I used to wonder if God had forgotten about me.

And I don’t mean in a small, passing way. I mean deep in my bones, I’ve had moments where I felt invisible to Him. Forgotten in the blessing line. Skipped over. Especially during seasons where I was praying consistently, showing up, doing everything I knew to do, and still… nothing. Still not chosen. Still waiting. Still hoping.

There were times I would sit and scroll on social media and feel the weight of it. Watching people buy their dream homes, fall in love, start families, land amazing careers. Meanwhile, I was just trying to keep myself together emotionally. I’d watch someone announce an engagement or a baby shower and suddenly I was spiraling. Not because I wasn’t happy for them, but because I felt so far from that life. I used to ask myself, What am I doing wrong?

But one day I sat with myself and asked, Wait… is that even what I want right now?

Do I really want to raise a baby at this point in my life?
Do I have the capacity to be someone’s wife today?
Am I ready for the things I think I’m supposed to have?

The truth is… no. Not yet.

And for the first time, I could admit that to myself without shame. I used to put so much emphasis on falling in love, being chosen, finding the perfect man, getting married, having that aesthetically pleasing little family. But now? Now I realize how much I still need to learn about myself. How many wounds I still need to heal. How many patterns I still need to break. I know that if God gave me everything I was asking for back then, I would’ve fumbled it. Not because I’m undeserving, but because I wasn’t ready.


That’s the part people don’t talk about.
We all want the blessing, but we don’t always talk about the weight that comes with it.
We don’t always talk about the becoming required to hold it well.


So no, God didn’t forget about me.
He was protecting me. Preparing me. Pruning me.
And I know that now.


One of the scriptures that has been my lifeline is Romans 8:28:
“And we know that all things work together for the good of those who love God and are called according to His purpose.”

Not some things. All things.
Even the delayed things.
Even the confusing things.
Even the heartbreak. The missteps. The silence.

That verse means so much to me that I call it my life verse. I was born on 8/28, and ever since I was a little girl, that number has followed me in the most divine ways. I’ll glance at the clock and it’ll be 8:28. My total at the store will be $8.28. A devotional will pop up and the number will be right there, confirming everything I needed to hear.

It’s God’s gentle way of reminding me, I’m still writing. Don’t lose heart.


Lately, I’ve also been finding a lot of peace in my quiet time. I start my mornings slowly, and when I really need to reset, I reach for my Study Bible, the one that breaks things down in a way that actually makes sense to me. I’ll light a candle, sip my tea, and give myself permission to slow down. That rhythm, that softness, helps bring me back to the truth: just because it hasn’t happened yet doesn’t mean it’s not coming.


I used to think 30 was the finish line.
That I had to have it all figured out by now ;career, love, finances, health, legacy.
But turning 30 isn’t the end.
It’s not even the climax.
It’s the beginning of a new chapter. And I want to enter it with grace, not pressure.


When I look back at the people in the Bible, none of them were perfect. Most of them made huge mistakes—David, Moses, Ruth, Sarah,and yet God still used them. He still covered them. He still fulfilled His promises in their lives.

God is close to the brokenhearted.
And I believe He’s close to me too. Even when I’m unsure. Even when I feel tired. Even when I don’t have it all together.

So no, I don’t wonder if God forgot about me anymore.
I know for sure He’s working.
He’s moving.
He’s writing.
And I trust Him.


I trust that when the page finally turns, it will all make sense.
Because even if I don’t know what’s coming next, I know the Author.
And He’s never failed me yet.

If you’re in your own waiting season right now, I just want to say, be patient with yourself. The story isn’t over. And the delay doesn’t mean denial. It just means preparation.


What part of your story are you still waiting for?
Where do you need to trust the Author more?

On Saturday night, April 19, I went to see Ryan Coogler’s new film Sinners, featuring Michael B. Jordan playing twin brothers—Smoke and Stack.

One of the themes in the movie that stuck with me was how Smoke and Stack left the South, went up to Chicago, and eventually came back home. And while the story was fictional, what it stirred in me was very real.

I sat there in the theater watching Black folks on screen portraying life on the plantation—picking cotton in the fields for hours, working hard to meet a daily quota for a fraction of the pay. At night, they went to the juke joint to feel alive again. And on Sundays, they went to church, holding tightly to the faith that had carried them through generations of pain.

And just like that, I was reminded:
This wasn’t just a movie.
This was my family’s story.

That was the exact life my great-grandparents lived as sharecroppers in Mississippi—before they migrated to Chicago.
And it wasn’t just my family.
It was the life of millions of Black people in that era.
Ordinary lives. Extraordinary resilience.
​I am the granddaughter of sharecroppers.
My family’s roots run deep through Mississippi soil land that my great-grandparents worked, but did not own. They were part of the generation that carried the weight of slavery’s aftermath. Though legally “free,” they lived under a system designed to keep them bound.
Sharecropping was a trap.
They worked long days picking cotton and tending land, only to end up indebted to the very people who claimed to pay them. It was slavery repackaged. Oppression dressed as opportunity.
And yet they endured.

When I think about my life now, the freedom I have to travel, to speak, to dream, to own, to rest,I know it is only possible because of them.
Because of what they endured.
Because of what they sacrificed.
Because they believed in something better, even if they wouldn’t live long enough to see it.
I am the great-granddaughter of  sharecroppers.
But I am also the great-granddaughter of an enslaved people.
That is not distant history. That is my direct bloodline.
And that humbles me every single day.

Look at Us Now
My family now?
We are degrees earned.
We are passports stamped.
We are businesses built.
We are my mother, who owns a publishing company.
We are cousins who are college graduates, homeowners, authors, creatives.
We are daughters and sons who still remember where we come from,but aren’t afraid to go somewhere new.
We are living the life our grandparents couldn’t have imagined.
We are their wildest dreams and their answered prayers.
And I carry that truth in everything I do.

I will never fully understand what my ancestors went through.
What it felt like to be forced into bondage.
What it cost them to survive slavery, sharecropping, segregation.
What it took to hold onto their faith, their dignity, their families, and still keep going.
But I am thankful.
To my great-grandparents. To every enslaved African American who endured the darkest systems of oppression this country has ever known.
Your strength lives on in us.
And I will never forget what it cost for me to live the life I live now.

America was built on the backs of Black people.
That’s not an opinion , it’s a fact.
The cotton we picked. The railroads we laid. The babies we raised that weren’t ours. The wealth we built but never owned. The culture we created but rarely got credit for.
We were stolen, stripped, beaten, and broken then told to be grateful.
And yet, we still rose.
We still rise.
We are the most hated group in this country for no other reason than the fact that we are called.
We are loved.
We are favored by God.
They tried to keep us from reading, from writing, from voting, from learning.
Now we’re authors. Directors. Scholars. Billionaires. Presidents.
We’re healing. We’re creating. We’re imagining a future that our ancestors couldn’t.
And I need us to fully grasp that.
Because what happened to our ancestors wasn’t a footnote in history—it was trauma designed to erase us.
And we’re still here.
We’ve taken generational pain and turned it into generational power.
We’ve taken systems built to break us and walked out with legacy.
I am the granddaughter of a sharecropper.
And I walk in freedom because my people fought for it.
I create because they weren’t allowed to.
I speak because they were silenced.
I rest because they never could.
We are not lucky,we are resilient.
We are not lost,we are rooted.
And we owe it to them to never forget what it took for us to be this free.

​

If you’ve read my last couple of posts, you probably noticed a shift—a softer tone, a more reflective vibe, and a lot of real talk. That wasn’t by accident. Without even fully realizing it, I’ve started a new series called The Almost Thirty Diaries, and I’m so excited (and slightly nervous) to invite you into this space with me.
​
This series is exactly what it sounds like: a diary-style, heart-on-my-sleeve documentation of everything I’m feeling, fearing, celebrating, and figuring out as I approach the big 3-0.

It’s not just about age.
It’s about transition.
It’s about growth.
It’s about the pressure to have everything figured out and the freedom to admit that I don’t.
It’s about identity, softness, love, regret, laughter, burnout, dating apps, God, becoming her, and still crying in the car sometimes.

I want this to be real.
Like, “am I the only one who feels this way?” kind of real.
Like, “did she read my journal?” kind of real.

Because I know I’m not the only one lying awake some nights wondering:

• Am I where I’m supposed to be?
• Is love still out there for me?
• Is this dream still worth chasing?
• Why do I feel behind when I’ve already done so much?

And if you’re feeling those things too—then this is for you.
This is for us.
We’re going to talk about it all.
The chaos. The clarity. The confidence. The confusion.
And we’re going to walk into this next chapter together—not perfectly, but with intention.


So if you’ve ever felt like you’re in a weird in-between space—no longer your early-twenties self but not quite the person you thought you’d be by 30—pull up a seat. This is your sign to slow down, reflect, laugh a little, cry a little, and grow with me.


Subscribe to my blog so you never miss a post.
Comment, share, and tag your friends—because I know I’m not the only one going through this.
Let’s build a little community around being almost thirty and figuring it out together.


We don’t have to be perfect.
We just have to be honest.
And I promise—I’ll go first.

​

There’s a male fitness coach going viral right now for his 3 AM/4 AM morning routine. Some are calling it unnecessary. Others are calling it performance. Some say, “He’s just doing it for views,” while others are inspired by the discipline. But it made me stop and ask myself: Are these the habits of a high-performing, career-driven adult?


And if not exactly that, then what is?


I ask because once upon a time—back in high school—I was incredibly organized. I had a planner. I would write out my after-school routine by the hour. My mom used to be so impressed with how structured I was. It gave me a sense of control, clarity, and direction.


But somewhere along the way, I drifted. Life got busy. Now, most days I operate off of a mental planner, which sounds functional… until it’s not. I’ll have 12 things floating in my brain and then wonder why I feel mentally exhausted. Lately I’ve been thinking, Is it time to get back to the physical planner? Or even use my digital calendar with alerts to gently nudge me back into rhythm?


What does high-performance look like when you’re not just managing tasks—but managing identities?


For those of you who don’t know, I wear several hats:
• I’m a licensed realtor.
• A licensed independent travel advisor.
• The daughter of a guru book publisher and a guru trucking entrepreneur.
• A big sister. A granddaughter. A mentor. A friend.


I’m proud of all the roles I play. I see myself as someone who can do it all—but lately, I’ve been asking, Can I do it all well? And what does “well” even mean to me now?


Is it meal prepping on Sundays and laying out my outfits for the week?
Is it drinking water, staying moisturized, and scheduling therapy like I schedule meetings?
Is it finding a church home? Saying no more often? Prioritizing a weekly FaceTime with my grandma?


Does “high-performing” have to mean hyper-productive? Or can it mean emotionally available? Spiritually grounded? Physically nourished?


I’ve started building out a weekly to-do list again—nothing fancy, just small, consistent wins. And I have to admit, checking off each item gives me a mini sense of accomplishment. But still, I wonder: Is structure the secret to freedom? Or does too much planning box us in?


Being on the cusp of 30 is such a weird and beautiful space. It feels like a bridge between who I thought I would be and who I still have time to become. I want to use this time wisely—but what does “wise” even look like now? Is it in the hustle? Or is it in the rest?


And so, I ask the question again: What are the habits of high-performing adults?


Is it waking up at 3 AM to train, or is it giving yourself grace when you sleep in?
Is it hitting career goals, or is it calling your siblings back and making space for joy?


I don’t have all the answers—but maybe that’s the point. Maybe the power isn’t in having it all figured out, but in asking the right questions, and building a life that feels aligned with the answers we uncover along the way.
​

Welcome to my new blog series, “Making It in Real Estate.” This series is dedicated to documenting my raw and unfiltered journey as a REALTOR® navigating this unpredictable industry.

To start, let me share a little about where I’m coming from.


I became a licensed REALTOR® in March 2023 and joined Keller Williams to begin my real estate career. Like many new agents, I came in with big dreams and high hopes of helping clients buy, sell, and invest in real estate. However, I quickly realized that the journey isn’t as straightforward as it seems.


During my first year, I struggled—a lot.
    •    I joined a team, hoping to get the mentorship and hands-on coaching I felt I needed.
    •    I ended up leaving the team because it wasn’t the right fit for me.
    •    Despite my determination, I ended my first year without a single sale.​

To be honest, I felt stuck. I knew I had the passion and the drive, but I realized I was missing some key tools—mentorship, structure, and a day-to-day action plan to build my business.

As I approach my second year in real estate, I’ve decided to take a new approach. I want to document my journey—the highs, the lows, and the in-between moments—so that others who may be in the same boat can see they’re not alone.

Today, I had a breakthrough moment.

One of the top-producing agents in my company shared a free resource: a 5-day lead generation workbook. At first, I wasn’t sure how much it would help, but after just ONE day of implementing the steps outlined in the workbook, I successfully found a lead.

This lead wasn’t from my sphere of influence, family, or friends. It was a purely organic lead, and I’m now helping them search for a commercial space. While there’s no guarantee this lead will result in a closed deal, this was a huge win for me. For the first time, I felt like I was on the right path.

What I’ve Learned So Far:
    •    Structure is Key: Having a plan for what to do each day makes all the difference.
    •    Coaching and Mentorship Matter: I’ve learned that I can’t do this alone. Seeking out resources and guidance is essential for growth.
    •    Celebrate Every Win: Whether it’s landing a new lead or taking a step outside your comfort zone, every win is worth celebrating.

I’m entering my second year in real estate with a renewed sense of purpose. My goal is simple: to produce results. This year, I’m committed to learning, growing, and putting in the work to turn my real estate dreams into reality.

If you’ve ever felt stuck or unsure in your journey, I hope you’ll follow along as I share the reality of making it in real estate. My goal is to inspire, educate, and remind you that it’s okay to struggle—as long as you don’t give up.

Let’s make 2025 the year of growth and success—together.


Stay tuned for updates on my journey, tips I’m learning, and insights into what it takes to truly thrive in real estate. If you’re a fellow agent, client, or just someone curious about this industry, I’d love to hear from you. Let’s connect and support each other in this wild world of real estate.


- Kierra Stevens | REALTOR®
📧: [email protected]
🌐: kierrastevens.kw.com
📲: (773) 917-6211

​

Recently, I found myself watching The Cheetah Girls as an adult, and it brought back a flood of memories and emotions that I hadn’t tapped into in years. The child version of me absolutely adored the Cheetah Girls. Some of my fondest memories are from the times I spent at my late grandma’s house, dancing and singing with my cousins. We would debate who got to sing which part and who would be which Cheetah Girl. Those moments were pure magic—carefree, joyful, and filled with a sense of empowerment that only The Cheetah Girls could bring.
The Cheetah Girls were more than just a fictional girl group to us. They represented strength, sisterhood, and the idea that you could be fierce, fabulous, and unstoppable no matter where you came from. They were such good role models for young girls, showing us that we didn’t have to fit into any mold to be powerful. Each Cheetah Girl was unique, with her own style, dreams, and personality, yet they all came together to support one another and chase their goals. They taught us the importance of friendship, believing in ourselves, and standing up for what we love.
The Cheetah Girls showed us that being a Cheetah Girl wasn’t about the clothes you wore or the way you looked; it was about what was in your heart. “You're a cheetah girl because of who you are, and what's in your heart... And you're a pure Cheetah Girl, por la vida.” These words were more than just a line from the movie—they were a mantra that reminded us to stay true to ourselves and to the bond we shared as friends and family.
But as I grew older, I found myself distancing from the cheetah print and all it represented. It seemed like a relic of my childhood, something I needed to leave behind as I navigated the complexities of adulthood. I forgot what it meant to be a Cheetah Girl, to embrace that spirit of being the fastest and fiercest feline in the jungle. In the hustle and bustle of adult life, I lost touch with the girl who danced without a care in the world, who believed she could conquer anything with a little bit of sparkle and a whole lot of heart.
Watching The Cheetah Girls again, I realized how much I missed that version of myself—the one who didn’t wait around for anyone to rescue her. The song “Cinderella” was such a powerful anthem back then, and its message resonates even more with me now:

"I Don't wanna be like Cinderella
Sitting in a dark, cold, dusty cellar (oh, no, ooh)
Waiting for somebody to come and set me free (come and set me free)
I don't wanna be like someone waiting (oh no)
For a handsome prince to come and save me
On, I will survive, I know somebody's on my side
Don't wanna depend on no one else
I'd rather rescue myself."

These lyrics remind me of the strength I’ve always had within me. I don’t need to wait for someone else to save me; I have the power to rescue myself, to take charge of my own destiny. The Cheetah Girls taught us that we don’t have to wait for life to happen to us—we have the power to make our dreams come true, to stand strong in who we are, and to support one another along the way.

As I reflect on where I am now, I realize that I want to get back to that girl who believed she could do anything. I want to reconnect with the most authentic version of myself—the Cheetah Girl who is fierce, unstoppable, and unapologetically herself. It’s time to reclaim that cheetah print, to wear it proudly, not just as a fashion statement, but as a symbol of everything it means to be a Cheetah Girl.
​
So, here’s to rediscovering that inner Cheetah Girl, to embracing the strength, the spirit, and the sisterhood that The Cheetah Girls stood for. And here’s to never forgetting that we’re all pure Cheetah Girls, por la vida.