient, and clearly in charge. When I was hired, Mr. Goldberg… Continue reading Yes, I’m a Bitch—And It’s Ms. Bitch to You